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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Will.
Feedback: Sure. Good lines, bad ones, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written in celebration of hija_paloma's birthday. AU where the Aztec gold and Barbossa didn't happen; pretend Bootstrap died in a storm or something.
Summary: A different path to maturity.
***
So he grew up with her, always smiling and never quite daring. She fluttered and danced and flushed into full bloom, a beautiful princess of the white sands and blue seas, and she hinted as well. But there was never quite enough on either side-or maybe there was, but just not at the same time.
Anyhow, one day Will stands up in the church and watches the navy coat and frothy lace take her with a tremulous smile, and her eyes meet his over the gold-braid shoulder. He thinks his heart is breaking, and the words for the priest are on the tip of his tongue, but his throat is crammed too full. In the word, the words fall only as whispered fragments, mixing with the rice and the flower petals.
For a few days, he lives from Mr. Brown's point of view. But that is not Will's natural state, and soon the forge is calling. He discovers that he can still breathe and move, though his heartbeat may never be the same.
***
Society and marriage and a thousand other things-though not Norrington, Will does admit-constrain them, but they find ways. They steal moments of strained speech in dark corners, but even away from the island of eyes, they still cannot loose themselves.
Elizabeth looks well in her fine dresses, though the dimness in her eyes betray her discontent. And Will wishes he could offer-
--she is a loyal wife, but not a quiet one. Norrington takes her first on one voyage, and then another, and then another until her words are filled with wondrous sights and hardships weathered and even a battle, where she played no mean part. She glows now.
Will's happy for her. He is. She was his friend first, no matter what came after, and Will remembers that above all things.
***
Port Royal grates.
He's always been a little restless. His mother used to say that that was his father's blood speaking, and that had frightened him because his father's wanderlust had taken his life. But now Will is grown, and now he can see because Elizabeth's brilliance is busy blinding another man. He begins to wonder if the youth he had been had really known everything when he'd decided to stay put.
He doesn't mention it to Elizabeth, because then she would've offered to help, and he doesn't want help in this. He wants-needs-to do it for himself.
And besides, he knows that she'll appreciate the romanticism of a letter smuggled into a house at midnight. He intends to write her again, later.
***
Will's first letter was carefully scripted on parchment; his fifth is scribbled on a scrap of questionable material with a goose-feather he snatched from a living, squawking menace and painfully cut himself. Tortuga as usual.
"Writin' your girl?"
During the second that Will is jumping, he wonders whether it's possible to get drunk by association. Because he's almost certain that it had been the pile of rags in the corner that had addressed him.
It is. The monstrous broken feather that tops the lot inclines at him, and two sharp eyes burn away the smoke. "Don't suppose you'd be the blacksmith?"
"I might be." Will uses his knee to shift his sword into greater visibility.
"Grand. I'd be needin' a bit of aid." A few gold coins sprinkle the counter. "Captain Jack Sparrow, mate. And…actually, don't suppose you'd have heard of anyone named Bootstrap Bill Turner?"
***
Jack is a revelation in more ways than one. By the time they're out the door, he's managed to both compliment Will's biceps and mortally insult his parentage. By the time they've reached the smithy Will had rigged up, he's straightened out the matter of Will's paternity, and Will is no happier. He slams the door in Jack Sparrow's face and huffs his way to bed.
In the morning, he goes out to fetch water and trips over a pirate on his doorstep. This time, Jack gets them into a sword-fight.
Which Will would've won, if Jack had had the sensibility to give up when he was sprawled on the floor and had not tripped Will again.
They still end up having dinner. Will is beginning to think his life is going awry.
***
When Will does meet Elizabeth again, she's strolling along with a pair of fine-looking youngsters and a thoroughly uncomfortable Norrington, who doesn't seem to realize that non-uniform clothes don't require a ramrod back.
At the time, Jack's hands are down Will's trousers, and they're actually mostly hidden behind a large barrel, for which Will is supremely grateful. And then Jack's mouth joins his fingers, and Will starts muffling praises to something else.
He goes to visit Elizabeth later that night, and she's overjoyed. Radiant. Still his best friend, and now, the mother of his godson-in-secrecy: she'd told Norrington that her favorite uncle had been named William, and so their second boy absolutely had to have the same name.
Will goes back to the Pearl with a broad smile on his face and her kiss on his cheek, and that night he catches Jack off-guard for the first time. It's going to be a pain swabbing that patch of wall in the morning, but it'll be worth it.
***
It's a bright, breezy day with whitecaps just the right size and seagulls streaking the sky when Will looks out and realizes.
"What's with you?" Jack wants to know.
"Nothing," Will says, leaning back into the other man. "I've just grown up."
***