William Turner was playing a game of dice with his crew, who now bartered with pearls instead of years of servitude, when he felt a small disturbance in his watery domain. It was very slight, not even as much of a ripple as a drowning child would make, but it piqued his curiosity.

He raised the Dutchman up right next to where he'd felt the ripple, and searched the waters. He saw nothing, not even so much as a dinghy. He closed his eyes ad felt out with his senses—those gifts he had inherited along with his ship. He was still learning to use them, but perhaps they could help him here.

Yes. There. A tiny, tiny dot in the water. Barely there at all. "Get the hook out there!" he shouted. "There, Mr Buckley, d'you see it?"

"Aye, Captain. I've almost—there, now I've got it." Buckley hauled it in closer just as the moon came out. "It's a baby. Baby's skeleton, anyway."

Oh, dear Lord, no, Will thought. Ferrying babies and children to the land of the dead was his least favorite part of the new job.

"Wait, Cap'n! It moved! Whoaaaaaaah!" the sailor screeched as the "baby" abruptly came to life and swarmed up the pole like a—

"Monkey," Will said, smothering a laugh as his crewmen scattered in fear of the skeletal pet. "Undead monkey. Barbossa's pet. Nothing to be afraid of, men."

"Hello there, Jack," Will greeted it, crouching down and putting out his arm for the monkey to climb. It scampered up and sat on his shoulder. It had a bottle on its back.

"What's this, fellow?" Will asked it, cutting the swollen cords that bound it. Freed, the monkey made a leap for the rigging and disappeared into it. Will smashed the bottle against the compass-holder and tossed the neck of it overboard; he unrolled the parchment and read it.

Will
See me.
Soon.
Important.
Jack

Will felt a glimmer of amusement at Jack's typical efficiency in both getting a message to him and in getting the monkey off his ship. His amusement deepened when he contrasted the brevity of the note with Jack's typical flamboyantly roundabout speeches.

The next instant, he was all business. The word "important" was underlined twice. "All hands, we're going down!" he yelled, feeling a moment of pride in how they all leaped to obey. The ship descended, and not even half a day later was coming back up again, more than a hundred miles away. Will liked sailing, but he especially loved his new ability to travel great distances, submerged, in moments.

"Sail ho!" bellowed Ragetti from the crow's next of the Pearl.

Jack appeared on deck, glancing up at Mr Gibbs for confirmation. The mate nodded and pointed. "The Dutchman."

"Prompt," Jack remarked with approval.

"Looks like the Pigeon accomplished its mission, eh, Jack?" Gibbs chortled.

Will suddenly appeared on the deck of the Pearl, with the monkey in his arms. "Is this what you're talking about?" he asked.

"Aye, it's our new mail boat, Captain Turner," Gibbs explained. "J.S.M. Carrier Pigeon."

"J.S.M?" Will asked.

"Jack Sparrow's Monkey, of course," Jack explained. "Barbossa abandoned it with the Pearl, so I have rights of salvage. He's my monkey now, and finally good for something. Thought he might get your attention, and show a bit more class than strapping bodies to barrels." He came forward, hand outstretched. "How's un-life, then, William? Everything good? How's Bootstrap?"

Will shook hands with a smile. "Good to see you, Jack. I'm fine, and so is my father. What about you? Everything all right? No one on board is dying," he remarked, looking around at the rest of the sailors who were slowly backing away with pale faces. "So it can't be that bad."

"No, no, we're all fine here, mate. Have to talk to you though, William. Care to join me?" Jack gestured grandly toward his cabin, and Will nodded and preceded him.

Jack closed the door and waved Will to a chair. He got out a bottle of rum and offered Will the first gulp. Will tipped it up and swallowed, then handed it back. Jack hesitated for an instant, and then took a drink and sat down. He set the bottle on the table, precisely in the center between the two of them.

"I have to talk to you about your wife," he said.

"Elizabeth! Is she all right?"

Jack took a deep breath. "She's alive. She got some sort of fever, and she and the child almost died."

"There's a child?" Will asked, eyes wide with shock.

Jack nodded. "Jacob. Congratulations. They lived through the fever and are starting to get better, but we nearly lost 'em both. They're staying with my father in Shipwreck."

"Why not New Flimwell?"

"That's where they almost died, because no one in the village would help them. One of the women there sent me a letter to let me know, but I barely got there in time. Another few hours and…" Jack shook his head, his manner devoid of its usual ebullience and flair. "Plus, now the whole place has been sacked and burned."

"Wait—how did you—I mean, who sent the letter? Do you know the woman? Who sacked it? Why?" Will shook his head. "I think you'd better start at the beginning, Jack. And don't leave out any details, because if you're dealing with this in your usual multi-layered way—trust me, you really wouldn't want me to find out on my own later."

Jack sighed. "Fine. Few months ago I happened to hear that your wife had just sprung a fresh, new little Turner upon the world, so in honor of the Pirate King I steered me lovely Pearl toward Flimwell. It's also a hidden cove with a nice little freshwater stream flowing into it, so while the men were filling the barrels I went up to visit Mrs Turner, pay my respects, and see the little one."

"What's he like?" Will asked eagerly.

"Looks like his mother, thank the Lord," Jack said. He smiled a little. "Big brown eyes, big grin—he's a very handsome lad, actually. Loves his Uncle Jack already, so he does."

"Does he," Will said drily.

"Well, I've managed to pop in for a visit every few weeks, see young Jake, bring Elizabeth—er, Mrs Turner, that is—some things she might not be able to get in New Flimwell. Which is nearly everything but fish and goats, really. What possessed you to pick a place like that to settle her in?"

"At the time, it seemed like what we were looking for. We only had until sunset to find a place, remember."

"Should've asked. Anyway, first time I visited I gave Elizabeth my address in Tortuga and told her to let me know if she needed anything. She wrote a couple of times for some things, and I brought them by next time I was in the neighborhood. I know what you're thinking, mate," he said, noting the uncomfortable expression on Will's face. "I'll tell you the same thing I told her: I'm there as a friend only, and 'cause you can't be. Not trying to step in where I'm not wanted, or ruin her reputation or anything. Savvy?"

"Yes. Go on." Will sounded relieved.

"Right. This one time we sail into Tortuga and my letter there isn't from your wife at all. 'S from some woman in the village, telling me Elizabeth and Jake are dying of a fever and no one's willing to help them for fear of catching it. So we weigh anchor and make for Flimwell. Get there after midnight, and Marty, Gibbs, and I go racing up that hill like a pack of fiends. Get there just barely in time, with them both mostly dead of fever and thirst. Whole place reeked like a Soho alley—I wouldn't've let a dog in there—so we just grabbed 'em both and scarpered. Got 'em cleaned up and brought 'em on board the Pearl where we could tend to 'em and still keep away from the Navy. We kept 'em long enough to make sure they'd both live, and then left 'em with me dad at his house in Shipwreck. I came back out to see if I could contact you, and to try and find out who sacked Flimwell and why."

"They're both recovering, then?" Will asked. Jack nodded. "Wait—" Will added. Jack's shoulders sagged. "What do you mean you got them cleaned up? From what?"

Jack swallowed, with a little grimace of dread. He'd been afraid this would come up. He decided to face it head-on for a change. Maybe Will would be disarmed by his honesty? Worth a try, anyway. "Will, they'd both been lying in their own sick for days," he said candidly. "They had open sores all over their bodies from it. We had to give 'em both a bath in the seawater to clean 'em up and treat their rashes before they could even come aboard. It was easiest that way, believe me."

"You—you bathed my wife?" Will asked, his tone containing a note of quiet threat.

The memory of that night, the mortification of having to clean Elizabeth up from her own bodily waste, combined with the raw fear of having her die in his arms any minute, washed over Jack, and he lifted his chin, sat up, and looked Will straight in the eye.

"Aye, I did. I washed every nook and cranny of that woman, Will, and I did all of it myself! I wanted to spare her the indignity of having it done by someone who didn't care so much, or who might get some sort of perverse thrill out of touching a dying woman caked in her own dried shit and vomit! So before you ask, no, I did not enjoy it, and yes, it did need to be done. So kindly refrain from killing me for doing what shouldn't have been necessary if you were there to do your job and take care of her properly!"

Will was silent for a long moment, staring at him, surprised by Jack's seriousness and vehemence. "My job," he said finally.

Jack glared at him. "Aye, man, your job," he said, slumping back again. "You're her husband. She needs you. You're the man she loves, the man she married, but all she has is me, a disreputable pirate who pops round every few weeks and that's all. It's not enough. She needs her husband, Will. Her son needs a father. You realize that he'll be able to see you only once before he's a man? You of all people know what it's like to grow up without a father because he was lost at sea. You want that for your own son? Didn't think so. We have to figure out some way to free you so you can go back to them."

"Jack," Will said quietly. "There is no way."

"'Course there is! There has to be. Tell you what—I'll stab you in the heart and take your place. Just like the original plan. Eh?"

Will shook his head sadly. "You forget, I've already been stabbed in the heart. I'm technically already dead. If you take my place here, I'll be gone and then Elizabeth will have no one at all." He leaned back and shook his head. "I've been all over this with Calypso, Jack. There simply is no way for me to return to the land of the living."

"Calypso? You're on speaking terms with good old Tia Dalma?"

Will nodded. "Aye, of course. I'm in charge of the sea and she's the goddess of it. We speak regularly."

Jack shook his head, making a warding-off gesture. "I take back my offer to take your place," he said.

Will smiled. "You weren't afraid of Tia Dalma, but now that she's had her powers unloosed she scares you?"

Jack grimaced, thinking of all those rock-crabs chasing him through the salt desert of Davy Jones' Locker, and of the gigantic goddess that nearly sank the Pearl. "I'm just not all that fond of crabs unless they're on a plate, and I like my women to be somewhere near me in size." He sobered and leaned forward, chin on fist, gesturing with the other hand. "Will, this can't go on. Elizabeth needs her husband. You can't be with her, and I'm only her friend. We have to think of something, mate."

Will nodded. "I'll look into a couple of things. There may be some mystical possibilities I haven't found yet—but to be honest, I don't hold much hope." He hesitated, then reached for the rum bottle and took a long pull at it. Jack watched the level drop with alarm in his eyes, and when Will put the bottle down, Jack grabbed it away and cradled it in his arms like a jar of dirt.

Will smiled briefly, but then sobered, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You know, if I had known what our married life would be like, I never would have married Elizabeth. You're absolutely right—she deserves so much more than I'm capable of giving her."

Jack snickered. "Always thought you were a eunuch," he said. His smile widened at Will's scowl.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Will changed the topic. "Tell me about what happened at Flimwell."

"Oh, yeah, wanted to ask you about that, in case any of the non-survivors came your way." Jack outlined what he had learned and what the village looked like, and the state of Elizabeth's house. "Only clue we got was that they were led by some woman in a big, feathered hat, and they were looking for something or someone that they didn't find."

Will frowned in thought. "Pirates found New Flimwell." He shook his head. "No, the victims must have all died ashore, because I hadn't heard of this before. Were the pirates after the heart of the Dutchman, do you think? Wanting to control the ship of the dead? Because I'm not sure that would work out quite the same way with someone in charge who's actually doing the job properly."

Jack shrugged. "Your heart is safe in the hands of your dolly-belle," he said lightly. "That was pretty much all we could salvage from her house, but we did salvage it. Still thumping away."

"And the key is safe in the hands of my father," Will said. He looked up with a quick grin. "And you're one of only two people in the world I would trust enough to tell that."

Jack put his palms together and made a little bow.

"I just wish she didn't have to be alone," Will mused.

"Oh, well, I'm a step ahead of you there, mate. Turns out her only living family member, the governor's sister, was living in Port Royal. So we went and got her. She's with Elizabeth in Shipwreck as well."

"Really? What's she like?" Will hadn't known Elizabeth had any other family.

Jack grinned, thinking of how they'd first met in London. "She's a bit of all right," he admitted. "Hidden depths and all that. And she's like a mother lioness for taking care of Elizabeth and the baby."

"Wish I could meet her," Will said with a sincere smile. "Thank you, Jack. I'm glad to hear Elizabeth has someone, at least." He stood up. "I'll come find you in a few days for an update. And if you need to reach me before then—"

"I'll launch the Pigeon again," Jack said with a businesslike nod.

Will smiled. "Thanks, Jack. For taking care of her. Of them. I'll see you soon."

Jack sighed with relief as he saw Will fade from sight, relocating back to the Dutchman. He shivered, uncorked the bottle again and look a long pull. Brushes with the Flying Dutchman still gave him chills.