For immortal_jedi, "Unspoken", by sammistar
Title: Unspoken
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: About 2400
Characters: Bootstrap Bill Turner/OFC, Barbossa.
Request/Prompt: Will’s mom discovers she’s pregnant with Will. How does she tell Bootstrap (if she can); written for immortal_jedi.
Warnings: pregnancy and accompanying symptoms; non-graphic sexual encounters; mild language
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters belong to the Mouse!
Unspoken
Mary was barely sixteen the first time she saw the then-nameless sailor, scarcely seventeen himself, and thought he was the most handsome creature she had ever laid eyes upon.
Her mother had sent her to market, and it being a fine day, she had taken the long route which took her down near the harbor, where the great ships were tied up and the soft breeze carried the scent of spices and sea air.
As she stared up into the sails, she saw the young man clinging to the rigging, and realized he was staring back at her, grinning. The sailor, being filled with all the charm and bravery of a childish rogue, winked at her and made her go crimson. She hasted away, scolding herself the entire time.
But Mary could not put the thought of his smile from her mind, from his twinkling eyes to the dimple in his cheek. Each day of the three weeks the ship was in the harbor found Mary making excuses to be at the docks, shyly peering around corners and casting covert glances in the direction of the ship, hoping for another glimpse of the young man.
And each day, her efforts were rewarded. A nod, a smile, a wink, a little wave, and each time blood would pool in her cheeks and she would demurely divert her gaze.
At the time, she saw no coincidence that it was excessively easy to find one young man in the teeming morass of activity at the docks, for little did she know that the sailor she so eagerly sought was just as eagerly looking for her. He learned the paths she took and found the same thin excuses to be there.
It was he who took the first bold step beyond chaste glances and giggles, tugging his forelock at her as he spoke. “Good day, miss.”
Her voice almost broke as she spoke, her stomach becoming a wriggling mess. “Good day, sir.”
They both shifted awkwardly, unsure of what should come next, the childish games at an end now that the silence between them had broken.
“What’s your name?” he burst out, a bit louder than was necessary, his eagerness overcoming decorum.
Mary’s bottom lip caught between her teeth as she smiled at him. “Mary, sir.”
“Mary,” he echoed as she gave him a small nod. “I’m William Turner. Bill. My friends call me Bill.”
“I should be going, Mr. Turner,” she said softly as she started to edge around him.
“Of course,” he said, stepping out of her way, tugging as his forelock again, allowing her to continue on. She smiled to herself as she heard him call to her retreating figure. “Pleasure to meet you, Mary! See you tomorrow?”
“Perhaps, Mr. Turner,” she called over her shoulder. “Perhaps.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A month shy of two years later, they stood hand-clasped before the vicar of a small church on the outskirts of town, Mary still blushing, Bill still grinning, and said their vows before the sparse assembly of two sailors and Mary’s mother. Bill had no family to speak of, only his shipmates, and Mary had benignly welcomed their presence, the one called Hawksmoor still piss-drunk from the night before, and the other, Barbossa, not even bothering to remove his hat. Mary’s mother shook her head disapprovingly at the sailors, the ceremony, her daughter… She was still furious Mary had decided to bind herself with the sailor. The woman had provided a litany of reasons Mary should not become a sailor’s wife, but the girl was far too love-struck to listen to her mother.
When the ceremony was over, the sailors cheered as Bill pressed his lips against hers. Mary didn’t think she could ever be happier than she was at that moment.
That night, Bill took her innocence, and perhaps lost his as well, for their act was unlike any of the wenching he had done before. Mary stared into his eyes the entire time, her hands cradling his face and her thumbs tracing his lips; she whispered “Billy,” in his ear and held him tight when it was over.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a year later she found out her beloved Billy was a pirate, and not the honest sailor of her dreams.
It was Barbossa-Hector, as she now knew him-who pounded on the door of her modest home, holding up a pallid Bill. When she asked what had happened to him, Barbossa only stared at her and his lips twitched into a smirk. “’Tis merely a hazard of the life, Mary,” he said as he carefully laid Bill on the bed. “And it would be best if ye tend to him yourself. It wouldn’t fare well if any attention is called to the matter…”
Barbossa was gone before she even knew what to say.
Mary nursed the infection from a wound on his shoulder that would never be found on an honest sailor, a deep gash caused by the blade of a cutlass. Bill couldn’t meet her eyes, but if he had, he would have found no judgment, only sorrow, for he had never lied to her about what he did, only allowed her to believe what she willed. Mary could not fault him for that-if anything, she thought it showed he loved her, wanted to protect her.
It was only when she was sure he was on the mend before she broached the subject. She asked him pointedly what it was that he did to put the bread on her table and he could only shake his head sadly in reply.
“How long?” she asked.
“About six months before we were married.”
“Hector?”
“Yes,” he admitted, daring to look up at her. “Our ship was attacked. I was recruited. It seemed a better deal than dying.”
Mary gave a small nod in response. “You should have told me.”
Bill swallowed hard before asking the question that he was afraid to know the answer to. “Would it have changed things…with us? Has it?”
The heavy silence of the room caused Bill’s heart to pound and he had to clasp his hands together to keep them from shaking. His sweet, serene Mary was the only constant in his life, and the thought of losing her terrified him.
“No,” she said finally, resolutely. “It would not have changed anything. But it was not a burden you should have carried alone.” She sat next to him on the small bed, took his hands in hers. “I love you, Bill Turner, no matter what you are.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mary clenched her eyes shut, fighting hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat.
It had been Christmastime, over three months, since she had seen him, and it had only been for one night. They-Bill, Hector, herself-had sat in the dark pub, drinking tankards of ale and laughing, carefree, her eyes shining as she listened to their stories and boasts, until she was quite drunk, Bill was quite merry and Hector’s gaze lit upon a winking maid. Hector, having no intention of spending his one night in port without pleasurable companionship, gave them an apologetic grin and went off in pursuit of the girl, leaving the two of them to themselves. Bill had had to half-carry her home, the two of them slipping in the snow and laughing the entire way. They consumed each other that night, both of them drunk, both of them eager for the touch of the other, months of distance and solitude dissipating into passion.
The night was over entirely too soon for Mary, and Bill was gone as the soft, golden early morning light began to dapple the floor.
But that was the way of sailor’s wife, a pirate’s wife, she thought bitterly. Sometimes it was weeks, sometimes it was months. Moments, days ticking by, filled with loneliness and constant uncertainty. She couldn’t remember if she had worried as much before she had known, when she had thought he was only a sailor, but she was sure she had. The sea was a perilous place, regardless of one’s occupation upon her waters.
But as she leaned over the bowl and retched, the sickness overcoming her, she felt panic and desperation well up inside of her.
She had missed her last two courses. The first time, she discounted it. The second month, however, could not be as easily dismissed, and then came the constant nausea.
As she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, tears welled up in her eyes. She knew she was pregnant. And though it should have been a happy moment, Mary had never felt more terrified or alone in her entire life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the day Mary felt the quickening of the babe that Bill returned to the village.
At first, she thought she had imagined the tiny flutter until she felt it again. She had laughed, the sound echoing in the silent emptiness of the house, before sitting in her chair by the fire, resolutely picking up her sewing to finish the swaddling clothes she had begun.
The sky was pitch black and she had been in bed for some hours when she heard the commotion at her doorstep. She barely had time to gather her dressing gown around her before the front door opened and Hector unceremoniously crashed to the floor. Her voice caught in a strangled scream of surprise until Bill appeared behind him, staggering over Hector, his eyes lighting on Mary. “Mary, my love!” he said, his voice slightly slurred.
Mary pulled herself straight, holding the dressing gown tightly closed and blinked rapidly. “You’re drunk,” she said softly.
“Celebrating!” came a rumble from the floor. Hector slowly pushed himself up, retrieving his hat and rather gracelessly plopping it back on his head.
“Get some wine, Mary,” Bill said, tossing aside a small pile of material before heavily sitting in the chair by the fireplace. Mary watched as the gown she had made fell to the floor.
“It’s late,” she said, staring hard at him.
“Nonsense,” Hector said. “Wine, Mary. Wine!”
Wordlessly, Mary crossed the room, placing her hands firmly on Hector’s shoulders and propelling him towards the door. He sputtered indignantly, but she simply said, “It’s time to go, Hector,” and firmly pushed him outside, slamming the door in his face. She could hear his angry roar through the door, but turned back to Bill, who sat silent and wide-eyed.
“Mary, I…” he started, but could not voice his surprise.
“How long have you been back?”
“Just…today…not that long.”
“You’ve been in port long enough to get drunk?” Her voice was quiet, yet held a sharp note of accusation that Bill was unaccustomed to.
“Ah, Mary, we had a good run is all and celebration was in order,” he said dismissively, as he stood and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She could smell the rum on his breath and grimaced slightly. He caught the look on her face and quickly released her. “I have something for you,” he said weakly, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a strand of pearls.
He tried to hand them to her, but she shook her head. “No, Bill. I don’t want those.” She ignored the look of hurt that flashed momentarily on his face. “I want my husband.”
Without another word, she went back into the bedroom, locking the door behind her before collapsing, sobbing, on the bed.
They were like strangers the three days he was in port, scarcely a word or glance passing between them.
He knew that something much more serious than his transgression troubled her, that she needed something from him, but Bill could not fathom what it was. Each time he met her eyes, even if it were for only a split second, he wanted to beg her to tell him what to do, what she needed, but his pride would not allow him to do so.
She wanted to do nothing more than tell him about the life growing inside of her, but each time she met his eyes, even if it were for only a split second, she was reminded of the uncertainty of his way of life, and it terrified her.
Mary stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame as he started down the street. He suddenly stopped and turned back to her. Impetuously, he asked, “Will you come down to the docks like you used to?”
“When I was only a girl and you were only a sailor?” Her voice held more cynicism than she had meant, and she could see the hurt on his face.
“What would you have me do, Mary?” he demanded. He hated the thought of them parting with something unresolved between them.
Mary bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes. She knew she should tell him. This was the last chance she would have for him to hear it from her lips.
She couldn’t keep it a secret forever-by the next time he was in port, she would begin to show, and he would know that she had kept it from him. “I’m…,” she began, but her voice broke. She met his gaze and managed a small smile. “Nothing. Just be my Billy and come back to me safe.”
Bill sighed helplessly, and without another word, he was gone.
Bill leaned against the railing of the ship, tugging firmly at a line to make sure it was tied fast. Satisfied that it was, he glanced over to the docks and felt his heart jump. Standing on the nearest dock, her hair whipping wildly around her face, her skirts billowing in the strong winds coming off of the harbor, was Mary, waving with one hand as his ship slowly pulled away.
Bill leaned over the railing and waved back, sure that even from this distance he could see the small smile on her face. She placed her other hand on her stomach, almost protectively, Bill thought. His brow furrowed for a moment before a wild grin suddenly spread across his face. In that one moment of sudden clarity, he understood. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispered, his words lost in the wind.
Alone on the docks, Mary smiled and tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She did not know what tomorrow held, but of one thing she was quite certain.
He knew.
*End
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: About 2400
Characters: Bootstrap Bill Turner/OFC, Barbossa.
Request/Prompt: Will’s mom discovers she’s pregnant with Will. How does she tell Bootstrap (if she can); written for immortal_jedi.
Warnings: pregnancy and accompanying symptoms; non-graphic sexual encounters; mild language
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters belong to the Mouse!
Unspoken
Mary was barely sixteen the first time she saw the then-nameless sailor, scarcely seventeen himself, and thought he was the most handsome creature she had ever laid eyes upon.
Her mother had sent her to market, and it being a fine day, she had taken the long route which took her down near the harbor, where the great ships were tied up and the soft breeze carried the scent of spices and sea air.
As she stared up into the sails, she saw the young man clinging to the rigging, and realized he was staring back at her, grinning. The sailor, being filled with all the charm and bravery of a childish rogue, winked at her and made her go crimson. She hasted away, scolding herself the entire time.
But Mary could not put the thought of his smile from her mind, from his twinkling eyes to the dimple in his cheek. Each day of the three weeks the ship was in the harbor found Mary making excuses to be at the docks, shyly peering around corners and casting covert glances in the direction of the ship, hoping for another glimpse of the young man.
And each day, her efforts were rewarded. A nod, a smile, a wink, a little wave, and each time blood would pool in her cheeks and she would demurely divert her gaze.
At the time, she saw no coincidence that it was excessively easy to find one young man in the teeming morass of activity at the docks, for little did she know that the sailor she so eagerly sought was just as eagerly looking for her. He learned the paths she took and found the same thin excuses to be there.
It was he who took the first bold step beyond chaste glances and giggles, tugging his forelock at her as he spoke. “Good day, miss.”
Her voice almost broke as she spoke, her stomach becoming a wriggling mess. “Good day, sir.”
They both shifted awkwardly, unsure of what should come next, the childish games at an end now that the silence between them had broken.
“What’s your name?” he burst out, a bit louder than was necessary, his eagerness overcoming decorum.
Mary’s bottom lip caught between her teeth as she smiled at him. “Mary, sir.”
“Mary,” he echoed as she gave him a small nod. “I’m William Turner. Bill. My friends call me Bill.”
“I should be going, Mr. Turner,” she said softly as she started to edge around him.
“Of course,” he said, stepping out of her way, tugging as his forelock again, allowing her to continue on. She smiled to herself as she heard him call to her retreating figure. “Pleasure to meet you, Mary! See you tomorrow?”
“Perhaps, Mr. Turner,” she called over her shoulder. “Perhaps.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A month shy of two years later, they stood hand-clasped before the vicar of a small church on the outskirts of town, Mary still blushing, Bill still grinning, and said their vows before the sparse assembly of two sailors and Mary’s mother. Bill had no family to speak of, only his shipmates, and Mary had benignly welcomed their presence, the one called Hawksmoor still piss-drunk from the night before, and the other, Barbossa, not even bothering to remove his hat. Mary’s mother shook her head disapprovingly at the sailors, the ceremony, her daughter… She was still furious Mary had decided to bind herself with the sailor. The woman had provided a litany of reasons Mary should not become a sailor’s wife, but the girl was far too love-struck to listen to her mother.
When the ceremony was over, the sailors cheered as Bill pressed his lips against hers. Mary didn’t think she could ever be happier than she was at that moment.
That night, Bill took her innocence, and perhaps lost his as well, for their act was unlike any of the wenching he had done before. Mary stared into his eyes the entire time, her hands cradling his face and her thumbs tracing his lips; she whispered “Billy,” in his ear and held him tight when it was over.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a year later she found out her beloved Billy was a pirate, and not the honest sailor of her dreams.
It was Barbossa-Hector, as she now knew him-who pounded on the door of her modest home, holding up a pallid Bill. When she asked what had happened to him, Barbossa only stared at her and his lips twitched into a smirk. “’Tis merely a hazard of the life, Mary,” he said as he carefully laid Bill on the bed. “And it would be best if ye tend to him yourself. It wouldn’t fare well if any attention is called to the matter…”
Barbossa was gone before she even knew what to say.
Mary nursed the infection from a wound on his shoulder that would never be found on an honest sailor, a deep gash caused by the blade of a cutlass. Bill couldn’t meet her eyes, but if he had, he would have found no judgment, only sorrow, for he had never lied to her about what he did, only allowed her to believe what she willed. Mary could not fault him for that-if anything, she thought it showed he loved her, wanted to protect her.
It was only when she was sure he was on the mend before she broached the subject. She asked him pointedly what it was that he did to put the bread on her table and he could only shake his head sadly in reply.
“How long?” she asked.
“About six months before we were married.”
“Hector?”
“Yes,” he admitted, daring to look up at her. “Our ship was attacked. I was recruited. It seemed a better deal than dying.”
Mary gave a small nod in response. “You should have told me.”
Bill swallowed hard before asking the question that he was afraid to know the answer to. “Would it have changed things…with us? Has it?”
The heavy silence of the room caused Bill’s heart to pound and he had to clasp his hands together to keep them from shaking. His sweet, serene Mary was the only constant in his life, and the thought of losing her terrified him.
“No,” she said finally, resolutely. “It would not have changed anything. But it was not a burden you should have carried alone.” She sat next to him on the small bed, took his hands in hers. “I love you, Bill Turner, no matter what you are.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mary clenched her eyes shut, fighting hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat.
It had been Christmastime, over three months, since she had seen him, and it had only been for one night. They-Bill, Hector, herself-had sat in the dark pub, drinking tankards of ale and laughing, carefree, her eyes shining as she listened to their stories and boasts, until she was quite drunk, Bill was quite merry and Hector’s gaze lit upon a winking maid. Hector, having no intention of spending his one night in port without pleasurable companionship, gave them an apologetic grin and went off in pursuit of the girl, leaving the two of them to themselves. Bill had had to half-carry her home, the two of them slipping in the snow and laughing the entire way. They consumed each other that night, both of them drunk, both of them eager for the touch of the other, months of distance and solitude dissipating into passion.
The night was over entirely too soon for Mary, and Bill was gone as the soft, golden early morning light began to dapple the floor.
But that was the way of sailor’s wife, a pirate’s wife, she thought bitterly. Sometimes it was weeks, sometimes it was months. Moments, days ticking by, filled with loneliness and constant uncertainty. She couldn’t remember if she had worried as much before she had known, when she had thought he was only a sailor, but she was sure she had. The sea was a perilous place, regardless of one’s occupation upon her waters.
But as she leaned over the bowl and retched, the sickness overcoming her, she felt panic and desperation well up inside of her.
She had missed her last two courses. The first time, she discounted it. The second month, however, could not be as easily dismissed, and then came the constant nausea.
As she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, tears welled up in her eyes. She knew she was pregnant. And though it should have been a happy moment, Mary had never felt more terrified or alone in her entire life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the day Mary felt the quickening of the babe that Bill returned to the village.
At first, she thought she had imagined the tiny flutter until she felt it again. She had laughed, the sound echoing in the silent emptiness of the house, before sitting in her chair by the fire, resolutely picking up her sewing to finish the swaddling clothes she had begun.
The sky was pitch black and she had been in bed for some hours when she heard the commotion at her doorstep. She barely had time to gather her dressing gown around her before the front door opened and Hector unceremoniously crashed to the floor. Her voice caught in a strangled scream of surprise until Bill appeared behind him, staggering over Hector, his eyes lighting on Mary. “Mary, my love!” he said, his voice slightly slurred.
Mary pulled herself straight, holding the dressing gown tightly closed and blinked rapidly. “You’re drunk,” she said softly.
“Celebrating!” came a rumble from the floor. Hector slowly pushed himself up, retrieving his hat and rather gracelessly plopping it back on his head.
“Get some wine, Mary,” Bill said, tossing aside a small pile of material before heavily sitting in the chair by the fireplace. Mary watched as the gown she had made fell to the floor.
“It’s late,” she said, staring hard at him.
“Nonsense,” Hector said. “Wine, Mary. Wine!”
Wordlessly, Mary crossed the room, placing her hands firmly on Hector’s shoulders and propelling him towards the door. He sputtered indignantly, but she simply said, “It’s time to go, Hector,” and firmly pushed him outside, slamming the door in his face. She could hear his angry roar through the door, but turned back to Bill, who sat silent and wide-eyed.
“Mary, I…” he started, but could not voice his surprise.
“How long have you been back?”
“Just…today…not that long.”
“You’ve been in port long enough to get drunk?” Her voice was quiet, yet held a sharp note of accusation that Bill was unaccustomed to.
“Ah, Mary, we had a good run is all and celebration was in order,” he said dismissively, as he stood and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She could smell the rum on his breath and grimaced slightly. He caught the look on her face and quickly released her. “I have something for you,” he said weakly, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a strand of pearls.
He tried to hand them to her, but she shook her head. “No, Bill. I don’t want those.” She ignored the look of hurt that flashed momentarily on his face. “I want my husband.”
Without another word, she went back into the bedroom, locking the door behind her before collapsing, sobbing, on the bed.
They were like strangers the three days he was in port, scarcely a word or glance passing between them.
He knew that something much more serious than his transgression troubled her, that she needed something from him, but Bill could not fathom what it was. Each time he met her eyes, even if it were for only a split second, he wanted to beg her to tell him what to do, what she needed, but his pride would not allow him to do so.
She wanted to do nothing more than tell him about the life growing inside of her, but each time she met his eyes, even if it were for only a split second, she was reminded of the uncertainty of his way of life, and it terrified her.
Mary stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame as he started down the street. He suddenly stopped and turned back to her. Impetuously, he asked, “Will you come down to the docks like you used to?”
“When I was only a girl and you were only a sailor?” Her voice held more cynicism than she had meant, and she could see the hurt on his face.
“What would you have me do, Mary?” he demanded. He hated the thought of them parting with something unresolved between them.
Mary bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes. She knew she should tell him. This was the last chance she would have for him to hear it from her lips.
She couldn’t keep it a secret forever-by the next time he was in port, she would begin to show, and he would know that she had kept it from him. “I’m…,” she began, but her voice broke. She met his gaze and managed a small smile. “Nothing. Just be my Billy and come back to me safe.”
Bill sighed helplessly, and without another word, he was gone.
Bill leaned against the railing of the ship, tugging firmly at a line to make sure it was tied fast. Satisfied that it was, he glanced over to the docks and felt his heart jump. Standing on the nearest dock, her hair whipping wildly around her face, her skirts billowing in the strong winds coming off of the harbor, was Mary, waving with one hand as his ship slowly pulled away.
Bill leaned over the railing and waved back, sure that even from this distance he could see the small smile on her face. She placed her other hand on her stomach, almost protectively, Bill thought. His brow furrowed for a moment before a wild grin suddenly spread across his face. In that one moment of sudden clarity, he understood. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispered, his words lost in the wind.
Alone on the docks, Mary smiled and tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She did not know what tomorrow held, but of one thing she was quite certain.
He knew.
*End