PotC Big Bang Fic: "Liberties" (7/7)
Title: "Liberties" (7/7)
Author: Luvvycat
Art: shytan
Characters/Pairings: Young Will Turner/Young Elizabeth Swann, Weatherby Swann; Elizabeth Swann Turner/Jack Sparrow (epilogue)
Rating: PG13/Soft R (at most!)
Warnings: Flashbacks to violent events in Prologue; minor sexual suggestiveness in Epilogue; everything else in-between is fairly mild.
Summary: After young Will Turner is rescued from the sea, Governor Swann (at Elizabeth’s suggestion) instals him as a servant in the Swann household. Despite their differences in station, the children find that they have much in common, and become fast friends. For two years the bond between Will and Elizabeth grows stronger, until an act of innocent impulse threatens to end that friendship and separate the pair forever. Based on my previously-posted drabbles "Skirmish", "Resurrected", and "The Gift". The J/E Epilogue is set six years after the conclusion of AWE.
A/N: Dedicated with my most profuse thanks and boundless admiration to my beta extraordinaire geekmama (whose invaluable input greatly improved this tale), and to pearlseed , whose comments to me regarding "Skirmish" inspired the Epilogue.
P.S. -- The incident that occurred "Christmas last" (referred to by Mathilde in Chapter 3, and Will in Chapter 4) was documented in my previous Young Will/Elizabeth fic "The Christmas Stranger".
Previous chapters:
1. Prologue
2. Chapter 1
3. Chapter 2
4. Chapter 3
5. Chapter 4
6. Chapter 5
Epilogue
Childish laughter rose above the chuckling waves, mingled with the gulls' ha-ha cries.
"Take that, scurvy dog!" Elizabeth Swann Turner cried, wooden sword arcing, shuddering as it impacted her opponent's. She was barefoot, skirts hiked to mid-calf, tricorne perched atop her tangled blonde hair.
"Ye'll not defeat Captain Jack Sparrow!" young Turner cried. As a stray breeze blew hair into his adversary's eyes, he saw his opportunity, and lunged. His sword slipped under her right arm … by the rules of the game, a fatal hit!
She looked down, surprised ... gave a shriek of exaggerated mortal pain ... pirouetted into a graceful parody of death ... fell to the sand, where she lay on her back, kicking her heels and flailing her arms, then fell utterly still, save for her heaving chest and twitching lips. Her opponent whooped and cavorted across the sand in a joyous victory dance.
Then the boy threw down his sword, ran to her, bent to fling small arms around her neck, and pressed his lips to her flushed cheek. "I love you, Mama ..."
Elizabeth raised her arms to wrap them around her young son, and her quivering lips broke into a wide toothy grin ordinarily reserved for hopeless lunatics and doting mothers. Sitting up, she drew him onto her lap, lifted his own tricorne, and planted an affectionate kiss atop his dark head. "Love you too, sweet-pea."
He wrinkled his pert little nose, squirmed in her embrace. "Aw, Mama ... don't call me that! I'm not a baby anymore..." he pouted, with all the affronted dignity of the typical five-year-old. "I'm Billy...!"
She ruffled his hair, and plunked the hat back onto his head, smiling fondly. "As you wish, Billy-my-love!"
He rolled his eyes at her. "Mama!" he whined.
She sighed in maternal exasperation. "Young man, I'm still your mother, and Pirate King to boot, and as such I can call you whatever I bloody well please! Savvy?" The corner of her mouth quirked with suppressed mirth, belying the sternness of her tone.
He wriggled out of her lap and stood before her. "Aye ... my leech..." He attempted to use a term that he had, no doubt, heard his Uncle Jack use when addressing her, and tried to also mimic his uncle's flamboyant bow and flourish.
The smile blossomed, followed by laughter. "That's liege, Master Turner!" She reached forth and twitched his hat, playfully, down over his eyes. "And you have leave to call me Mama, you young scoundrel!"
He flashed her a smile in return, and she caught her breath, thinking of a similar grin, glinting with gold. No ... impossible! It's just another thing he's picked up from Jack, like "my liege" and the bow ...
"Mama, may I go look for turtle eggs?"
"Yes, you may ... but don't go far. We'll be heading back to the ship shortly ..."
Billy paused only long enough to snatch up his wooden sword from the sand, and then he was off, running along the beach, swinging it merrily at a flock of gulls taking their leisure at the water's edge.
Watching her son skip along the shoreline with adoring eyes, she heard a deep, familiar chuckle behind her, and turned.
About twenty feet away, the beach rose and gave way to a stand of lush tropical foliage. Sitting with his back leant against the trunk of a tall palm tree, knees raised and splayed, hat pulled down low over his eyes, was Jack Sparrow.
She bent and picked up her own faux weapon, tugged at her hiked-up skirt (a rarity for her, nowadays! She much preferred the comfort of men's breeches) until it fell into more modest lines, concealing her bare legs, and strode up the rise to join him. He had taken off his boots and coat, which now lay next to him on the grass, near her own discarded waistcoat and boots.
She settled herself on his spread-out coat, placing her wooden sword between them, and he handed her a flask from which he'd just been drinking. "The lads are nearly done fillin' the last of the water barrels. We should be ready to haul anchor within the hour."
She tilted the flask to her lips, and tasted Jack on her tongue just before the darkly sweet burn of rum flooded her mouth, slipping down her throat with familiar heat.
"How long have you been sitting here?" she asked casually, handing the flask back.
"Oh, a while. Long enough to see your little skirmish with the junior whelp, and your most moving death scene. Strewth, Lizzie, you should be treading the boards in London Town. The theatre's finest actresses couldn't've played it with more conviction! Missed your true callin', you did..." There was a hint of mocking laughter in his voice.
She flung one arm out, the back of her fisted hand impacting quite sharply with his solar plexus, and his laugh exploded on a burst of forcibly-expelled breath. She smirked as he sidled closer and draped an arm around her, drawing her close. She allowed her head to fall for a moment to his muscular, linen-swathed shoulder, while they both watched the frolicsome Billy terrorise another flock of hapless seabirds, then start poking his wooden sword into the sand, looking for buried turtle nests, with their trove of large, pearly eggs.
Jack scooted even closer, then suddenly grunted in discomfort. Elizabeth turned as he released her shoulders, to find him frowning and levering his arse off the ground. "What's the matter?" she asked.
He reached down and drew forth the wooden sword that had been on the ground between them.
She grinned wickedly, and laughed. "This isn't the first time you've sat on a sword, Jack! Luckily, this one's not near as sharp ..."
He turned his head enough to scowl down his nose at her, then held the weapon athwart his upraised palms, eyes narrowing as he studied it. "Quite a good facsimile ... nice workmanship. Where'd you get it?"
"Will made the pair of them, when we were children." Nostalgia softened her features as she thought of those long-ago days. "He left them behind, when he went to start his apprenticeship at Mister Brown's forge."
"Hmmm," Jack said, handing her the sword. "Even way back then, he was fixated on pointy things ..."
She ran her finger along the carvings on the well-worn hilt, smiling. "He made them, in fact, for me, for my thirteenth birthday. Playing pirates was our favourite game ... well, mine at least. After the sinking of the Sally Mae, Will didn't care all that much for pirates." She looked out at the turquoise sea, where the anchored Black Pearl bobbed on the water. One of the longboats was heading back to the ship, laden with newly-filled barrels of fresh water from the island's spring.
Jack brushed his tar-stained fingers through the hair at her temple. "And, of course, in typical Will Turner fashion, he played along to make you happy."
She sighed. "Yes, I suppose he did. But we spent many an afternoon, down at the beach, just like this-" she nodded to where she and Billy had been duelling, "-haring across the sand and whacking away at one another. Will was always the Royal Navy, and I was-" She stopped and bit her lip as she looked down at the sword resting in her lap, feeling a telltale blush heat her cheeks.
"You were ...?" Jack prompted. "A pirate, I presume?"
"Yes," Elizabeth confirmed, schooling her face into lines of insouciance as she slanted him a guarded glance.
She saw Jack's eyes sharpen with suspicion, and he leaned closer, his breath warm, his voice low as he murmured in her ear, "Any ... particular pirate?"
Her blush deepened, tellingly, and he smirked goldenly.
"Might it have been ..." his voice was rough velvet, and she felt something within her tighten pleasantly in response, "... this pirate?" He nuzzled her ear, then softly bit her earlobe.
She turned toward him, knowing the truth was evident in her glowing eyes, and he claimed her lips in a long, lingering kiss. She sighed, and returned the kiss with an enthusiasm that left them both breathless, and her a-throb with need.
She felt his hand steal around her waist, fingers digging into the soft and yielding flesh under her clothing. "How long d'you think the lad will be occupied?" Dark, passion-filled eyes met hers, before darting to the denser, more concealing foliage behind them, his thoughts all too clear. His free hand traced the "v" of her open-necked shirt, provocatively, and his head dipped to hers for another deep, open-mouthed kiss.
She indulged him for a moment, losing herself in the moist heat of his mouth, before breaking away. "Jack ..." she said, warningly. "We can't ... Billy-"
He glanced down at the beach, where the object of her concern was busily digging in the sand. As though feeling their eyes upon him, Billy looked up, grinned and waved at them, then resumed his activity.
"Ten minutes ..." Jack murmured, his wandering hand moving to curl around her breast.
She slapped his hand away. "Jack!" she admonished, in the same tone with which she usually chastised her young son. At the pirate's sulky pout, she took pity on him, and added, "Besides ... if you can wait until we're back on the Pearl ... alone, in the privacy of our cabin ... I'll give you your ten minutes." She brushed her fingers softly across the high, tanned arch of his cheek, and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "And much, much more ..."
His dark eyes smouldered. "Promise?" he purred, his nose brushing hers.
"My word, as a pirate..." she breathed against his mouth.
He smiled against her lips. "Shall we seal the deal, then ... My Liege?"
She let him kiss her again, briefly, before breaking on a giggle.
He frowned down at her in mock insult. "Not the reaction I had hoped for!"
She explained, between giggles, "It's just that you reminded me of something Billy said to me, earlier ..." She proceeded to tell him about her son's mispronunciation, and soon they were both laughing.
"The lad's not too far off the mark, methinks," Jack quipped, tracing her lower lip with one tanned, stained fingertip, his voice deepening to a seductive growl. "If he only knew what that mouth can do ..."
She rolled her eyes, then turned and settled against his side with a sigh. They both watched the capering boy for a moment, in silence, and then Elizabeth spoke:
"Do you suppose Will knows ... about Billy?" It had been nearly six years since she'd last seen Will. It would be another four yet until she was set to return to the little island for her appointed rendezvous with her husband. It was a reunion she both greatly anticipated, and dreaded to the depths of her soul.
Though her love for Will had not faded over the years, her love for Jack had grown during their time together. Loving Jack, immersing herself in his world-a pirate's world, which had now partly perforce, partly by choice become her own-had transformed her, irrevocably. She wasn't the same young woman Will had left on that isolated beach six years ago. So much had changed, her life taken a much different course since Will and she had parted company. She wondered what changes the years had wrought in her husband as well. Would he still be the same man, the same Will Turner she had married, all those years ago?
"He must know, by now," Jack replied. "If nothing else, Cotton must've told him…"
Her smile grew sad as she thought of poor Cotton. The loyal crewmember had taken his leave of them a little over a year ago, choosing to retire from The Sweet Trade after a particularly lucrative raid they'd made on a well-laden merchant barque that had led the Pearl a merry chase a few miles off the coast of Bermuda. They had gone their separate ways at Nassau Port, with Cotton flush with his share of the booty, and looking forward to spending the remainder of his days as a man of leisure.
One morning, a month later, they had awakened to find Cotton's parrot perched on the lowest yard of the Pearl's mizzenmast, mournfully repeating the cry of "Dead men tell no tales!" There was only one reason they could think of that would cause Cotton's parrot to leave his master's side. The tales they had heard upon their next trip back to Tortuga confirmed what they'd all feared: the ship on which Cotton had been travelling to his chosen place of retirement had gone down in a sudden, fierce storm two days out of Nassau, and he had been lost at sea, presumably drowned.
She dropped her head again to Jack's shoulder, her eyes still fixed upon her son, and Jack's arm around her tightened. "I wonder if..." she started. "Well ... if Cotton's power of speech was restored, once he-crossed over."
Jack was silent for a moment before responding, softly, "I reckon that's a question you can pose to William, when you see him again."
She did not miss the guardedness in Jack's tone. She knew that he shared her misgivings about her reunion with Will, and how (or if) it would change things between her and Jack. She loved having Jack in her life, and in her bed, but neither of them knew what would happen in four year's time, when Will entered the picture again (at least, for the one day Calypso allowed him).
In any case, if there was one lesson she had learned, and learned regrettably well, since the day Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal and turned their world upside-down, it was that nothing in life was permanent, no future cast in stone, no happy endings guaranteed, no-one (no matter how dearly you loved them) safe from death's inescapable reach. Every mortal lived on borrowed time, so she had taken a leaf from Jack's book of philosophy: to live each day as if it could be your last on earth, and avail yourself fully of what pleasures you find. She had also resolved to embrace the people she loved and make the most of what time she had with them.
Six years ago, she had looked on helplessly as Will’s life ebbed away in a spreading pool of blood and rainwater, then soared with Jack on the storm's wings into the swirling grey-skied heart of Calypso's fury. At the time, with the weight of her accumulated losses threatening to pull her under into a maelstrom of despair every bit as deadly as the one she watched swallow the Dutchman, and Will along with it, she thought she'd never be happy again.
She'd been wrong. Thanks to Jack. And also to Will-her husband, her lover, her dearest friend-for not making her choose between the two of them when he'd left to begin his first ten-year exile in Calypso's service.
Though, to be sure, the tenuous life she'd built since then as Pirate King was far from the picture of domestic bliss she'd once dreamt, in her girlish youth, of having as Mrs William Turner, at this very moment, sitting here, enjoying a gloriously lovely Caribbean day, watching her beautiful son playing free of care on a sun-washed beach, the Black Pearl anchored just offshore, Jack's arm tight around her (and the prospect of deeper, more thrilling intimacies to come, later), she was content. Supremely. Completely.
The world turned, and life went on. Birth. Life. Love. Death. That was the natural order of things since time immemorial, and there was little she could do to stop that irresistible tide (though both she and Jack had tried, and failed).
But, as she turned her head and pressed a kiss to the side of Jack's warm, salty neck, her arm sliding around his waist … tilted her gaze up to see the corner of his eye crinkle and his cheek swell as he grinned in response, loosing a volley of golden sparks that rivalled the sun's brilliance, she knew whatever days Fate had allotted to her would not be wasted …
Nor would the nights …
Author: Luvvycat
Art: shytan
Characters/Pairings: Young Will Turner/Young Elizabeth Swann, Weatherby Swann; Elizabeth Swann Turner/Jack Sparrow (epilogue)
Rating: PG13/Soft R (at most!)
Warnings: Flashbacks to violent events in Prologue; minor sexual suggestiveness in Epilogue; everything else in-between is fairly mild.
Summary: After young Will Turner is rescued from the sea, Governor Swann (at Elizabeth’s suggestion) instals him as a servant in the Swann household. Despite their differences in station, the children find that they have much in common, and become fast friends. For two years the bond between Will and Elizabeth grows stronger, until an act of innocent impulse threatens to end that friendship and separate the pair forever. Based on my previously-posted drabbles "Skirmish", "Resurrected", and "The Gift". The J/E Epilogue is set six years after the conclusion of AWE.
A/N: Dedicated with my most profuse thanks and boundless admiration to my beta extraordinaire geekmama (whose invaluable input greatly improved this tale), and to pearlseed , whose comments to me regarding "Skirmish" inspired the Epilogue.
P.S. -- The incident that occurred "Christmas last" (referred to by Mathilde in Chapter 3, and Will in Chapter 4) was documented in my previous Young Will/Elizabeth fic "The Christmas Stranger".
Previous chapters:
1. Prologue
2. Chapter 1
3. Chapter 2
4. Chapter 3
5. Chapter 4
6. Chapter 5
Epilogue
Childish laughter rose above the chuckling waves, mingled with the gulls' ha-ha cries.
"Take that, scurvy dog!" Elizabeth Swann Turner cried, wooden sword arcing, shuddering as it impacted her opponent's. She was barefoot, skirts hiked to mid-calf, tricorne perched atop her tangled blonde hair.
"Ye'll not defeat Captain Jack Sparrow!" young Turner cried. As a stray breeze blew hair into his adversary's eyes, he saw his opportunity, and lunged. His sword slipped under her right arm … by the rules of the game, a fatal hit!
She looked down, surprised ... gave a shriek of exaggerated mortal pain ... pirouetted into a graceful parody of death ... fell to the sand, where she lay on her back, kicking her heels and flailing her arms, then fell utterly still, save for her heaving chest and twitching lips. Her opponent whooped and cavorted across the sand in a joyous victory dance.
Then the boy threw down his sword, ran to her, bent to fling small arms around her neck, and pressed his lips to her flushed cheek. "I love you, Mama ..."
Elizabeth raised her arms to wrap them around her young son, and her quivering lips broke into a wide toothy grin ordinarily reserved for hopeless lunatics and doting mothers. Sitting up, she drew him onto her lap, lifted his own tricorne, and planted an affectionate kiss atop his dark head. "Love you too, sweet-pea."
He wrinkled his pert little nose, squirmed in her embrace. "Aw, Mama ... don't call me that! I'm not a baby anymore..." he pouted, with all the affronted dignity of the typical five-year-old. "I'm Billy...!"
She ruffled his hair, and plunked the hat back onto his head, smiling fondly. "As you wish, Billy-my-love!"
He rolled his eyes at her. "Mama!" he whined.
She sighed in maternal exasperation. "Young man, I'm still your mother, and Pirate King to boot, and as such I can call you whatever I bloody well please! Savvy?" The corner of her mouth quirked with suppressed mirth, belying the sternness of her tone.
He wriggled out of her lap and stood before her. "Aye ... my leech..." He attempted to use a term that he had, no doubt, heard his Uncle Jack use when addressing her, and tried to also mimic his uncle's flamboyant bow and flourish.
The smile blossomed, followed by laughter. "That's liege, Master Turner!" She reached forth and twitched his hat, playfully, down over his eyes. "And you have leave to call me Mama, you young scoundrel!"
He flashed her a smile in return, and she caught her breath, thinking of a similar grin, glinting with gold. No ... impossible! It's just another thing he's picked up from Jack, like "my liege" and the bow ...
"Mama, may I go look for turtle eggs?"
"Yes, you may ... but don't go far. We'll be heading back to the ship shortly ..."
Billy paused only long enough to snatch up his wooden sword from the sand, and then he was off, running along the beach, swinging it merrily at a flock of gulls taking their leisure at the water's edge.
Watching her son skip along the shoreline with adoring eyes, she heard a deep, familiar chuckle behind her, and turned.
About twenty feet away, the beach rose and gave way to a stand of lush tropical foliage. Sitting with his back leant against the trunk of a tall palm tree, knees raised and splayed, hat pulled down low over his eyes, was Jack Sparrow.
She bent and picked up her own faux weapon, tugged at her hiked-up skirt (a rarity for her, nowadays! She much preferred the comfort of men's breeches) until it fell into more modest lines, concealing her bare legs, and strode up the rise to join him. He had taken off his boots and coat, which now lay next to him on the grass, near her own discarded waistcoat and boots.
She settled herself on his spread-out coat, placing her wooden sword between them, and he handed her a flask from which he'd just been drinking. "The lads are nearly done fillin' the last of the water barrels. We should be ready to haul anchor within the hour."
She tilted the flask to her lips, and tasted Jack on her tongue just before the darkly sweet burn of rum flooded her mouth, slipping down her throat with familiar heat.
"How long have you been sitting here?" she asked casually, handing the flask back.
"Oh, a while. Long enough to see your little skirmish with the junior whelp, and your most moving death scene. Strewth, Lizzie, you should be treading the boards in London Town. The theatre's finest actresses couldn't've played it with more conviction! Missed your true callin', you did..." There was a hint of mocking laughter in his voice.
She flung one arm out, the back of her fisted hand impacting quite sharply with his solar plexus, and his laugh exploded on a burst of forcibly-expelled breath. She smirked as he sidled closer and draped an arm around her, drawing her close. She allowed her head to fall for a moment to his muscular, linen-swathed shoulder, while they both watched the frolicsome Billy terrorise another flock of hapless seabirds, then start poking his wooden sword into the sand, looking for buried turtle nests, with their trove of large, pearly eggs.
Jack scooted even closer, then suddenly grunted in discomfort. Elizabeth turned as he released her shoulders, to find him frowning and levering his arse off the ground. "What's the matter?" she asked.
He reached down and drew forth the wooden sword that had been on the ground between them.
She grinned wickedly, and laughed. "This isn't the first time you've sat on a sword, Jack! Luckily, this one's not near as sharp ..."
He turned his head enough to scowl down his nose at her, then held the weapon athwart his upraised palms, eyes narrowing as he studied it. "Quite a good facsimile ... nice workmanship. Where'd you get it?"
"Will made the pair of them, when we were children." Nostalgia softened her features as she thought of those long-ago days. "He left them behind, when he went to start his apprenticeship at Mister Brown's forge."
"Hmmm," Jack said, handing her the sword. "Even way back then, he was fixated on pointy things ..."
She ran her finger along the carvings on the well-worn hilt, smiling. "He made them, in fact, for me, for my thirteenth birthday. Playing pirates was our favourite game ... well, mine at least. After the sinking of the Sally Mae, Will didn't care all that much for pirates." She looked out at the turquoise sea, where the anchored Black Pearl bobbed on the water. One of the longboats was heading back to the ship, laden with newly-filled barrels of fresh water from the island's spring.
Jack brushed his tar-stained fingers through the hair at her temple. "And, of course, in typical Will Turner fashion, he played along to make you happy."
She sighed. "Yes, I suppose he did. But we spent many an afternoon, down at the beach, just like this-" she nodded to where she and Billy had been duelling, "-haring across the sand and whacking away at one another. Will was always the Royal Navy, and I was-" She stopped and bit her lip as she looked down at the sword resting in her lap, feeling a telltale blush heat her cheeks.
"You were ...?" Jack prompted. "A pirate, I presume?"
"Yes," Elizabeth confirmed, schooling her face into lines of insouciance as she slanted him a guarded glance.
She saw Jack's eyes sharpen with suspicion, and he leaned closer, his breath warm, his voice low as he murmured in her ear, "Any ... particular pirate?"
Her blush deepened, tellingly, and he smirked goldenly.
"Might it have been ..." his voice was rough velvet, and she felt something within her tighten pleasantly in response, "... this pirate?" He nuzzled her ear, then softly bit her earlobe.
She turned toward him, knowing the truth was evident in her glowing eyes, and he claimed her lips in a long, lingering kiss. She sighed, and returned the kiss with an enthusiasm that left them both breathless, and her a-throb with need.
She felt his hand steal around her waist, fingers digging into the soft and yielding flesh under her clothing. "How long d'you think the lad will be occupied?" Dark, passion-filled eyes met hers, before darting to the denser, more concealing foliage behind them, his thoughts all too clear. His free hand traced the "v" of her open-necked shirt, provocatively, and his head dipped to hers for another deep, open-mouthed kiss.
She indulged him for a moment, losing herself in the moist heat of his mouth, before breaking away. "Jack ..." she said, warningly. "We can't ... Billy-"
He glanced down at the beach, where the object of her concern was busily digging in the sand. As though feeling their eyes upon him, Billy looked up, grinned and waved at them, then resumed his activity.
"Ten minutes ..." Jack murmured, his wandering hand moving to curl around her breast.
She slapped his hand away. "Jack!" she admonished, in the same tone with which she usually chastised her young son. At the pirate's sulky pout, she took pity on him, and added, "Besides ... if you can wait until we're back on the Pearl ... alone, in the privacy of our cabin ... I'll give you your ten minutes." She brushed her fingers softly across the high, tanned arch of his cheek, and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "And much, much more ..."
His dark eyes smouldered. "Promise?" he purred, his nose brushing hers.
"My word, as a pirate..." she breathed against his mouth.
He smiled against her lips. "Shall we seal the deal, then ... My Liege?"
She let him kiss her again, briefly, before breaking on a giggle.
He frowned down at her in mock insult. "Not the reaction I had hoped for!"
She explained, between giggles, "It's just that you reminded me of something Billy said to me, earlier ..." She proceeded to tell him about her son's mispronunciation, and soon they were both laughing.
"The lad's not too far off the mark, methinks," Jack quipped, tracing her lower lip with one tanned, stained fingertip, his voice deepening to a seductive growl. "If he only knew what that mouth can do ..."
She rolled her eyes, then turned and settled against his side with a sigh. They both watched the capering boy for a moment, in silence, and then Elizabeth spoke:
"Do you suppose Will knows ... about Billy?" It had been nearly six years since she'd last seen Will. It would be another four yet until she was set to return to the little island for her appointed rendezvous with her husband. It was a reunion she both greatly anticipated, and dreaded to the depths of her soul.
Though her love for Will had not faded over the years, her love for Jack had grown during their time together. Loving Jack, immersing herself in his world-a pirate's world, which had now partly perforce, partly by choice become her own-had transformed her, irrevocably. She wasn't the same young woman Will had left on that isolated beach six years ago. So much had changed, her life taken a much different course since Will and she had parted company. She wondered what changes the years had wrought in her husband as well. Would he still be the same man, the same Will Turner she had married, all those years ago?
"He must know, by now," Jack replied. "If nothing else, Cotton must've told him…"
Her smile grew sad as she thought of poor Cotton. The loyal crewmember had taken his leave of them a little over a year ago, choosing to retire from The Sweet Trade after a particularly lucrative raid they'd made on a well-laden merchant barque that had led the Pearl a merry chase a few miles off the coast of Bermuda. They had gone their separate ways at Nassau Port, with Cotton flush with his share of the booty, and looking forward to spending the remainder of his days as a man of leisure.
One morning, a month later, they had awakened to find Cotton's parrot perched on the lowest yard of the Pearl's mizzenmast, mournfully repeating the cry of "Dead men tell no tales!" There was only one reason they could think of that would cause Cotton's parrot to leave his master's side. The tales they had heard upon their next trip back to Tortuga confirmed what they'd all feared: the ship on which Cotton had been travelling to his chosen place of retirement had gone down in a sudden, fierce storm two days out of Nassau, and he had been lost at sea, presumably drowned.
She dropped her head again to Jack's shoulder, her eyes still fixed upon her son, and Jack's arm around her tightened. "I wonder if..." she started. "Well ... if Cotton's power of speech was restored, once he-crossed over."
Jack was silent for a moment before responding, softly, "I reckon that's a question you can pose to William, when you see him again."
She did not miss the guardedness in Jack's tone. She knew that he shared her misgivings about her reunion with Will, and how (or if) it would change things between her and Jack. She loved having Jack in her life, and in her bed, but neither of them knew what would happen in four year's time, when Will entered the picture again (at least, for the one day Calypso allowed him).
In any case, if there was one lesson she had learned, and learned regrettably well, since the day Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal and turned their world upside-down, it was that nothing in life was permanent, no future cast in stone, no happy endings guaranteed, no-one (no matter how dearly you loved them) safe from death's inescapable reach. Every mortal lived on borrowed time, so she had taken a leaf from Jack's book of philosophy: to live each day as if it could be your last on earth, and avail yourself fully of what pleasures you find. She had also resolved to embrace the people she loved and make the most of what time she had with them.
Six years ago, she had looked on helplessly as Will’s life ebbed away in a spreading pool of blood and rainwater, then soared with Jack on the storm's wings into the swirling grey-skied heart of Calypso's fury. At the time, with the weight of her accumulated losses threatening to pull her under into a maelstrom of despair every bit as deadly as the one she watched swallow the Dutchman, and Will along with it, she thought she'd never be happy again.
She'd been wrong. Thanks to Jack. And also to Will-her husband, her lover, her dearest friend-for not making her choose between the two of them when he'd left to begin his first ten-year exile in Calypso's service.
Though, to be sure, the tenuous life she'd built since then as Pirate King was far from the picture of domestic bliss she'd once dreamt, in her girlish youth, of having as Mrs William Turner, at this very moment, sitting here, enjoying a gloriously lovely Caribbean day, watching her beautiful son playing free of care on a sun-washed beach, the Black Pearl anchored just offshore, Jack's arm tight around her (and the prospect of deeper, more thrilling intimacies to come, later), she was content. Supremely. Completely.
The world turned, and life went on. Birth. Life. Love. Death. That was the natural order of things since time immemorial, and there was little she could do to stop that irresistible tide (though both she and Jack had tried, and failed).
But, as she turned her head and pressed a kiss to the side of Jack's warm, salty neck, her arm sliding around his waist … tilted her gaze up to see the corner of his eye crinkle and his cheek swell as he grinned in response, loosing a volley of golden sparks that rivalled the sun's brilliance, she knew whatever days Fate had allotted to her would not be wasted …
Nor would the nights …