Jack blames some natural restlessness of youth for the fact that Will can't shut his eyes without first emptying his head in chatter. Worse, he won't even allow Jack to feign sleep in peace anymore—he'll poke and prod and question, and if Jack still fails to respond, resort to far more insidious methods of capturing his attention. Which is very clever of him, after all, and Jack really doesn't mind the rest because it's nice to fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

But today they've had to guide the Pearl through a wicked squall. The sea is finally still, clear as glass after it frothed near to boiling. They've already worked off the stirringss of excess adrenalin, and Jack would now like nothing better than to cocoon them both in bedsheets until the damp leaves his bones. Will, however, has stumbled into the rare blunder of underestimating his captain's needs.

"Jack?" A fingertip digs into his bicep. "Jack, wake up."

He tries the usual—ignoring the boy, covering his head, muttering oaths cobbled together from various and sundry languages. Will just keeps at it until finally Jack gives up.

"What?" he mumbles into his pillow.

"Would he—do you think he would like me?"

Approaching suffocation, Jack turns his head and breathes air still pleasantly tinged with the musky aroma of sex. "What the devil're you on about now, lad?"

"My father," Will clarifies. Jack freezes, rolls his eyes around until he can see Will's face, somber and shadowed in the moonlight. "I don't mean would he approve of me, or would he think me a good person or sailor or fighter. I mean—would he like me?"

He wants more than a glib conformation—deserves more, in point of fact. Jack shifts to his side and untangles his hand to brush soft brown curls back out of soft brown eyes. Will looks back at him, steady and unwavering. Jack studies his face for a moment before answering.

"Yes," he says at last. "Yes, I believe he would enjoy your company very much, William."

"Really?" The tip of Will's tongue peeks around between his lips. Jack knows he's biting down hard. He does this whenever someone tells him something he wants very badly to believe, but can't quite find a reserve of faith. He did it every time he received a word in praise or kindness, those first few weeks. And he drew blood the first time Jack told him he loved him, though that might've been from shock.

So Jack nods, rubbing the pad of his thumb along Will's clenched jaw. "Aye. Who could lie t' such a face, hmm?"

Will smiles at that, bright and bashful. Jack pulls him close.

"He'd shake your hand an' buy you a pint," he says against the top whorl of Will's ear. "'Couse, first he'd knock me on my arse for the corruption of your innocent virtue."

His breathing's slowing down now, his arms snaking around Jack's waist. "I'd defend you," he declares, gallant for one so suddenly sleepy.

"Would you now," Jack murmurs. Will's head is tucked snugly under his chin and Jack curls a bit, crossing an ankle over Will's shin to close the circle. Will makes a drowsy agreeable noise that stretches into the first sigh of slumber.

Tonight it is Jack's turn to lie awake and whispers to the man fast asleep in his arms. Will doesn't wake, but his mouth turns up faintly as if he can hear, and he reaches for Jack in the darkness.