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"They say he's back!" The man hissed to his companion, rousing the curiosity of the pirate that rested comfortably against one of the back walls of the Faithful Bride. The usually decadent air around Tortuga always seemed to increase when you walked into one of its fine establishments. "I heard that he's alive, back in England!"
"Who is?" The pirate asked the gossiper firmly, stepping forward into their conversation by showing off a gold coin between deft fingers with a crooked smile "If you'd be so kind as to fill me in, mate."
After a moment of hesitation, the hand that was not holding the drink reached out for the coin, but the pirate kept his grin in place and the coin well out of reach. "Answers first." Was all he said.
"Well, I never told you this…" The man hissed, raising a crooked finger in the air and pointing it at the pirate's face.
"'Course not!" Said pirate grinned, lifted his hands in mock surrender.
"But I heard ol' Bootstrap Bill came back to life!" The man announced grandly, to then be nudged to silence by his companion. The pirate had to make a monumental effort to keep his grin firmly in place as the other man recovered himself, went back to his tale. "Heard he's living in England now, in London. Keeping a low profile, my mate said."
The fog hid everything.
Will saw it approaching as the Pearl neared England's shore. He resented its cold bite into his flesh and the flood of memories that came along with it.
He could almost hear the echoes of fired canon-balls, the blast shaking the ship he travelled on. If he turned around now, he was sure he'd see crewmembers running around him as they readied their canons for battle and ushered him- barely a cabin boy then- below decks for his own safety. He remembered seeing Elizabeth for the first time in what felt like moments after the explosion that had tossed him into the cold water, her innocent face blurred by fog and smoke.
Will frowned, staring down at his hands as they gripped the railing. The hold on the wood was hurting him, but he barely took notice. The fog bank they had entered made him shiver violently, same as it had during his mother's funeral. Such a bleak day few children have seen. He remembered looking around, and recognizing no-one among the mourners, a child left utterly alone.
He remembered London all right, its streets, its people, its weather, and all the good times it had granted him with.
"Goddamn you." Will muttered, the words carried off by the wind and turned meaningless.
He turned around, trailed the familiar path back to the cabin he shared with Jack without another thought, closing the door quietly behind him.
Dawn was slowly breaking out, pale light rising from behind the clouds. Will used the weak light to guide his steps, staring at Jack as he slept soundly on the bunk with an arm thrown carelessly over his eyes. The steady rise and fall of his breathing did nothing to soothe Will's troubled thoughts. The words from last night's argument still rang in his ears.
"Docking in London? Jack, why didn't you tell me? You said we were going to France!"
Will grimaced, running a tired hand down his face and moving to sit by the bunk. He hovered there, uncertain, wanting to touch Jack's arm but not daring to wake him. In the end he grabbed the half-empty bottle by Jack's limp hand and took a long sip, rum burning a trail down his throat. Liquid courage, Will thought with a wry turn of his lips.
"Sorry lad, there's urgent business to take care of. You understand."
"What sort of business? How can I possibly understand you lying to me for weeks? I thought you trusted me!"
Will ended up laying down on the floor next to the bed, his back to the other man. He cursed the feeling of helplessness overpowering him, hated what this country could do to him. Most of all, he hated Jack for putting him in the position of facing any of it.
"I'm sorry William."
"I'm sorry too." He whispered tiredly, eyeing the bag with his belongings hidden beneath a loose plank by the desk. He only hoped Jack didn't see it before they docked, give them both a chance to skip the goodbyes. They'd said enough to each other.
Jack watched him from the bed, but didn't say anything as Will finally drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
England loomed ahead the Pearl's route, ominous shores becoming clearer.
Will wasn't surprised when he woke to an empty cabin. He sat up slowly, cringing at the stiffness in his limbs from sleeping on the hard floor and the headache that loomed over his temples, echoing like one of his hammers back at the forge. Across the room, through the small cabin window, he could see they were already docked at the non-conspicuous port that Gibbs had talked about, south of London, where a few coins could get them past the Navy's guard.
It was time, then.
Will took one last look at the cabin he'd shared for almost a year now, his steps heavy as he moved towards the desk. There was nothing left behind that he'd miss, aside from the place's owner. He sighed and bent to pick up his things, stiff joints making the move awkward. His hands fumbled beneath the wood, seeking, but they came in contact with nothing. Frowning, Will ducked to peek his head there, but his bag was missing.
The young man felt his shoulders slump, already knowing what awaited him when he tried to leave. He walked towards the door, turning the handle slowly, and indeed, there was a click. Will leaned his weight against the locked door, recognizing the noise outside for what it was.
One of the crew was watching the door, making sure he wouldn't escape.
"I'm sorry, lad," Came a voice through the door, that Will recognized as Anamaria. Jack knew he'd never hurt her, but she had no such qualms about hurting him if he interfered with her orders. Will felt his headache increase by degrees, and blamed it for the tears that threatened to pick beneath his closed eyelids. "The Captain means well, Will. You'll see."
The boy didn't answer her, moving instead towards the bed to lay there. Outside, the world kept moving, crewmen unloading trinkets to sell in order to restock on supplies, other men getting drunk on the sand in celebration for a day spent on dry land. Will watched them dispassionately through a window that was far too small to sneak out from and couldn't shake the heaviness from his chest.
Jack didn't trust him at all, that was the heart of the matter. He thought Will was an idiot. The cunning bastard had spent weeks waxing poetry about the French coasts they were bound for, the sights, the whores, the food he would introduce Will to the moment they arrived. It was this fancy of Will's, a childish desire he'd once told Jack about while drunk, making stumbling attempts to explain that his mother had talked of the place like it was paradise and that as a penniless kid, William had held no hope of ever going.
Will had only the faintest memory of that conversation, so it was a lovely surprise when Jack had ambled up to him one day in one of Tortuga's pubs and told him that France was to be their next destination in Will's honor alone. He'd been delighted (and intoxicated) enough that Will had all but stumbled into Jack's lips right there in the crowd, after which the Captain assured Will he'd blend right in with the eunuchs that- according to Jack, at least- ran the whole pouffy country.
William was so fucking naïve at times when it came to believing in Jack's fanciful promises that he disgusted himself.
"Why the sudden urge to visit France?" Will had asked him one night, kissing his neck, and moving slowly lower. "Is there actual business for us, or are you just indulging me?"
"Ah, whelp," Jack groaned, taking a hold of his hair and guiding him to where he wanted the attention. "Don't you know the fun of this life is doing things for doing's sake?"
"Right." Will grinned, then bit a tesing nip at Jack's thigh, breathing heavily into Jack's sensitive skin "Freedom, then,"
"Freedom," Will laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the silence of the cabin. He heard Anamaria's muffled voice asking if he was all right through the door, but he didn't bother with an answer. Laying on his back to stare at the cabin's roof, he took a healthy swig of the rum still laying by the bunk, uncaring of his splitting headache.
Freedom for the boy safely stored away in Jack's cabin, like a toy put away for later use. Freedom for the stupid lad who thought he'd found a home and just found another prison.
The bottle shattered to a million pieces against the far wall, the liquid cutting interesting patterns in the wood. He spent some time staring at the drops before stumbling to his feet and trying to pick up the mess, only to cut his hands to ribbons on the glass. The burning of the rum on the wounds was fascinating.
After a little fumbling, he managed to sit on the floor next to the pool of drink, aware that the liquid was staining his clothing but uncaring as his thoughts raced and twisted themselves inside his mind. He watched without really seeing the blood welling up, until belatedly, he realized he was holding a shred of glass too tightly in his other hand, and more blood mixed with rum was burning its way out.
He ignored Anamaria's concerned calls to him, and absentmindedly licked some of the drink from his hand.
"Might as well act like a pet," He murmured softly to himself, still watching the bleeding cuts, "That's the whole point of this life for Jack anyway. No complications to get what you want."
He nodded to himself after a moment, looked out the window again. The fog was rolling in again, making the shapes outside indistinct. Will stared at them blankly and waited for the day to end.
It was dark when Jack came back. The food Anamaria had brought in had long ago gotten cold on top of the desk. Will had vague recollection of her yelling at him for breaking one of Jack's finer rum bottles, then softening and telling him about how he'd see this was for the best.
He hadn't answered her and he hadn't let her tend to the cuts on his hands.
It was almost funny how Jack came inside, slowly and carefully, as if he expected Will to hurl a chair towards his head. Honestly, he should do that. A month ago he would have done that. If he didn't know what this shit was all about, he probably still would. But the leaden weight inside his chest had noting to do with anger or resentment, and so, he didn't.
Will just sat in the bed, looking down at his hands. He'd been picking at the cuts all day, hoping for more blood to pour out, but the wounds were mostly shallow.
"Will?"
He didn't bother answering as he heard the door being locked again, this time from the inside.
"William. C'mon, luv," He felt the mattress dip next to him and briefly raised his eyes to watch Jack removing his boots. He didn't move away when a ringed hand tentatively reached for him, touched his shoulder. "Have at it. Can't imagine you're happy with this one at the moment."
"William luv!" A voice boomed behind him, and he turned around, drink in his hand to meet Jack's shining eyes. "Guess where we're setting sails to next."
"Hey," Will said faintly, clearing his throat when his voice was barely over a raspy whisper. He let the hand raise his head to meet Jack's eyes, pettily enjoying the uncertainty he found there when Will didn't lash out like Jack expected.
"Hello," Jack muttered back. The wary grimace on his face made Will sigh and move closer until his head rested on Jack's lap. He felt one of Jack's hand touch his face, slowly moving through his hair. Soon enough the caress turned into Jack poking him.
"What's this about then?"
Will shrugged. Jack made a vague gesture with his hand for him to 'go on' but Will didn't say anything.
"As delightful as this turn of events is," Jack finally said, false cheer a bad cover for his confussion "You don't have enough ovaries to pull off the ol' spurned bint routine, lad. So let's start with the yelling. I'll start," Jack paused to clear his throat obnoxiously and shouted "How could I?!"
Will didn't feel the need to remind him that he could have yelled his voice raw all afternoon for all Jack knew. He hadn't of course, and the pirate probably knew him better than that, but still, he could have. As it was, he didn't rise to the bait, merely laying there and feeling the tension in Jack as the silence dragged on.
"William?"
"How was business, then?" Will asked, staring blankly ahead. "Most of the crew headed to a pub without you, so I hope it was worth missing the celebration for. It has been a while since we've touched land."
"It went fine," Jack answered after a second, his hand trailing over Will's throat like a man petting a hungry tiger. Will leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping closed. "And those miscreants will be paying for slipping away without us later, no worries. It's nippy outside, though, so don't forget your heavy coat tomorrow."
"Oh, I'm going outside too?" He felt Jack brace himself for the outburst and didn't have to look to imagine the wary look in his face. Will nodded slowly against Jack's thigh. "Okay."
"Jack, please. What business do you have in London? You promised me no more lies."
The caress continued in silence for another few minutes, before he felt Jack push him away and stand up. He watched him as he moved to pace the room, looking so bewildered it almost made Will want to laugh. Almost.
When the Captain finally tired himself of moving like a caged panther, he looked at Will and his eyes slowly travelled to Will's numb hands. Jack frowned at the cuts and with new purpose, the man moved to find something to bind the wounds with.
Will remained silent when Jack came back, strips of one of his shirts in his hand, soaked in the contents of another bottle of rum he'd stashed somewhere. It burned when it touched his cuts, but Will didn't react, watching the procedures as both of his hands were carefully bandaged.
"How did this happen, then?" Came the gentle inquiry, and Jack searched to meet his eyes. Will just shrugged, smiling hollowly.
"Accident with one of your bottles." He explained softly, allowing his lax body to be drawn forward into Jack's lap, his back to his chest. The older man slowly unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide to the floor as he grasped Will's hips with clear intent, his mouth tracing patterns on his throat.
Will moaned quietly, passive as the other hand was travelling to his breeches, untying the laces with practiced ease.
When Jack's hand touched his member, he didn't draw back, enjoying the touches, mewling softly when they were withdrawn. Jack turned him around suddenly, holding him at arms length and peering into his eyes as if trying to read the secrets of the universe in them.
"Did Ana bloody drug you?" Jack exploded and this time Will couldn't hold back a bark of laughter. It came out as a bitter sound.
"No, Jack," Will whispered back, seductive as he lowered his lashes to look through them, licking his lips and smirking when Jack did the same. "She didn't do anything. I can be nice and meek all on my own."
He saw a frown threatening to appear in Jack's brow but didn't allow it, moving to remove his breeches the rest of the way off. Will leaned forward, smiling with all the promises of a whore, and moved deft fingers to slowly peel away Jack's clothing. His hands were soon caught and held firmly, but Will didn't fight the hold.
"Just so we're clear," Jack said uncertainly, but Will could see his play was affecting him, if the bulge in his trousers was any indication. "This is you being nice. All of your own doing. No anger whatsoever despite all chance to the contrary and no spiteful biting in parts that have no business being bitten in place for all the yelling you're not doing?"
"No biting," Will promised, head cocked to one side. The betrayal inside his chest was an oppressing weight as he smiled, choking him with everything he really longed to say, but throwing Jack off-balance like this felt like revenge. "This is all me, Jack. If you want."
"No, wait. Will, stop," Jack growled when Will went to lean in again, but his heated eyes told Will the resistance wouldn't last for long. "You're angry. So all the sweetness and spontaneous ravishing isn't adding up, savvy?"
Will stayed silent for a minute, debating with himself. Then he dropped the smile and looked into Jack's eyes.
"Right now," He said, feeling Jack's hold on his arms become slightly painful. "I'm angry. I hate you for doing this. But it doesn't change the fact," He continued, voice dropping to become more sultry. He looked down and saw Jack do the same, studying Will's naked body still hot and ready despite the blankness in Will's eyes. "That you made your point. I'm not leaving."
"Ah, but 'tis not about that!" Jack moaned, still haltingly trying to explain. But Will saw his resolve crumbling and when Will moved his arms out of his hold, Jack let him. "Tomorrow, I'll show you when we head to London. Everything will be explained and there'll be no need for anger at all!"
"No need," Will whispered, leaning forward to steal a kiss that was all about control. Will's control. "I don't care."
They tumbled backwards into the bed, and Will moved down Jack's body, getting rid of every remaining article of clothing. He had to admire Jack's faltering attempt for coherency once Will had him between his lips.
"William!" A deep breath, "Swear…'tis important…"
I know, you daft bastard Will thought faintly, lowering his eyes back and hollowing his cheeks. That's never been the point.
But he didn't say any of it aloud.
Jack had trimmed his hair that morning, taking out his beads and trinkets, and combing the wild mess into a simple ponytail. He'd shaved his moustache, and replaced his clothes for new ones he had gotten the day before. Will asked if he should disguise himself as well, but Jack just told him to wear his hair loose and shave his goatee to call it a day.
Will thought Jack looked extremely different once the transformation was done, but didn't comment on the need for it.
They were currently travelling through a beaten down dirt road that, according to Jack at least, would lead them to London. They had stolen the cart back at the port from an old man whose glasses were 'accidentally' stepped on by Cotton. Not one of their most noble deeds, but as Jack was so fond of reminding him, they were pirates. Anamaria had stayed behind in the port, making sure the Pearl was well watched over.
Between Jack and Will, the silence was oppressing. The night before Will had simply pretended to fall asleep on Jack's chest, hoping to avoid any more questions. Jack had probably seen through his act, but nothing further had been said.
"William," It was almost alien how insecurity made Jack's voice waver so noticeably. "There are good, wholesome reasons for not having said anything about this little detour, you know. And for the whole locking you away part. That too."
"I know, Jack," Will answered calmly, leaning back against the cart's wooden structure and closing his eyes. He hadn't slept a wink throughout the night. "I don't care, you always have reasons."
Endless minutes trickled by, while the only sound echoing through the road was the even clap of the horses' hooves on the ground. There was a slight fog surrounding them, reminding Will with every step that this was English soil they stood on.
Almost asleep when it happened, Will was almost thrown off the cart when Jack reined in the horses that led them into a violent sudden stop. Will grasped a hold of Jack to hold himself steady, his breathing almost stopping on his throat with the scare. Soon enough, the horses settled down, and Will frowned, resuming then his previous position. Jack's eyes felt like a vivid touch on his skin, burning through his closed eyelids.
"Mother's tits, William, can you bloody well be angry already?" Jack snapped at last, grabbing a hold of Will's shoulders and shaking him violently. Will opened his eyes leisurely and merely shook his head at the pirate despite the rough treatment.
"No, Jack."
The exasperated look would have been funny in any other situation.
"Why the bloody hell not? Anybody else would have skinned me by now and you've certainly got the skills with a blade to try! Now, don't think I'm not grateful for the niceness to my hide, but there ain't been once when you haven't asked why for every bloody decision I make! And now that I lied to you, broke a promise, left you locked inside our cabin for an entire day- NOW you go all good wifey on me? Why aren't you angry?!"
"Because I get it."
"William, how could you possibly-"
Will's eyes must have betrayed him then. Jack suddenly grew silent and let go of him, staring with such a dark, serious expression, it almost made him seem like someone else. Will felt his own façade crumble like sand, mouth twisting into a thin line while his eyes began to shine with a whirlwind of supressed feeling.
He almost felt better when he realized that Jack wasn't able to meet his gaze for long.
"I know what you came here for, Jack." He began quietly, leaning forward with an air of calm that fooled none of them "I know we're looking for my father. I know you think he's alive. I know you're fucking trying to find him. And you know what?"
Jack froze, and there was an interminable silence between them. Finally he seemed to steel himself before looking up, an eyebrow raised.
"What then? You hate me for not warning you? Hate me for learning about it from someone else?"
"No," Will said simply, dashing forward and grabbing Jack's jacket, fisting it with all the violence he was restraining. Then he took a shuddering breath, his insides burning with the words that wanted to escape. "I just don't care."
The words should have sounded much crueller than they did.
Will was denying his father, his past, Jack's best friend, denying so much in four seemingly rash words.
Instead, the confession sounded painful. Will's voice came out so much smaller than it was, so much wearier, that it filled the air with what almost became an admission of weakness, shattering whatever ice had lain between them. The confession sounded ripped out from him, and Will felt it as such.
When Jack finally moved, it was to draw him closer. Will couldn't find it in him to resent the warmth of Jack's arms and it wasn't until Jack rested his hand on the small of Will's back that the lad realized he was shaking.
"Who told you?" Will whispered after a while, drawing back to look at Jack. "When we were in Tortuga, who told you about my father?"
"Gibbs, lad," Jack said softly, lifting a ringed hand to touch Will's smooth cheek. "The bartender was gossiping over at the Faithful Bride like an old maid that his son had seen your ol' man here in London with his own eyes. Gibbs heard and rushed over to tell me while I was getting us a room."
"Everyone knows then," Will said tiredly, looking down, "I paid a gold coin off to a drunk I heard mumbling about my father while you were getting the room. He told me the same thing, that he was here, alive."
There was a pause, and Will unconsciously began to pick at the edges of the bandages on his hands as he tried to find the words to explain himself.
"Then you told me about France," Will continued softly, frowning at nothing, "And I was relieved. It meant you hadn't heard about my father and you wouldn't come to find him here."
"Why not, Will? Why don't you want to see him?"
As much as he had been expecting the question, he still wasn't sure of the answer.
Biting his lip, Will jumped off their cart to pace on the road, needing the movement to clear his mind. Jack jumped off next to him and tied the horses by the side of the road while he waited for Will to speak.
"Because he might not be real." Will answered at last, looking over Jack's shoulder. "Because when I was a lad I prayed every day for his safe return. I wanted to see his face and sail away with him. Because the thought of him was the the only one keeping me sane when I was alone-" he drifted off slowly, stared at his shoes as if they were mesmerizing. "And then he was dead."
"And now he might not be after all," Came Jack's gentle reply, along with a heavy hand on his shoulder. "He might have survived, William! We have that chance-"
"I don't want it!" Will blurted out, choking on the words. "He was dead and I mourned for him. I came to terms with being an orphan and alone, with having no one. I accepted his death, and it hurt like nothing else Jack, it hurt so much…"
"I know whelp," Jack muttered against his hair, drawing him closer. Something in his voice made it impossible for Will to think that he didn't understand, but it didn't help the guilt in Will's guts.
"I was so angry, Jack," The younger man said after a moment, pulling away to sit beneath a tree. "So fucking angry, because you'd lied. When you promised me France, I thought I wouldn't have to face this, that you wouldn't have to know!"
"William-"
"Don't," Will said softly, with a laugh that escaped his lips unbidden. "Don't apologize. I don't want your apologies. And I don't want this. Jack, please don't make me face this."
"Will, he might be alive," Jack told him firmly, sat down in front of him. It was hard to meet his gaze, almost unfamiliar without the kohl. "I know 'tis difficult, but 'tis a possibility."
"Jack, I've never had a father," he muttered, clenching his hands, "I don't remember him. I don't need him now, Jack, I have my life. I- I don't want this now. I needed it ten years ago, not now."
A bird sang from the tree branches above their heads, and Will briefly looked up, biting back tears. Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Will beat him to it, smiled faintly.
"I know you need it, Jack," Will said softly, reached out a hand, "I know he was your friend and you feel guilty about him defending you during the mutiny, even though you shouldn't." A pause. Jack was looking at him with something akin to surprise on his eyes. "I understand and I'm not angry. But I'm afraid. And for once, I don't want to face it. Just don't ask me go see him if he lives, all right?"
The kiss they shared tasted bitter, but Will blamed it on the tears that threatened to break through their defences. Their eyes were dry though, as they pulled back.
"Of course not, luv," Jack whispered against his lips. When he leaned in again it was sweeter, the air around them clearer.
"Please don't hope too much, though," Will whispered back, eyes haunted, "It might not be true."
"Worth a shot, luv," Jack grinned, kissed Will's forehead. "For once, this is worth a shot."
London was a blur when they arrived, a mass of aristocratic people blended in with the working class without greeting each other, whores painting the corners of every other darkened alley. They went through the streets in their cart, going past buildings that seemed eerily familiar to Will, some more pleasantly than others.
After a brief tour around the city, Jack led them to one of the local bars that hosted a large sign with the word Lodging engraved on it. It seemed far fancier than the places they usually set foot in, but when he commented on it, Jack just winked and told him that they had to spend their swag somewhere.
Now, he sat on the bed of the spacious room, staring out the window while Jack was out scouting the place where Bootstrap Bill Turner was supposedly living. Will watched through the glass as the night began to fall, raindrops slowly making an appearance along with the darkness.
"I'm sorry," He whispered to a father he'd never met and didn't want to see. A father that was better left alone in Will's memories as the hero that had made his mom so happy with his letters and had always sent a present for Will's birthday. Like the man that Jack told him he resembled and that in Jack's eyes was the best friend a man could ask for.
No living man would ever be better than that image.
"Hope you understand that." He told the empty room, trembling as a cold shiver ran through his spine.
It was almost morning when Will saw the cart turning around the corner, saw Jack approaching the building from his vantage point at the window. He sat facing the door, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wood until it creaked open and Jack stepped carefully into the room.
Their eyes met.
And Will didn't need to ask to read the defeat on Jack's expression.
He had but a second to feel for the absolute demise of a parent that he'd lost long ago. But Jack, he knew, had harboured more hope than he, and so Will shed the blanket around him and stood, taking his lover into his arms and warming the space left by his father with everything he had to offer.
The next day, the sun came out over London, dispersing the fog. Will thought it was the nicest gift his father could have given him.