Contradictions, Chapter 4

Win

by

Veronica Rich

A brush against his arm, a low voice caught his attention in the periphery. "Lookin' for God, brother?"

Almost on reflex, Will rolled his eyes but kept them turned up as he walked, shaking his head imperceptibly. "Storm's coming," he explained. "Can't you tell?"

"Aye... but nothin' can be done about it. We jus' find a spot to hide for awhile."

The blacksmith turned to look at Jack Sparrow, who'd moved off and was walking a foot or so away once again, eyes forward. "I'm not afraid of rain," Will pointed out dryly. "It's the lightning that worries me."

Jack chuckled softly at that and grinned, and Will realized the expression actually looked less benign on clean-shaven features than it had appeared on his formerly-hairy face. Where it relaxed the perpetual scowl a thick, menacing moustache seemed to give a man, on Jack's newly-bare face it seemed a corruption of innocent features. When in the world did I ever start thinking of "innocent" in connection with Jack? Will pondered in some horror. "Laugh all you like," the smith countered. "You're just as guilty as me."

"Lad," Jack sighed, "once and for all, get it out o' your head that God's gon' strike us down just because we're wearin' monks' robes."

"And posing as monks—don't forget that part," Will reminded him.

"Well, now, in your case, that mayn't be posin'," the pirate captain pointed out. He glanced back over at the younger man. "How long 'as it been, mate? If ever."

Will nervously glanced to his other side at David, who was having his own problems coaxing the donkey along. It was not nearly as well-trained an animal as Mr. Brown's had been, but the boy seemed to have found the method for prodding him along—constant petting of the animal's neck and occasional words in a certain tone of voice. Certainly neither Will nor Jack had been able to inspire the animal to move, and David would occasionally run into stubbornness, but on the whole, the boy had the best luck of the three of them.

Will turned an annoyed expression on his captain, not slowing his pace. "Can we kindly not discuss this right now?" That was asking a lot of Jack. "Or at all?" That, Will knew, was almost asking the impossible.

"What? I only asked if ye'd qualify for th' brotherhood based on certain behavior—or lack thereof," Jack batted back in false primness. "If he understands that, then there be no reason t' drop our voices in th' first place."

"Shouldn't we be slowing down, looking for shelter?" Will tried to change the subject as they continued walking. "I don't really see anything right off..."

"That stand of trees o'er there might serve," Jack answered, nodding up ahead to the right. "Leafy branches keep th' rain off, mostly, at least. And if you wan' avoid that topic in th' future, you'd do well not to blush so red when it comes up," he added in the same genial tone, keeping his eyes forward, not missing a beat.

Shaking his head to himself, Will tamped down a response, not rising to the bait. The man was incorrigible, but it couldn't be said that Turner didn't already know this when he'd agreed to accompany the captain out of Port Royale. Certainly he could have refused, stayed behind in Mrs. Brown's shop, used the gold Jack had brought for him and the absent Elizabeth Swann to purchase it for his own storefront. Instead, he'd risen to the bait when Jack had accused him of letting life pass him by, of wanting to have adventures but being too timid to do so, while everyone else went out and lived interesting lives. He'd wanted to prove Sparrow wrong, to show he was just as capable of acting on impulse as anyone else.

And—oh, boy—had he been living on impulse ever since. Working for Jack was, if possible, more of a challenge than having to work with Jack to rescue Elizabeth. Since by his profession Will knew more about what needed to be done to restore the Black Pearl to her former glory than did her own captain, he was often in the unenviable position of contradicting the captain's plans for ship's repairs and refittings. More than once they'd locked horns over some damned thing or other, which usually ended with Will throwing his hands up quite literally and wheeling about to stomp off, muttering not too quietly about incredibly shortsighted captains who didn't know squat about carpentry or metalworking trying to tell those who were nearly expert in the subjects how to do their jobs.

A distinctive clomping sound interrupted Will's musings, which were threatening to anger him on principle at a time when he had no real quarrel with his captain. He quickly tossed off this uncharitable line of thought and stopped walking, looking back over his shoulder at the noise. They'd just topped a ridge, so he couldn't see very far, but the noise was increasing in volume. "Am I hearing things, or does that sound like horses?" he finally asked aloud.

Jack, too, had stopped and was cocking his head like a terrier puzzling the approach of its master's footsteps. "Aye," he agreed. "Few of 'em. Should prob'ly get out o' th' road 'til they've gone by," he suggested, nodding toward the dirt path's shoulder. "Like young master Davey, there."

David had drifted a good twelve feet off the road with the donkey, though Will supposed it would be more accurate to say the donkey was off in the grass with the boy trailing along. As if on cue, the animal decided at that point to stop altogether and drop its head, lazily snatching up tufts of clover. David's shoulders slumped as if exhausted from having to keep up with the donkey's whims, and he pulled his own stubbornness by turning and plopping onto the grass in a cross-legged pose, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his petulant face in his hands as the animal continued to chew at the ground directly behind him.

As four rather corpulent horsemen came over the ridge, Jack adjusted the cowl of his hood and leaned over toward Will. "Which one do ye s'pose is Famine?" he murmured, and the smith nearly choked on a laugh.

He schooled his features into something resembling piety and gave Jack a shove in the side with his elbow, silently reminding the man to behave. Quietly they stood, hooded heads bowed, hands clasped before them inside the voluminous sleeves of their robes, as the horses moved closer, closer, and past.

Except... they didn't move past. Will lifted his gaze warily at the soft swirl of dust kicked up by halting hooves. One of the men spoke. "Fathers," he acknowledged in French.

"That's 'Brothers,' actually."

The voice surprised Will as much as it had nearly three weeks ago when he'd heard it for the first time. Instead of his usual Jamaican slur, Jack was employing proper English with a countryside accent.

"My apologies—Brothers," the voice once again spoke, softly, this time in measured English. "What order might you gentlemen hail from?"

When Will heard no answer forthcoming, he stole a peek up through his bowed lashes, noticing a couple of the men shifted in impatience. Never good at letting anything fester, he offered up, "Francis—"

"Bene—" Jack answered at almost the exact instant. The two "monks" quickly glanced at one another, and Jack's eyes were wide with a harsh, silent warning to shut up. "Celtic," Jack finally demurred without specificity to the horseman, bowing his head slightly in humility. "Traveling order, actually. Quite small. May I be so humble as to inquire whom we've the pleasure of addressing?"

A third man began to answer, but the second quieted him with a withering expression, Will noted. "Names aren't so important," he answered firmly. "But we do have need of a man of the cloth, Brother...?" His tone indicated while he didn't feel their own names were necessary, other people didn't enjoy the same anonymity in his presence. Will's jaw clenched; he detested double standards of this sort.

"I am Brother Jackson, this—" he indicated Will with a small gesture, "is Brother Jessy, and our young charge is young Master David, in apprenticeship."

"An apprentice monk? Never heard of such a thing," the third man openly puzzled, as Will pondered the implications of being named after a jenny.

"All that's not so important," the first man hastily interrupted, shaking his head. "What I want to know is, could you spare an extra few hours in your travels?"

"Why?" Will was shocked to hear his own voice.

"We've a service that needs performed," was their only answer.

"A service?" Jack queried. "A funeral... requiem?"

"Nothing so morbid—a wedding, actually," the first horseman replied, a hint of resignation to his voice. "For my son and his... intended."

"Now don't go saying my Clothilde's name like it's poison!" the second man nearly bellowed. "After all, she's the one who must bear the burden of his inability to control his most basic passions."

"I see," Jack murmured, and Will watched him ponder this. He was calculating something, ever the pirate. "So let me understand your request: You wish to enlist our services performing a marriage ceremony, rather than hire proper clergy and, I am guessing, waiting a proper engagement period. And your daughter—" he gestured sparsely toward the second horseman, "is with child. Is that it?"

The third man spoke up again. "That'll about cover it."

"Rube!" The first man glared harshly at him, the first time Will noticed a crack in his calm. To Jack, he turned with a nervous, little smile. "I suppose you've essentially named the problem, Brother. What say you?"

Jack looked to Will, and Will shrugged. "Oh," the pious pirate turned his attention slyly back on the two main riders, "I'm sure we can negotiate some sort of mutually beneficial agreement in exchange for our pretty words of religious comfort and our silence on the identity and circumstances of the two young people we are about to meet. "Correct, Brother?" he turned to Will.

Drawing on the only training he could immediately remember during his week at the monastery where he, Jack, and David had recovered from their ocean escape, the blacksmith pressed his palms together, lowered his eyes in deference, and uttered, "Amen."

****

Will had come to treasure both greatly since his rescue from the Atlantic waters at the tender age of ten, when the ship he was on had been destroyed and the entire crew complement—save for him—was killed. Until seven months ago, when he'd ended up on the Pearl, though once desiring to train for the Royal Navy, he'd not set foot on a seafaring vessel since. This was partly out of no necessity to do so and partly out of fear, and he'd certainly had plenty of time to forget how crowded and noisy a ship could be, though he had to admit the position of blacksmith and temporary carpenter afforded him a slightly more private hammock than his years-previous job of cabin boy.

"You're awfully quiet."

He blinked, shaken from his thoughts. "Was thinking," he murmured; not having talked for more than an hour had lent his voice a croaky quality, and he cleared his throat. "Was thinking about things," he tried again, louder.

"I see." Jack was silent a moment. "Well, if it's anythin' entertaining and not too private, we're game t' hear it," he indicated himself and David, flanking "Brother Jessy." "Pass th' time better than just walking."

Before he could speak again, Will actually chuckled. "You must be hard pressed for entertainment, is all I can say." Off his captain's puzzled look, he continued, "Jack, you have to be the noisiest, most verbose person I've ever heard in my life. You have a story for everything, about everything. If you can't speak to pass the time, you're either tired or... well, I don't know what."

Will expected Jack to pull his lips into a little moue at that—it was a strange little expression, neither fully a pout nor a frown, which oddly complemented the bushy moustache above it. Except now there was no moustache, and there was no pout; Jack was grinning. "I already told me best stories on th' ride 'ere," he reminded the smith. "I seriously doubt ye'd wan' hear them again."

Remembering his complaint about the seemingly endless retellings of the same tales, Will nearly colored in embarrassment; it had been a bad voyage, the three of them stuck in a small rowboat for so many days. Too much togetherness. "Well, it has been a while," he shrugged, the closest he intended to get to an apology for crabbing at Jack earlier.

"And it'd be most appreciated, if I knew you weren't jus' stalling. You've plenty of stories of your own, mate."

You know, I really don't, Will responded inside his own head. He sighed. "Jack, I'm nineteen years old. I spent eight years living with Mum in England, and that was pretty uneventful. I spent nine years living in Port Royale, and I can honestly say that was pretty uneventful. Of the two years in between where I was a cabin boy, all I can say is I didn't get to see too much eventfulness for being shoved inside the captain's cabin every time something remotely interesting started to happen on deck."

"Not much fun, is it?" This from David, whose attitude seemed to have relaxed from that of a polite, proper little man into the occasional petulance of an eleven-year-old child.

"My ship, my rules," Jack fired back. "Besides, ye see what happens when ye get involved in fights you've no business bein' anywhere near." Will noticed David kept working at making the donkey move as they all walked rather than acknowledge his role in getting them captured aboard the Spanish pirate vessel. "Now," Jack turned his attention back to Will, "what were ye thinkin' about?"

"Not a lot, really. Mainly just pondering the irony of refitting the ship that nearly killed me nine years ago." Until it was out of his mouth, Will hadn't been at all sure what was really on his mind with such memories of youth. "I mean, I know it wasn't the ship itself—it's just an odd turn of events."

"Most of life is." Jack's voice turned serious. "Listen, Will, don't dwell on that so much. Pearl's real sorry 'bout it; she wasn't in control of herself the way she is now."

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll venture a guess—she told you this?"

"You know perfectly well she talks t' me."

"I know you say she 'talks' to you. It's a ship, Jack." As soon as he said it, Will felt a small prick of guilt. What? It's an inanimate object. It can't talk—it's wood and iron and sails and ropes. You've worked with all those enough to know they can't communicate.

But far from being offended, Jack simply smiled a far-away smile and shook his head. "Nobody understands... but that's all right. Pearl don' mind, long as I listen to her."

The blacksmith felt a slight twinge of irrational jealousy at that—after all, with all the work he was putting into restoring the ship, if it were going to 'talk' to anyone, it ought to be him. Then again, he hadn't spent the better part of a decade chasing her down single-mindedly and braving her cursed crew to restore her to any sort of dignity, so maybe it was right and proper she respond only to Jack.

Several plumes of smoke on the horizon as they topped a ridge indicated a settlement of some sort ahead, and Will sighed. "Wonder if there's an inn," he mused aloud with a sigh. His feet were sore from hours of walking, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of this itchy robe, kick off the damnable shoes, and fall into an honest-to-God bed for the next day or six. They could well afford it from the gold showered upon them by the two families desperate for silence on the wedding of their ill-matched and expectant offspring.

"Was thinking more of a change o' clothes, rather," Jack piped up. "And a meal."

"What, no rum?"

The pirate glanced over as Will tried on his own mock-innocent expression. "I ne'er forget the rum."

They bantered a bit more, David occasionally joining in with laughter, as they approached the village, which was only a mile or so ahead. Jack noticed a printer's shop and waved them along as he veered toward it. "Got t' send some messages," he explained. "Stay out here an' keep an eye on our arse."

As David looped the lead rope around an iron ring on a post, Will took a seat on a rough-hewn bench nearby. He nearly groaned in pleasure, relieved as he was to remove his weight from his feet; he knew he'd have to get back up in a few minutes, but all he cared for at the moment was resting a spell. He was sure to leave enough space for the boy, who patted the donkey a few times, fed him a small cube of sugar, and finally came over to sit down. "What kind of messages is Jack sending?" he wanted to know, kicking his feet a bit under the seat.

"Not sure," Will shrugged. "Might be to the Pearl's crew, letting them know we're safe or where we are. Could be to a relative, or someone." Will was surprised to think of Jack in connection to relatives—the man had to come from somewhere, sure. He hadn't simply sprung fully formed from seafoam, after all. But Will found it odd to contemplate this odd force of nature having a mother and father, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles...

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud yell, scrambling, rapid footsteps on wood, and scuffling behind them. He was on his feet in an instant, turning, eyebrows going up in alarm—surely Jack hadn't tried to rob a merchant on a stationary piece of land without a fast getaway?

Will's answer barreled out the door of the printer's shop, cursing in rapid, fluent French—he was able to catch a word here and there—and pounded down the steps, a bag clutched in his hand. Jack was immediately behind, hiking the swirl of his robe, and he caught Will's attention with a quick nod. Without questioning the wisdom of what he was being silently ordered to do, Will took a couple of steps and threw himself in a flying tackle against the fellow; they went down in a cloud of orange dust, a tangle of limbs, and wheezing.

The Frenchman was small and vicious, and quick, but Will was faster, and had the man pinned face-down soon enough, his arms pinioned to the ground, Will's knees on either side of the man's hips, holding him tight. "What the hell?" he demanded, glancing up at his captain. As he did so, the man tried to buck him off, and Will responded by removing one hand just long enough to deliver a light, cuffing punch that nevertheless knocked the man unconscious.

"Nice show, mate." Jack was grinning.

"You're not off the hook." Will sat back and dusted off his hands, making an effort to slow his breathing. "Why'd I just knock down a perfect stranger, Jack?"

"Because he was robbin' th' printer, that's why. Interrupted me transaction, too—bloody impatient French," he growled, scowling at the unconscious man.

A middle-aged man in a dark apron hurried out the front of the shop, looked around, then apparently noticed the tableau in the road. "Merci a Dieu!" he cried, clasping his hands together, then embracing Jack emotionally. "Merci! Merci!"

For his part, Jack accepted the adulation in grace, but pushed the fellow away as quickly as etiquette would allow. He mumbled something back in French, and Will caught "Anglais" in there before the printer nodded enthusiastically and answered in English, "But of course, sir! Um, Father... Brother?" He seemed confused, no doubt befuddled by peace-loving clerics who apparently roamed the countryside looking to rescue shopkeepers in distress by methods of force with extreme prejudice.

"Actually—" Jack began, holding up a finger as he assumed the proper-gentleman voice.

"Oh, good! The authorities!" The little man's excitement made both Jack and Will glance up at the sound of running footsteps, and they exchanged a look before the printer added, "Philipe must've ran faster than I thought! They've arrived!"

"You sent for the law?" Jack asked incredulously. It occurred to Will the printer would regard him oddly—what law-abiding citizen wouldn't send for the local constable if they'd just been robbed?

"But of course! Don't worry, I will tell them you and your friend here saved the day. They will not mistake that you did this terrible thing."

Will suddenly had the presence of mind to lever himself up and off the miscreant, getting to his feet and dusting the clay-like dust off his robe. Two of the three men pulled pistols as they approached; the third, a bit older, approached the printer. "Taupin, your boy said something was happening?" the man asked in French (Will understood this a few hours later, when Jack told him the gist of the conversation now taking place, since they really had nothing better to do to pass the time).

"Yes, these men stopped a dangerous criminal." This part was in English, though Taupin paused and repeated it in French for the gendarmes' benefit. He pointed at the prone fellow on the ground, and the two junior officers descended, yanking him to his feet and cuffing him in irons behind his back to lead away.

The ranking officer, or whomever he was, put up a hand before his men could depart, then approached Will. Looking over his disheveled state, he guessed correctly. "You attacked this man?"

Will glanced helplessly at Jack, not knowing much French, but Taupin caught the look and interrupted. "He wants to know if you knocked the robber down."

"Yes." Will turned his gaze back to the constable, feeling a bit unsettled. He nodded for effect. "Oui," he added, knowing at least that much.

"What is your name?" Again, Taupin translated, and kept doing so as the constable asked more questions. Will's stomach lurched, and he was glad he hadn't eaten more than a couple of biscuits for lunch.

"Now see!" Taupin spoke up in French. "These men did nothing wrong—they were saving my money!"

"Taupin, you know the news of the day as well as I do," the man rebutted. Though he couldn't understand what was being said at the time, the look of consternation on Taupin's face and the expression of mild alarm on Jack's was enough to alert Will to problems.

"They are holy men! Why would they draw attention to themselves if they were not legitimate?" Taupin tried to reason. The little man was getting visibly angry.

"I don't always enjoy my job, Mr. Bernard, but I do have to carry it out responsibly." ("Good God, he sounds like Norrington," Will commented later to Jack, when the captain told him of this line in the conversation.)

"But... but... but you cannot put a boy in jail!" the shopkeeper protested, indicating David. "This is not right, but at least you should leave him alone!"

That point, at least, the gendarme seemed disinclined to argue. "Would you and Marjorie care to look after the boy while I'm questioning these men, then?"

Taupin stiffened his posture. "It would be our honor, sir."

Which is how, as they shared a supper of watery stew and weak wine later that evening, Jack came to be translating the entire conversation for Will in their cell. He explained to the smith that as he understood, two villages in central France were recently sacked by thieves posing as traveling clergy, and that their descriptions matched his and Jack's enough to warrant suspicion. The outlaws had also struck just outside Paris a month ago, apparently, and had killed three people during that robbery.

"But I don't get it!" Will shook his head for the eighth time, knowing he sounded like Cotton's parrot, but unable to stop at the unfairness of it all. "We were helping him. Why're we in jail for doing a good deed? Why would murderers draw attention to themselves in any way? And we had David with us—he's too small to do anything!"

"Bane o' my existence," Jack sighed, pursing his lips in irony. "I somehow always end up behind bars havin' to do with you. Why is that?"

"Don't blame me for last time," Will defended. "I didn't know what was going on. Besides, Brown's the one who conked you over the head."

"Oh, right, I forgot—you were this close to letting me escape." Jack held his hands apart the width of his wingspan, his voice dry enough to soak up sand.

"Yes, well—you were going to shoot me."

"Only if I'd really had to."

Will frowned, trying to determine if his captain was putting him on or not. He didn't have any time to determine, as they were interrupted by none other than the head gendarme himself, whose name the two men had learned once they were taken into custody—Roger Milliand. He nodded at Jack before he began speaking, and paused after each little bit to give the captain time to translate for Will. "I'm sending for the authorities in Paris," he explained. "They'll make the proper determinations once they've taken you into custody." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm a fair man; is there anyone you know in Paris who can vouch for you? Anyone at all? Because I get the distinct feeling you're not monks."

For once, Jack looked blank; Will figured for sure he knew someone in every major port and city. It always seemed that way, at least—or as Elizabeth had once put it, "a girl in every port."

Elizabeth! Will leapt up, nearly knocking over the small table holding their cold victuals. "I've a friend in Paris!" he told Milliand, who was puzzled by the unfamiliar language. Will turned to Jack. "Elizabeth! Tell him about Elizabeth."

"What about her, mate? You know who she's studyin' with?"

Will was silent a moment as he contemplated. "Well, no... but I mean, it's a diplomat from England, to France. How many diplomats can there be from England? With a female secretary? Governor Swann said Paris, I'm sure of it!"

"All right, lad, calm down," Jack waved his arms, motioning Will to take his seat. He turned to Milliand, conveying the information—the only part of which Will understood was a slightly accented version of Elizabeth's name—and the Frenchman nodded, arms crossed. The smith wondered if he believed a word of it, then he said something else, nodded to both, and was gone.

Jack turned back to Will. "I hope you're right, mate."

"What'd he say? Is he going to check?"

"He said he'd send the message an' see if there's such a lady. He seemed pretty doubtful, you ask me."

"I know. I was wondering if he'd believe about a woman diplomat."

"Don't know why not," Jack reasoned. "There's one thing I've learned about women, mate, it's that they can talk their way out of anythin'—an usually a man into anything else."

****

He rode across from Jack in the back of an enclosed wagon, a long, heavy chain slightly scraping the wooden floor between them, coupling their wrist irons together through a ring drilled into the wagon boards. Will resisted the urge to reach beneath his robe and scratch at his underarm—he hadn't taken a proper bath in days and was beginning to feel its effects. Being dirty irritated him in ways he suspected was unbecoming to a true pirate.

"Wonder how th' boy's likin' his berth compared to us," Jack mused, the first words he'd spoken in almost two hours.

"I can only imagine," Will sighed. David rode up front with the wagon driver, helping handle the horses now and again by the bits of conversation that drifted back to them. "Likes the horses more than the driving, I'd wager."

"Elegant creatures, they are," Jack nodded. "But a lot of work. A horse ain't simply an overgrown pet, and there's far too many people treat them that way."

Not for the first time, Will was curious about Jack's authoritative commentary on a particular subject. "You have horses?"

"Once, aye. Not much room aboard a ship, though."

"I see. Did you ride, then?"

"A bit."

Jack's obfuscation frustrated Will, as it always did. No—that wasn't quite right. It was becoming more annoying over time, whereas it had been a mild irritant at best when Will first joined the Pearl's crew. He reasoned this was because the more he worked for Jack, the more he noticed how little the man revealed about his past; not given to subterfuge himself, Will found it difficult to relate to people who lived and died by it.

The captain fell silent again, his eyes directed somewhere just past Will's shoulder, and he knew the man was likely staring out the little barred window at the rising sun. Milliand had awakened them at dawn and trussed them up for their ride to Paris. He had, however, also piled their belongings in the back of the wagon, along with a sizable sack of food and three generous skins of decent enough wine—weakened for David's benefit, as most of the available water was not potable—given courtesy of Taupin Bernard and his wife. The little printer had also taken the donkey off their hands, assuring the two men before they were loaded up for the day's journey that he had slipped payment into their belongings for the animal, which Taupin insisted his wife could put to use in their vegetable garden. The businessman had thanked them profusely one last time, with handshakes and kisses upon the cheeks, glaring at the exasperated Milliand the entire time.

Will recalled his knee-jerk reaction to almost pull away when the little man reached up, hands on his shoulders, to give him the quick peck on either cheek. He was familiar with some of the customs of society, but not being of it himself, rarely had opportunity to put any formal etiquette to use. He was more used to shaking hands to thank another man, or seal an accord, and having another man's lips so near his discomfited him.

Looking out the opposite window himself, Will glanced briefly at Jack, in whose half-lidded gaze the morning sun was partly reflected. The man seemed almost in a trance, which Will found fortunate, given the turn of his thoughts.

Jack hadn't pulled away from Taupin; he'd returned the gesture. Then again, by all the clues Will had observed over the past few weeks, being forced into closer quarters with his captain than normal, he concluded Jack wouldn't have pulled back from a real kiss with another man—that, in fact, the captain seemed to enjoy that sort of thing. It was Godless and lawless, but then again, Jack was hardly the picture of holy beatitude; a holy terror, more like.

Will frowned slightly as he considered. He'd accepted Jack was a good man long ago, in the face of his flagrantly immoral lifestyle. Then again, he could hardly lob rocks, given he now, too, was eating and breathing a pirate's life on a daily basis. Willingly, no less—he'd hardly been forced into things, despite his initial misgivings about leaving behind Port Royale, Jessy, and the respectable smithy. But the point was, if he could accept Jack's penchant for occasionally robbing people of their worldly goods which he'd not rightfully earned, why was it much more difficult to accept something that, frankly, Will really had no business worrying about? Certainly what any adult did in privacy was his own business—Will felt quite strongly about the individual's rights as opposed to what the king might decree to be pleasant and just for sexual behavior. He just didn't want to think about it.

Unfortunately, Jack was forcing him to do that. This hadn't been something Will had given any real thought until the past few weeks—until that wager in the rowboat. He still didn't know what had possessed him to challenge Jack; it was especially odd in light of Will's usual reticence to be touched by anyone, male or female. He wondered if being David's comforter and caretaker was doing something to him, if his brain had reasoned that since it was all right for a child to seek physical reassurance from him, that it was all right for Will himself to seek... reassurance, elsewhere?

But, the question was, reassurance for what? And—good Lord—from Jack Sparrow, of all people? Will flicked his eyes to the man again, prepared to look back out the window just as quickly. His glance lingered a few seconds longer; for the first time, he noticed how deep the man's eyes were, how they seemed to cast inward forever. It was startling, and Will figured he'd never paid attention because of the dark smudges generally lining the man's lower eyelids. That and so many other dark and interestingly-shaped things, such as a moustache and beads and the flash of gold teeth, were generally enough to distract from Jack's God-given features.

Now, though, in the absence of anything else, Jack's eyes stood out sharply above prominent cheekbones. The skin beneath those bones was stretched tight, slightly gaunt, and that mouth was pursed upwards into a small bow he'd adopted over the past few weeks to hide his gold canines, as though the captain were perpetually hatching something in the back of his formidable mind. His thick, black eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Will once again trained his eyes through the bars into the light glinting off shiny leaves, considering that at least the brows were still familiar enough. The rest, though... gods, Jack looked Will's own age! How time managed to preserve a man so exposed to the elements, who'd led a rough-and-ready life such as Jack had, was truly a mystery.

Then again, Jack's appearance was hardly unblemished. A small white scar ridged the skin just above his upper lip, where his moustache normally filled in. Another, more jagged and longer, snaked up along his hairline from over his left ear toward his temple—again, usually covered by a dreadlock or strands of beads.

And the eyes themselves... far too knowing, too fathomless for the happy-go-lucky drunken affectations of Good-Time Jack; they belonged more in the face of Captain Sparrow, who squinted into impending storms on the horizon, assessing the damage they could do Pearl and her crew, and took appropriate actions to protect both. Good-Time Jack consulted a supernatural compass with the theatrics of a woman checking her makeup in a mirror, and spun the wheel dramatically, grabbing to it as if seeking a way to keep from falling overboard; Captain Sparrow withdrew the small metal compass from his sash and frowned over it, making minute corrections to the helm and notes in a logbook. Good-Time Jack picked a course by tacking a map up on the wall and throwing a dagger at it, usually behind his back, for effect; Captain Sparrow actually drew the map.

It was rather exhausting working for two bosses, Will concluded.

"Somethin' on your mind?" one of the personalities drawled lazily; it took a moment for Will to place it as the Captain.

"Never been in jail before," Will automatically responded, impressed with his own smoothness. It would hardly be polite to admit he'd been marveling at the extent of his commander's madness. "Never been to Paris before, either."

"Neither's me ideal paradise," Jack sighed. "I tend t' like th' islands—not as hemmed in."

"Water all around means you can make a quick getaway?" Will guessed, and chuckled at the smile that stole across Jack's mouth. "Actually, I was kind of curious—what's that scar on your temple, there?" Will congratulated himself on at least admitting half the truth—he hadn't gone totally pirate yet.

The smile turned wry. "Courtesy o' Hector Barbossa, illustrious former first mate of the Black Pearl," he explained, finally looking at Will. "What, you don't think they jus' waved a few swords and I abandoned milady quick as all that? They knocked me out, trundled me overboard—good thing I woke up when I hit th' water, or I'd've drowned straightaway."

"About that..." Will trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

Jack gauged him a moment, undoubtedly noting his uncomfortable shifting, his troubled eyes, for he correctly guessed, "You wan' know your Da's role in th' mutiny."

"You're the one who said he was a good man," Will pointed out. "I guess I'm just wondering if that's in the past tense—well, more past tense than it would be now," he hastily added.

Shadows flicked past Jack's gaze as he directed his eyes down at his hands, and for the first time Will could remember, the man seemed taken by melancholy. Pressing his palms together, Jack said, "I really don't know, Will... I don't suppose I'll ever find out. I was set upon in my bunk by a group, an' I fought back. Managed to throw a couple off and tried t' get across th' room, but someone hit me in th' side of the head." At this, Jack paused and laughed harshly, shortly. "With one of me own empty rum bottles, if ye can appreciate th' irony of that."

Will smiled weakly; he'd had quite enough irony. "The scar."

"Aye. Didn' see it comin'- broke clean on th' noggin. Lots o' blood loss; was rather weak when I came to." Jack lifted a hand and gestured at his temple with fluttering fingers, but the familiar gesture seemed odd next to that radically-altered face. "Contrary to belief, I'm sure, the first thing I did when I found th' rum cache on that island was dump half a bottle on me face, not swig it down. Hurt like a sonofawhore, too."

"So... you don't even know if my father was involved in the mutiny?"

"Like to think not." Jack glanced up, a tight, rueful expression in his eyes. "But can't say."

"Jack..." Will wasn't sure what to say, wanting to make the man feel better. "If he sent off a medallion where he thought it couldn't be found, I can't imagine he did it in anything but revenge for being made to participate in a mutiny he didn't support. I mean—he must've thought you deserved that much consideration. Maybe they forced him into it, too."

The thought was not pleasant, and Will shivered beneath his woolen robe. Learning his father was most likely dead hadn't been the worst of the revelation—it was the way he'd allegedly died, and how he'd been sent off to die. The thought of that tall, laughing, strong man shivering somewhere on the ocean floor, unable to move, panic ebbing and gathering for a full decade, until one day when violent water currents rushed in to fill lungs that suddenly, desperately craved air when the curse was lifted... when Will himself lifted the curse with blood...

Shaking. Something was shaking Will, and he shook his head, clearing his head and his vision as he refocused his eyes, blinking. Jack was leaning forward off his bench, hands on Will's shoulders, giving him a few hard shakes. "Will!" the pirate snapped harshly. "You there?"

Automatically, Will stiffened, leaning back. "What?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

Jack sighed, backing off. "You," he informed the smith, taking his seat once again. "Shakin' like a wet dog. Ye don't have seizures I ought t' know about, do you?"

"No." He frowned. "Not that I know of. I—don't even know what you're talking about. I felt fine, until you started shaking me."

"You're not a good liar, Mr. Turner." Jack's eyes were hard upon him, spearing, demanding something better. Will was reminded of being fourteen again and starting out at the smithy, the way Josiah Brown would frown over one of his freshman projects—warped blades, tangs that were too rigid, gold leafing finished too hastily. In his own way, Jack was as demanding a master as the once-sober smith had been once upon a time.

In this case, however, Jack's implied derision was deserved—Will had lied, and badly. He remembered feeling cold and clammy, frightened, almost as if were channeling the elder Turner. It was too strange to be borne alone. "I was thinking about how my father likely died, stuck to the ocean floor... unable to do a thing about it when his time finally came." He raised his eyes to Jack's. "I killed him."

"Barbossa killed him, lad. Twasn't your doing, and you bloody well know it." Despite the acerbic words, the tone was not. "No use beatin' yourself up over things ye can't control, as there're enough things in this world ye'll cock up anyway that ye shouldn't."

Will pulled his lips into a reflexive frown, but the corners drew up instead, into a grin, of all things. "I haven't cocked up anything," he defended.

"Well... lately, no," Jack acknowledged.

"Hey!" The pirate laughed, and the melancholy dissolved like that. Will reflected this was one of the man's better traits, and marveled how someone who could hold a grudge for a decade could also let go of a mood as easily as dropping a stone. He lowered his voice. "So, how're we going to get out of this, then?"

"I'm just following your lead, mate. Your idea t' ask 'Lizbeth for help; waitin' to see where you take us, here. Ye need th' practice. I can't always bail ye out of ever'thing."

He couldn't help himself. "The legendary Captain Jack Sparrow has no idea what to do, eh?"

"I said—"

"I'm not deaf. What I'm saying is you've run out of ideas and you're just winging this like you do everything else," Will asserted.

"Have I ever let your arse fall through a crack?" Will rolled his eyes at the obvious pun. "You're here, right? In one piece?" Jack frowned over him, his nostrils flaring and brow creasing. "You're not a mirage, are ye?"

"No, fine, all right—you win. You can get yourself out of anything; hell, you can probably get yourself and the entire population of Port Royale out of anything." Will threw his hands up for effect.

Jack grinned and gave a small shrug of his left shoulder. He nodded toward the burlap sack on Will's side of the wagon. "Let's see what's in there—gettin' a bit peaked, goin' without breakfast."

Will scooted to the end of his bench and leaned over, opening the sack and glancing inside. No more skins. "Well, no rum," he reported. "I tell you, after the past few weeks and now, you may end up a teetotaler when all is said and done."

Jack's expression was horrified. "Ye gads, man—you're worse 'n th' Grim Reaper!" he hissed. "A couple days locked up, and you're already trumpeting Judgment Day."

"Being off your rum is hardly cause for summoning the Apocalypse," Will muttered, his head halfway in the bag as he dug through the provisions. "Let's see—some grapes, apples... other dried fruit... some ham, a roast fowl of some sort, carrots... bread, cheese—oh, look, he sliced it up for us!—a bit of—"

"By the time you get done reciting your list, I'm gon' look like I've got th' bony curse again."

Withdrawing the bread and cheese, Will handed over the latter and set to work breaking off a hunk of the loaf. The crust was tough, but inside was pillowy and snow white. He held it out toward Jack, who exchanged the paper of cheese, having taken two thick slices for himself. Will truly hadn't been hungry until he lifted the first slice of fragrant cheese to his lips, and grew hungrier as he nibbled it. "Pretty good," he mumbled through the bite.

"Aye, th' Gallic know their cheese," Jack nodded. "Speakin' of things they know, hand me some o' th' wine, eh?"

They ate sparingly, not knowing how long the food would have to last past this three-day trip, since it was probably better than whatever fare the cells in Paris would offer. Too, having no control over the wagon's stops, they didn't want to risk needing to relieve themselves by consuming too much at once. When they were finished and Will had packed the sack away once again, Jack lowered himself off the bench to the floor of the wagon, crossing his legs and scooting a bit forward, leaning back against the bench. He sighed, closing his eyes, and his head dropped back.

Will took the hint, saying nothing more, but after a few minutes of solitude, he too was yawning. "Blazes," he cursed softly, eyeing the space between the benches; his legs were really too long for this, but the bench itself was too narrow for a nap. Carefully, he scooted to the floor and took up the same position as Jack, about a foot from the man's side, facing the opposite way. The last thing he remembered was the way the jostling wagon rocked him over the rocks in the road, lulling him into slumber.

****

At least for the next minute or so. Someone cleared their throat, and for some reason, Will's first reaction was to notice his world was no longer gently rocking around him. Forcing himself up through heavy slumber, he pulled his eyes open, seeing nothing at first but dark brown. Moving his head experimentally, he felt something slightly rough rubbing his cheek and realized it was wool. Wool from his robe. No, not that—wool, all right, but not of his robe. Wool from... someone else's robe?

Will lifted his head a few centimeters and raised his eyes higher, seeing thin-veined hands with long, knobby fingers. A bit over that were a pair of familiar brown eyes, regarding him somewhat merrily. Will frowned, not quite understanding what was going on.

"Well, look—th' princess must've found her pea, finally," Jack's voice cut in, and Will realized that's who he was looking at. Raising a bit further, he glanced around and saw he'd been pillowing his head on Jack's lower shins, his arm snaked up under his legs and gripping a slender calf. He was on his side lengthwise in the back of the wagon, and Jack was in his same position he'd been in previously, except with his legs out in front of him, feet flat on the floor, knees pulled up to make up for the lack of space.

Grumbling at the too-short nap, Will sat up, rubbing at his eyes, wondering how in the world he'd ended up turned perpendicular to his original position and stretched across Jack's lower legs. "Where are we?" he asked a bit sourly, rolling his head to work out the kinks.

"Many hours outside Paris, still, I'd imagine," Jack supplied, pushing himself upright, still having to stoop a bit to avoid hitting the top of the wagon. "Bit o' stretchin' and a relief break. Glad I didn't have any more wine, or I'd really have t' piss worse 'n I do."

Will turned in time to see the gendarme unhooking the long chain from Jack's irons and helping him step out of the wagon. Motioning Will over, the lawman next did the same for him, and Will inhaled deeply of the breeze as his feet hit the grass, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Much as he loved the sea, a measure of his heart still belonged to solid ground, and it was good to see greens and flowers and trees, especially after being locked away from them for a couple of days.

"You all right, Will?" David had finally begun calling him that instead of "Mr. Turner" at the smith's insistence during their rowboat escape from the Spanish pirates.

He lowered his gaze to the boy, who looked none the worse for wear on this trip. Will was again grateful Milliand had given the deputy orders to let David ride up front with him, instead of locking him in the back with the two men—the boy had no business being treated as a prisoner. Neither did they, Will could argue, but that seemed a moot discussion at present. "Well, once I was able to ignore the equestrian lesson coming through those thin walls from the front of the wagon and get a nap in, I was fine," he teased, reflexively reaching over to smooth some of the boy's wind-tousled hair.

David frowned. "Eques... equestr—" he tried to say.

"Equestrian." Will repeated it slowly. "It means having to do with horses. Or someone who rides or raises horses." He suddenly realized he needed to take care of something rather urgently, and glanced around, spotting a large tree not too far away. "I'll be right back, David," he promised, before heading for the small wooded area. It occurred to him the gendarme must have realized David's value to him and Jack, since the man hadn't insisted on accompanying them one at a time to do their business, to make sure they didn't run away.

Several minutes later, Will stood at a small nearby stream, shaking the water off his clean hands and glancing around at the verdant woods and rolling hills; he just wished he had as good a view on his trip to Paris. With a sigh, he violently threw his hands back by his sides a couple of times for good measure, getting the last of the water off, and was immediately remonstrated by a cross yelp. Whirling, he faced Jack, who had his head down but eyes cast up, lips pursed, brow furrowed, cross as a bear waking in January. "I gener'lly prefer t' take me own baths, as have them given to me," the pirate spoke, brushing at a large damp spot on the stomach of his robe.

"Might try taking them more often, then," Will shot back, pursing his own lips hard in an effort not to grin.

"I take enough."

"Swag doesn't count, Jack. Nobody'll miss a bath if you take it." He wrinkled his nose pointedly. "They certainly won't miss you if you don't."

"Y'know, I'm about gettin' to where I've had enough of your fresh mouth, Mr. Turner." The words were spoken with no real malice or threat. "S'posed to have some respect for your captain, no matter where 'is ship is."

"I've enough respect not to lie to you," Will retorted, wiping the remaining moisture from his hands on the sides of his robe. "And the truth is, everyone on the Pearl could use a bath more often; as could everyone, generally, really."

"I'd like t' see ye suggest that to 'Lizbeth," Jack snorted. "I'm guessin' her reaction wouldn't be as good."

"No, she bathes regularly enough, from the little time I got to spend around her," Will shook his head, suddenly recalling her powdery, flowery scent. He was surprised it was something that was no longer on his mind as continuously as it had been between the ages of seventeen and nineteen; he supposed he had other problems to worry about on a daily basis now. "She always smelled good, like she did, anyway."

"Living on a pirate ship don' give ye many opportunities t' smell fresh an' daisy-like," Jack pointed out, kneeling to scrub off his own hands in the stream.

"No, it doesn't," Will admitted, crossing his arms and looking about, making sure they were far enough away from the wagon and the officers that they could speak this freely; after all, they were supposed to be wandering clergy. "But that's no excuse not to be clean as much as you can be. Just think about it, Jack: Dirt and grime can make you sick. I'd bet on it; haven't you ever considered maybe one of the reasons people who have a chance to bathe more often seem to be healthier is because of that? I mean, look at you—why are you washing your hands now?"

Jack's head swiveled and the pirate gave him a dry look up through long eyelashes. "Exactly," Will continued. "You know it's not healthful to go touching things after... well, that. Same principle all around, really. And as for Elizabeth, I rarely remember her ever being sick—or me, after the Governor took me in and his maid started making me keeping more clean, too." He shrugged. "It's just an observation I've had over the past several years, is all. Certainly doesn't hurt anyone, and it makes more sense than that claptrap about people getting sick from scrubbing too hard or too much."

Standing and rubbing his palms to sluice off the excess water, Jack finally spoke. "Well, Mr. Turner, should we see th' bonny Pearl again, I suspect you'll have t' stump pretty hard t' get th' men to see your way of things."

Just then, a voice called for them: "Fathers? Uh... Brothers? Whoever you are? Time we headed off, again!"

"An opportune save." Jack paused in turning to head back and flicked his fingers at Will, who squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head slightly at the last second as sparse water droplets showered his face. "Come along, Brother Jessy."

"Arse," Will muttered, brushing water off his cheek.

"I'm not the one named after a donkey."

****

This was his contemplation when they were herded into a cell and their irons removed. He rubbed at his wrists, again grateful David didn't have to see this part of things—he'd been taken into the station itself, presumably to be delivered into a temporary home until Jack and Will could prove the veracity of their story. Will paced the small stone cell, rubbing sore skin, his mind racing to work out some alternate solution.

"You're makin' me dizzy," Jack finally pierced his thinking several minutes later, and Will stopped in place, pausing before turning to frown at the pirate. "Settle down, mate. What's eatin' ye?"

"I'm not sure how to get out of here if Elizabeth isn't around," he admitted in a mumble.

"What's that?"

Will threw out his hands in a grand gesture of ignorance. "I said, I don't know what to do next, all right? I don't know! There—I admit it. I have absolutely no idea how to get us out—"

"All right, we don' have t' let th' entirety of th' king's forces in on it," Jack hissed, shushing him. "I thought you said she was here studyin'?"

"Well, she was... seven months ago, according to her father," Will pointed out. "It's been awhile, Jack; it was the only thing I could think of, that she might still be here. I don't know that for sure, though; hell, I don't even know where we are right now."

"Vingt-et-un, la Rue du Saut," Jack supplied in a passable French accent. Off Will's surprised look, he jerked a thumb back toward the way they'd been marched in. "Caught it mounted on th' side o' th' building."

He had to admit he was impressed—he'd been so annoyed and cranky when they'd been transferred he hadn't even noticed. "Do you think they'll let me try to get a message to her now that we're here?"

"Let's jus' wait an' see if she shows up on her own, lad. No use muckin' about with the authorities' good mood 'til ye have to."

Except for the few times they had to switch the tone of their conversation to reflect something a bit more ecumenical at the onset of guards, the rest of that afternoon and night was spent discussing inconsequentials that consisted mostly of plans to continue refitting the Black Pearl. Will agreed she could use a carpenter on board, since he readily admitted such work wasn't his strong suit, but frowned at Jack's intimation that they'd have to raid a merchant ship of some size and quality to get one. "I never understood that," Will shook his head. "I mean, forcing prisoners to join your crew—how do you know you can trust them?"

"You don't," Jack shot back, bluntly. "You put a guard on them for a while, make sure they're doin' their job and not tryin' to sink your girl. And, you put th' fear of God into them, that if they do try anythin' that foolish, they'll pay with their lives."

Will sat back, regarding Jack in a new light. In his time on board, the Pearl's crew had raided several ships, almost exclusively large merchant vessels, usually in a peaceful manner with very little loss of life; he didn't think he'd really had to see the "pirate" side of Jack Sparrow quite yet. He realized with some trepidation—and a small thrill that rather bothered him—that this was pretty damn close to that elusive persona. Suddenly, the man's radically-altered appearance seemed to fade away, and Will could almost swear he saw kohl returning beneath the dark eyes, the thick moustache and beard braids and beads magically appearing before him again. "You'd take a man away from his ship, his crew—his life—against his will?"

"I don't think you've quite grasped yet th' concept of pirates," Jack replied, quite serious in his tone. "We're not schoolmarms on a high seas field day, Will; we're a dangerous lot not really given to adherin' to th' rules of king and country."

"Yes, I know that—"

"No, I'm not sure you do." Jack was shaking his head, and dropped his voice. "I've killed people, and not always 'cause they were tryin' to kill me first, but because they stood between me an' their swag."

Will was the one shaking his head now. "No... now Jack, I've never seen you do that—"

He interrupted again. "I didnt say I'd done it recent-like. Point is, ye need t' be aware we're not a benign, God-fearin' bunch—or if we are, God and th' noose are th' only two things we respect, not neces'rily in that order."

Will pursed his lips, trying to reconcile what he'd seen of Jack Sparrow in action and what he'd just been told by the man himself. "But you seem a good man," he spoke slowly, thinking aloud.

"Aye, I'd like t' think so. Now, that is. Weren't always so." Jack flicked his eyes to the side, just over Will's shoulder at the stone wall, seemingly in deep thought.

The blacksmith parted his lips to ask for more details, but the warden chose that moment to come through, declaring curfew and quiet. Will barely paid attention to Jack tucking into his bunk, his mind fixed on the last thing the man said; it'd seemed the prelude to more of his elusive past that Will was always trying to pin down. Muttering about the unfairness of bad timing, he kept his counsel until he could no longer hear the guard's footsteps. "Jack? Jack!" he whispered fiercely, "Oh, Jack...?"

But silence was his only answer, accompanied by deep, even breathing across the small cell. Will frowned, sighed, and resigned himself to Jack's ability to sleep absolutely anywhere; the pirate had once explained it was a necessary skill, since one never knew where one might end up from one night to the next. Isn't that the truth?

Hours passed without Will's attention, as he eventually fell asleep. He was shifting to his side, unconsciously squinting against a shaft of sunlight piercing the small window in the room, when he heard footsteps, scraping, and a rustle of fabric, followed by the sweetest voice he'd ever heard in his entire life, save for his own mother. "Jessy! Jessy? Are you—" Hushed whispers, as Will's eyes popped open, trying to decide if he were in a dream or real time. "No, see, he is awake—Jessy?"

Turning his head slightly, Will glimpsed a blurry outline just beyond the bars, a somewhat familiar hourglass shape. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and blinked again, clearing the sleep away—and this time, his view was much clearer. "Li- Elizabeth?" he spoke in a hushed whisper, afraid if he said it too loud the dream bubble would shatter.

"Oh, Jess, it's good to see you." She was smiling, the expression lighting her delicate face, and she was practically hopping in place. "But what are you doing in here?"

"Um..." Will fished for an explanation, his mind still fogged. "They think we're—that we're not monks," he managed through an unbidden yawn, cutting it off halfway through. He glanced toward Jack's bunk, figuring he'd be able to do better if he could just wake the man.

Jack, however, was already wide awake and sitting upright, calmly regarding the young woman. "Miss Swann," he nodded his head curtly.

Elizabeth's posture straightened, and she settled into a non-bouncing stance as she coolly regarded the pirate; to her credit, she barely blinked at the shorn Jack. "Brother Jackson," she inclined her head. "You've been well, I trust?"

"As well as one of God's messengers can be, locked like a bird in a cage," he replied piously, and Will fancied a small smile chased across his lips. Oddly, the expression was mirrored by Elizabeth, though it was so fleeting he nearly thought he imagined it.

"Yes, I can imagine how that must be." The young woman turned to the guard and put on her best businesslike expression. "I can vouch for their character, Monsieur, as can my father, the governor of Port Royale, Jamaica. As I said earlier," she explained in French; Will caught just enough parts to know it was something designed to spring them from this place, and Jack explained the rest later, as usual. The guard replied in phrases Will couldn't understand if he tried, and Elizabeth nodded, allowing him to escort her back down the corridor.

Before leaving, she paused to glance at him once again. "I'll make sure they let you out, don't worry. Be patient," she added, and Will had to smile as she swept off—she knew his rash nature far too well.

"Looks like th' plan's workin' out af'er all," Jack intoned, dragging Will's attention away from the empty corridor. "Fancy that."

"You thought it mightn't?"

"I'm not the one who was pacin' last night," he pointed out.

"Well... I mean, I trusted Elizabeth, so long as she was still here in the city," Will offered by way of explanation.

"I trust luck; usually works about as well." Jack stood and stretched his arms and worked his head into different directions, popping a few small joints audibly here and there. "Wonder how long we're gon' have to keep up the clergy act, though?"

Will frowned. "You think we should use another disguise?"

"Unless you wan' walk around in tha' robe for another week or so. Me, mine itches."

More footsteps approached, and soon three guards lined the outside of their cell. As one unlocked the bars, another gave them a slight bow and spoke in fractured English. "Many apologies, gentlemen. We did not mean to inconvenience you so long, but we have a job to do, no? As do you—I hope you can understand our intent was not malicious or scurrilous?"

"Of course not," Jack murmured for the both of them, nodding toward the bag of victuals and skins in the corner. Will caught the gesture and picked it up, shouldering it by the strap on the side. He followed his captain out of the cell, keeping a pious stride, taking Jack's lead in how to act as they were led to the common area. Several people were standing around speaking, or sitting as if waiting to be seen; Will caught sight of Elizabeth at a far counter, speaking with an older man who was gesturing animatedly. The two of them engaged in conversation a few minutes more; it wasn't until she was finished and heading in their direction that Will thought to nudge Jack and ask, "What about David?"

The pirate turned to glance sidelong at him, then at Elizabeth. "Ah, you were distracted," he spoke sotto voce, this time in perfectly unslaughtered English. "I just asked about him—they said he will be delivered to Miss Swann's address within the next two or three days. I'd say no worse for wear and probably hungry as a stray cur, knowing that boy." He grinned. "And no doubt eager to be in the thrall of his hero once again."

"Would you stop that?" Will murmured, but colored at the implication—he'd never been anyone's big brother or mentor, always admiring someone else throughout his short life, and there was an intoxication to being in the reverse position. "I'm just close to his age, is the only reason."

"Most likely," Jack agreed. "But it could also be that you're a decent human being—something he's not had much of in his growing up."

"How would you know that?" Will countered.

Jack flicked his eyes to Elizabeth as she hurried to them, then back to Will. "Young boys don't up and join pirate crews because their home lives are loving and wonderful," he answered dryly. His eyes didn't match his flippant tone, and before they were interrupted, Will had just enough time to wonder what empirical experience Jack had with such knowledge.

"I've a carriage outside," Elizabeth explained, leading the way toward the front doors of the station, lifting her skirt just off the ground with one small hand, "and Mr. Shelton has a couple of suits of clothes you may borrow until you can get some tailored in the next day or two." She paused to curtsey to the young gendarme who held the door for her, and Will had to suppress a smirk at the lovesick expression on the Frenchman's face as his eyes followed the elegant Swann -and at how quickly it changed into a confused frown when the man took in her entourage, two scruffy, unwashed robe rats. He caught Jack giving the fellow a rather amused, pointed stare in return, and came up beside the pirate, nudging him along as Elizabeth continued speaking. "...and you'll each have your own suite, of course. Oh!" She whirled to face them. "Is there anyone you need to get a message to?"

"As a matter of fact, I could stop by a port office," Jack piped up.

"Oh, you can prepare a message at the house," she shook her head. "Charles will take it for you, and unopened. He's the soul of discretion," she hummed.

"And how do you know that, young missy?"

"Jack!" Will caught himself scolding the man for his tone, probably meant as playful but sounding extremely ungracious.

Elizabeth, was, as ever, perfectly capable of holding her own against a mere pirate. "I believe I am entitled to my enigmas as much as you are to yours... Brother," she icily informed Jack.

As she turned to step into the carriage, Will couldn't help grinning at Jack. "Touché," he chuckled.

"Thought you didn't know any French," Jack grumbled, deliberately stepping in front of Will and preceding him into the carriage.

****

Instead of stepping into the enclosed carriage as a proper gentlemen, Jack gestured toward the bench seat in front. "Was locked up far too long," he explained to the driver. "Rather like the fresh air, if you don't mind."

Old Charlie grinned and circled to the other side of the carriage, leaving Jack to haul himself up the side of the thing. Once balanced on half the springy seat, the pirate leaned around to wink and toss off a mock military salute to Will, and Charlie spurred the horses to motion with reins.

Will stood halfway down the stone steps of the grand house, shaking his head and laughing as Jack trundled off with the diplomat's carriage driver. Mycroft Shelton would probably never be caught clamoring up the side of a carriage, especially not one so fine as that provided by the King himself, but Jack had absolutely no problem scaling it like his monkey namesake and making comfortable with the hired help.

"Ready to head out, Will?"

He turned and tilted his head up toward Elizabeth, pulling one of the grand double doors shut while her other hand was shoved halfway down the stem of a parasol, apparently fiddling with the spines. The catch had a tendency to stick at times, Will had learned over the past couple of days, but her deft, small fingers eventually found their mark, for the contraption soon blossomed open and a click announced it was ready to carry. He offered his hand as she descended the steps, but she just smiled and continued, her free hand clutching her skirt to hold the hem above her shoes. "I can look at that parasol later, if you like—repair it for you," he offered.

"I just might take you up on that," she responded, turning and offering her hand through the crook of his arm as he followed her to the street. "Cursed thing never works the way it was designed to." She balanced the object of her annoyance against her other shoulder and gave the stem a bit of a twirl.

"Be careful what you're calling 'cursed,'" Will reminded her. "You know better."

"True." She chuckled as they walked. "Isn't it amazing how resilient the human mind is, Will? Here I am making jokes about things that at the time scared the life out of me! I had nightmares for weeks about those... things." Elizabeth frowned momentarily and her lips curled unpleasantly over the last word.

"You too?"

"And no wonder! Oh, it was awful, being practically thrown out into the middle of all those, in the middle of the night—I mean, I like adventure, and I will admit I might've over-romanticized the whole idea of pirates and danger, but nowhere in any of my childhood imaginings did I conjure anything close to that little tableau."

"No, but you did used to tell ghost stories."

"When?"

Will grinned as they rounded a corner at a leisurely pace, sure to keep Elizabeth to the inside and away from the carriages and horses in the street as befitted a woman—that much about socializing, he knew, at least. "Don't tell me you don't remember scaring the life out of me when we were about twelve, and spent that one whole night up at the graveyard?"

"Well, if I'd scared the life out of you, Mr. Turner, you could hardly be here telling me about it now, could you?" Elizabeth notched her delicate chin higher in mock haughtiness. "Besides, I don't remember it that way; what I recall is how you had some wager with a few of the town boys about how you could spend an entire night in there with all the dead bodies and it not bother you."

"They didn't say I couldn't take anyone up there with me," he defended, recalling how he and Elizabeth had sneaked out of the mansion late that night, down a trellis, her in a pair of the manservant's breeches hooked around her slender waist by tied-back suspenders and rolled up several times at the ankles, while he'd followed clutching a sack of cakes and fruit pilfered from the kitchen out back. That was when Will still lived with the Swanns—in the servants' quarters, of course, but at least he'd had his own small room.

"Do you remember the squirrel?"

"Not until you mentioned it, thanks."

Elizabeth giggled, the clear sound of a not-quite-stifled guffaw. "Come on, Will, it's not that bad—it was dark. We were in a cemetery; it was perfectly acceptable that something you couldn't see or tell what it was would scare the bejesus out of you, running across your ankle right then."

He gaped at her use of language. "Yes, I said bejesus," she repeated, grinning. "What, are you going to turn me in to Father the next time you see him?"

"Elizabeth, the next time I see your father, it's very likely he might try to hang me," Will pointed out.

"Rubbish. He'd never do that to you." She sighed. "Now, about that squirrel..."

"Your father would hang that rodent?"

"Rodent?" She regarded him with some surprise.

"That's all they are, you know—rats with admirers. And big tails."

"Guess that answers my question about if you still hate them. Shame, too; squirrels are such cute animals."

"Sneaky little devils, what they are," he mumbled.

"Says the man who beds down on a pirate ship every night," she pointed out.

"Exactly—I know what I'm in for, with them."

After a moment of companionable silence, Elizabeth asked, "So... how many raids have you partaken in?"

He was briefly flummoxed. "I'm not sure I ought to be answering that kind of question, especially to a citizen of the Crown himself," Will answered haltingly, searching for each word as his mouth moved. He never thought he'd come to regard Elizabeth as the enemy in any way, but really—isn't that what their relative positions boiled down to?

"Oh, relax, for heaven's sake." She nudged him a bit hard with her elbow, then straightened her gait again. "If I were going to turn you in, what would be the sense in getting you out of jail in the first place?"

"Sentimentality?" he tried.

"No, that would be turning a squirrel loose in your room," she retorted. "Come on, tell me! I'm not going to repeat it to anyone."

Will sighed, considering his options. Sure, he didn't have to tell her anything—or he could make it all up—but Elizabeth had never let him down, at least not unacceptably, and had certainly never betrayed him. So he spoke about the Pearl's journeys over the past several months, the day-to-day conversations and routines, the sparse string of large vessels Jack and most of the others had relieved of rum, supplies, food, and treasure along the way. "Don't you board?" she interrupted.

"Only a couple of times," he admitted. "There's some of us who have to stay behind to guard the Pearl—keep the enemy off of it, if they try to board. And if they board, as some have, it's our job to stop them, be it pushing them overboard, or tying them up... or disabling them."

He fell silent, contemplating the realities of his life—though Jack was more compassionate than most pirates and always insisted children be removed from a raid scene, he didn't tolerate nonsense or uncooperativeness, and had no problem with nicking a victim with his sword or pistol to remind them of their submissive position. So far, he'd seen Jack kill two people, both first mates who'd made lunges for him in two different raids—turning and bringing the pistol up to bear, firing, had been his instinct when he'd caught sight of each of the charging men, he'd explained to Will later. He'd not been apologetic, but neither had he crowed of the kills.

He gave Elizabeth an extremely condensed version of these mental ramblings. "I've never understood how pirates can feel justified taking what they've not earned by rights of work," she mused. "I understand privateers do the same thing, but it's not that I necessarily condone the use of excessive force there, either."

"Most pirates grew up in poverty," Will shrugged. "They don't have an education, they don't have a rich family to take care of them, they can't marry up to improve their lot—it's what they know."

"Do you think that's an acceptable excuse?"

"Well, I joined for the adventure, really," Will answered without hesitation. "And to get away from the Commodore; he caught me and Jack at the Red Snapper and tried to arrest him." He explained how Jack had warned him the Royal Navy might be after Will even after Jack was gone, to try to get information out of the blacksmith.

By this time, they'd walked several blocks and reached a small restaurant with a few benches out front near the street, toward which Elizabeth was guiding him. "Now I can understand joining for the travel and seeing new places," she agreed. "But the rest of it—I suppose I'll just have to continue to think on all that longer."

Will was surprised she'd backed down from a debate, but figured if she was as hungry as he'd become since breakfast, that was most likely stealing her immediate attention. Besides, he didn't figure he'd heard the last of it.

****

Today, they did have to use the inside of the coach, as Mr. Shelton was heading off to a luncheon meeting and had agreed to drop Will, Jack, and Elizabeth at the tailor's along the way. Will noted her tightly pursed lips and one balled fist hidden in the side folds of her skirt, away from the diplomat's view, as he sat across from her. She must be fit to be tied, he thought, recalling the brief but loud conversation Elizabeth and her mentor had engaged in not an hour before:

Will had listened from the adjoining parlor, pulling a book off the shelf and seating himself in case he needed to look unobtrusive and busy when they entered from the foyer. He frowned at the objections Shelton was raising, his exposure to Anamaria having taught him females were capable of things the world least considered compatible with a woman's abilities. Coupled with how Elizabeth had comported herself after her capture and kidnapping by Barbossa's crew, he didn't think there was much left that a woman simply couldn't learn. Certainly, whatever powers had granted that Elizabeth could learn this sort of trade ought to be looking to smooth her way to do so as much as possible, he thought.

In the end, however, they were in the carriage, which was pulling to a stop outside a two-story, narrow townhouse painted in ivory and dark brown. Will stepped out and turned, silently handing Elizabeth down from the interior. Jack reached over and shook Shelton's hand, clapping him on the shoulder with his other. "Best o' luck, mate," he wished the man. "Here's hoping your little heads can resolve whatever wrath the King's managed to incur with the Gallics this time." Sparrow winked and fairly leaped out of the carriage, reaching up to stroke the sparse, dark moustache that had begun filling in once again.

As Charlie urged the horses on, Will turned on Jack. "Little heads?" he wanted to know.

"Well, God knows none of the big ones'll be functionin' at that place this afternoon," the pirate explained, glancing briefly at Elizabeth. "Which is why he didn' want you there, darling; harder t' conduct funny business with impressionable whelps present."

"Captain Sparrow, if you'd please—speak plainly and explain what you mean," she gathered herself, regarding Jack with a frown.

"Ye wish me t' speak plainly, lass?" Jack leaned in, dropping his voice to the consistency of warm honey. "He's either goin' there t' get buggered or t' partake of some of the area's, shall we say—more feminine entertainment, which is why he doesn't want you there. Which is th' main reason proper ladies aren't allowed in most o' those places to begin with, Miss Swann." He drew back and regarded Elizabeth through half-lowered eyelids. "Not a question of your relative intelligence, love, so much as your relative unwillin'ness t' part your knees."

"Jack, really!" Will had been almost hypnotized by the man's voice, but shook out of it at the salacious words.

"She wants th' truth, an' I give it to her," Jack defended, leaning in close and nearly pointing his finger into Will's chest. "As I always have; dishonest I may be, but not a hypocrite, t' boot."

The shorter man didn't back down, his chin thrust forward slightly as if waiting for the challenge. But Will could hardly protest—he often told Jack to speak plainly, as he could wax on for hours about anything from his ship (which was admittedly fine and grand) to the last barrel of rum in the hold. He figured if he didn't prod the man to get on with it from time to time, by the time Jack finished rhapsodizing or cursing, the rum would have evaporated and the ship would have begun listing with algae buildup. "Not terribly polite, though," he finally settled upon.

"Not polite t' promise a soul somethin', either, an' then shove her out of it, eh, mate?" Jack held up a finger, crooking it into a wag, silently beseeching the two to consider that, eyebrows lifted as he studied them, between one and the other, swiveling his head slightly.

"He's a point, Will." Elizabeth finally spoke; she'd been staring at Jack with annoyance, then thoughtfully, as he spun his probable yarn. "I did ask him to be honest."

As soon as she turned to mount the steps, Will looked again to Jack. "You steal, you rob, you frighten, and now you decide to turn honest?"

"Few people worth imparting th' truth to than those who ask, and even most o' them don't really wan' know," Jack explained, slipping back into his gentleman's accent. "But, she asked, and knowing the girl as I do, I figured she'd be able to tell if I were feeding her tripe. Lot like you that way. Sure you two aren't related?" he grinned.

"You know, it's rude to speak about someone as if they're not even there, when they're right before you," Elizabeth lectured back over one shoulder. "And unless you two would enjoy wandering the streets naked, you'll hurry up; we've only a couple of hours until the carriage comes back 'round, and Mr. Shelton will be wanting his clothes back."

Nearly half an hour later, much of Jack's good mood seemed to have fled, probably to the same tropical isle as Elizabeth's, Will noted. Then again, perhaps not the same isle. The two were sniping at one another over—of all things—the clothes he was having made.

"Brown would be much better for him, both as a practicality and for his coloring."

"Brown's good for paneling—he needs some color, some splash! Green'd work much better," Jack disagreed, hands on his hips as he faced Elizabeth.

"Darker colors bring out his eyes and are warm in the winter," she disagreed.

"Green can be dark," Jack pointed out.

"Not if you want to tell it's actually green, not too dark, no," Elizabeth countered as quickly. She was leaning forward slightly into Jack's personal space, and for once, the pirate looked as though he'd like to relocate to the southern coast.

"Excuse me—" Will didn't wish to be rude, but neither was he going to listen to these two the rest of the afternoon like this.

"You don't understand subtlety," Elizabeth kept on. "Clothes aren't meant to scream at their audience—they're supposed to enhance the wearer's natural charms."

"Well and good," Jack gestured expansively. "I'd hardly say green's the beginning of the Empire's downfall, savvy?"

"First, green. What next—red? Bright yellow?"

"Um... excuse me." Will tapped the tailor on the shoulder, and the man turned, a bit startled, from watching his other two customers' disagreement. "Could you maybe finish measuring me, while I decide what color I want for the coat?"

"Certainly, ah... sir." The tailor, named Rafe, seemed a bit uncertain in his accented English, head swiveling a couple of times between the pair across the room and Will himself. "Has Monsieur decided what style of coat he would like?"

"Yellow would get dirty too easily. Plus, he's too sallow for it." This from Jack.

"Something to about here." Remembering the old brown coat he'd been forced to leave at the smithy months ago, Will turned sideways and leaned over, placing the side of his hand at his knee, ignoring the other two people in the room. "Something fitted, but not too much."

"Ah, I see," Rafe nodded, his thin head bobbing as he withdrew a length of marked twine from his pocket. "A Justaucorps will flatter you. I need some measurements. You'll hold still, please?"

Will nodded, rolling his eyes at Elizabeth's, "I wasn't being serious, Jack. For heaven's sake..." before tuning it out again. He turned this way and that, quietly answering questions as Rafe put them forth, about breeches, long linen shirts, waistcoat, and stockings. The man disappeared briefly to find more fabric to present for perusal, and Will briefly wondered if he should remind Jack about buying clothes for David. Then again, if he and Elizabeth couldn't agree to let a grown man such as he pick out his own suits, what would the boy have to face?

I should probably just bring him back myself while they're busy doing something else better suited to their interests, he concluded. Like arm-wrestling.

****

"Hallo, Will!" David grinned from ear to ear, stopping short of practically throwing himself at the blacksmith, pausing inside the foyer.

Will smiled back at the boy's enthusiasm, seeing the child's tension in his slim, slightly-trembling frame. He closed the distance and put his arms around the boy's shoulders in a large hug. "You've been all right?" he asked.

In return, David threw his arms around Will's waist and squeezed hard. "It was grand!" he responded, pulling away a few seconds later. "They gave me sweets and a couple of books, and had a dog I played with and everything—I liked them a lot." Then he grew more somber. "Oh, but not as much as you and Captain Sparrow, Will—sir."

"Just 'Will' is fine." He clapped a hand on the boy's upper back. "You hungry?"

"I had breakfast this morning."

Will grinned, knowing how David ate when given the opportunity—like an eleven-year-old boy or, to be more descriptive, like a bear after its winter nap. "That wasn't what I asked," he pointed out.

Sheepishly, David ducked his head a bit. "I could eat," he admitted.

Will kept his hand on David's back, guiding him toward the kitchen, chuckling at that answer. Both Jack and Elizabeth were still at the table when man and boy ducked in, and Jack nodded toward David, who waved back silently. As the captain went back to reading some journal he'd found in the sitting room earlier, Elizabeth rose and swept around the table toward the two. "Hello," she greeted. "You must be David; Will's told me you work on the Pearl as part of her crew."

When the boy didn't speak right away, Will glanced down, seeing that David was bobbing his head in agreement, his throat working nervously as he regarded Elizabeth with large, slightly panicked eyes. Will had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, and looked back up to Elizabeth, who met his eyes briefly with a small smile. Well, why not? I probably had a crush on her when I was eleven, too, Will reasoned. "Is there any breakfast left over?" he asked, touching David's shoulder and indicating with a dip of his chin toward the boy.

"Oh, of course. Come right over here." Elizabeth led the boy to the sideboard and explained he could fill his plate and join the adults at the table when he was finished. Will could hear him thank her very quietly, solemnly, and walked over to pour himself a small glass of juice as Elizabeth took her seat once again, frowning briefly at Jack and his publication, as though she wanted it for herself—only then did Will realize that sometime while she'd gotten up, Jack had switched his own well-read journal for Elizabeth's newer paper and was now perusing it at leisure. With a sigh, she shook her head and picked up the discarded journal, clearing her throat with a sidelong glance at Jack, shaking out the paper. The noise caught his attention, and he nodded back to her with a slight squinting of his eyes and a saccharine smile. Then, in unspoken synchronization, they both dropped their expressions and went back to their reading.

The two of them could not be more different if they tried, Will observed, sipping. Elizabeth sat up straight with her back pressed into the back of the chair as it was designed, perched upon the seat with her legs to the front of the chair. Her chin dipped a bit as she read, her upswept hair showing off her long, elegant neck with its smooth, relatively freckle-free skin. Will remembered her as a girl and all the freckles splashed across her cheeks and the very upper part of her shoulders that her dresses afford a view of to the public. When she brought her hand around the journal to pick up her teacup, she grasped bone china by the handle and lifted it to her lips, sipping daint-

Elizabeth slurped her drink and raised her head automatically, looking about. "Oops," she apologized with a small grin. "Sorry." The teacup went back on its saucer and she cleared her throat, going back to her reading.

Will slid his attention to Jack, who was tilting his chair back at a dangerous angle, his newly-shod feet up on a cleared edge of the heavy wooden table. His posture was slumped, insouciant, not so much sitting in the chair as inventing new acrobatics for the wood to perform under his weight. For once, his black hair was quite shorter than Elizabeth's fair mane, and he wasn't wearing more kohl than she did. His manner was still that of a pirate, loose yet wary, as though for some unknown reason His Majesty's own navy might break down the door and demand to introduce Jack's neck to a bit of hemp off the gallows at any moment. But even without the kohl and the hair trinkets, he was pretty enough, with high cheekbones, an angular, vulpine face, full bottom lip, and a-

Will nearly choked on his juice, ending up with just a little cough he was easily able to cover with another quick sip. Pretty? To refer to a man? To refer to the captain of a feared vessel more famous for raiding than for her prow's legendary beauty of design? He wasn't at all sure that was the proper term at all; then again, it wasn't Will's fault Jack had a feminine grace about him, and seemed to revel in showing off such physical attributes to advantage. Not at all Will's doing that instead of simply walking, he swayed and swished his hips much of the time, or tossed his hair in a way no other man Will had ever met would dare.

David took a seat at the table and looked about at the three. "Is this your house, Miss Elizabeth?" he finally asked his hostess, his voice timid but clear. "Or your father's?"

She lowered her reading material. "Actually, it belongs to the English monarchy. It's used by whomever lives and serves here as a representative of His Majesty, seeing to the interests of England—at present, that's Mr. Shelton."

The boy was about to ask more when a brief, sharp rapping came at the door directly behind Elizabeth. All turned their heads to see Charlie standing just beyond through the window, and Elizabeth rose, crossing the short distance to admit him. "Isn't this your day off?" she asked as the middle-aged man stepped inside.

"I had a delivery to make to Monsieur MacLeary," the carriage driver explained.

Will's brows furrowed, as did Elizabeth's by the tone of her voice. "I don't believe there's anyone by that name here..." she trailed off, uncertain.

"I'll be takin' that." Jack slipped briefly into his regular accent as he tipped the chair forward to the floor, putting the paper aside and standing to face Charlie. The driver handed him a large leather satchel, which Jack immediately unbuckled. Peering inside, he grinned, showing off for the first time to anyone but Will in weeks a glitter of gold teeth. "Aye, that's it." Digging out a couple of gold pieces, he presented them to Charlie, who shook his head.

"Really, Monsieur, I could not presume—"

"Take it." Jack's hand-thrust gave the man little choice but to do just that. "You're not paid to run after my bloody arse, for things like this. Twas dangerous hauling this all the way here, and I thank you for your haste."

Charlie, who'd spoken more words so far this morning than he did in the normal course of an entire day, tipped his cap and nodded, then did the same to Elizabeth before leaving.

"MacLeary?" Will asked, surprised. "That's your name—Jackson MacLeary?"

"Scots make th' best sailors, lad. Or Irishmen, such as yourself."

Will frowned, momentarily flummoxed. "My father wasn't Irish... oh." He forgot sometimes that Jack had known of his mother, was old enough to have met her. Because she'd died when he was so young, he knew very little about her outside of being his mother except that she was blonde, and quite tall, and that his father had always gazed at her during his visits in the strangest way that always made young Will blush to be in the same room, even if he wasn't old enough to understand why.

"I'd say Siobhan Shaugnessy is about as Irish a name as you can get, lad."

Will wondered what was in the satchel, but said nothing, though he suspected. "Is there more of that so I might take David to be fitted for some clothes this morning?" he asked instead, skirting a direct question rather boldly.

Jack gave him a rather surprised look, narrowing his eyes as if trying to discern what went on in Will's head. Will returned the gaze with equal neutrality, not so much as blinking; like much between the two men, it became a contest of sorts, to see who would look away first. Will felt the corners of his lips quirk, but restrained the grin. At that, Jack's eyes widened fractionally, silently daring him to maintain his strict façade. Oh, hell, Will thought. I am not thinking about laughing, I am NOT thinking about laughing, or chortling, or guffawing... I am most definitely not going to giggle or snort...

A soft laugh broke their staring contest, and Will flicked his eyes toward the distraction. Elizabeth was chuckling, her hand over her mouth, shaking her head at the two of them.

"Ha!" Jack crowed, smirking.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth asked, clearing her throat to get rid of the laughter first.

But Jack didn't explain, and Will glared at him. The pirate gave him the same overly-sweet smile he'd shot Elizabeth over their papers earlier, letting it relax into a broad, silently laughing grin. Will narrowed his eyes.

"Pirate," Jack mouthed soundlessly, effectively reading his blacksmith's mind.

It didn't occur to Will until much later that he didn't find this so unusual.

****

"I'm settin' sail to London in a week." Jack casually made the announcement as he and Will lagged behind Elizabeth. Their hostess was showing David around the French chancellor's private garden just beyond his spacious meeting room. She'd had the idea the evening before that while they were visiting, the "boys" as she called them should get a bit of culture and education out of the deal.

Will's ears had perked when she mentioned the Chancellor's extensive weapons collection displayed in his den—but that was forgotten momentarily in the wake of Jack's words. "You're sailing for England."

"I've some family business t' take care of that way."

Will blinked at that. He'd never really thought about Jack having a family; the man just seemed so unmoored to anything, save his beloved ship. Overriding that, though, was a more pressing thought. "I see... and what about David? And me?" Well aware he had no place to presume anything, Will kept his tone neutral; he was wondering, though, what he'd done wrong that Jack would leave him behind at this point. He thought he'd been a good crewman—and more than that, a good friend—and was puzzled by the sudden news.

Jack cleared his throat. "Th' boy travels with you best, I realize that. He'll do what you do—and what you do depends 'pon your own decision, mate."

"Jack, for once, I wish you'd just speak plainly. Do you know how much time we could save if you'd say something directly and I answered it directly the first time?" He was surprised at the annoyance in his own tone. "What're you saying, then?"

"You're free t' go with me, if tha's what you want; th' both of you are."

"Is there a reason we shouldn't want to?"

"Now, I suppose that's th' question ye ought t' be askin' yourself, savvy?" Just as Will was about to demand more clarity again, his eyes followed the slight swivel of Jack's head, and his gaze settled with the older man's on Elizabeth Swann. Jack's voice dropped further. "Do you really wan' leave, Will?"

"I—" The blacksmith hesitated, his gaze fixed on the pair—the woman he'd spent so many years chasing and the boy who tagged along after him. He'd never had any compunction about protecting or staying with either of them.

"That's what I thought." Jack turned his dark eyes on Will again, indulgently. "Ye know, maybe there's a reason you ended up here after all—same way I ended up in your shop th' very time I needed ye to help me get me Pearl back."

Will swallowed, glancing toward Elizabeth again, then back to Jack. He was confused and felt a large weight had settled somewhere between his shoulder blades, which also somehow reached clear through his chest, down into his stomach, and was clenching. "I'm not sure what I'm wanting—this is a bit fast for me." What do you mean, it's fast? It's Elizabeth! She left you almost a year ago, and you've ended up where she went—in all this big, wide world, you two have ended up across an ocean in the same place, together. Didn't Jack just say it might be fate? What proof do you need?

Jack shook his head, eyes unreadable. "Th' way of th' world, boy; life rarely sits still for any of us to make up our minds proper-like. Moves too fast."

"Too fast to change our minds, as well?" Will liked having options, and was fast learning that stuck in a port town doing the same work day in and day out preserved most options for an indefinite amount of time; globe-trotting with Captain Jack Sparrow did not allow such luxuries.

"Quite often," Jack admitted with a nod. "But you're pretty stolid—I don't see ye changin' your mind too much, once you've made it up. Kind of like ol' William, that way."

"Hmm." Will said nothing beyond the noncommittal sigh, and Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "One word of advice, though, lad: Ne'er do anythin' regarding a lady's heart without her say-so, first. Most don't like it, an' I daresay 'Lizbeth would appreciate it even less."

****

"Elizabeth... there're squirrels in France too, right?"

"It's not as though they're going to hurt you," the young woman answered, leading the way through recently-muddy ground to the front gate. "Just keep a sharp eye this time."

"Keep a sharp eye." Good grief, she sounds like Jack. Will held his lantern aloft to get a better look at the trail. "Aren't we a bit old for this?"

"You stop playing 'Pirates' and I'll stop playing 'Explorer,'" she shot back with more cheek than even she usually displayed. Then again, what could a man reasonably expect from a woman pushing branches out of her face, wearing breeches and suspenders and men's boots at eleven p.m.?

"It's not exploring—it's breaking and entering."

"Says the man who takes orders from the king of high-seas felonies."

"Jack's not the king of felonies," Will shook his head, pushing branches away while balancing the lantern. "At most, he's court treasurer of felonies—maybe the jester, who knows?"

She laughed at that. "Wouldn't let him hear you say that; he might take it personally, as an affront to his vaunted title."

"He has a much better sense of humor than all that," Will automatically defended. "He makes a lot of jokes at his own expense, and doesn't really mind it from the crew. Especially Anamaria." He thought of how much good-natured grief he gave Jack, how it had come to be second nature, really—a reflex, most of the time—and how the captain would either pointedly ignore his comments or simply gaze back as harmlessly as if he were regarding a stone statue.

Ah, but if Will got angry—that was another matter. Jack would grin, his angular features taking on an almost vulpine expression, showing both upper gold canines. And Will reflected he probably showed annoyance more often than did Jack and, to be fair, probably had less reason to do so—after all, it wasn't his ship. He wasn't in charge of making sure it stayed afloat, and he certainly wasn't the one who always had to keep the chance of mutiny or capture in the back of his brain.

"Will Turner, have you heard a word I've said?"

Indeed, he hadn't. He wondered why he'd been wool-gathering on such an odd spot as Jack Sparrow, especially since by her stance and tone it was pretty clear Elizabeth had been trying to get his attention for at least several seconds. "Just thinking about that damn squirrel again," he explained. Or maybe a fox. He immediately felt guilty for lying, wondering why his gut reaction had been to prevaricate about Jack.

The woman was not easily fooled, and she lifted an eyebrow at him. "What I was saying," she spoke slowly and clearly, hands on her slim hips, "is that you might want to put some of those pirating skills to use—the gate's locked and needs to be picked if we're to get in."

"Well, pirating won't do me much good there," Will answered, reaching into his vest for a set of slender irons. "The blacksmith part might, though." His hand froze mid-retrieval, and he furrowed his brow—when had it become automatic that he'd break into a place rather than counsel leaving it alone as any honest bloke ought?

Now she was laughing, apparently having divined the same conclusion. "You really have changed, you know?" she grinned. "Not entirely for the worse, though."

Will stuck his tongue out at her, and she only laughed harder, hand over her mouth to muffle the sound in the quiet of the night. He realized he hadn't done that since they were both children still tutoring together in her father's den; in the years since, he'd been far too intimidated by and enamored of her to attempt such a childish gesture. "I've had some bad influences, savvy?" He delivered a fair imitation of Jack's tone in a stage whisper, and now they were both laughing.

When they'd both calmed down, Elizabeth spoke again. "Who would've thought anyone could ever bring 'Truthful Turner' down a couple of notches?"

"Excuse me?"

"You. What we used to call you," she offered by way of explanation. Clearly, "we" had been the few children of the village allowed to run with the governor's daughter; Will had been the only one without parents or a suitable inheritance. "Remember when Michael stole that collection tin from the church, and you told on him? Or when Jennifer took the candy from the basket at the shop? You're the one who told her mother all about it. Really, I didn't think anything could ever corrupt you."

"Well, they didn't have any business taking anything," he nearly snapped, childhood memories of being the outcast tolerated for Elizabeth's sake coming back to him. "Their parents could buy them the sun and moon, if they'd wanted it."

"And you think Jack is a pauper?" She regarded him skeptically. "Will... he's pilfered enough treasure by now to buy and sell Port Royale, if what was back in that cave's any indication! He's not poor." She quirked her lips. "And I don't think he grew up poor, either."

"What makes you say that?" Will closed his eyes and calmed himself; she'd done nothing wrong, so why was he still snapping? Opening his eyes again, he said in a much more civil tone, "Why do you think that?"

She was giving him a curious look, appraising, but eventually answered, "I don't know, exactly. Call it woman's intuition—there's just something about him that doesn't strike me as 'London street urchin,' is all. Not exactly royalty, either... but definitely he had some advantages. For one, he can speak perfectly properly when he so desires."

"So can I."

"Because you had the benefit of an education, thanks to Father." Now it was her turn to close her eyes and look chagrined. "Sorry, Will—I'm not trying to rub that in. What I mean is that somewhere along the way, Jack learned speech, and social manners, that he just doesn't use. Can he write as well as he reads?" Will nodded. "From everything we learned about pirates, you don't find that just a touch odd?"

"Norrington wasn't exactly the most neutral instructor," he pointed out. The naval officer had taught Elizabeth, Will, and many of the other island children history an hour a day during their tutoring, not to mention the time they'd spent up at the garrison listening to tales about his and the other sailors' run-ins with pirate vessels.

"Yes, but he's honorable enough."

"Meaning I'm not, anymore?" Will stepped around Elizabeth and climbed the last few steps to the gate, vines twisted around the iron, still dotted with moisture from that afternoon's rain.

A silence hung between them as he worked at the lock, and then he heard not too far behind him her quiet, "I'm sorry, Will."

"Sorry for what?" He had a metal rod shoved up inside the lock, hunched over to put his ear close to it to listen for the telltale tumble, but it wasn't budging yet.

She sighed. "For... everything. For making it look like I was running away from you, from what you said to me. That you loved me."

"Isn't that what you did?" Pick, rattle, withdraw, shove, rattle. "Dammit! This isn't a difficult lock!" he hissed, crouching down further to concentrate more on the metal. He was glad to have the distraction from the sudden turn in conversation.

"No, actually, I was running away from all of it—Father, James, having to be forced into marriage, Port Royale." She paused a pregnant moment. "Well, and yes... you, too. I wasn't ready to be tied down to anyone or anything, and I don't know why women don't get a choice, when men get to pick what they want to do all the bloody time."

"Not all the time. Blacksmithing wouldn't have been my first choice, I assure you."

"I know." They were both likely recalling Will's brief episode of hero worship when they all first sailed into Port Royale, and how he used to find any excuse he could to go to the fort and follow then-Lieutenant Norrington around, pestering him with occasional questions about ships and the navy. The young officer had been infinitely patient, his only indication of annoyance with the boy the occasional sigh and a certain way he sometimes gravely intoned "Mr. Turner" when the questions simply peppered too quickly. The worship of Norrington himself had eventually worn down to general respect for an elder, but Will's fascination with ships and the sea had remained strong, despite his boyhood trauma. More than once he'd told Elizabeth of his desire to join the Royal Navy once he was of age, but by the time he was, his limited formal education and pedigree made it an impossibility. Elizabeth continued, "But I didn't think piracy would have been, either."

"Was good enough for my father." The tumblers clicked this time, but still no dice. Will growled in the back of his throat and went at the lock like a man possessed, as he talked. "I mean, I would have preferred something respectable, but at least it's not being stuck in a shop all day, the rest of my life, growing stooped and bent—or worse, ending up like Brown."

"I'm not judging you, Will; I was just making a comment."

Will didn't trust himself to answer until, after what seemed a lifetime by the burn in his hunched shoulders, the lock clicked loudly enough to signal success, and he was able to swing the heavy gate outward. "I realize that; believe me, I know when you're being judgmental, Lizzie." He gestured grandly, bowing. "After you, milady."

"What do you mean, judgmental?" She gathered up the basket she'd been carrying and had set down while he worked, scowling as she preceded him into the cemetery.

He grinned as he followed, leaving the gate open so they could get out later. No use doing the work twice. "Meaning what you think it means. You do tend to judge people sometimes."

"I do not!"

"So you weren't judging Jack when you found out he was the one who'd brought the Interceptor to save you? Funny, but I know that tone of voice, and it wasn't a happy tone."

"Will, the man used me for a human shield not a week before! I wasn't being judgmental—I was being understandably apprehensive about his motives. For good reason, as I recall."

Will shrugged, though she couldn't see him. "We're both still alive." Once was the time he'd been equally angry with the pirate and his sneaky plans, but Jack had more than made up for it by protecting the both of them against Barbossa as much as he could. "Besides, it wasn't like he got us into the whole situation in the first place.. And he did save you from drowning."

"Must you remind me?" She sounded so exasperated and defeated that Will couldn't help laughing, careful to keep his deep chuckle to a dull roar. "Damn infuriating man—like most of them aren't."

"Watch it, now."

"He doesn't infuriate you?"

Silence.

"That's what I figured."

****

"We've read every stone in here, and not one squirrel," Elizabeth pronounced as they found themselves at the diagonal end of the cemetery from the gate roughly two hours later.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not really scared of squirrels, you know."

"I know no such thing, Will Turner. For all I know, you could be terrified of the poor little helpless creatures. After all, I know how threatening they can be to a big, strong man like yourself." She smirked, a twinkle in her eye.

"At least they're not minnows," he baited dryly.

Her jaw tightened. "Minnows don't bother me."

"Anymore," he corrected. "I seem to remember a certain ten-year-old running screeching from the water when they started 'attacking' her unprotected ankles—"

"I didn't know it wasn't a jellyfish!" she protested. "I didn't run that fast, and I most certainly did not screech."

"Let's see... you outran the dog, and you scared every bird off the beach, with all your waving and dancing about, and screaming."

She withdrew a napkin from the basket and waved it about then. "All right, truce," she hastened to shut him up, flapping the material in his face. "Since this is the only truce you pirates understand?" When he stuck his tongue out again, she quickly shoved the napkin between his parted lips, and he spit out the dry material, catching it as it fell. "Serves you right. You want something to eat?"

And so they made themselves comfortable on an old horse blanket Elizabeth had managed to pilfer from Charlie's stable and ate, each left to their own thoughts as they munched silently by the glow of the lantern. Will finally found the courage to speak up. "There's something that's been on my mind... since you left."

"You want to know why I left?"

"No, I think I've figured that out." He put aside his empty napkin, having eaten the cakes wrapped in it. "It's... well, I'm curious about us. Maybe I was just not being very perceptive, but I did think you were interested in possibly pursuing... something, with you and me. How far wrong was I?"

"Hmm. At one time, not wrong at all, really. I mean, right after the kidnapping and Barbossa, I would have been quite amenable to the idea of you and I spending the rest of our days together—or at least to seeing if such a match could have worked."

He wasn't sure how to feel about the missed opportunity. "What changed?"

"Me," she answered without hesitation. "I was quite excited by the adventure we'd had, and I have to admit that Jack turned out to be a lot less..." She trailed off, looking about, searching for a word. "Reprehensible, than I'd been raised to believe pirates really are. And with your father being a pirate, why that made you seem very attractive—not to mention all you did to come after me, and rescue me," she added with a smile. "But as the months went by, I started thinking more about what had happened, itself, and less about you and your part in it." She reached over and briefly touched his arm. "I hope not to offend you, Will. I still consider you one of my best friends."

"No—go on," he encouraged with a nod, his attention fixed totally on Elizabeth.

"The more I thought about it all, the more I understood that was what I wanted. Oh, not being kidnapped and almost killed, and cut on, and bartered with—but the travel, and the excitement, and matching wits... well, those parts I actually rather liked. Barbossa was a bastard of the first order, but I was able to hold my own with him pretty well. I finally just told Father that I wanted to do more than sit around and embroider samplers and plan parties all the time." Her expression and gestures were growing animated. "I told him if I were a boy, he'd try to help me do anything I thought I could be good at, and since I was as smart as any boy, I ought to be given the same consideration. That my brain wasn't any less than a son's would be, and that's the part that does all the real work, anyway."

"And so he found this post for you."

She wrinkled her nose in contemplation. "Not at first, no. But eventually, he changed his mind—I think he was afraid it was either this, or I might just disappear some night and run off to join a pirate crew," she chuckled.

"Wouldn't you have?" Will teased.

"No offense, Will, but I like to be cleaner than that on a regular basis. Bilge water isn't good for my complexion." She winked at him. "That, and there's the little matter of worrying if you're going to be captured or killed on a daily basis."

"Strictly speaking, you can only be killed once."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "As I was saying," she gave him a pseudo-stern look, "I finally talked Father into letting me pursue something for myself, rather than sitting around waiting to marry someone pursuing his own work. And yes, he did help me obtain this post, but it was my idea to try for this kind of work, and I contacted all the suitable people by letter."

Will couldn't help it; he'd been dying of curiosity since the day Elizabeth had told him she was sailing for England. "And Norrington let you go?"

"Well... really, he had no choice. He had no claim upon me—I was hardly his prize hen. I don't expect he liked the idea much, and he did try to talk me out of it twice, but eventually he relented and graciously allowed me my leave. Poor James," she added as an afterthought, it seemed, a slight frown tugging at her mouth. "He really was much better about it than any man would reasonably be expected to be, under the circumstances."

Will drank some tea from the pitcher she'd brought along as he considered how to phrase his next question. "Are you sorry you left him?" He hesitated a beat. "Or me?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it abruptly, nose wrinkling in what he recognized as her "thinking" face. Good. Whatever I hear will at least be honest, he thought with equal measures of satisfaction and apprehension. "I don't think I would make anyone a very good wife right now," she finally answered. "There's still too much I'd like to do before I marry and have children; moreover, I'd like to marry someone who's sure he wants me for me, and not because it will complete his social agenda in some way."

"Norrington."

"I believe that was at the fore of his proposal, yes," she admitted. "You never did hear how he proposed to me—he made it sound like a business deal, or completing a jigsaw puzzle with the last corner piece. No, actually, I suppose children would have been the last corner piece," she corrected. "At any rate, I was the governor's daughter, I was reasonably attractive and well-mannered, and I was female and of marriageable age. I'm not sure James ever saw Elizabeth so much as he saw that next-to-last puzzle piece."

"Maybe," Will said. "Then again, maybe he was just intimidated by you. You tend to have that effect on men."

She grinned, an acknowledgement that he spoke from personal experience. "And you... Will, I do love you, honestly, but you were just so... earnest. And young; you're no older than me. You haven't seen the world yet, either; even now, you've only visited a small portion of it. You're no more ready to take on a wife and children than I am to settle down—and I think deep down, you know that."

He granted her a small smile, letting that sink in. He'd spent so long imagining his perfect life with perfect Elizabeth and their perfect house that he hadn't given much thought to the daily grind required to make such a relationship work. "Maybe I'm older than I look, eh?" he ventured.

"You've always been older than your age," she amended. "That's part of the problem—I didn't want you waking up one day and realizing you'd never done anything fun, anything adventurous or spontaneous in your life. And I didn't want to be the same way."

He had to ask, even if he suspected he knew the answer. "Do you suppose there's any way you and I would ever court and marry, even a few years from now?"

"Will, I have no idea." She shook her head to punctuate it. "I'm no gypsy fortune-teller. I'd say come back and ask me in five years... but I don't think you'll want to."

"I—I've idolized you for so long," he confessed. "I don't remember the last time we just sat down and had a conversation—too many years."

She smiled, a bit sadly. "I know. That's another reason I couldn't marry you if I wanted to, now. You don't really know who I am anymore. I don't know you, either."

She scooted a bit closer and reached out to take his hands, squeezing them in her smaller, more delicate fingers and bringing them together between them. "But I know you'll always be honorable, and a good man, no matter what you're doing—and that includes being a pirate. And I know you'll always be my friend, and that I can count on you to do just about anything I'd ask of you, even if it isn't always good for you." She squeezed tighter, and he could see she was smiling brightly, trying to keep her eyes dry. "And I know if there's vicious minnows within a knot in sight, you'll shoo them away."

They both started guffawing at that, recalling how young Will had "saved" Elizabeth from the offending fish by wading into the surf and pushing them back out to sea with the net they'd been using to catch fish and interesting debris, hollering at them to "shoo!" "For all the good it does," he finally managed, calming down a bit.

"And I'll yell at the squirrels when I can."

"Yes... I believe you will."

"When Jack's not doing it."

"Probably be a kindred spirit with them, as squirrelly as he is himself," Will commented. "They'd think he was their leader or something."

She let out another unladylike sputter at that. "King of the rodents!" she proclaimed, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops, shh," she reminded herself in a loud whisper. "Forgot where we are."

Will coughed, trying to stem the laughter. "Don't think he'd appreciate that one much," he finally managed to speak, drawing ragged breaths. "Jack hates rats—picked up an alley cat months ago to keep the Pearl cleared in the bilges. The poor thing does its job so well we end up having to feed him scraps until we've put into port a few more days and pick up more rats from crates and such we buy."

"Well, at least you two are evenly matched, then." At his puzzled expression, she added, "You know—neither one of you likes rodents."

"Yes, I believe that's the basis for a long and lasting friendship," Will nodded in mock solemnity. She hit him. "I was agreeing with you!"

"Wiseacre!" she hissed, nearly knocking over his tea.

"Allo?" a baritone voice called sharply from somewhere beyond the trees and fence behind Elizabeth. "Qui est-ce?"

"Blast it!" she whispered, grasping Will's arm tightly. "He wants to know who's in here."

"Stay down," he advised, leaning sideways against the ground and pulling her along. "If we're low enough, maybe he won't look in."

"You honestly expect him to believe he's hearing ghosts?"

"Might think it's the wind or something," Will explained terribly quietly. "Or his own imagination. Shush."

"Est-ce quelqu'un la?" came the voice again, which Elizabeth translated as basically the same thing he'd already demanded.

They lay there like that for awhile, ears pressed to the damp, warm ground, facing one another. Elizabeth's eyes rolled heavenward, her face pinching a bit as she obviously strained to hear the guard's footsteps, or signs of rustling as he tried to come through the trees. Will watched her, wondering if he was still as much in love with her as he'd confessed to Jack over supper at the Red Snapper all those months ago. Certainly she was beautiful, and kind, and had a good heart and intelligent head on her lovely neck—but did he love her with the same fierce intensity he'd quietly harbored for those few years before she departed Port Royale?

"I think he's gone," she reported a silent eternity later.

"We really ought to get out of here," he suggested.

"I'm with you. Lead on, MacDuff."

****

Jack slumped in his chair, head tilted over its back and to the side, presumably contemplating clouds in the sky from beneath the edge of the awning stretching out over the small sidewalk café. "You're going to get a crick in your neck like that," Will warned, stirring a bit of honey into his tea.

"Funny," mused the pirate, without changing position. "I don't remember gettin' married."

Will rolled his eyes; it was the comment Jack often made when the younger man warned the other something might be bad for him, referring to it as "nagging." Sometimes, it was all a matter of phrasing, Will had learned. "Hard to seduce the wenches when you can't tilt your head to look at them," he tried again.

Jack raised his head a bit and leveled a neutral look at Will. Long seconds later, he shifted and, compromising, assumed a more comfortable-looking position on the chair. "You're learnin', lad."

"It's all about the right leverage," Will quipped, putting the spoon aside.

Something flashed in Jack's dark eyes that suspiciously resembled regret—but only briefly. "Aye, 'tis," he assented. "So, Mr. Turner," he adopted his proper English speech once again, mindful of people around them, "is this to be one of our last meals together?"

Will lifted his cup and took a slow sip of tea, closing his eyes and letting the spiced steam filter into his nostrils. He hadn't slept well the night before, either after he and Elizabeth had gotten back to the townhouse or later that same night when he was supposed to be in bed. The two of them had stayed up late again talking about various subjects, but whereas Elizabeth had finally turned in at a reasonable hour, Will had gone out on the back veranda and sat for the next several hours, contemplating the decision Jack had handed him.

Because he'd taken it for granted until a few days ago that he'd be departing with Jack, he hadn't given much thought to the whys of doing so; after all, he'd joined the Pearl's crew not necessarily by his own choice, but in a desperate flight to duck the Royal Navy and any association with Jack Sparrow that they might pin on him. That's what you call ironic, he mused. Did he want to stay on with the eccentric pirate captain, or stake out a life elsewhere, be it on land or sea?

He sipped slower than he should've, glancing at his dining companion over the cup's rim. Elizabeth had hired a barber to come by during their first day at the townhouse, after they'd cleaned up, to trim the choppy mess they had wrought on their hair and beards. Will's hair was short, only a couple of inches long, and curling at the ends; those curls had always annoyed him because he'd once been small and thin and easily teased for his girlish appearance.

As an adult, there was no mistaking him for anything other than male, but the hair continued to grate at his nerves, so he preferred to keep it long, the weight of the locks pulling most of the curl out of the chocolate-brown mass. He'd reestablished his moustache and goatee, as had Jack; in lieu of being able to grow out his beard for more beads, the older man had opted to stick with a simple bit of hair, Will supposed, until he was once again at sea and able to resume his former appearance. Jack's hair was just short of shoulder length, and he'd commented to Will that it tended to grow quickly, so that he might be able to pick up more bits and baubles to twine into it in as little as two or three months. Without the dark auburn mass trailing over his shoulders and back, Jack looked years younger. Will wasn't sure he liked this current appearance, for the simple reason that Jack just didn't look... well, like Jack.

Why do I give a bloody fig what he looks like? Will pondered.

"I believe I've a question on the table, lad." Jack was speaking again, regarding him coolly. "Or are you just planning to sit there all afternoon staring at me?"

Taking another quick drink, Will resisted the urge to swear, both at Jack and at the ruddy blush he felt seeping from the pores of his entire face. He hoped the steam of the tea would be blamed for his high color. He still hadn't figured out why he was about to answer as he did, except that perhaps any man deserving of his father's loyalty, sanity, and very life ought not to be cast aside so soon; Will had already learned a lot from Sparrow, and could likely learn more, as well as see more of the world. And, to be fair, he'd already participated enough to be branded as a pirate should he ever be caught and identified at this point. In for a penny, in for the whole damn treasury.

"I think David and I will be joining you for your trip to England," he answered, "though I'm not sure how I'm to afford my passage, when I left all my worldly goods back on the Pearl."

Jack said nothing for a moment or two. Then: "I'll take care of it."

"With your magic satchel?" Will smirked. "The bottomless coin pit?"

"No, by putting you on bilge duty when we get back."

He looked so perfectly serious, so humorless saying it... "You are joking, right?"

"Mr. Turner, I rarely joke about such serious matters as the care of my ship." Will furrowed his brows. "Especially since after all this time you still insist on playing by the rules." There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Jack's mouth.

"Pirate," Will accused, sotto voce.

"What changed your mind? Why do you want to go now?"

"Who said I didn't want to go before?" Jack leveled a skeptical look his way. "You were the one under the impression I didn't want to go, Jack. I never said anything."

"All right—then why don't you want to stay? You and Elizabeth have a falling-out?"

"We had no such thing," Will protested. "We're great friends."

The expression of vulpine cunning crept over Jack's face. "Would you still die for her, then?"

"You're venturing a bit personal."

"I make it my business to know the loyalties of my crew."

"What does Elizabeth have to do with your ship?" Will wanted to know. "Really, Jack... I don't think even she would commandeer another vessel and try to board the Pearl. Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Now if I did that, Anamaria'd have my hide when she captures me in a few weeks, wouldn't she?"

Will nearly answered, then paused. "So you did send word." Jack nodded. "What's your plan?"

The pirate watched him closely for another half-minute, arms crossed over his chest, reserving himself. When he shifted to lean forward, resting one forearm on the table and dropping his voice, Will assumed the same posture so he could better hear. "We book passage on a merchan' ship out o' port after me visit," he slipped back into his old voice; unaccountably, it made Will smile, watching his other hand glide along air as though it were a boat splitting the surface of water. "Big, fat one."

"A large prize."

Jack grinned, voice still low. "Always said ye catch on quick," he nodded. "Pearl attacks, we surrender, swear fealty to th' bloody rapscallions to save our hides, help unload th' booty, an' be on our merry way back to th' Caribbee... or wherever."

Will nodded, then leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. "I don't know, Jack," he finally said. "I mean, as plans go, it's all right, but—"

"But?"

"What I meant, is it's serviceable. But... it lacks your usual panache." Will affected an air of disappointment. "It's just so—predictable, non?"

"Predictable." Jack was stroking his moustache after assuming his proper tone and accent, nodding imperceptibly, looking for all the world like a relaxed gentleman. What nearly set Will to laughing was the slight muscles beneath the jaw tensing and shifting as Jack grated his teeth—he'd learned months ago to look for that little signal, along with a hundred others that would tip him off about Jack Sparrow's moods. He was annoyed. "I admit, it is lacking in the grandiose—"

"Grandiose? Jack, it's simplistic." Will added an appropriately-derisive snort.

"Ah, but 'simple' has its place, dear William." Jack tilted his head and eyed Will sideways. "There's not always a need for there to be twenty steps to a successful plan—look at the Trojan Horse."

"I never did understand that—these people come invade your shores, spend ten years trying to kill you, become bitter over the whole thing, and then you're supposed to believe that one night they just went home peacefully? And, oh, by the way, there's the matter of a little gift outside the gates, which is really this huge horse, and has no practical value whatsoever?"

"Well, here we are more than two thousand years later, and the right pretty face can still launch ships," Jack smirked, clearly referring to Elizabeth's rescue from Barbossa. "Which just goes to show that men will usually put their desires before common sense, mate, a fact I've long banked upon."

"And what would stoke a merchant captain's desire, do you think?" Will inquired, relieved to see the Captain's demeanor thaw once again into Good-Time Jack.

"Why, the promise of a generous amount of swag to ensure the safe passage of myself, my brother, and my son to our new plantation in the Caribbean should just about do the trick."

****

Will shifted to his back, yawning reflexively, balanced between drowsiness and deep sleep. He kicked off the blankets, too warm by half, having fallen asleep reading by the glow given off by the fireplace and still wearing his breeches and shirt. Stretching his arms, he murmured nonsensically as he tipped into dreamland, his head lolling bonelessly to one side.

Soft, sweet coral lips edged closer, seeking his own. Small hands cradled his face as she kissed him, her bosom heaving against his chest as her mouth spoke his name, pressed to his.

Will's lips widened sweetly in his slumber; it was a frequent dream, had been for some years, but it hadn't visited his sleep in months—come to think of it, he hadn't dreamed much at all since shortly after leaving Port Royale. He shifted on the bed, still asleep, though his hands moved to pull at his sleeves and hem, drawing the shirt off up over his head, letting it fall from his fingers at his side. The slight breeze from the barely-open window reached his skin, cooling the light perspiration.

"Mmm, Will," she practically cooed, nuzzling him. Now her hands were on his bare arms, fingertips caressing the years of hard-won muscles. "I've waited for this too long..."

He kissed her back, stroking her bottom lip between his. "Mmm hmm," he agreed, hands on her small waist, pressing her forward into him. She was wearing the deep-maroon dress Barbossa had forced upon her, but it was laced up into a delightfully-tied package he itched to rip open. "Tell me what you want."

She slid a hand down to one of his and pulled his palm to rest on her chest, much as she had when giving him back his medallion. With no coin around her throat, however, she pulled it further down to cup one of her high, pert breasts.

A small, pained sound escaped Will as his lips involuntarily parted. One of his hands reached for his own chest, fingertips resting on his stomach, lightly circling.

"I shouldn't—" he hesitated.

"Oh, please," she begged breathlessly. "Touch me, Will. I need it; I need you."

He squeezed gently, her gasp igniting something deep inside that he'd neglected far too long. Deepening his kiss, he began unlacing her bodice, their tongues gliding past one another's, small sounds evidence of their mutual pleasure.

His thumb was brushing over one of his own nipples, stroking it to a peak, just as his dream counterpart did the same elsewhere. He circled, then moved to the other one, touching it, feeling even in deep sleep the burn of his shallow breathing, the rush of blood to pool in his groin.

Will closed his eyes, dotting small kisses down the side of her chin to her long throat, tugging open the front of her under-dress to bare her breasts. He covered one with his windburned lips; her fingers dug into his scalp, threading into his hair, as his tongue laved her nipple, sucking it between his teeth. She tipped her head forward and he felt wisps of her long mane brush his forehead.

His fingers worked skillfully at the laces of his breeches, long used to pleasuring himself rather than seeking it in a brothel or tavern. He shimmied the material low on his hips, feeling his erection spring free, suddenly caressed by the light breeze. Will groaned with the way it responded, growing more rigid. "Elizabeth," he whispered in his sleep, just under his breath—again, long-used to having to keep quiet about this sort of thing, he was now a master of it.

Will straightened, leaning in once again to kiss her, her clothes dissolving beneath his fingers like magic, and his the same way, until nothing was between their skin but a few small pockets of air. Suddenly, there was a bed, and he bore her down on it, feeling her limbs slide beneath his as he pinned her, lips traveling along her jaw as his hips slid between her thighs.

His thumb brushed the taut, sticky head as his fingers wrapped around the rest of his cock. Down and up, soft and sudden, then slow once again. Small moans drifted from his lips as he dipped his fingers to curl around his bollocks, squeezing gently.

Suddenly, Elizabeth got a wicked glint in her dark eyes and rolled him sideways, ending up above him, in control. Far from upset, he grinned at her, closing his eyes as she lowered a kiss to his neck, arching his back so she could reach it better. She sucked gently at first, then a bit harder, harder, until he gasped. "Going... to leave a mark," he panted, not really caring.

"Mmm," she noised naughtily, nipping her way back up over his goatee, settling her mouth against his full lips. "I hope so."

He stroked a bit faster; she'd never been this possessive, this much in charge in any of his other fantasies... and he liked it. Oh yes, he wanted her over him, touching him, doing this to him...

As they kissed, he noted absently for the first time she tasted sweet—not like sugar. Maybe honey? He parted his lips, returning the kiss fervently, trying to determine the flavor therein. No... not honey. Maybe it was sugar—of a sort. He lifted his head up off the pillow and fastened his lips to hers, hard, nearly sucking at them, taking a deep draft of that mouth.

Cinnamon.

Oh, God, it tasted wonderful. He lowered his head to the pillow, the lips and the taste following. Now she was kissing him roughly, and he loved it, the way her tongue stabbed into his mouth, the deep groans coming from her chest, the way her thick moustache erotically tickled the underside of his nose.

Rum.

Will's eyes flew open, but they didn't look up into Elizabeth's soft brown ones delicately outlined with a thin kohl pencil. Instead, they were pinned by a dark, sinful gaze rimmed in black smudge, gold glittering in their depths. He opened his mouth to protest, started to raise up off the bed, but a long, knobby forefinger pressed to his lips, effectively shutting him up. "Don' be 'fraid," the low, familiar voice purred. "I've a feelin' you could develop a taste for this."

His hand paused, uncertain, as a chill raced down his spine. He was really very close, halfway there—how could this happen? He didn't even desire men! What was worse was that his cock, far from softening, seemed to jump between his palm and fingers at the abrupt shift in dream imagery.

One finger traced the thick vein on the underside of his penis, wanting completion. His body needed to get off and didn't seem to be terribly concerned about the inspiration for doing so. Will screwed his eyes shut and concentrated, resuming a slow glide with his fist, bringing Elizabeth back.

She was smiling at him again, then disappeared from view to move down his body. Will sighed in relief, then shut his eyes, setting about to enjoying her ministrations, his back arching into her mouth, his hips shifting slightly as she stroked their sides. He reached down to stroke her hair, fingers sliding between the loose strands, scrunching the thick dreadlocks, tangling-

He froze again, his body going still. She eased up his body and once again, it was someone else's face in his field of vision. "What're you fightin' it for, mate?" he whispered, butting the tip of his nose against Will's. "Just close your eyes and feel, Will... I promise you'll like it."

As his lips closed over Will's, the blacksmith shut his eyes against his better judgment and tried to ignore the odd sensations, such as the moustache and windburned skin. The longer they kissed, though, the deeper it became, the less odd it felt—Will hesitantly parted his lips, and Jack tilted his head sideways, their mouths fitting together much better from this angle. Those long fingers slid up into his hair, framing his scalp, and Will was surprised to find his hands on Jack's hips, pulling him closer.

He was stroking faster now, telling himself his mind was far from caring about the stimulus, just as long as he got off, and soon. It was a painful anticipation, and he tried to savor it, breathing ragged, heartbeat exploding in his ears.

Hot, damp breath blown against his ear. Will shivered, his hands sliding down over Jack's firm, compact backside, cupping. He was rewarded with a groan, and the sound made his erection jump to attention between them. Jack noticed, for he propped himself up and grinned devilishly down at Will. "Why din' you say so?" he promised, pushing himself backward to slide down the length of Will's body.

In an instant, the man had Will's cock between his lips, sliding between his teeth and down his throat. Hands that were definitely not Elizabeth's small, soft ones cupped his scrotum and roamed the flat of his stomach, their calluses arousing him further. Will propped himself up on his elbows to watch the dark head bobbing, Jack eventually pausing to throw back his hair, then patiently going back to swallowing and releasing, licking, sucking.

He leaned back on his knees at one point and brought his gaze up to Will's, dark eyes glittering, narrowed seductively at him. As they stared at one another, Jack pulled off, swirling the tip of his tongue around Will's head, stabbing at the very tip as a trail of saliva threaded between tongue and cock.

His hips bucked up, hips undulating, bollocks drawing in tight. Will tipped his head back, arching his torso, breathing harder than he could ever remember having done while simply self-pleasuring. His hand pumped roughly, jerkily, rapidly bringing him closer as the dream played out.

"Come for me, Will... that's it, come inside me... wan' touch you, be inside you... let me fuck you, oh yeah... next time, I promise, love, I'll move inside you, bring you o'er th' edge." He descended again, two strands of beads slapping Will's stomach with each swallow, and Will parted his lips, letting out a long, pained grunt of release as he emptied into the wicked mouth, adding in words of praise and worship of the older man's talents.

He came, feeling the hot semen ribbon onto the side of his hand and thighs, and let out only a very small, stifled cry against the back of his other hand, which he was biting down on. "Jack," he whispered softly, eyes closed, chest heaving as he withdrew the hand, an experimental lick telling him he'd bitten down rather hard into its flesh.

A few minutes later, recovered and horrified at the turn his fantasy had taken, all he could do was screw his eyes tightly shut and pray this memory would disappear the way of most of his dreams. "Oh, God... what've I done?" he murmured, shaking his head in self-recrimination.

****

"Keep that blade up." Will tapped the flat of his sword against David's, and the boy nearly lost hold on its hilt, bringing his other small hand up to grab, hold it in place.

"Sorry, Will."

"You've got to keep your blade up and at the ready at all times," Will insisted, shaking his head. "Otherwise, it won't matter how sorry you are, because you'll be dead."

"Right. Right."

Will stepped back and eyed the nervous boy. David had walked out on Will's solo fencing practice in the back yard, and the blacksmith had seen an opportunity to begin showing the boy the ropes of swordsmanship. After all, Will himself had been not much older when he'd begun lessons under the tutelage of Teddy Groves, who at the time had been one of the older lads in Port Royale bucking for a naval academy appointment. He'd taken on young Turner in an effort to curry favor with Governor Swann, seeking the politician's letter of recommendation, since his own father was a merchant and not terribly influential in the higher circles of Britain.

"En garde." David snapped to and held aloft his weapon, first in both hands, then one, the blade trembling a bit. Will had hunted down the lightest saber he could find, which wasn't saying much, since he'd had to settle for swiping one Jack had recently purchased and its weight was considered light only in experienced hands.

Will squeezed his eyes shut briefly and winced at the mental image Jack's hands brought up. And that's not even considering the imagery his "sword" brings to mind. He ground his teeth and opened his eyes, trying to focus on the lesson before him; he really didn't need the distraction of Jack and sex right now, especially not in the same breath. "Remember, keep it up!" he admonished David in rather a harsh tone, then briefly chastised himself for that unfortunate phrasing, as well. Oh, hell. Is nothing safe from my dirty mind anymore?

"Yes, sir. I'm trying—it's kind of heavy." David frowned, biting his lower lip in concentration.

"Well, use both hands if you have to. Get a good grip." Good Christ, Turner!

Will swung lightly, and David brought up his blade, blocking it. He carried through on a few more basic moves, pleased to note the boy was a quick study, having paid attention to the lesson over the past forty-five minutes—better than Will had, at any rate, his mind constantly distracted by the dream from nearly two nights before. "Remember," he spoke between clashes, "you want to defend yourself, but you have to be in an attack position. Mostly as a bluff; if you look like you know what you're doing, without actually initiating the fight, you might not even have to fight if the other person is sufficiently intimidated."

David nodded, circling carefully, his steps mirroring Will's as the two moved around, constantly changing positions relative to one another.

"You two look entertained." Will ignored the voice until he'd finished his last few practice parries, then nodded at David that this particular lesson was through. Turning, he saw Elizabeth in the same breeches and shirt she'd worn on their excursion to the cemetery a few nights before—except it was the middle of the day, and her hair was pulled back. She held a light blade of her own, tip down and pressed into the veranda planks. "Is it my turn?"

Will and David exchanged a glance, the boy obviously fighting not to laugh. Elizabeth must have picked up on their silent thread, for she interrupted. "What?" she demanded. "You think a woman can't fence?"

"It's not necessarily a common thing," Will answered diplomatically.

"Only because the male-run world has taken it upon itself to keep girls ignorant and in the dark about anything that has nothing to do with keeping a house tidy or a stitch from being dropped," she sniffed. "I'm just as capable of learning how to handle a sword as an eleven-year-old."

Will couldn't very well argue that point—to do so would imply a whole other world of insult he didn't wish to inflict, especially upon Elizabeth. "Well... I suppose," he agreed hesitantly. "I mean, if you really want to learn—"

She was down the steps before he could finish his thought, circling around to his back side. "Get out of the way," Will told David, nodding toward the veranda. "Off the grass."

Since he hadn't expressly been told to leave, David ran to the steps and sat at the top of them, sword in both hands, down between his small feet. Wonderful; now I'm instructor AND entertainment, Will thought. He was about to turn around when he felt a slight poke between his shoulder blades. "Oh, come on, Will," she taunted, and the sharp point disappeared. "You'd be dead by now if this weren't practice."

Very slowly, accompanied by David's laughter, he turned to face Elizabeth. "Do you think this is a humorous subject, Miss Swann?"

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a forced frown and a quick military snap of her heels. "No sir, Mr. Turner, SIR!"

He sighed. "All right." In an instant, he had his sword up, lunging—he wasn't going to get his blade anywhere near her, but just frighten her a bit. Talk about your dirty-mind imagery; that whole sentence just went straight to hell, he chided himself. Instead of falling back, though, Elizabeth blocked the first parry, then stepped back, circled a bit, dodging. She was untrained, but not inattentive—she had the basics in mind, probably from having grown up around military officers and watching them practice.

"What do you think, Mr. Turner?" she was teasing again, though still circling, not wanting to get too close to his light parries.

"It can use improvement," he advised. "You obviously know what to do with a sword—just need some refinement and practice." Will felt the blood suffuse his cheeks at more unfortunate phrasing. I give up. I should simply be quiet from now on and whack people with swords, be done with it. No more social life for Will Turner. If she notices me blushing, I've hit my low point for the day. I really couldn't go much-

"Ah, so that's where me sword got off to!"

Ah, yes. He'd forgotten about Jack not being out here with the merry bunch. Until now. Will squared his shoulders and decided he had the perfect excuse to ignore the man right before him. "Stop dancing, Elizabeth," he told his newest student, who was moving slightly from side to side, awaiting a parry. "Stand still; we'll start at the beginning."

From behind, Will could hear Jack's lowered voice asking David what he'd missed so far, and the boy giving him a full report. He blocked it out, concentrating on showing Elizabeth how to wield her sword, beginning with having her imitate his stance and hold, then how to block basic thrusts, just as he'd spent nearly an hour teaching David. Occasionally the pair of them would circle and he'd catch a glimpse of the man and boy out of the corner of his eye, but Will was a master of being aware of his surroundings without being distracted by them during fencing. Groves had praised him early in their tutelage as a natural with the sword, one of the few things Will had ever allowed himself to be proud of in his young life.

Which is why, when he heard a light swish behind him some time later, he spun immediately, sword up, body tensed. The flat of his blade struck another, and Jack was grinning from behind the crossed swords. "Up for a real challenge, mate, or jus' keepin' company with women an' children today?"

"You're interrupting Elizabeth's lesson," Will gritted, forcing Jack's sword aside and down. "I don't think she appreciates that."

"Oh, I can watch," he heard the feminine voice reassure him from behind. "I might even learn something—go on."

Will was thoroughly annoyed. He'd managed to avoid Jack altogether yesterday, making the excuse of accompanying Elizabeth and David to an afternoon tea party in which he'd had no genuine interest other than escaping his captain. Now, however, he was being forced into facing the object of a rather... pleasant, fantasy, and all he could think was how convenient it would be to run his sword through the man right about now. There's that sword imagery again, old chap, his mind taunted.

"Yes, she can watch," Jack reiterated. "Lot t' be learned from experienced fellows such as us." His dark eyes bore in, unblinking, focused, and Will had the uneasy feeling they could read his mind.

Which was silly, once he thought about it. Jack was just being Jack—there was no possible way he could know what went on behind the face of a simple blacksmith. For all he knew, Will only ate, breathed, and slept sword-crafting and tying knots. Which I do, his mind stubbornly insisted. It was a damn fluke—too much being around him all the time, and not around Elizabeth as much as I used to be! "Fine." Will stepped back a couple of paces, bringing his sword up to level at Jack, much as he had that very first time.

"Still crossin' blades with pirates, I see," Jack murmured, raising his sword to rest against the flat tip of Will's. "Not any wiser in all this time, are we?"

"The blood, Captain," Will parried, both verbally and physically, whipping his blade around and away from Jack's, bringing it back to another threatening position. Of course, it wasn't terribly threatening, since on the Pearl the two of them practiced together quite often and knew nearly all of each other's moves, including the "surprise" parries.

"Ah. Yours or mine?"

"It's in mine." Will braced himself for the first lunge, metal clashing, as he held his stance, not backing up. "Said so yourself."

"We'll see how good it works for ye." With that, Jack danced forward a couple of steps, forcing Will to fall back and push with the sword near its hilt to get Jack to back off. "How'd you end up in th' teachin' business, anyhow?" he tilted his head in the general direction of the veranda and the two people watching.

"Let's see—I believe it was you, making me work with the crew, the ones who needed more experience."

"The boy, I can see; good cabin boy needs t' keep hisself from gettin' killed," Jack nodded, as casually as if they were eating supper instead of lunging, blocking, circling, and otherwise engaged in a rather intense workout with sharp, heavy blades at the moment. "But what's 'Lizbeth gon' do—resolve a deadlock in diplomatic talks by duelin' the stubborn bastards?"

"Never hurts to know how to defend oneself." Will was breathing hard, now; he'd practiced for more than an hour before David had showed up; besides, he'd been lax in his daily practice since escaping the Versailles, and his tiring muscles showed the morning's strain.

"S'pose not." Will was comforted to see the older man was a bit out of breath himself, apparently suffering from the same lack of practice. "Though I think me idea's better."

"What, running someone through because they don't agree with you right away?"

"No... runnin' 'em through if they don't end up agreein' eventually." Jack spun away, bringing his sword low to bear as he turned back toward Will, and the blacksmith barely managed to avoid the sharp tip, dropping his own sword to knock it away.

"That's tripe," Will declared, shaking his head as he brought their parries back to chest level. "I've never seen you run anyone through yet, unless you had to."

"Because they usually end up agreein' with me."

"Because they get tired of hearing your mouth run," Will protested.

"I think you're confusin' verbosity with charm," Jack countered, grinning.

"And I think you're confusing charm with you liking to hear the sound of your own voice."

"You're gon' learn very few people don't, mate." With that, Jack pressed an advantage, getting in past Will's tight defense, and slapped the flat of his blade against the smith's forearm in a harmless simulation of attack. "First blood; I win."

It rarely happened, with Jack or anyone else. Will sighed, then nodded, reaching up with the heel of his other hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Too out of practice," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"Ah, tell yourself what ye need to," Jack teased, withdrawing his sword. "But ye may be right; neither one of us has been gettin' th' practice we need. Gettin' soft, we are; startin' tomorrow, both of us, back to daily practices. Savvy?" Will nodded, and Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Exc'lent."

He turned then, gesturing Elizabeth out onto the grass with a flick of his sword. "Come along, missy—if you're gon' learn swords, ye might as well learn all th' dirty tricks Mr. Honest ain't about to show ye."

****

"I don't appreciate being left behind when my responsibility is to be learning what you do." Elizabeth's loud, clear voice could be heard all the way upstairs and around the corner, where Will found Jack and David sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall, heads turned so their ears were pressed to it. "With all due respect, Mr. Shelton—I'd almost think you're trying to hide something from me."

"Aye, that's it, give him hell, Lizzie," Jack muttered, nudging David's shoulder as he spoke. The boy nodded eagerly, never taking his ear from the wall.

"What are you two doing eavesdropping?" Will demanded, frowning over the captain and his cabin boy.

"Not eavesdroppin'," Jack answered, shaking his head just enough to keep his ear to the wall, flicking his eyes up at Will briefly to acknowledge him. "Checking on her, is all."

"From up here? While she's having a personal conversation?"

Jack rolled his eyes and gestured with one hand as he spoke. "I gave her a bit of advice, an' I'm jus' seein' how she handles it; David here was with me when I told her. Ask her yourself, ye don' believe us." The boy nodded, his eyes on Will; the blacksmith doubted David would lie, not to someone he seemed to practically worship such as himself.

Still skeptical, Will hunkered down on one knee and lowered his voice. "What advice could you give Elizabeth that she'd take, Jack?"

The pirate actually looked wounded. "You act like I ain' got th' wisdom to impart to th' younger generation," he frowned. "I jus' told her she was havin' so many problems with this character, she ought t' speak up more about it—make a threat or somethin'."

"You seem to treat me as though I'm a nobody, but I assure you, my family's opinion still carries some weight with His Majesty," Elizabeth warned the man, her tone remarkably even for a tone so strident it was still reaching the upstairs unmuffled. "If he's given to believe you're engaging in your own pleasurable pursuits, rather than doing your job—well, let's just say your position might not last much longer, sir."

"THAT'S what you taught her? To dig herself in with her own boss?"

Jack was grinning, though. "No, I simply told her to stand up for herself."

"She already knows how to do that, trust me."

"Well, her way wasn't getting her ver' far, mate. Shh." Jack put a forefinger to his lips and patted the spot on the floor behind him, gesturing for Will to move away from the banister, where he could be seen. Will shook his head, but crawled over and took the seat, turning his own ear to the wall against his better judgment.

"Are you threatening me, Miss Swann?"

"I'm merely saying you enjoy your job, and certain privileges as part of that position. I am expected to give reports on my experience here, and if my reports do not favorably reflect my time here... well, I can't be held liable for telling the truth, sir. I can't imagine you would suggest otherwise of my responsibilities." She sounded a bit pained.

"Oh, she's good," Jack commented.

"She used to do the same thing when we were children," Will whispered back. "If one of the others wouldn't listen to her, she'd threaten to tell their parents about some transgression or other."

"Blackmail's really th' best way for those with no other power t' get things," Jack agreed.

Will hesitated. Then: "What did you tell her, exactly?"

Jack shifted until he faced forward and could turn his head to address Will. "I told her tha' nobody's gon' give a woman more of a chance than they have to, and if she wants anythin' out of life, she's gon' occasionally have t' take th' bull by th' horns an' plow her own field." A quick nod from David on Jack's other side, who had also turned to listen to the discussion, confirmed as much.

Will digested this. "Did you butcher that many metaphors when you were actually preaching to her? I mean, I hope she didn't think you were trying to talk her into taking up farming, instead." It was his turn to smirk at Jack, who raised his eyebrows at the smith in deadpan expression.

"Are you all spying on me?"

Three male heads swiveled guiltily to face Elizabeth, who was standing near the top of the banister, hands on her hips. Her face was in shadow, impossible to read, but her tone was stern. "They were," Will spoke up, pointing to his compatriots. "I've only been here for a minute or two, telling Jack he should be ashamed of himself."

"Aye, and to tell stories on how ye used t' blackmail your little playmates as a child," Jack interjected smoothly. "So what happened, missy?"

"I'm going to the club this time, thank you." Her tone sounded much more at ease as she dropped her stern act. "As you'd know if you were proper eavesdroppers, instead of sitting up here quarreling among yourselves."

"I wasn't quarreling, Miss!" David protested, shaking his head quickly.

"I wasn't quarreling," Jack added in a more even tone.

Will lifted his hand into the air after a moment of silence. "I was probably quarreling a little bit," he admitted sheepishly. "They were eavesdropping quite well before I happened by."

"Well, I want all three of you cleaned up and dressed in your best by the time I get back," she ordered. "We're going to eat somewhere nice tonight before I see you off on the ship tomorrow. I do hope you haven't forgotten how to use utensils in your time on the Black Pearl," she directed at Will, and he could definitely detect the sarcasm in her tone.

"Yes, William," Jack mocked, swiveling his head to face Will again, gesturing with exaggerated daintiness in mid-air, his knobby fingers splayed delicately. "Remember—th' inside knife's for your meat, an' th' outside one's for stabbin' blokes."

"I remember, now," Will nodded, playing along. "But what of the forks?"

"Glad I didn't plan a dinner party," Elizabeth mumbled, shaking her head and descending the stairs, adding something along the way about "bad influence."

Jack couldn't have resisted if he'd tried. "That's REALLY bad eggs!" he called after the retreating woman.

****

"Did you get—"

"I packed it, trust me. Whatever it is," Will reassured Elizabeth as the carriage pulled to a stop half a mile from the docks.

"I'm just trying to make sure you're not leaving anything important behind," she protested.

"If I have, I'm certain you'll be responsible enough to make sure it gets to me, somehow," he countered, the first out of the carriage. He turned to offer his hand; Elizabeth took it, but hiked her skirt a bit with her other one, and hopped lightly out onto the ground instead of stepping down. "Not that many black ships with black sails—"

Elizabeth interrupted him. "—Crewed by the damned, and captained by a man—"

"—So evil that Hell itself spat him back out!" they finished in unison, remembering how Jack had related the tale as set forth by lieutenants Murtogg and Mullroy.

"Aye, that's me." Jack exited after Elizabeth, stepping aside so David could jump out, fairly bouncing with the anticipation of another trip. Will knew he hadn't slept much the night before, because the boy had been in Will's room peppering him and Jack with questions about England.

"I don't think it's supposed to be you, Captain," Elizabeth disagreed.

"Don't mess with me legend," Jack warned. "Gets me an' Pearl in where we need t' be, most times, an' with a minimum of fuss."

"Oh, Charlie," Elizabeth turned and tilted her head back to address the driver, "take their trunks on down and have them loaded, would you? Meet me back here in half an hour?"

"Aye, Miss." Charlie clicked his tongue at the horses, slapped the reins, and was off.

Will offered his arm to Elizabeth, but she simply smiled and stepped in to embrace him instead. "I'm going to send you on to the Trumpet; take David with you. I need to talk to Jack a bit by myself... about something we were discussing the other evening. A Christmas gift for Father."

Will thought to call her on the fabrication—after all, he wasn't stupid. If it were something that simple, she wouldn't mind discussing it in front of him. But she phrased it sweetly, and she smelled so wonderful, and he found himself nodding as he hugged her back. "All right."

As she pulled back, she pecked him on the cheek. "I shall miss you," she sighed, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw briefly. "I want you to be careful, as much as you can be—savvy?" she smiled up at him with a wink.

"Aye, I savvy." They both glanced at Sparrow, who was studiously looking away, scanning the skies. For relatives, perhaps? Will mused. Turning back to Elizabeth, he said, "And don't let that Shelton walk all over you. Jack's right—you can get further if you keep reminding him, and people like him, what you're supposed to be doing."

"I know," she reassured him. "Now, get going—we won't be far behind. You don't want to miss your bon voyage.."

Will gave her another quick, impulsive hug, then pulled away, backing up a few steps to look at her a bit longer. When David finished receiving his hug and came around behind Will, pulling at the cuff of his new dark green coat, he turned, and let the boy practically pull him to the docks, past the vendors, shouting crewmen, singing sailors, carts of fish, and the multitude of colorful characters, some of whom he was able to peg immediately as pirates by their bearing, furtive or cocky mannerisms, and appearance. None of them have Jack's panache, that's for sure, he observed, following David as the boy searched for Gabriel's Trumpet.

"Here she is!" David ran for the plank. Will followed, putting his arms out as he stepped onto the deck of the chartered boat which would be ferrying them along the river to the coast and then across the sea to London, the slight bobbing throwing him off-balance—he'd grown used to land again over the past few weeks. As he moved, though, he lowered his hands to his sides, his legs "remembering" their hard-won seaworthiness and compensating with a slightly rolling gait as he approached the rail.

Lifting one hand, he rested his palm on the flat of the wood, and closed his eyes as a wash of emotion swept over him. I belong here, his soul hummed. I belong on the water, on a ship, in this life. Oh, I missed it so much... Will swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling moisture prick the back of his eyelids—all thoughts of Elizabeth, Jack, any regrets he might still have harbored about abandoning his former life in Port Royale, swept away. How could I ever have imagined being anywhere else for very long?

So long did he stay like that that he didn't realize time had actually passed until Elizabeth's loud voice stirred him back to awareness. "For heaven's sakes, you win, Jack!"

Will took a moment to compose himself, reaching up to scrub his eyes with the heels of his hands, surprised to feel trace moisture on his cheeks. He widened his eyes, breathed in deeply of the water's scent, and shook his head to clear it of melancholy musings. When he turned to look for Elizabeth, he noticed her and Jack finishing their conversation, nodding to one another, and going their separate ways.

As Jack spoke with one of the boat's crew on the dock, Elizabeth raised a hand to wave at Will, and he saluted her in return. Maybe someday, he thought. If you're ever ready and I can get the salt out of my blood.

He knew it wasn't likely to happen either way.

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