Burden of Truth

BURDEN OF TRUTH

BY: Avaloneleven

***

Will Turner hadn't left his late wife's bedroom since that day. The Governor's servants came every morning and night, bringing food and pitying looks; Will appreciated neither. The bed had been removed and burned weeks ago, but Will barely slept anyway, plagued by nightmares. He stared, pale and numb, out the window that faced the lagoon. There was a hesitant knock at the door. Go away, Will thought, but the door creaked open and a maid stepped in. She spoke tremulously, and he did not look at her. "S-sir... Governor Swann invites you to join him on a trip to the town." Will sighed. "Thank you, Sarah," he said, for that was the maid's name, "but I would rather remain in the manor today. Please offer the governor my apologies." Sarah nodded and backed out of the room, leaving Will to the memories echoing through his mind. *** One Month Earlier *** "You look so lovely in the morning," Will whispered, rolling over in bed to face his wife Elizabeth. She smiled blearily, shaking her head. "You always say that." She kissed her husband softly. "It's always true," Will wrapped his arms around her, and they indulged in a moment of quiet contemplation before unable to ignore the sounds of activity from the house. Yawning, Elizabeth rolled her massively pregnant form out of the bed. "I feel as though I'm carrying one of your anvils right on my stomach." Hopping out of bed behind her, a distinct spring in his step, he kneeled in front of her and placed a soft kiss on her belly. "It won't be long now, though, will it?" he asked, running his hands over the rounded skin. She groaned. "Oh, God, I hope not." *** Will stared unblinking out at the shimmering blue water, praying for the burning behind his eyes to cease. *** "Will..." she said haltingly, pausing as she dressed for the day. He glanced up, his smile disappearing when he caught the pained look on her face. In an instant, he was there, helping her back to the bed. She cried out in agony. "Sarah!" Will yelled, drawing the attention of the maid. "Fetch the midwife!" He leaned down and kissed her forehead, which was growing wet with perspiration. She gripped his hand and looked up at him desperately. "It hurts, Will..." she whimpered. He placed his lips on the hand he held, and whispered, "I love you, Elizabeth Turner." "I love you, Will. And I know..." she broke her sentence with another scream of pain, and the midwife came scurrying in. She was closely followed by Sarah, her arms laden in cloth rags and a large, shallow bowl of warm water. "You should wait outside, Mr. Turner," the midwife said curtly, busying herself at the end of the bed. Will shook his head. "I want to stay with Elizabeth." "Mr. Turner, I really must insist..." "Will..." Elizabeth mumbled, her face pale and drawn, her eyes shining with emotion. "Go. Go find... please be happy, Will." He hesitated only for a moment, not entirely sure what she'd meant, then leant down and gave her a firm, loving kiss on the mouth. "I love you," he murmured, and she screamed in pain. As much as it hurt to do so, he hurried out of the room to search the manor for Governor Swann. *** Sometimes he wondered what might have been if he hadn't left, if he'd been there when... everyone had said there was nothing he could have done, but there must have been something... if only to look into her eyes, to hold her hand during those last moments... *** When Will returned, the Governor ambling proudly in tow, they were nearly knocked over as Sarah barreled by, and an echoed cry rang from within the room. "Fetch the doctor! For God's sake, woman, hurry!" the midwife cried. Will broke into a run. "Elizabeth!" he cried desperately, reaching the door of the bedroom. It was ajar, and he could hear the screams of agony from inside the room... then, just as suddenly, the screams died away. The second that it took for Will to push the door open stretched on for eons. *** Staring at the cheerful people down in the village, Will thought he might be sick, and rose from the chair to find an empty chamber-pot. He tried to stop the images, but they would not cease. *** The doctor arrived then, pushing Will out of the room and attempting to shut the door, but Will had already seen. The bedspread, the rags, his wife's skirts were soaked in blood. His eyes widened in horror and he frantically tried to scramble past the door, past the doctor. As the Governor arrived and pulled him back into the hall, the door slammed and he heard the tumbler of the lock fall like the impact of a cannonball. He hammered on the door, screaming his wife's name. There was no response for what felt like hours, and he slumped to the ground, leaning his head on the wall, his face soaked in tears. "Elizabeth," he whispered desperately. The Governor, obviously terrified, awkwardly helped Will rise to his feet and into a chair by the door. They sat in utter silence, neither of them could tell for how long; Will wasn't sure he truly wanted the door to open again, for fear of what might be. Time, as it does, refused to wait for him; the door eased open and the doctor, ashen-faced, stepped out. His hands and shirt were soaked in bright red... *** Now Will had no doubt that he would be sick, and he was right; his body convulsed and, heaving, he fell to his knees on the ground. He was dimly aware of the door opening, and saw a pair of over-shined boots step in front of him. "Mr. Turner," the voice said, imperious but with an overwhelming vein of sympathy. The man leaned down and lifted Will to his feet, his hands under the younger man's arms. Will turned around numbly to greet the visitor. "Commodore Norrington," he mumbled, turning back to his chair. "What brings you to Swann Manor?" "Concern, Mr. Turner, for a friend." Will laughed humorlessly. Commodore Norrington had, indeed, become close to the couple, something of a guardian angel. When Joseph Brown, Will's master, had passed on a short while ago (a surfeit of liquor and time), he had left no instructions as to the fate of his smithy – it was Commodore Norrington's influence that landed the business in Will's own hands. He and Elizabeth had argued over Will's insistence on continuing to be a smith, but Will had convinced her. It was his art, he had said. His passion, the one thing he loved, he told her, almost as much as her. She had been swayed, and had even begun to learn the art of swordplay. Those lessons had been cut short when she had become pregnant – it was, again, Commodore Norrington who had sought out a suitable apprentice to take over the smithy. Will had been so grateful for the man's support, knowing his love for Elizabeth... he expected the man must hate him now that he'd let her die. "I remain alive and well, Commodore," Will said, walking to the other end of the room. "As is my prison. And you – should you not be monitoring your fleet?" "I have been granted a leave of absence, for mourning, by Governor Swann. He told me today about your... continued despair." The commodore sighed before continuing. "I thought you might like to join me in a drink, Will. This solitude is doing you no good." Will could not think of a response to that – and, in truth, he would not object to a drink – but wondered if he could face the village and a tavern full of happy people around him, and he told the commodore so. The older man smiled ruefully, and drew a bottle of rum from his satchel. "In truth, I doubt I myself could face the drunken masses." He handed the bottle to Will, and they drank together, in silence. After several belts of rum, Will sighed. "You must hate me," he said softly. The older man took this in, downed another swig of the harsh liquor, and nodded. "I did, for awhile. When she chose you. It was a simple way to handle the pain of losing one I cared for so much. But you made her happy, and that I cannot begrudge you, Will." Will wanted desperately for these words to bring some measure of comfort, but they did not. Grabbing the bottle from Norrington, he sighed. "How is young Avery doing down at the shop?" Will asked, needing to change the subject. Norrington nodded, understanding. "He has neither your affection nor your affinity for the craft, but he serves. The shop wants for you, Will." He shook his head. "I... cannot go back. I do not think I can stay in Port Royal at all, when it comes down to it." The commodore looked at Will in surprise. "You would leave?" "I have nothing left here that doesn't remind me..." he trailed off. The commodore nodded. "I will arrange transport wherever you need to go, of course..." "Tortuga," Will said. The name had only just struck him, along with another... perhaps... "I wish to go to Tortuga." "Are you sure that's wise, Will? Tortuga... it's nothing but beggars, whores and..." "Pirates," Will finished, his face set in determination. * * * It was only a few days later when William Turner disembarked from the small shipping barge onto the decks of Tortuga. Just as he remembered it: filthy and reeking of drink and urine. He wandered easily into a familiar tavern, ordering a dram of rum from a heavily-tattooed fat man behind the bar. His drink came in a dirty glass, stained with lipstick. He didn't notice it, instead watching the man to his left topple, unconscious, from his stool. Without a second glance, he took the seat and stared at the dirt-covered mirror behind the bar. A tap on the shoulder roused him from his reverie. An ugly man in his forties, his face scarred and torn, sneered at him. "I don't recognize you, little boy. What be yer name?" Will turned away from the man's vile breath. "William Turner." A hush fell over the crowd that heard the name – the majority of the bar was still engaged in various kinds of debauchery, and could care less. The man raised a hairless eyebrow. "Be you, then? Any relation to old Bootstrap?" "He was my father," Will muttered. The man called to his friends, attracting more attention. "Oy, you lot! This here's Bootstrap Bill's only son! This be the fellow who rid us of Barbossa and his crew!" "I didn't," Will said quietly. "Jack Sparrow did. I was only in it for the girl," he added. The man let out a rollicking laugh. "A fine purpose if ever there was one! A right slatternly wench, I'd wager." Will downed the rest of his drink, stood from his stool, and punched the man in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, caught by two of his mates, and shook his head to clear it. "Looking for a fight, then, Turner? Shame that ol' Jack Sparrow isn't around to save your arse this time," one of the hideous man's friends sneered. He readied his fist for a solid punch – one that Will was more than willing to take – and swung. Will closed his eyes. He heard the sound of a muffled impact, but felt nothing. He opened his eyes to see what had stopped the man. "It's *Captain* Jack Sparrow, savvy?" the man himself said, dropping the man's fist to the ground. He turned to Will, who was speechless at Jack's convenient arrival. "Will! Might I buy you a drink?" Will nodded numbly, but the man he had first punched had righted himself, and hefted a chair. He let out a cry of anger and barreled towards the two men. "Perhaps later," Jack drawled without missing a beat, grabbing a handy whiskey bottle from the bar and smashing it over their attacker's head. Within seconds, the bar had erupted into a full- scale brawl. Will saw Jack catch a chair in the back before he himself was knocked out by a remarkable punch, thrown (as far as he could see) by a voluptuous prostitute who he seemed to recall meeting once before, though he couldn't place her. * * * Will woke up flying through the air. He barely had a second to register this phenomenon before he unceremoniously hit the ground. Another body followed his flight from the tavern – Jack, he thought, as the dreadlocked pirate landed on top of him. Jack grinned saucily at Will from his prone position on top of the younger man. "Fancy meeting you here, mate." Jack waggled his eyebrows. Will became suddenly extremely uncomfortable and wriggled from under the pirate, getting shakily to his feet. Jack joined him, tossing an arm over Will's shoulders. "So! Where to, lad?" Twenty minutes later, they'd found their way to the harbour where The Black Pearl was moored. The ship looked a grand sight better than the last time Will had seen it up close – the tattered black sails had been replaced by white linen, and the holes in the body of the ship were well-patched and virtually invisible. "She looks good," Will commented. Jack smiled proudly, teetering slightly. "She cleans up well, don't she?" "Gibbs and the rest of the crew about?" "Can't run a ship all by me onesies." Jack wedged a foot into a step cut in the side and scrambled onto deck, holding his hand out for Will, who followed. Will admired the familiar ship, which had been renovated just enough to stem the flow of memories from the last time he was aboard. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned to his old friend. "You look good, Jack," Will said awkwardly, and Jack made an elaborate bow, flourishing his usual tri-cornered hat. Replacing the headgear, he took a lingering look at the younger man. "You don't, mate. Elsa packs a bit of a wallop, there, don't she?" "Aye, she does," Will said. He caught motion from the corner of his eye – two of who he assumed to be Jack's crewmen (he didn't recognize them, but assumed Jack had brought new men aboard) had woken from their sentry posts. "Off with you, men, the Captain has `er." One of the two men had a conspicuous twitch of the eye, but they both left quietly. Will's gaze followed them. "As mad as the rest of them?" he asked in amusement. Jack grinned. "The only way to sail, me friend. How's about that drink, then?" They settled in the captain's quarters with a bottle of fine brandy between the two of them. Jack hefted his boots up onto the table and leaned back. "So what brings an otherwise upstanding young gentleman such as yourself to this odorous scab of the Caribbean? Trouble with the missus?" "Elizabeth died a month ago," Will said quietly. It was the first time he'd ever said the words. Elizabeth died. Jack's face fell like a rock from its usual smirk into a saddened frown. "How?" he asked. Will took a swig of the brandy. "In childbirth. Our first son." Will wished that Jack would stop looking at him. "My condolences, mate. And the boy?" "He didn't survive either." Will's voice had gone dead – he had no feeling left, no more grief. It was as though he had shut down in the face of too much pain. Jack studied his friend intently. "So you're in Tortuga..." "I couldn't stay in Port Royal. Not seeing her father every day, living in the house in which she..." Will stood. "Jack, I want to go with you." Jack's eyes widened and his chair almost tipped backwards, but he righted himself immediately. "The Pearl's not a passenger ship." "I know that. I want to join your crew, be a pirate like my father." Will held his breath as Jack rubbed the scraggly patch of hair on his chin. His entire life, it seemed, hinged on the man's approval. "The last time I saw you, you didn't know a mizzen from a mezzanine. I wouldn't object to the company, mind you, but I haven't time for amateurs, savvy?" "I've gotten better since then, and you know well how fast I learn." "It's a risk I can't afford." "I saved your life." "Saved yours too, so's my recollection." "Jack, *please*," Will begged, and Jack met his eyes with a look so unreadable he might have been a completely different animal. There was a moment of tense silence between the two. Finally, Jack pointed to a simple bed in the corner of the room. "Get some sleep, mate." "What, in your bed?" He tried to ignore the jolt in his stomach. "Aye. We'll set up cabin for you tomorrow, but we leave before daybreak. You'll need your rest, I'd wager." Will eyed the set-up with trepidation. "And you?" he asked. Jack smirked. "I, me friend, am still on vacation, and dangerously nearing sober. I'll see you before dawn." Jack walked out, but paused in the doorway. "I really am sorry, mate. It's hell losing the one you love." He shut the door, leaving Will to his own guilty thoughts and feverish dreams. * * * Jack stood on deck, mindlessly steering the ship. It had been two weeks now since The Pearl had set off from Tortuga carrying their new crewman. No one had said much of anything at welcoming Will back on board – a suspicious man, which of course Jack was, would have wondered whether they'd been surprised at all to see the young blacksmith back among their ranks. As for himself, Jack had been floored when he'd run across Will in the pub. He had, in fact, been on his way out, pushing his way through the crowd of people when he heard the familiar voice. "William Turner," it was saying, in exactly the same tone as the first time Jack had heard the name. He couldn't see the face, oh no – the mere notion of seeing anything in the soot-ridden mirror above the bar was laughable – but he knew, from that first syllable. He listened to every word of the conversation that he could hear; he though he had heard his name mentioned, even. He had winced in anticipation when the bar scallywag had called Elizabeth a "wench", and it had not gone unrewarded. Jack's first glimpse of the boy was when he turned around to administer the punch, his eyes wild and inflamed. Christ, Jack had missed him. Anamaria stepped up beside Jack, and he handed the wheel over to her, stepping to the side to watch his newest sailor at work. Will hadn't lied – he *had* gotten better since the last time they'd been on a ship together. Gibbs had taken him under his wing, showing him (all puns aside) the ropes and catching Will up on the proper terminology. The boy caught on fast, it was true – he even took on tasks like swabbing the deck with no hint of resentment or desire for favouritism. But his face never lit up the way it used to, the way his father's did. He had no *love* of the sea. Jack had understood from the moment the request came that, for Will, it was a matter of escape. Will had needed to do something that didn't remind him so vividly of the life he and Elizabeth shared – Jack knew that. More to the point, Jack sympathized with it. He thought back to the moment when Will had asked to join his crew. He wasn't sure he'd understood, at first, and reacted gracelessly by almost falling off his chair. Jack hadn't thought he'd ever hear those words from Will. He did want the boy there – oh, God, yes, there was no doubt about that – but he feared his own reactions to Will's presence. 'It's a risk I can't afford', he'd said. Yes, a risk, but not for the reasons he'd let the boy believe. Anamaria's voice broke into his thoughts. "He's a fine man, no doubt," she said, unabashedly following Jack's gaze and (apparently) reading his mind. Jack summoned an air of indifference and shrugged. "Aye, he's a bonny sailor." Anamaria eyed him curiously. "That's not what I meant, Captain." "I know well what you meant," Jack responded wearily. She was too insightful for her own good. "Do you think, if it's not too much trouble, you could take your eyes off me and steer the ship?" "Aye, Captain," Anamaria said, smirking slightly. Oh, Jack hated her sometimes. "But, if I might say..." "Is there really any doubt you will?" She smiled and put a hand on Jack's shoulder, leaning in closely. "I'm not the only one watching you," she whispered, and her eyes flickered down to the deck where Will was swabbing. Jack looked over just in time to see Will snap his head back to the mop and bucket. He sighed. The last thing Jack's imagination needed was encouragement like this. * * * Only a month at sea and they'd returned to Tortuga again. Their recent plunder of a Cuban shipping vessel had left them with enough to sell and trade as to make the visit worthwhile – including crate after crate of cigars, a valued commodity in the area. Now, Will sat again in the same tavern in which he'd reconnected with Jack those four weeks ago – nursing a mug of ale and trying to keep his mind off of things. He still hadn't processed exactly how he felt being around the man, but he couldn't ignore the little jump in his stomach every time Captain Sparrow looked at him. Captain Sparrow. The words seemed foreign to him – he'd quickly grown accustomed to the name when on duty, but to him, the name would always be "Jack". Will knew he'd proven himself on the ship as a sailor, there was no doubt about that – only once had Jack actually commended him on his progress, but that was enough to fuel Will for the rest of the time. It was good, hard work; he even, sometimes, found moments when he didn't think of Elizabeth at all. The pain always came rushing back, though, and he pushed it deeper inside himself under a layer of guilt. He promised himself that he would never forget her. His thoughts turned to Jack, as they had so many times since he came on board. 'Since before that,' a little voice cried out in his mind, but he drowned it out with another gulp of ale. 'There is no good to come from thinking like that,' he chastised himself. He loved Elizabeth, and he always had. That was the end of it. Still… as he watched Jack dance a frenzied jig with three local women, he couldn't stop the smile that tickled his lips. A loud clunk came as another mug hit the table, and Anamaria poured herself into the chair next to him. He sighed and didn't shift his gaze from the captain. "You've been on that same drink for an hour, Mr. Turner," Anamaria slurred. "You've no idea how to enjoy this village." Will shrugged. "No, I don't suppose I do." She studied him for a moment. "If I could offer a shred of advice?" "Won't you anyway?" Will said irritably, his view of Jack having been obscured by a massively fat patron. Disappointed, he downed the rest of his mug and got halfway out of his chair, intending a refill. Anamaria pulled him back down into his seat. "Listen to me, Turner. You can't live this life if you don't love it, and you've got too much of your heart in other things." Will finally gave up on trying to inconspicuously peek around the lumbering fat man, distracted by what the brown-skinned woman had said. "I... I do love it." She shook her head. "You're here for love, I'll give you that much, but it's not of the open sea." He stared into the empty cup in front of him. "I miss her so much, Ana." "I know you do..." She gestured to a nearby wench for another round. "But that wasn't what I meant." "I don't understand." "It's not love for *Elizabeth* that brought you back to this ship." Will stood up angrily. "You should watch what you say. I loved Elizabeth, and I still do, and I always will." "And I don't doubt that for a second," Anamaria said, teetering as she stood to meet him. "But she's not the only one in your heart, and you know it." "Shut your mouth, Ana." Will clenched his fists. They had drawn the attention of the patrons around them, including (he noticed nervously) Jack. Anamaria looked thoughtful. "I wonder if she knew who you *really* love..." In a panic, he swung out at her and caught her jaw with his fist. The entire tavern had gone completely silent as Anamaria stumbled backwards, caught by Gibbs. They both looked at Will in complete shock. The entire tavern was staring at him. He couldn't breathe. A pair of hands caught him by the shoulders. "Outside. Now." Jack. He let himself be dragged out of the bar and pushed to the other side of the alleyway. "What in blazes is wrong with you, boy?" "Leave me alone, Jack," Will said, rubbing his forehead. He himself wasn't sure of the answer to Jack's question. "Believe me, I happily would, only an attack on a member of my crew is something I make it a point not to ignore." Will took a deep breath and turned away. Jack grabbed him by the arm. "Do not walk away from me, Will!" "I have no need to explain myself to you." "But you do to her!" Will slowed. "I owe Anamaria nothing." "I speak of Elizabeth." That stopped him in his tracks. "Elizabeth is dead," he said slowly, angrily, not facing the pirate. "Aye, but she still watches you. And she just saw you strike a woman." Will turned as Jack spoke, his face a mask of rage. Jack pushed. "She must be so ashamed." Will ran at Jack, his fists clenched. "You bastard!" He landed a punch on Jack's jaw before drawing his sword. It shook in his hands. "I have done nothing to be ashamed of!" Jack put his hand on his own sword, pausing. "I beat you the last time we did this." "You cheated." "Pirate!" he said incredulously, remembering the first time they'd met. Will smirked. "So am I." With that, Will swung the sword at Jack. In a split second, Jack's own was out to block the attack. The blades hit with a shimmering clang. "You think you've done nothing she would be ashamed of?" Will parried angrily and thrust at Jack again. Jack dodged the blow easily. "Hell, boy, anybody in their right mind would avoid you like the plague!" His own longing was burning in his throat and he lunged at his opponent. "She loved me." "Ah, but not enough not to die," Jack drawled. They fought urgently, the air rent with the cries of colliding steel. "She died and you hate her for it." "I don't hate her!" Will hit Jack in the face with the butt of his sword. "I would never!" "Aye, but you hate someone, don't you? Who's to blame? Is it Elizabeth, for dying? Or your little baby boy, for killing her?" Will caught Jack in the chest with his boot and kicked him backwards. He hit the wall and slid down, the wind knocked out of him. Will rushed to give a killing blow, Jack could see it in his eyes, and in desperation he yelled out, "It's not your fault, Will!" The younger man froze, his sword poised to strike. He backed away, breathing deeply, and dropped the weapon. Jack took the moment to stand up, leaving his sword where it lay. Will's legs gave out from under him and he crumpled onto the dirty street, sobbing dryly. Jack kneeled in front of him, reaching a hand out to cup the boy's cheek. "I can't breathe, Jack..." "It wasn't your fault." Will looked up to meet Jack's eyes, filled with affectionate concern. Inside, he felt something snap, and he did the only thing he could to stem the burning in his chest. He jolted forward and captured Jack's lips with his own. It only took a split second for Jack to get over his shock and return the kiss, winding his hands in the boy's stringy brown hair. Will wrapped his hands around the pirate's back, clinging to him desperately, as he opened his mouth and his tongue slipped out to meet Jack's. Jack thought his chest would explode – for all the fantasies he'd had, little flickers of thought that he hadn't acknowledged, he'd never truly believed he would ever have a chance to touch Will. He wasn't prepared for it, couldn't rationalize it as he could almost every other situation he found himself in… he wanted to shut off his mind and enjoy touching the man he loved, but he could feel the grief in the man's kiss. He sadly decided that Will wasn't kissing *him*; what was worse was, he didn't care. For a moment, all Will could feel was the sensation of Jack's mouth on his. A year of longing, of thoughts no one heard and dreams no one knew of, exploded inside him as the heat filled his body, rushing to his head. This was it, this was heaven, this was... *wrong*. The guilt hit him in a single crushing blow and he pushed Jack away, breaking the kiss and sending the older man sprawling backwards on the ground. His breathing was frenzied as he could no longer control the searing behind his eyes, and tears flowed down his face. He let out a harsh, ragged sob and covered his face with his hands. Jack crawled hesitantly across the ground to sit in front of the boy. "Oh, Will..." he said painfully, unable to find words. "I did love her, I do still..." "I know you did, mate." "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth..." he whispered into the night, and Jack's heart sank. He couldn't imagine he was welcome anymore, and made to stand up. Will darted his hand out and grabbed Jack's wrist. "Please... don't go; I have to explain." Jack wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but he had never been able to refuse the boy before. He sat back down, crossing his legs. Will took a shuddering breath. "It was my fault," he began, and Jack shook his head. "It was not." "It was! If I had loved her more..." "That's bollocks, and you know it. You can't love more than with all your heart." Will wouldn't look at him. "I wanted to give her everything. All that I had. But I couldn't even... If I hadn't held back..." Jack had to ignore what Will was saying. "You couldn't have saved her, it was..." "...if I hadn't lied..." "...a tragedy of nature, mate, there wasn't..." "...if I hadn't loved you..." The revelation hung between them. Will covered his face again, not willing to see Jack's reaction. Jack, on his part, fell utterly silent, the weight of those words not lost on him. A part of him wanted to rejoice, but he couldn't, not in the face of such pain. He leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. "This is no place for a talk like this, William," Jack said softly, running his hand over Will's hair. Will leaned into the tender touch, still weeping softly. "I wanted to love her more, I tried, Jack, I swear I did..." "You did all you could do, love." Will looked up, blinking in consternation at the word. "Come back to the boat, get warmed up." Jack helped the young man to his feet, looping one arm around his waist in support. Gathering the swords in his free hand, the two men strode slowly towards the nearby port where The Pearl was docked. * * * Will had stayed silent the entire walk back. The flow of emotions was stemmed slightly, and his chest no longer felt like it would explode, but it wasn't the numbness of before. He felt bruised, beaten, but still alive. Now he sat on the edge of the bed, nervously gripping the blanket. Jack sat across from him, having pulled up a chair. His kit – belt, sword, jacket, even his hat – rested on the table. Will himself had removed his jacket and tossed it on the end of the bed before he sat down. "She wouldn't want you to suffer like this, Will," Jack began. Will knew it was true – somehow, hearing it from Jack made it stick. He had worried that to not feel the pain of her death was to insult her memory – that if it stopped hurting, it would cease to matter. But he knew Elizabeth, and he knew she'd never wish that on him. He nodded. "She always said she wanted me to be happy... I kept the shop, you know." "And a bloody good thing too. You were a real artist." "So I've been told." He smiled weakly. Jack shifted a little in his chair. "You know, Elizabeth was a clever girl, all things considered. She may well have known." Will shook his head. "She would have hated me." "I think you underestimate the dear strumpet, God rest her soul. Funny thing, love... you'd risk it all for their happiness, their life. You did that for her." "I did that for you, too, Jack." "Aye," Jack said, nodding thoughtfully. "Aye, that you did. Did she never say anything on the subject?" Will wanted to say "No" automatically, but he stopped to think. Oh, they'd reminisced many times about their adventures on the high seas with the infamous Captain Sparrow, definitely... Elizabeth had always talked about them fondly, but without any real commitment. Had she ever said anything about Jack, really? A memory came unbidden into his mind. *** "Will..." Elizabeth mumbled, her face pale and drawn, her eyes shining with emotion . "Go. Go find... please be happy, Will." *** He had thought she meant "about the baby", and hadn't ever entertained any other thoughts. But the confusing look in her eyes as he remembered it was fresh as it had happened yesterday, and with a jolt, he understood. A peaceful sadness washed over his body, replacing the wrenching grief that had lived there since her death. He recognized the expression she had worn – it was a farewell, a blessing. Through all her pain, she had given him her final gift. Jack had gotten up from the chair and now stood before him, looking down affectionately. Will stood up to meet him. "She did know, then?" Jack said softly, running his thumb over Will's bottom lip. Will nodded. "She really was too good for me," Will said shakily. Jack shook his head. "There's nothing exists what's too good for you, love." Jack wrapped his hands around the back of Will's neck, resting their foreheads together. After a moment of peace, he shifted his head and gently placed his lips on Will's. And for a brief second – and sometime it only takes one – everything was as close to perfect as it would ever be. The End

***