Aha ha ha ha ha!! FINALLY!! I actually wrote this a long time ago, but now it's finally actually in the story!! Whoo! Yeah. I keep forgetting where you guys are and where I am in relation to the plot.

With love, Jiia

"Cabin boy!" Jack shouted from his cabin door. "Get your flea-infested hide over here. I need to have a word with you."

The ship went silent once again. All eyes turned to poor, beleaguered Will, who, up until that very moment, had been content to mosey about the deck pushing water around with the strapped-together mop. As if to add just that extra little kick of irony, the rough bindings the pirates had used to keep the thing together decided to come undone. The rag head hit the deck with a melancholy thud.

"Well?" The captain called out again, looking more and more irritated by the minute. "Are you coming or not?"

Will gave a heartfelt sigh and handed the broom off to poor Marty. He shuffled across the deck, eyes never leaving the water-worn boards.

Jack held the door open, glaring at him as he slipped inside. With a final scathing glance at the morose crew, he slammed the door shut behind them.

Will sighed again, looking around the once-familiar room. It seemed to be getting stranger and stranger as the days went by. The happy clutter had been replaced with irate neatness, everything stowed away in its proper place, lined up in perfect, obsessive rows. The giant bundle of fabric that had been Jack's bed was now meticulously made up, the sheets folded over and the corners square. Everything about the room that had made it Captain Jack Sparrow's was gone.

"You seemed to have inspired a bit of a mutiny amongst the female members of my crew."

Will jumped. He had somehow managed to become so wrapped up in his melancholy thoughts that he had completely forgotten that the object of those very thoughts was actually in the room with him.

"Uh… what?" He looked up at said Captain, who had become as well-groomed as his quarters.

The captain scoffed, rolling his dark eyes.

"Anamaria and Elizabeth, you blubbering dolt. Elizabeth I expected, but my first mate? It has become more than apparent that something needs to be done before I lose control of this vessel altogether." He sat down in the chair, back perfectly straight, not touching the back of the chair at all.

It was almost more than Will could bear.

"What would you have me do, Jack?" Will sighed, pushing his hand though his thick, dark hair.

The captain's eyes narrowed. Will noted absently that even the last faint trace of his khol had disappeared.

"I am your captain, cabin boy. You will address me as such."

Will sighed again. For the fourth time.

"And will you stop that?" Jack snapped, forcing his chair around and angrily picking up a quill. "If you keep sighing like that, I am going to have to have your lungs removed. You are depressing the crew."

Will started to sigh, but stopped himself just in time.

"Alright then, Captain. What do you expect of me?"

"I expect you to do your duties, Mr. Turner." Jack crossed off a particularly frustrating T. "I expect you to do what we hired you to do, without all the moaning and groaning and mooning over me. It is extraordinarily irritating."

"Fine." Will pressed his lips together, staring out the captain's sparkling clean window. "Is that all?"

"No, Mr. Turner, that is not all!" Jack whirled around in his chair again, knocking over an ink pot and completely ruining whatever he was writing. "Will you please explain to me why my crew seems to think we are together? Why they appear to WANT us to be together? Why they are willing to HOLD ME AT SWORD POINT in order to make that happen?!"

Jack stood up, black eyes burning. And yet, Will was not afraid of those eyes. He could see what was in Jack's heart, as plain as day. Anger, yes, but mostly confusion. Jack didn't know what was going on. The old Jack might have been ok with that, but this new one… The Jack who folded his sheets and pressed his shirts and lined his pens up in order of height just couldn't handle it. It made him afraid. And it was the fear that made him angry, not any action of Will's.

"What have you done to my ship, Mr. Turner!?" Jack hovered inches from his face, strangely short without his usual high-heeled boots. "What have you done to me?"

Will looked down at him, let his eyes wander over the captain's strange, familiar features. Let them take in every little difference, every slight similarity. He could still see the shadow of the old Jack, the light patches on his face where hair or perpetual dirt used to reside. The smoothed-out lengths of his hair still bore the twist of his braids, only just visible beneath the hours and hours of painstaking brushing. If he lowered his eyelids, just like so, and used a healthy share of imagination, he could almost see the man he loved.

"I haven't done anything, Jack. Everything that's happened to you, you've done to your self."

The captain's dark eyes widened, just a little. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak. Will didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear this stranger talk in his lover's voice, not any more.

And so, he shut the man up in the only way his sorrow-clouded mind could conceive of at the time.

He kissed him.