{Fic} Never Learned to Drown (PotC, Jack/Will...) 1/2
Never Learned to Drown
By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply, I’m dabbling in someone else’s sandbox.
Pairings: pre-Jack/Will, some Will/Elizabeth, hints of Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: Mature, bordering on Adults Only
Warnings: Het stuff (W/E to an extent, hints of W/Tia), unresolved issues
Series: Of Skin and Bone (follows Lost at Sea)
Summary: Will becomes familiar with what it means to be captain and perhaps sympathizes with Davy Jones.
Thanks to
klear0bsession for boosting my confidence, which really helped encourage me to continue and wrap this story up. She remarks that this series has the makings of an epic, I’m starting to worry that she’s right... Thanks also to
danglingdingle for lots of encouraging questions and comments that helped complete this section.
~ * ~ * ~
William Turner watches the sky lighten as he secures the scarf around his hair. His feet are bare, digging into the sand he will be unable to touch for ten years. If asked, he would have to admit that he passed his night spending as much time taking in the feel of the land as the feel of his bride’s body against his.
Now that she has entered his thoughts he is unable to avoid the conversation he knows will complicate their parting. Elizabeth, the girl he’d become enamored with while still a boy, a girl he watched grow up. She’s a complicated woman full of passion and noble ideals, yet decidedly stubborn and willing to be ruthless in pursuing her goals.
Will closes his eyes and buries his feet deeper in the sand. He does love her, yet he could love her so much more - more sincerely - with time. He’s only known for little over a week what transpired between their interrupted wedding and the Pearl’s - and Jack’s - destruction. In the aftermath of the kraken, the resentment and doubt had grown from a seed planted sometime during his search for Jack.
He loves her, but it is nothing like the all-consuming and send-you-flying sort of love he once imagined it would be. Perhaps it is only that they have both matured to see the world more realistically, but there is part of him that knows they have their own paths to walk...
“Will.” Elizabeth’s arms slide over his shoulders and her hands wander down his chest, conspicuously avoiding the jagged scar. “We’ve some time yet...” Her lips brush over his ear and he leans against her, wishing her touch or her voice would fill the void in him. He knows that the organ removed from his chest is more a physical symbol for rather than manifestation of his emotions and soul, but he feels very detached from the world since its loss.
Gently he guides her hands away from his hips and kisses her palms. “Liz... I need to speak with you.”
With a sigh she sits beside him in the sand. Her shift is unlaced, hiding very little, and she seems to purposefully let the sleeve slip over her shoulder. She casts him a suggestive look; Will offers her a weak smile in return.
“You know that I...” Strange how hard he finds what he has to say when he’s thought about it since Tia Dalma suggested he would take Jones’ place. He looks out at the sea and finds his gaze lingering on the Black Pearl.
“I won’t be able to step ashore for-”
“Ten years,” she finishes. Her smile is strained when he glances at her. “Yes, I know. I... You know I’ll wait?”
Will again looks at the sea and watches the ships. “Elizabeth,” he says softly, “I will not bind you.” His gaze drops to his sandy feet. “You’ve always fought to be free. Who am I to try and trap you?”
Her hand slides into his. “Not trapped, Will! We’ve been waiting for this! All of this time, haven’t we been working towards... towards us?” He can’t quite remember how long ago they had been ready to marry. A year? Less, or more? “Will, I’ve been waiting for you since I can remember.”
He hates hearing the heartbreak in her voice, but there is no time to ease slowly through this conversation. He turns to face her and cups her cheek in his hand. “How much, Elizabeth?” She looks at him in confusion. “How much time have you spent pining for me? Who else have you... Has there not been anyone else you’ve thought about?” Before she can turn away to hide guilty eyes, he assures, “I don’t mean Jack. Whatever that was...” he trails off and lets it lay, needing that to remain in the past so he doesn’t rekindle the fire of anger and bitterness.
“I loved you so long from afar. I doubt I’ll ever meet someone else like you. But I’ve only begun to know myself and you’ve... we’ve both changed so much.” His voice drops to a whisper as he watches her eyes close, hiding the flash of recognition and hurt in her expression. “I love you, do not doubt that. But you belong to no man and I will not pretend to keep you.”
“Why,” she whispers, voice wavering, “then did you ask for us to be married?”
Will strokes her cheek with his thumb. “Because I promised you.” Her eyes open and he fights a grimace at her stricken look. “Shh... I mean that you have had my heart from the beginning. I trust only you to guard it. And I promise you that I will return.”
Confusion evident on her face, she says, “What are you asking of me?”
“Nothing,” he replies, smiling gently. “I will not change you and could not even if I wished.” He wonders if she also is reminded of Calypso. “You have my love, without terms or conditions. I wish you to be happy and live your life.”
He pauses, waiting for his words to sink in before continuing. Part of him wonders how long it took for Jones to lose himself and if the same fate will find him. However, at present Elizabeth’s fate is the only one he is concerned with.
“I will not be with you, and you cannot follow me,” he reminds gently. He watches the reality finally start to sink in and brings her into his embrace. Against her hair he murmurs, “You’re so alive. I hate the thought that my memory would hold you back from anything or anyone. Surely you’d hate to be alone.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll fall in love with someone else,” she protests, face pressed against his shoulder.
Will strokes her hair soothingly. “I’m not saying you must. Just know that you owe me nothing.”
The sun’s earliest rays appear in the sky. When he turns his head he can see the tide inching closer, reaching for him as sure as the siren song playing in his mind. This must be what it’s like for Jack, he thinks, when he talks with Pearl.
Elizabeth pulls away eventually and meets his gaze. He does not comment on the wetness on her cheeks. Her fingertips trace his lips as she smiles sadly. “I’ve kissed only a few,” she begins quietly, “though your lips are the only ones that matter. I can’t imagine- but maybe I don’t understand yet.” She takes a deep breath and drops her hand. “You’ll always be more than a memory, Will; don’t think so little of yourself. And if you ask nothing of me but to keep your heart safe-” they share a smile at the double meaning “-then I must insist you have no obligations to me.”
Before he can protest her lips are on his in a fierce kiss. When they part she looks away and says, “I don’t know what awaits you. But maybe... maybe there will be someone who captures your interest.”
Will gently guides her to face him again. “I’m ferryman to the dead,” he murmurs, trying hard to hide the resignation in his voice.
“If I’m to be happy, you must find a way, too.” Her expression sets in determination and Will can feel his lips twitch upwards.
“Alright,” he promises.
~ * ~
He doesn’t say goodbye. When he returns to the Dutchman he walks straight to the helm and orders the crew to get underway. His father relinquishes the wheel silently, although Will can tell by his expression that he wants to say something; Will catches Bootstrap staring at the Pearl still anchored in place. Quickly he looks away and locks his eye on the horizon.
Considering that he has no real idea of the particulars of his captainship, he feels surprisingly calm. Beneath his hands the wood feels warm and alive, so unlike he imagined after his previous stay aboard the Dutchman. As the sun rises, he beginnings to hear a collection of murmuring voices, too quiet to distinguish any words. The ship hums beneath his feet as an accompaniment, and he can sense her anticipation.
Where can you take me? he questions silently. Guide me.
The Dutchman arcs into the next wave and she begins her dive beneath the sea. For a moment Will can only think of his numerous experiences of almost-drowning; he has a strong desire to hold his breath. As the ocean swallows the Dutchman the voices in the back of his mind grow louder and one familiar female voice separates from the rest.
“De Duchess be gentle when you love her. You have not’ing to fear from de sea. You be free to sail dese waters if you do de job that you been given.” Tia Dalma - Calypso, now. He lets the Dutchman sail as she will while he listens intently to Tia. “Dere be many souls yet to cross worlds; Davy Jones abandon dem. You mus’ see to dem.”
“What do I do?” he asks. How is he to guide wandering spirits of the dead? Is he to ask if any wish to be part of his crew? Will does not know yet if the Dutchman needs a full crew, but he has only a handful of men since much of Jones’ crew opted to move on when he voided their debt.
“Your Duchess know wha’ to do,” Tia says, sounding amused. “An’ you will know dem dat belong wit’ de crew, ‘n dem dat might no’ be prepared to die.”
Her words are suddenly lost in a surge of voices moaning and screaming and crying. Will grips the wheel to keep from falling to his knees during the onslaught. It takes some time for the initial shock to wear away and realize that the Dutchman has surfaced again. The noise lessens somewhat, the number of people clamoring for his attention lessening.
“Capt’n, eight to starboard.”
Will approaches the rail at his father’s call and searches the sea below. Bile rises in his throat when he sees the navy men in the water, staring up at the ship in terror. Each man stays afloat with the aid of a barrel. He remembers all too well the feel of rope and waxy skin beneath his hands as he tied dead men into place and pushed them off the Pearl in order to leave a trail for Beckett.
“We’re to take them aboard,” Bootstrap says gently. He nods towards the four men standing on deck, looking up at the helm and awaiting orders. “Else they can follow behind.”
Shaking off his memories, Will turns to the crew and says, “Bring them on. Work quickly, we have plenty more to find.” He turns away from the rail and his father’s concerned gaze. Back at the wheel, he retreats into his mind and tentatively tries reaching out to the voices, searching for the source of each cry. He can feel the Dutchman tremble under his feet when he finds the next group of souls calling for guidance.
~ * ~
Will can hear every creak of the Dutchman as the number of passengers increase. The ship dips into the waves readily at his direction and they travel steadily from each call to the next. Time becomes something of a forgotten entity until the sun appears in his view and he must squint against the light.
“We’ll be needin’ to cross at sundown,” Bootstrap murmurs, appearing at the captain’s side. All day he has quietly related what helpful information he can. Will can tell his father is making a great effort to not sound imposing or controlling. He appreciates the help.
“Have the crew take shifts one at a time. I’ve no desire to sleep tonight; the Dutchman knows her way, she’ll guide me.” He ponders what he’s just said, then asks, “Why is she the Dutch-man?”
Bootstrap’s startled chuckle is a pleasure to hear, something human in this otherwise alien setting. “I don’t know, lad. Mebbe she’ll give you a different name. She likes you.” His hand briefly caresses the wheel as he comments, “I never felt her so vibrant.”
“We’re getting on well,” Will agrees absently. Another voice is calling him, a soul lost and confused with an undercurrent of desperation. Judging by the sun, there isn’t much time before he must make the crossing; this will be the last call for the day. He tries not to think about how long it will take to catch up on Jones’ work.
Beneath his hands, Will feels more than hears the Dutchman’s despondent sigh. He suddenly feels the distinct lack of his heart as both the ship’s and lost soul’s cries echo in his mind. He looks around to find his small crew tending to the current passengers. Bootstrap squats beside two small girls trying to play cat’s cradle. None of the crew seem to be aware they should be searching.
Frowning at the strange inattentiveness, Will steps away from the wheel and lets his instincts guide him. His feet take him to port and he leans over the rail. In the water he first notices the naval hat of a commander. He wonders at the lack of other soldiers; how did an officer perish without his men?
“Come back for me?” a familiar voice drawls, irritation and sarcasm overriding a hint of resignation.
Will’s gaze quickly locks on the man bobbing in the waves. He casts a rope ladder over the side as he responds, “Jones is gone. Come aboard, Mister Norrington.” He watches as the man below squints against the setting sun. After a few moments he swims toward the ship.
Will steps away from the rail once he knows Norrington is climbing. In the short amount of time he has before facing the former commodore, he attempts to organize his thoughts. He hasn’t thought about the man for months, since before Jack’s rescue truly got underway. Even before then Norrington hadn’t played much of role in his life.
As the man climbs over the railing, formal navy uniform soaked and wig missing, Will feels a twinge of sympathy from the Dutchman. Norrington smoothes a hand over his hair, a useless attempt to curb his disheveled appearance. He straightens, shoulders back, which manages to remind Will of the once stuffy commodore. Looking at him now, Will realizes he harbors no ill-feelings for the man and perhaps holds a degree of regret at the man’s fate.
“Well, Mister Turner, this is a sur-a surprise.” Norrington’s gaze falls to Will’s scar. He has no idea that the captain can hear his silent screams of resentment; bitter anger coils around him, trapping him with frustration and helplessness. Part of him tries to reach out, regret slipping through the angry and begging softly for forgiveness. Will has the sense that Norrington doesn’t know the true cause of his emotions.
“Things have a way of turning out unexpectedly,” he says mildly. “I thought Beckett’s reward were Letters of Marque?”
Norrington’s jaw tightens and he refuses to meet Will’s stare. “I had asked for reinstatement.”
Will hums in agreement, this is not what he is particularly interested in. “I’m surprised Beckett didn’t think you as much of a threat as the governor.”
“I didn’t know!” Norrington snaps, but his anger is automatic and the Dutchman groans quietly with the unspoken guilt.
“You were not in control,” Will says. The other man looks about to respond, not understanding that this is a statement of fact, not an accusation or question. “I think we both know Beckett’s power-hungry machinations were carefully planned. He had the control.” His own jaw tightens at the memory of the extensive subterfuge that had to be undertaken in order to finally overthrow the overzealous lord. “He hadn’t counted on the complications from Davy Jones; perhaps that’s the thing that saved us in the end.”
Norrington’s disgusted expression speaks volumes. True, this man has not been saved; to an extent, neither has Will. Once again they find they are two faces of the same coin.
The sun is getting lower and Will feels the Dutchman’s increasing desire to get underway. He motions for Norrington to follow him to the helm.
They’re silent until Will takes the wheel. Bootstrap approaches, then stops abruptly, eyes widening as he stares over his son’s shoulder. Glancing back, Will finds that Norrington is eyeing the other man warily. Instantly he knows why Norrington is dead, it’s not hard to imagine when he himself fought against his father.
Quietly he says, “Mister Turner, tell the crew we’ll be crossing soon.” Bootstrap nods and turns away.
Will remains silent for a long while, following the Dutchman’s directions as they plunge deep beneath the waves, the ocean rushing by like a fierce gale until suddenly the bow pierces the air of another realm. The sky is black as pitch, but the stars are brighter here. When he breathes, Will can smell a difference. He can hear more souls here than he has in the past day, but these are far more calm murmurings, the confusion missing from their tones.
The passengers drift toward the railings to stare across the impossibly smooth, mirrored surface of the sea. Will turns his head towards Norrington and invites, “When were you on the ship?”
“The chest was moved on board at Beckett’s insistence. I was sent with men to guard it while Mercer kept an eye on Jones...” His eyes narrow as he glances at the captain. “Why should this matter to you?”
Will gazes at the stars as the Dutchman makes her own way. “Could be I wouldn’t mind filling in the gaps. I might also be in need of stories to keep me company in the coming years.”
Norrington is silent for a long while. “The ship attacked Sao Feng. When Jones’ crew brought prisoners aboard, Elizabeth claimed captainship.” He sighs. “I tried to keep her from the brig...”
Will almost smiles. “She wouldn’t want special treatment.”
“No,” the other agrees reluctantly. “Seeing her, a familiar face, reminded me that I could not- hide or forget the past. I didn’t find my way with Beckett any better than my other decisions.” His tone is self-deprecating. “So I decided to help her escape. She even asked me to come with, started arguing when I said no...”
“You were stopped,” Will guesses. “My father was lost to Jones’ corruption of the ship.” He isn’t sure he should say any more, but eventually adds, “I’m sorry.”
Norrington laughs. “For what? I’ve accused you of ruining my life, yet I managed that on my own. I can hardly hold you accountable for anyone else’s actions.”
They stand quietly together. More passengers wander up on deck to stare at the uncharted waters and breathtaking sky. The Dutchman whispers to Will that this is her real home, the place beyond reality with a different and indistinct set of rules. She reaches to caress the void within him and promises she can heal it if he’ll let her. When he doesn’t respond to the touch, she tells him of the numerous figures of legend she has carried to the edge.
“So Beckett’s gone along with Jones,” Norrington interrupts. Will glances sidelong.
“Yes. Beckett’s dead, along with many of his men.” He watches Norrington’s lips press together a little tighter. “I believe we retrieved most of them today,” he says, an implied question about recognition in his voice. Norrington shakes his head in the negative.
“Do you plan to take Beckett?”
Will’s hands tighten on the wheel and he can feel a surge of anger in the Dutchman. “No. Let him drift forever or wallow in self-pity. I’m done with him.”
Norrington’s lips turn up slightly in a smile. “I notice the crew is lacking their former uniform.”
“The job itself is not damned,” Will says without emotion. “But it is not difficult to imagine that the years wear away at one’s sanity, and the absence of a heart twists one’s perceptions.”
It takes some time for Norrington to respond. “With good companions, a sailor finds his home on his ship.”
“And when said sailor’s heart lies elsewhere, with others beyond his reach? Companionship is far more complex than you, and even I, can understand at this time.” Will’s eyes focus straight ahead, wishing he could make himself dismiss the other man; Norrington is the last connection to his former life, and he’s unwilling to let the chance to hold on slip through his fingers.
“It never occurred to me you would accept anything as impossible.” Norrington sounds thoughtful rather than sarcastic. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, then: “Perhaps no Jack Sparrow...”
“Captain,” Will automatically reacts. He closes his eyes and ignores the quiet laugh from his companion. The sudden swell of pain feels like it saps all his strength. He struggles not to slump but isn’t sure he succeeds. The Dutchman reaches for him again, attempting to surround the ache and ease it.
“I think it best we leave Jack in the past,” Will says, eyes still closed.
Norrington says nothing, and Will is loath to attempt the start of another conversation.
~ * ~
And the rest