And Taxes 7 - The Mad Fangirl

Title: Taxes 6 - A Pirate Thanksgiving
Author: The Mad Fangirl - batya_93@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, savvy?

Rating: NC-17

Arrrrchive: Yes, please - just tell me where.

Pairings: W/J, E/N
Warnings: Hot guy-guy slashy action; i.e. men having graphic sex with
other men. Also, for those that avoid such things, there are het
references. Nothing graphic, though, and it's only to serve the greater
good of the slashy plot, I swear!

Summary and Notes:

For this fic, it's fairly well essential to have read Taxes 4, Die Hard
with Pirates. Helps to have read everything (muahaha), but T4's the
biggie. They're all here somewhere, as well as at aff.net
(http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=5576). Order is "And
Taxes," "Taxes 2 - Past Life Hangover," "Repression, Obsession, and Past
Life Regression," "Die Hard with Pirates," and "Halloween/Day of the
Dead."

"Hernando Ross" makes himself scarce this ep; he's either hiding out
from all the conspicuous consumption, or feeding the poor at a soup
kitchen somewhere. Hey, the man's got layers (who appropriated that for
the big B? Want to give you your due...), and nobody knows more about
hunger. But, anyhow, Thanksgiving's a time for family, so this little
slice of Taxverse life comes from the home front.



POVs this episode: Will, Will, Jack, Jack, Greg, James, Liz, Elizabeth,
Big Jim Norton, Professor Bill Smith, and [SPOILER].


* * *
Taxes 6 - A Pirate Thanksgiving
* * *
Will felt inordinately pleased and returned the grin. "Well, at the very
least, this should make Thanksgiving v-"

"If you say 'very interesting,' I'm going to hit you, *savvy?*"

---Taxes 4

* * *

Wednesday morning...San Diego, California

//Let me go let me go oh my jealous love let me go// "LET ME GO!" Bill
shouted, sitting straight up on the couch.

A slightly rounded man with thinning blond hair ran into the living
room. "Professor Smith! Are you all right?"

//Good question...// Sweat-soaked, Bill Smith took several deep breaths.
Finally, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Albert. Thanks." He pulled the sheet off
his chest and started folding it, getting a few wrinkles in the folds.
This, of course, caused Albert to take it from him and re-fold it
crisply, though Bill knew he'd wash it presently. "Just a nightmare.
Been having the same one for years, but I never remember it."

"You know," Albert said, meditatively, reaching for the crumpled
comforter next, "I have an acquaintance who has recurring dreams. I
never had put a great deal of stock in that sort of thing, but his
dreams have tended to presage notable events. I'll admit that it has
made me rethink a thing or two."

"Huh. Well, maybe I'll see if my son has some books. He's started to get
into some new-agey stuff lately; saw some books on past lives when I was
over before." Bill stood, and Albert did likewise. "It was great to see
you, but I don't want to make you late for work. I'm off to stay with
another old student, if only because he's dating my son. Thanks for the
crash space."

"It was my pleasure," Albert replied. "The offer is always open when
you're in San Diego, subject to the requirements of national security,
of course."

"Of course." Bill grinned. "Look, you tell those guys at the Department
that next time I'm in town, we're gonna have a rematch down at the ol'
bowling alley, and I am going to kick their asses."

"I'll paraphrase you."

"Not a problem. Well, I'd better get showered. I think I'll grab some
breakfast, hit the Zoo and then head north."

"That sounds like an excellent plan." Albert gave his slight smile as
Bill headed for the bathroom. "And Professor?"

"Yes Albert?"

"Happy Thanksgiving."

* * *

Will Smith, Jr., awoke to pressure on his chest and a pair of tiny
ferret eyes blinking at him. "Go back to sleep, Hector," he murmured.
"I'll feed you when it's light out..."  He stretched, one arm continuing
farther than he expected. Jack wasn't in bed, nor was he out in the
living room with his guitar - Will could usually hear the strumming if
he strained. He flicked on a light, and heard Jack from elsewhere.

"Oh, you're up. Want to come with?"

Jack was in his wetsuit, as it turned out, with a hand on the garage
door. "I'd love to," Will replied. "Don't think I've ever actually seen
you surf. Saw you coming out of the water all slow-motion and
everything, which was hot as hell, by the way..."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it," Jack said, smirking.

"Ah, an ego undimmed by the passage of time," murmured Will Turner
through his present self.

"What? Ye were always wantin' me to be a more honest man," came the
reply in Sparrow's blur-edged speech.

Will just shook his head and yawned. "Okay, we'll put the top down and
take my car. No room on the bike for the board *and* me. It's still dark
o'clock in the morning, but we've got, what, forty-five minutes out
there before Annie Mae has your ass for making her late?"

"I don't know - I figured more like an hour, hour fifteen."

"Yeah, but you're not counting the time we're going to spend having mad,
passionate sex."

Jack blinked. "Hell with surfing."  He pulled Will in for a kiss that
the younger man swore somehow made his sweat pants tighter.

"I swear...ooh...we've got time for both...c'mon, you've got to work off
all that turkey you're going to eat, and if you don't get out before
things get all busy, you'll regret it."

"Damn. Hate it when ye're right, whelp. We'll have to work in the two of
ye, then."

"You know there's pretty much nothing I'd rather do, but I can just feel
it in you. You've been needing this."

"Yeah..." Jack Byrd sighed, and before long they were unloading the
surfboard from the back of Will's Lexus SC. Will swore he could hear the
ocean calling to Jack, calling through Jack, and knew he'd been right to
encourage him. This was an elemental need both part of and apart from
the bond between them, the connection they had with the sea.

Will watched Jack saunter into the waves, lie down on the board, and
feel the currents gather. He felt a buzzing and a liquid rush as Jack
Byrd became Jack Sparrow out there in the waves, and he became Turner
with him. Then another...they were shifting fully and quicksilver-fast,
riding wave and current sometimes one, sometimes other, sometimes both.

Perhaps it should have been exhausting, Will reflected, fairly sure he
was Will Turner at the time. But Smith got such a rush from yielding up
to his other self, and the sensual energy remained. They lay propped on
the sand, eyes half closed, focusing on Jack's form. Watched him move,
felt him change, gave themselves up to it entirely. After a time they
could only breathe shallow, eyes filled with Jack.

This time, when Jack left the waves, he was Byrd, and Will was Smith,
but it could have gone either way. Will felt the ocean's charge in Jack
now, something more in his walk and gaze.

"I *really* needed that," Jack said, soft and low. "Guess what I need
now?"

"God, Jack, do you have any idea how much I want you to throw me down
and screw me senseless? I just... I..."

"You *what*? " Oh, there was needy anguish to match his own in that
growl, but...

"I don't want to get any sand up my..."

"Oh. Yeah. Good point." Jack cocked his head, brows drawn tight, eyes
just this side of wild. "Home. *Fast.*"

Will always broke the speed limit, but he was rarely so blatant about
it.

* * *

The second the garage door began closing, Jack was out of the car. He
turned the garage sink on warm as he stripped, and pulled the sprayer
out to hose off.

"You know, the shower's just over- aack!" Warm and pleasant, but
surprising, as it really shouldn't have been. And Will's sweatshirt and
sweatpants were soaked, so of course, they'd have to come off.

Inside, Turner was a murmur and a shrug. //...pirate...//

//...yeah, yeah...//

Then Will had a wonderful view as Jack stretched on tiptoes to pull down
several towels from a high shelf. Appreciating it gave him a chance to
catch three out of five towels as Jack tossed them; the rest landed on
the hood of his car.

"Perfect!" Jack declared, and the purr in the "perfect" spoke of pirate.
Will braced himself, but Jack's tackle still bore him to the hood. Will
felt the engine's warmth through the towels.

"Mmm..." He stretched, and Jack stretched to cover him. The sand was
gone, for the most part, but Jack still smelled of the ocean. Beneath
Will was heat and metal.

//...also our element... oh...// "Oh, yeah..." Will voiced Turner's sigh
and called the blacksmith up, and the quicksilver shifting of earlier
made it easy. They were even more conscious of the barely quiescent
engine beneath them as they lifted their legs, toes curling over the
headlights.

Eyes opened again - oh, yes, they had been closed - to find Jack with
respect shading the heavy lust in his own.

"Laid out before me, legs up and beggin' for it, and I've hardly ever
seen ye look so strong. What's got into ye all of a sudden?"

"Blacksmith thing..." Will murmured, pulling one leg from the car to run
along the back of Jack's calf. "Come on, then..." And that was command
in his voice that his captain would not usually countenance. Now,
though...something warm and slick was traced in zigzags over his chest
that made his breath hitch, then spread along and below his length at
once by two very nimble hands. Will groaned, letting his hips rise from
the hood.

"Open your eyes, me Will," Jack coaxed, and he did, to be lost in dark
pools and then wet heat as Jack's mouth came down over his own. Warm
wetness that managed a fire, and they broke for air a second..."All of
you. Now," Will breathed, and Jack did indeed seem a bit compelled. Both
legs lifted up and out as Jack pressed, slid, *took*... "Aah! More..."
He needed this; the fire in him needed this, hard, strong... "Faster..."
Filled and rocking 'gainst the metallic warmth, he felt Jack heed him
again, eyes uncharacteristically free of any of the calculation that
shaded them even during sex. Especially during...oh, yes..."Oh, oh, yes!
More, Jack..." Voice failing him now, the next "oh, Jack," a gasp.

Legs wrapped around Jack, *him* wrapped around Jack, heat and metal
below and beneath, heat and the ocean atop and within, the *balance* was
an amazing, strong feeling and Will felt there was nothing he could not
do. Jack's hand between, with more of that slick stuff, Jack's tongue
and teeth at his ear...ah, his love was trying to make him lose all
control. Not this time...Will arched himself, clenched and twisted, and
Jack, oh, Jack made an amazing noise. Will at Jack's ear now, murmuring
"Oh, my captain. Come for me," clenching and twisting again.

He felt Jack spasm, whole body gone tense, releasing so hot and hard
with "Fuck, Will! WILL!" Thrusting that took some time to cease, leaving
Jack gasping...but stroking him still, leaning against the car, working
Will two-handed...he wanted to watch, but the sheer warm slick pleasure
closed his eyes. Those hands...God, those hands...surrounding him and he
pushed up and in, Jack softer but still warm within and without and
oh..."Oh, OH! Jack..." Yellow white blue heat he breathed fire and water
both, and Jack kissed him long and hard as he crested.

Kisses covered his throat, then, as he came down, as they slid off. When
Will opened his eyes again, he saw Jack grinning, satisfied, and
apparently fine with the power dynamic, whether or not he'd understood
it.  On the other hand, wherever control lay in that encounter, it
remained that Jack had laid Will across the hood of his own convertible.

"Wow," he said, definitely Byrd, "Now that was interesting. Amazing too,
naturally..."

"Yeah," Will said, smirking back.

"We do good work."

"Speaking of which..." Will sighed. "At least we're off starting this
afternoon. Come with me..."

"Just did..."

"...after work, and we'll hit the warehouse store before Dad gets here."

Jack gathered towels, ran one over his front, then tossed most in a
corner. "Hey, if you want a warehouse, I can get you one cheap. Tax
default."

"Cute." Will's eyes fell, finally, on the small tin as Jack picked it up
off the hood. "Hey, is that what we used..." Jack nodded. "What...?"

Jack grinned wider. "Surf wax."

"What!?"

"Hey, it's non-toxic."

"It better be!"

* * *

That afternoon, the holiday fever affected even the IRS auditors. Josh
Gibson was heading to Vegas with a girlfriend later that night, probably
the same woman he'd met on Halloween. In his mind, he was probably there
already. Jack had no doubt he'd come out ahead. Superstitious as the man
who'd once been Joshamee Gibbs generally was, for him luck held little
place in gambling. The two had met on their college's unofficial
blackjack team, and Josh hadn't met a card he couldn't count.

Liz Swan dropped by to wish Jack a happy holiday and express her
regrets. "I'd come if I could, and I'd definitely drag Greg, because I
can't think of any better entertainment than the two of you. Especially
after some eggnog. But I can't put this off any longer - believe me,
I've tried."

"Ma and Pa Norton are going to love you, Liz. You know Monty and J.B.
were the real test, and ye blew 'em out of th' water, so t' speak."

"My head tells me so," she replied, becoming Elizabeth a bit in response
to his Sparrow. "But my heart is an unbecoming shade, I fear."

"Yellow?"

"Precisely."

"Well, ye wear yellow beautifully. Off with ye, milady, and trust old
Jack."

"Since I can see no self-interest on your part, perhaps I shall," she
replied, with a smile.

Which just meant she wasn't looking hard enough. Jack had been obliged
to offer for Will's sake, and because the whelp would've done so anyhow,
but he was not nearly ready to spend an evening with Greg Norton. Things
had got all strange since the Commodore and his present self had
triggered the memory of their demise, in the process of saving Jack from
a very unpleasant end. Jack found his taunting of the man falling off
sharply, which didn't feel at all natural. So, the two of them in Texas
rather than across the table from Jack was very much preferred for now,
thank you kindly. On the other hand, if they and Greg's ex-wife Jill had
not had other plans, there might have been plenty of distraction at
hand; the latter invitation had been Jack's condition for the former.

Annie Mae was humming, and occasionally smiling. The tunes wandered
disturbingly between what Jack recognized as some of the most ribald sea
chanteys he'd ever heard, and the likes of Veggie Tales. She was headed
elsewhere too, Oklahoma, the Ozarks, Ohio...somewhere that started with
an O, Jack was certain. Along with her lovely children and her husband
Tyler, a perfectly good, kind man who'd choked Jack with bone fingers
through jailhouse bars a lifetime ago.

He was still working on how to address that.

Elizabeth, with her new uncanny perceptions, insisted that Tyler did not
yet recall he'd been Koehler the pirate. She had no way to determine,
though, whether Annie Mae knew it, and neither did Jack. Anamaria had
been one of the few people that could truly close her heart to Jack,
cloaking with sound and fury what she honestly thought or felt. Jack had
the feeling that Annie Mae was the same, only subtler. Tell or don't
tell; if she did not recall, did Jack have the right to tell her, and
did he have the right to keep it from her?

A part of him said he was her captain and had every right to either, and
another part of him warned against easy answers.  If she did, another
thorny problem. Did he tell her he knew, or did he wait and let her come
to him? And what sort of hell would it be for Annie Mae to choose
between her captain and the blood family that Anamaria had never known?
He could not be certain that she would choose him, not at all, nor that
he would not lose her in the choosing.

It was the very same once-pirate that caught Jack pinching the bridge of
his nose. "Jack, honey, we're done. Off the clock. Now you *know* I've
got no objection to staying late, usually..." she leaned in, "but if ye
don't get a move on, your feral whelp will have your balls, and make ye
into the eunuch ye liked t' accuse him of bein'."

"Ah, Ana, he's mellowed."

"As you have?" She snorted. "Off with you now."

"Insubordinate wench."

"Pirate," she replied with a wink.

Thus it was that Jack meandered down the stairs to Manufacturing, laptop
case in one hand. The director's office was dark, Brown having left for
the holiday already. A spare brace leaned against one wall; more than a
month had passed, but the older man's thigh was still healing. As he
considered the appliance, Jack felt movement behind, a prickle at the
back of his neck. No impulse, though, to draw the sword he no longer
carried...much...so he knew who it had to be, and he melted back into
Will's embrace.

The hug was all too quick, since they were still at work.

"Nothing to hide," Will murmured, "but, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jack sighed. "Still public."

"Shall we?"

"Let's."

* * *

Will Smith flashed his card as the two maneuvered the oversized cart
through the door, getting a raised eyebrow at his name. "No relation,"
he said, and got a smile.

After a bit of wandering, he noticed Jack heading off in one direction,
but Will had his eye on a sample of crab cakes and didn't follow. They
were ready in a minute, and as he popped one in his mouth his eyes
widened. Buzzing, odd dissonance, mounting pressure and need to... Will
felt Turner's inquiry and assured him it was just fine, and then with a
wash of heat he *was* Will Turner once more.

"Good, huh? They're right over there..." the woman with the apron said.

"Mm-yes, excellent," he replied, casting his eyes about for Jack. That
shift hadn't been his doing, and therefore - but why had he...

He saw Jack then, and moved to join him. "Oh."

There stood Captain Jack Sparrow, as evidenced by the cant of his
shoulders and head, even if Will hadn't felt it, immediately before the
biggest bottle of rum he'd ever seen.

"It's so beautiful..." Jack whispered. And yes, that was a tear.

"I'll get the cart."

* * *

Will suited actions to words, and soon they were off, Will pushing the
cart while Jack walked alongside, at least one finger in possessive
contact with the huge bottle at all times. Turner listened to Smith's
murmured guidance, realizing that it was his first time in such an
environment *as* Will Turner.

The sheer amount of food was mind-boggling. Part of Smith's gourmet
tendency had been inherited, his father's fondness for cooking, but the
rest...in days of old, food had always been sufficient but never
plentiful. Here, there was enough to play with.

//...never thought of it like that... makes sense...// And Turner felt
Smith's pleasure at the insight. These moments of knowing himself
brought out the warm connection that bound them, reminded them that they
shared a soul. Will smiled at the feeling. Jack seemed to sense
something, for he looked up and reflected the grin.

//...that it does, if I do say so...// Turner thought back to his other
half. //...what next?...//

//...well, try not to look as Jack passes the men's watches...// He
nearly looked anyway, but caught himself. It would just make him
nervous. Jack swore that Byrd had a way of avoiding video cameras, and
that he'd used it, but still. //...otherwise, I think we're done. have
enough Rice Krispies to feed an army...//

Unfortunately, his focus had turned just a bit too far inward, for as he
was lost in thought, he T-boned a svelte shopper with chin-length,
cinnamon hair. The shock to her cart sent her stumbling back, and she
tripped, landing deep in the 48-packs of Charmin with an "oof!"

Kneeling fluidly, Will batted away bathroom tissue until he was at her
side. She was gasping, wind knocked away, and so he rubbed her back
slowly as she drew halting breaths. "My apologies, milady. I truly
neglected to look where I was going."

"dhh shh," she coughed, looking up at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't stop..." she sighed, breath evening out.

"Are you all right?" he asked, now that she could speak.

*cough* "Will be. Just gotta get my air back." With a deep breath, she
leaned back into the back rub.

"I am very sorry," he continued. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Jack approaching. Then he looked up at her cart and saw equal parts
food, books, and electronics including temptingly cheap memory, the
latter very much askew. "If you're worried about damage, I would be
happy to help you replace your purchases."

"No, it's okay..." she said, "I'll get it." Her eyes hazed out for just
a second, or perhaps she saw Jack as he neared. Then they cleared and
met his. "I'll let you off the hook entirely... on one" *cough*
"condition."

"I am at your disposal."

"Dinner. You, me - I can give you the when and where later."

And why did he suddenly feel like he did when Jack talked him into
something?

"Ah - I should tell you," he said, looking to Jack who was still a ways
off, "He and I are..."

"Yeah, I figured," she replied. "Bring him! The more the merrier."

Utterly hemmed in by his honor, he handed her a business card and then
helped her up. With an enigmatic look that scanned over to Jack,
arriving at his side, she was gone.

"Should be more careful, love." Will just rolled his eyes. "So, what's
that going to cost us?"

"A free meal."

"Cheap enough, I suppose. And she names the place?"

"Aye."

"I do fear your negotiating skills could still use some work. You know,
the way she was looking at you, ye probably could have bought her off
with a quick tumble in the ladies' room."

"Well, Jack, I suppose that's the difference between you and me."

"How do you mean?"

Will grinned. "It wouldn't have been quick."

//...walked right into that one...// Smith murmured as they headed for
the checkout.

* * *

Once through the line and to the car, they loaded the trunk. Will kept
an eye out for swag hidden amongst the boxes, but to no avail. His
captain had hidden it too well, or on his person. Thoughts of where,
possibly, had his blood redistributing itself just a bit.

"You know you'll never find it on your own, whelp," Jack interjected,
reading his mind as well as Will's present self could. "And of course,
ye know why..."

"Because you're - yes, I know. And since you're who you are, my Captain,
you undoubtedly know that I am easily seduced by way of challenges to my
skill."

Jack looked just the tiniest bit forlorn. "Figured that out, did ye?"

"Ages ago." He shrugged, smiled. "Again, not a simpleton."

Jack sighed. "Aye. Was hopin' you'd forgot, though." As Jack placed the
rum bottle carefully in the convertible's trunk, Will made sure his
fingers were slightly in the way, and turned it into a caress.

"Still, if you'd like me to, ah, search you for buried treasure..." It
was corny enough to make him wince slightly, "...I am always willing,
but it will have to wait. We must get back to your house to greet my
father."

"Aye," Jack sighed. "It'll be good to see Professor Smith again."

But when Jack said Will's father's name, Will heard the echo behind
it...

The pirate who slept still... Bootstrap...

* * *

Bill pulled his borrowed car up Jack's driveway as Jack and Will were
making a run into the house with assorted large boxes. "Hi, Jack! Will,
c'mere, kid!" He waved to one and grabbed the other in a hug. Bill then
reached into Will's trunk to carry his share and followed the other men
in.

"Wow. Stocking up?"

"Got to," Jack replied. "The whelp wants to play chef." He winked.

"Whelp." Bill gave his son a sidelong glance. "You let him get away with
that?"

"I think it's cute," Will replied.

Bill snorted, but smiled. As the dad, wasn't he contractually obligated
to give the boyfriend a hard time? Admittedly, he liked Jack, but he
could at least go through the motions.

"That about it from the car?" he asked.

"Pretty much. Can we help you with your things, Dad?"

"Nah. I'm keeping most of the clothes in the trunk; I just take out what
I need for a night or two at a time."

"Good system," Jack said.

"Yeah. I've always liked to travel around like this on my off months,
and I eventually worked it out." He thought of something, frowned.
"Will, I forgot what you said. Is Gibson going to be in town? I'd like
to drop by and say hello. I checked my records; turns out I was his
faculty advisor."

"Nope. Josh's in Vegas. Sorry."

He shrugged. "Well, I'll be back. I can catch him later." As he spoke,
he helped them stow the groceries, and soon, the thirty-six pack of eggs
went into the fridge as the last of it.

"I'm going to go get the fire started," Jack announced, and headed for
the living room, leaving the father and son in the kitchen. Now, why
would Jack make a point of leaving them alone? //Don't ask, don't ask,
don't ask...// he thought, afraid he knew.

"Dad," Will said, leaning forward, "I was waiting 'till Jack left to
ask, but... how are the panic attacks? Are they any worse?"

//He asked.// "About the same," Bill replied. //Just way more frequent
and the night terrors are back too.// "Nothing I can't handle." All of
it a stretch, none technically a lie. He waited for Will to see through
it, suggest he seek help, again, which he truly did mean to do upon
returning to Boston.

He was surprised. "Okay. If there's anything you need, just let me
know." Stood up, stretched. "Want anything to drink?" And just like
that, it was dropped.

//Less stress about needing to make sure the old man's taking care of
himself. That's a good thing. Can I blame Jack for that, I wonder?//
"Yeah, sure," he replied. "Soda's fine for now."

As Will removed the drink from the refrigerator, Bill looked down and
over, and saw the expected shadow at the doorway.

//How did I know Jack was going to be eavesdropping?// He shook his head
slightly, smiling. //I've got entirely too good an instinct for what
he's going to do.// It was the oddest feeling, and he'd noticed it when
he'd met the man. There would be moments where he felt he knew his son's
boyfriend as well as he knew his son, or better. //Only knew him for a
year off and on after I taught him, too. Maybe Jack's just someone who's
easy to get to know...but somehow I doubt it.//

Bill shrugged and sipped.

* * *

After a dinner involving barbecued steaks (which Jack accomplished, to
Bill's slight surprise) and roasted winter squash (which was all Will),
they chatted and sipped spiked coffees as the fire burned low. The
History Channel murmured in the background, something about tall ships,
which he'd always found interesting. The bowl of unshelled nuts on the
table became, eventually, a pile of shells, and Bill had one last pecan
before they cleared the trash and moved the table over, unfolding the
couch-bed.

The bed was made, finally, and Bill changed, settled in for the night.
He yawned, stretched, and turned his head slightly. In the dying
firelight, he saw Will and Jack reflected in the glass of a picture
frame. They embraced in their doorway, kissing long, slow, and tender.

Bill closed his eyes so as not to intrude, and heard the door closing
moments later.  //I thought I'd know how to feel when Will found The
One. But, damn, it's complicated.// He was happy, of course, but there
was a weird red streak of anger, and so much else...too much to identify
and sort out at once.

//Guess I'll sleep on it....//

* * *

Wednesday night...

Bill was out cold on the sofa bed, so Jack padded out to the kitchen
quiet as possible, which for him meant near soundless. He set the kettle
to heating while he spooned chocolate powder into a cup, then poured,
stirred, and tiptoed back the way he came. It was when he passed the bed
that he heard a hoarse whisper.

"Jack?"

Softly he set down the cup, then spun to look at Bill, whose eyes were
open.

"Sorry to wake you," he said.

"I wish ye could wake me, Jack." Bill said in the same hoarse tone. "Am
I dreaming this? I want to wake, if it's real..."

Jack was at his side in an instant, sitting on the bed. "Bootstrap?
*William?*"

"I want to wake," he continued, "oh, but I fear." He had not blinked
once, and Jack waved a hand before his face. Bill did not move or
flinch. He slept, and yet he spoke. "This seems so like a dream, but if
I wake I fear I shall be fathoms deep again, and all this a merciful
madness." A shiver wracked Bill's lean frame.

"No dream, me oldest friend," Jack said, running a tender hand over
Bill's damp brow. "No dream, and it's  safe to wake now. I'm here, and
William sleeps but steps away. Wake, Bill. WAKE UP!"

Bill came awake with a gasp, but then said, "Jack! Did - was I having a
nightmare? I hope I didn't yell or anything."

It took all Jack's control, which could be great, to school his face to
normalcy. It helped that Byrd was ascendant. "Yeah," he said. "No, you
were just talking in your sleep, but you sounded - scared, I guess."

Bill took another deep breath, let it out slowly. "I've had night
terrors for years, same as the panic attacks. You know, Will used to
think it was his job to wake me up, when he was a little boy." He smiled
slightly. "I tried to discourage it - kind of a heavy thing for a kid to
deal with. But it's funny that you kind of picked up where he left off."

"Yeah, funny," Jack said, rising. "'Night, Bill."

"'Night, Jack." Bill paused. "You know, though, I usually wake up
petrified. I feel scared but there's something else now." He yawned. "I
feel kind of...hopeful, too. Weird."

As Bill yawned again and lay back down, Jack padded back to the bedroom,
cocoa left to cool on the dining-room table. He closed the door, shed
his slippers and robe, and sat on the side of his own bed. The motion
woke Will, who blinked sleepily up at him, then took a longer look and
sat up himself.

"Will..." Jack said, and his voice broke. Will gathered his captain and
his love against his chest, and held him while he tried so very hard not
to cry.

* * *
Texas - Thursday morning...

Liz and Greg touched down at the El Paso airport early Thanksgiving
morning. Liz (and Elizabeth, too,) had slept almost the entire way, but
the Commodore had been in the driver's seat most of the flight as he was
fascinated by air travel - that, and the long feature the in-flight
magazine had on "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World," which
they'd seen twice. Both selves now had a burning desire to get started
on the Aubrey-Maturin novels. The hero was named Jack, of course, but
nobody was perfect.

When the plane began its final descent, Norrington sent a thought to his
dozing other half, who stirred, the suppressed excitement waking him.

//...Can't wait t' see Texas with your own eyes, can you?...//

//...I want to discover this land that shaped the man I've become...//
the Commodore replied. //...but your family had best find you getting
off the plane, not me. from what I recall, Mother will know immediately
if we do not...//

//...that's for sure. okay, then, hang on...//

As they hit the turbulence that signaled the lowest levels of
atmosphere, and the hydraulics whined, Norrington felt them both relax
and focus on a point outside themselves. As perceptions shifted and it
became Greg in their skin, the thought drifted past that it was like one
of those 3D pictures that seemed at first to be nothing but dots.
Impossible until you learned the trick, then ridiculously easy once you
had.

//...much as I hate t' admit it, gotta give the pirate credit...//

Jack had triggered the first full shift between them, and they did owe
him for that. But recent revelations had made the relationship with
their old nemesis far more complicated... and they stopped that line of
thought cold, together. They did *not* want to think about dying.

The wheels touched the ground, and Liz woke with a yawn. "Morning,
baby," she said, stretching in her seat.

"Morning, hon," he replied. "We're here."

"Hoo boy." He watched appreciatively as Liz rolled her shoulders,
working the kinks out. "Time to meet the parents."

* * *

Very few things scared Liz Swan or even made her nervous. This was due,
in part, to her having faced down undead skeletal pirates in a past
life, as well as numerous other supernatural nasties that swam up from
Elizabeth Swann's memories at inopportune moments. It also had to do
with Elizabeth's sleeping presence, before past lives had been recalled,
encouraging Liz to explore to the fullest extent the opportunities for
excitement available to women in modern times. They had thrilled with
the freedom to jump from a bridge with a rope tied to their ankles, from
a plane wearing a chute, from a cliff wearing a thin, v-shaped wing.

None of these things prepared them for meeting Greg's parents,
especially his mother.

His brothers, now, had been no problem. They'd loved her, as all of her
had known they would. But Greg worshipped his father and mother both, in
different ways.

//...which says great things as to his character, really...I never had
the opportunity to meet James' parents as they passed on from illnesses
we've since cured or learned to treat...// Elizabeth's thought had the
feel of nervous chatter.

Liz adjusted the clips in her shoulder-length blonde hair, rolled her
shoulders again. At least they'd get a break in-between. It was only
-only!- Luz Norton and her son J.B. meeting them at the gate, and J.B.
was a known quantity, great guy really...

//...oh, man, now I'm doing it...//

//...we bearded Barbossa in his den aboard the Black Pearl... how much
worse can this be...// The next thought from Elizabeth was wry.
//...don't answer that...//

The plane stopped, readjusted. The arm sealed about the door, which
opened with a hiss. Being near the front they both stood, Greg reaching
back to help two small older women get bags from the overhead bin. He
smiled at her as he took their own luggage down, squeezed her hand after
handing her her bag.

"C'mon. They're gonna love you, you know it. Monty and J.B. have been
raving as much as I have. And don't worry about Mom. She's intense, but
she'll let you know that she likes you right off."

//...If she likes me...// Liz thought to Elizabeth.

"And she's gonna like you. C'mon, hon."

//...showtime...//

Walking out the door, the stewardess asked Greg, playfully, where his
James Bond accent had got to.

"When in Rome, darlin'," he replied., and once off the plane had his
cell phone on and open, coordinating with his brother.

They met up, finally, near an airport Starbucks. J.B. was the tallest of
the brothers and fairly easy to spot. Then Liz' eyes drifted over and
down to the dark-haired, deeply-tanned woman next to him and her eyes
were caught and held.

This woman...Liz felt something, akin to the sense she and Elizabeth had
of everyone who had lived with them, before. A ping sounded somewhere in
her mind, a kind of recognition, but different. This was  recognition of
power, pure. Greg's mother was... strong.

Then they were there.

"Hi," the woman said, reaching out a hand that Liz took, shaking firm,
but not hard. "I'm Luz Veracruz Norton. My friends call me Lucy."

A smile lit her face. "You can call me Mom." Then Liz was bending down,
getting embraced, and hearing J.B. whoop. He hugged her next, and Lucy
was hugging Greg, and then that quickly they were on their way to the
car.

//...whew...//

//...agreed...//

"Welcome to the family," Lucy continued. She looked up at Liz. "We got a
lot to talk about."

And Liz had the strangest feeling that she was addressing Elizabeth as
well.

* * *
California...

Somewhat near the time Liz and Greg's early flight was touching down in
Texas, Jack was waking wrapped all about Will. He woke with a sense of
melancholy that took him a minute or two to place, but in that time deep
brown eyes opened and chased it away. The feel of warm skin on skin
slammed the door behind it. Jack smiled.

"Squeak! Squeak Squeak!"

"Ugh... Hector..." The ferret was draped across the bedpost, front paws
swinging before him. Then he was scrambling between their heads, running
down the length of the blanket covering them both. Jack spat sable fur
out of his mouth.

"Time to feed the ferret?" Will said, yawning in the middle, and then,
"You're right. That does sound dirty."

"I guess..." Jack yawned, stretched. When he pulled the covers back,
Will immediately skinned into a sweatshirt. Jack swung his legs out,
pulled on pajama pants, and cinched his robe tight. "Hope your dad's
awake." Paused. "Will... last night..."

"I know. It's hard. I hate thinking of Dad in pain, too, and I want to
help him. I just don't know how."

"Bootstrap's stuck," Jack replied, keeping his voice low. "A whole
different kind of stuck from the Commodore. Half-aware and so afraid...
but we'll think of something, I know. I was, after all, and remain..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Will returned his smile. "You the man. Now, let's
get up before your pet ferret eats us."

As it turned out, Bill was not only up, but making breakfast. He'd dug
sausage out of some corner of the freezer, and had a pan-full of chorizo
and eggs mostly done.

"You guys have any tortillas?" he said as greeting.

"'Morning, Dad! Yeah, Trader Joe's flour. Top drawer in the fridge."
Will scooped a little of the food out of the pan, dumping it in Hector's
bowl.

"Whoa," Jack put in. "Now I know where Will gets it from."

"Yeah, I guess I have a little to do with his foodie streak."

"Got the perfect stuff to go on this, too," Will said, moving in behind
his Dad and taking a bottle of Pico Pica from the fridge. He set the hot
sauce down on the table as Bill served.

"You gonna do a sausage dressing for the turkey?" Bill asked.

"Nuh-uh," Will replied. "I'm going the simple route this year. Nothing
in the stuffing but croutons, onions, and celery. Herb rub on the bird,
and then I'm oven-bagging it and leaving it alone."

Bill considered, nodded. "Sides?"

"Green beans, which we've still got to run out and get, and Jack says he
makes this whipped cranberry sauce..."

"Only have four or five recipes," Jack said, "but I make 'em pretty
well."

"And then I've got chocolate-chip gingerbread for dessert." Will
finished.

His father's eyes lit up. "Kid, that stuff's like crack. You know that,
right?"

"Yep," Will said, grinning.

"Look," Bill said, "You tell me where the market is, and I�ll go get the
green beans."

"You don't have to..."

"I want to. You boys need a little time away from the old man anyhow."

"Nonsense. You just got here." But Jack couldn't seem to put a lot of
force behind that statement.

"So, you going to brine the turkey?" Bill asked, polishing off his
breakfast and clearing his plate.

"Nah. You have to submerge the bird in salt water the day before,
and..."

Jack noticed that Bill was suddenly stock-still. The plate slipped from
his hands and clattered to the bottom of the sink. Will was calling,
"Dad! Dad..."

Bill shook his head sharply, breathing in. "I'm all right."

"You sure you're okay to drive?"

"I'm fine. It never happens while I'm driving. I'll be okay." He turned,
and his face was only a little strained. "Wasn't even a bad one. I've
had worse."

"Panic attack?" Jack asked with sympathy, and Bill nodded. But as soon
as the elder Smith looked away, Jack traded glances with Will.

Because it might not have been a panic attack, exactly. Jack suspected,
and thought Will did too, that it was, in fact, a memory.

* * *

Texas...

Big Jim Norton adjusted the table centerpiece for the third time, then
stretched, his back cracking. His hands brushed the ceiling of the
low-roofed dining room. Most of the ranch house had higher ceilings, but
this room was part of the original adobe, and might be going on a
hundred years or so.

//Like all of us,// he thought to himself, mouth quirking wryly. Not
that he minded being retirement age. He and Lucy had raised their sons
in urban Fort Worth, but for their retirement they'd bought this place,
a small ranch near the New Mexico border.

>From the door he heard a clanking, and his son Monty struggled in with a
large metal contraption.

"Can I give you a hand with that?" he called out.

"Nuh-uh. I got it. Just open the back door and I'll put it in the yard."
A corner of his smile was visible around the unwieldy thing. "One deep
fryer for one big bird."

Obligingly, Jim slid the door open and Monty set the deep fryer down on
the concrete. Then the eldest Norton boy took a long look at his father.

"She's as nervous as you are, I'll bet."

"It that obvious?"

"Kinda." Monty grinned. "But only t' family."

"I just..." Jim shut the glass door behind his son and tossed some logs
in the fireplace. He turned on the gas and the pilot light lit it,
starting a low fire. "I really want this one t' work out for him, Monty.
He thought Jill was the one, y'know. We all did."

"I dropped in on Jill when I was out there," Monty said. "I don't even
think she knows why it didn't work out. She has a girlfriend now, mind
you, but that wasn't it, believe it or not. But Liz... man, Liz is
somethin' else. Brave, smart, fierce as all hell... an' I'm pretty sure
she can shoot."

"Y'think maybe she can keep Jimmy from bein' too serious?"

"Hell, if anyone can, it's Liz."

Crunching of tires on gravel announced the new arrivals, and Jim and
Monty headed to the door to greet them. J.B. held it wide as the two
women walked in, Greg behind them.

Well, damn.

Liz Swan was beautiful, first off. Not that Jill was ugly, mind, but
Liz... it wasn't all her looks, either. The glint in her eyes, her
smile, the way she looked at his son... the girl had spirit, and the
love was right there in the open. And the dynamic between Liz and his
wife already... Lucy had a way of seeing into people, and damned if Liz
hadn't already passed. Time for a proper welcome. Jim stepped up and
lifted the girl's feet from the floor in a great bear hug, swinging her
a little. He watched her eyes go wide and then saw her smile.

His wife just raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking.

Setting Liz back down, he inclined his head a little, grinning in
return. "You've got t'be Liz. I'm James Norton. Most folk around here
call me Big Jim."

"Hi," she squeaked, and then, catching her breath, "Good to meet you,"
and he saw tension leave her shoulders. Briefly, he hoped his nerves
hadn't shown that bad.

"Dad, could y' not kill my fianc�e?"

As reply, Jim treated his son likewise, though he couldn't lift him from
the floor. When he let him go, Greg was gasping. "Dad! For cryin' out
loud..." But he was smiling too.

"You'll live," Jim said. Coming up next to his wife, he laid an arm
around her shoulders, and she put hers about his waist. "I'm sure Lucy's
already welcomed you to the family, so welcome to our home. We're more'n
glad to have you with us." Looking to his sons, he said, "Boys? Y'want
to take their stuff to the guest room?" He watched Liz try to grab her
share and be just a bit too slow.

"We might spoil you a little," he confided. As she followed the boys, he
said, "Oh, and Liz?"

She turned her head.

"Help me settle something. Can y' shoot?"

"You'll find out as soon as you get me a gun and a target." She winked.

"See, Monty? Told you she could."

Monty just snorted and rolled his eyes, and then the kids were off down
the hall. Jim held Lucy close, watching after them, and then said,
softly, "They look right together, don't they?"

"They're meant to be," Lucy replied. "There's some serious magic
happening."

Jim squinted down at his wife. "You mean that in more ways than one,
don't you?" He'd been married to Luz Veracruz far too long to be a
skeptic.

"Y'know me too well, hon. Whatever went down with Greg, maybe what
landed him in the hospital, there was something supernatural about it."
'Supernatural' she pronounced with Spanish accents. "I can smell it. And
Liz - I swear she's got power she doesn't even know about." Then she
shrugged, seemed to deflate a little. "Or maybe they ran into something
spooky independently, and Greg had heart trouble after all. You know it
runs in your family."

"Trust me," he replied, rubbing his scarred chest through his shirt.
"Nobody knows that better than I do."

"Yeah, huh." Her eyes were serious. "I'm gonna try to get it out of
them. You okay with that?"

He smiled. "You do the digging. You're better at it."

"You know even if he opens up to one of us, he might not want us both to
know, and I'm gonna respect that."

"Hon, I trust you. So long as one of us knows what's going on. Army
taught me all about "need to know.""

In response, she pulled him in and down for a kiss. "Love you even if
you are an old fascist."

"Love you too, you old hippie."

"I was never a hippie! I'll have you know I'm one-hundred-percent
Tex-Mex cowgirl."

"Yee ha."

* * *

California...

The door closing behind Bill might just as well have activated magnets,
cleaving Will and Jack together. They remained behind the door until
they heard the car pull away, hands roaming beneath sweats and pajamas.
Heavy breaths taken with lips joined, and Will began to wonder if they'd
do it against the door this time. They hadn't yet... still, he had a
preference.

"I would be taken," and on that word, pressed his hips to Jack's,
"against the rug again." Turner and then Smith... "You. Me. Living room
floor, now."

It seemed Jack set a land speed record, there and naked in seconds. Will
followed, shedding sweatshirt and sweat pants with slow, deliberate
motions. Bill had thankfully folded the couch-bed closed, and they sank
together into the space left by the table.

"On the other hand," Will murmured, Jack's hands climbing his thighs,
Jack's teeth at his ear, "I've no desire to stain your carpeting."

"Normally, whelp, I'd ask ye to kindly make up your mind, but as it
stands, I think perhaps I've a solution..." Those hands continued to
knead his thighs, and Will wondered if it was the same solution he'd
considered... ohhhh yes, it was... he whimpered deep in his throat as
Jack suckled his tip, hard and tight. Hips rose all on their own and
Jack slid further down him, all-consuming pleasure. Will gasped, forced
closed eyes open because he wanted to *see* this... "hh... Jack...
oh..." Whole body wanted to buck, rise into the moist heat, and he
reached up, grasped the edge of the couch, watched dark hair bob as he
*felt.* And the expanse of tan skin beyond, rippling as the pressures on
Will's thighs ever shifted... "Too much," Will moaned, and part of him
whispered to the rest, //...let go...//

Hands opened, arms flew free. All of Will bowed backwards as he thrust
forth, completely encompassed and claimed. Such brightness behind his
eyes... exploding, dissolving into sparks, which dissolved finally into
Jack, looking up his love with a satisfied grin.

"Done me level best to take a round from the chamber. Can't ask for more
than that, and anyway there's carpet cleaner on the shelf... over now,
Will me love..."

Boneless, Will slid down and onto his stomach, still heady from the...
well.

//...can I blame the implied pun on you?...//

//...not this time, myself...//

Then Jack had one finger coated and in, Will so relaxed that he went
straight to three, after. Sighing with the fullness of it, Will arched
back. Jack knew just what to... "... ahh... yes..." and could he be
stiffening again? Well, he'd done his duty, and the carpet could just...
"nnh!" Jack at his entrance now, mouth roaming Will's shoulders.

"Oh, me Will..." Jack moving in oh so slow... turnabout as fair play?
Fair enough... They'd done their share of passionate torture, and while
need was rising again, they could easily relax and let Jack play.

"My captain... my love..." He pressed his hips back, equally slowly, and
imagined he could feel Jack's eyes widen.

"How amazing you are... like a debauched angel... or a whelp with a
pirate up his... mmm..." humming kisses covered the nape of Will's neck,
and he was again at attention, the rug burning friction, and he could
feel that Jack was going THERE.... oh again... again...

"Again... *please*... oh, yes..."

"Carpet's done for, then?" Jack sighed, increasing tempo, pressing Will
into the rug, a dual assault of pressure and other sensations too rare
to name... "Will, oh, me Will... so damned *perfect*... so mine... ah...
ahhh!" hard gasping that was almost a song as Will felt the urgent
release, trailing off into a moan that pulled Will tight and pushed him
over...

"Jack... Jack..." Writhing, burning, flying again.

It was a minute or so before either could talk. In that time, an
exhausted Turner yielded up to Smith, who basked in the afterglow.  Will
yawned, finally, and said, "I don't really want to move, but we'd better
get cleaned up before Dad gets back."

"In this case," said Jack, "I wouldn't worry. We sent him to the market
on Thanksgiving morning. He's gonna be a-"

"Jack? Will? Forgot my..."

Whatever Bill Smith had been holding fell to the floor with a crash.

* * *

Texas...

Greg slid easily off of his paint mare, and his mother did the same,
opening her saddlebag and unwrapping biscuits still hot enough to steam.
She had a thermos of coffee in there too, he noticed.

"I know why you dragged me out here," he said, giving his mother a
suspicious glance.

"What dragged? You too old to go on a morning ride with your momma?"
That had to be a smirk.

Oh, they were so screwed. Still, he bit into a biscuit and pulled his
jacket tighter.

"I know, you think I'm gonna try to get you to talk about what's been
goin' on with you out there in California. And yeah," Lucy said. "As it
happens, hon, you're right. But you're wrong if you think I'm not gonna
believe you. 'Cause I can tell you came into the potential I saw in you
as a kid to be a medium. I could see the mark of the beyond on you the
second I saw you again."

Greg stared, and James stared through him. Finally, Greg spoke. "I know
y' taught me t' believe in things beyond the natural world, but I just
wasn't sure...Momma, you gotta admit it sounds crazy."

"You let me be the judge of that, huh?" She chewed, then poured some
coffee. "What happened?"

"There was this cop - Rey Ortiz..."

"Yeah. I remember you telling me when he died. Poor guy."

"We never found the bullet that killed him. But he did. And he showed me
where to find it."

His mother considered him. "...What'd it feel like?"

None of him had been expecting the question. "First time, didn't feel
like nothin' at all. I just went away. Second time, I thought maybe we
heard him. Third time, it was dark and I was fallin,' and I could hear
his voice, real faint." He did not mention the fourth time, when Rey had
been crystal clear.

"We?" his mother asked, quietly.

Oh shit.

//...well crap, I did say "we," didn't I...//

//...that you did...//

And did his mother look up, slightly, when he heard the Commodore?

//...crap, crap, crap... please tell me my Momma can't read my mind...
's a wonder my hide's still intact after all these years...//

//...I'm certain she merely senses something... because from what I
recall of your adolescence, you're right...//

"Royal 'we?'" he tried weakly.

"Nice try, kiddo." She gave him a sidelong look. "Whatever's going on,
you know you can tell your Momma. I can't make you. You're a grown boy.
But I swear I won't tell a soul, not even Dad, if you don't want me to.
And I don't care how nuts it might sound." The look had sympathy in it
now. "You know, I've seen things, lots more things than you know about,
things that a mother doesn't tell her son, 'cause she doesn't want to
give him nightmares. Whatever it is, I can take it."

He took a deep breath, sent an inquiry within, and received nothing but
pure support.

"Would y' believe, I remembered who I used t' be in a past life?"

"Hmm," she replied. Damn. She knew there was more.

"An' that past life... kinda stuck around." He looked down, patted his
horse absently.

"What's his name?"

"Don't you mean, was?"

Smile again. "Nope."

"You're good, Mom."

"You have no idea, kiddo. You wanna tell me? Like I said, you don't have
to." Her horse whinnied softly.

"Commodore James Gregory Norrington, His Majesty's Royal Navy." And
something about this moment caught them, held them, invoked... a shift
and the Commodore looked at the woman he recalled as his mother;
continued, "At your service."

"Ah," she breathed. "It's like that, huh?"

He nodded, watched her. And for all that she was their mother, they
could not read her expression.

"Momma? It's still me. God, please don't be frightened..."

Another smile then, sunny and reassuring. "'Course I'm not. This is just
a new one on me, is all. But I knew you were an old soul, remember? I
mean, I don't know if I ever went around before, or who I might've been,
but the day you were born, I looked into your eyes, and I knew you were
someone coming back again." She looked into his eyes then. "Commodore,
thank you for guarding and guiding my son."

They tried to speak and found no words.

"What's wrong?"

"... I..." Norrington took a deep breath of the dry desert air. "I've
just realized I don't know what to call you."

"What do you want to call me, hon?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again. "I would like very
much to call you Mother, but I fear that I presume." And he tried with
all his particular stoicism to keep his voice flat and calm. But his own
mother had been so young...

"Not at all, hon, not at all." And he was bending down, embracing her,
if stiffly, and she was hugging him, arms surprisingly strong. That was
not at all a tear gathering, but he blinked quickly anyway.

They sat then on blankets, finishing breakfast as the shadows shortened
and the sun climbed. Norrington broke off a mesquite twig and inhaled
its distinctive fragrance, then let his eyes unfocus, yielding up to
Greg. When Greg focused again, he found his mother looking at him.

//...damn. she can tell...//

//...you suspected as much...//

//...yeah... so did you...//

"Well," Lucy said finally, "Guess this explains why you nearly joined
the Navy."

"Woulda broken Dad's heart, though." Greg sighed. "The Nortons all been
Army, mostly cavalry, since the days of the Alamo." He eyed her wryly.
"Both sides." The sun rose a bit higher, and he squinted.  "Momma, you
know if my Veracruz relatives got any Aztec blood?"

"Prob'ly," she said, shrugging. "Why do you ask?"

"Just recently started gettin' curious about history. Obvious reasons."

"Huh." She drained her coffee, tapping loose grounds out on a rock.
"Y'know, all these revelations, and we still haven't got to the other
big reason I wanted to talk to you alone." Looked him up and down. "You
gonna tell me why you were in the hospital? 'Cause after that big scare
with your Dad, if it's your heart, I wanna know. There's stuff you can
do to stay healthy. You're still a young man, miho."

"Oh, Momma." He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to worry you. Wasn't
my heart." Looked up at thin cotton clouds and endless blue. "More like
my soul."

He could feel her focus on him now, sharp as the mesquite branches. "How
d' you mean?"

A wall cracked inside and all the rest began to spill. The kidnapping,
the drugs, the woman who'd tried to make him kill his... damn. Jack was
his friend now. Go figure, part of him thought, while the rest was busy
trying to keep honest to God tears at bay. He told all save the memory
of his dying, for that was something no parent should have to hear from
their child.

His mother only listened, did not press, did not coax out his tears as
some mothers might. She only waited, and at the end, said, "You did
good, kid. And you thank your friend Jack for me. He did the right
thing, taking you to the E.R."

Deep breath again, and this one caught in the middle. "Thanks, Momma."

"Now," his mother said, tightening the leather about the horse's girth,
"there's just one more thing. What was that witch's name?"

"Celia Schuyler. For all the good it's gonna do me. I was a cop, Momma,
and I know when I got nothin'. Whole time I was with her, I was high as
a kite." As he swung back up into the saddle, he watched his mother do
the same. "I was a cop, and a commodore - Momma, please tell me you're
not gonna do anything illegal."

"Oh, don't you worry," she said, smiling slightly, though now her dark
eyes were opaque. "I'm not gonna break any laws, natural or otherwise."

* * *

California...

Will started at the noise, blushing furiously. Beyond the embarrassment,
though... something made his shoulders shiver just a bit, a tingle at
the base of his spine.

"Jack?" Bill's voice was different and dangerous.

"William?" Jack asked, hopeful, and familiar.

"Jack Sparrow... what do ye here?"

"I live here?"

"Seven *years,*" he growled, "Did I keep company with Davey Jones, sunk
for my love for you, Jack. This - THIS is how you repay me. Bending my
son over the bedside like a Tortuga whore!"

Slowly, very gently, Jack pulled away from Will, trailing his hand
tenderly across the other man's back, and then he stood. Will drew
himself up as well, naked and unashamed, and sensed Jack shift in a
rush. He felt Turner pulled forth, and then felt his other self stop.

//...Smith... I think you'd best stay... this... may be bad... and one
of us must not get caught in its grip...//

And in fact, Jack's face was blank, his eyes not truly seeing the room,
or, Will thought, the present either.

"William," he said, slowly and dangerously, "I love ye. Ye cannot know
how much joy it gives me t' see that bastard Barbossa didn't succeed in
killing ye, though I never had a doubt, mind ye, that you'd slip your
locks and chains at length. But if the first thing ye do upon returning
is call your son a whore, I've got t' wonder if you're still the man I
knew."

Oh yeah, that sounded familiar. This was going to be bad. But they
didn�t have swords on them this time, right?

Well, no, but apparently fireplace pokers would do in a pinch.

They were a flurry through the living room, around the fireplace, and
back, using the metal rods as bladed weapons and seeing old blood. Not
that a poker couldn't still draw blood... Will tried yelling, again, but
neither one heard him - they hadn't then, either.

"You've only ever loved a ship, Jack, only ever the Pearl! You relieve
yourself with doxies, but you've never loved a living thing! How can you
do this to my boy!?" The spiked rods crashed against each other, slipped
apart, dealt Jack a glancing blow that would have been a slice.

"Ye could be more wrong, Bootstrap, but it'd be difficult, as I've loved
a very few women and a very few men, and only two as dearly as the
Pearl. One of those, of course, was you."

"Liar!" Bootstrap Bill leapt the couch to attack again.

"Not to you." Jack blocked. "*Never* t' you, which should tell ye
something ye bloody daft merman!"

//...We must...//

//...How'd we stop them last time, dammit!?...// Then the answer, and,
//...oh, no, I can't...//

//...shoved his head in a washbasin... he was catatonic for a day and a
night...//

//...has to be something less immersive... less *cruel*... *got* it...//
The men were nearing the kitchen again, and Will turned the sink on. He
grabbed the spray attachment and turned the water on full.

Bill Turner dropped with a strangled cry as the spray hit his face and
neck. Jack's swing missed, and he ended up dealing himself a solid blow
with his own poker. And that had, in fact, been the worst injury from
the last iteration, hadn't it?

The poker clattered to the tile as Jack stared down at Bill, hands
trembling slightly.  //...Will...// Turner said, //...we cannot be sure
the danger is past... lend me your voice, and your voice only... hold me
back, my own self...// Bill sat crouched on the kitchen floor, arms
about his knees.

//...yes...// Smith replied, and oh, it was hard. Yielding up to Turner
was pleasant and easy, and this was the opposite, a grating feeling.
Smith held, and Turner spoke. Smith knelt. "Father? Can you hear me?
Father?" Bill let go a small gasp, but did not move.

"Jack, I may need your aid with him. Jack? Jack!" The pirate started,
and his hands stilled. "Jack, do you know where you are?"

"Tortuga..." Jack whispered, but then, louder, "This isn't Tortuga....
Where am I? Will?"

"You know, Jack." An idea...

"Everything's all strange..."

"Who is Jack Byrd?" Will asked suddenly, and heard Jack's sharp intake
of breath.

"Ah. That did it. Smart whelp, you are." And Jack was kneeling fluidly
to Bill's other side. Eyes cast up from his friend, meeting Will's. "You
know ye did what ye had to. We'll bring him back, all the way back,
together. Just as before, but less bleeding all 'round."

"Not for lack of trying," Will murmured.

"'Twere only self-defense, love."

Will, meanwhile, sent a thought to his older self. //...Jack's back... I
think we'll be okay... go, Will, Dad needs you...//

//...all right...// and Will felt the familiar warm rush of becoming the
blacksmith again. It did feel right, and he still saw the kitchen as it
was. He heard Jack sigh, too, as the dissonance abated.

And at that moment, Bill took a long, deep breath, shivered, and focused
his eyes on his son.

"He truly does love you, does he not?" Merely a whisper, and the same
words now as then... Will saw the kitchen waver just a bit, but firm
again into modern lines.

"Aye, Father, and he... he is my world."

"Oh, Will, forgive a damned foolish old man..." Bootstrap Bill Turner
gave a broken sob and Will clutched his father to his chest. Will rubbed
his back slowly, and after a minute or so, he quieted. Finally, he
inhaled, exhaled, and said, "Lad, d'ye think ye might want t' put some
breeches on?"

Will flushed more than a little, and moved to do just that. As he
scooped up his sweat pants in the living room, he listened.

"Jack..."


"No need, William, as ever. No apologies needed between us." A pause.
"As it happens, this time, I didn't deserve it, though I will admit that
I frequently did, so I can't say that I blame ye entirely. That's for
what ye did regarding me person only, mind, but ye've already asked for
your son's apology, so we're square."

"My son... my *son*... God, but he looks to be a fine man, Jack."

"A good man, as is his father."

On that, Will returned, and his father smiled up at him, but the look
turned to slight puzzlement. "If ye don't mind me sayin', those breeches
look a bit odd... and this place... there's something different..."

Will saw the sharp gleam in Jack's eyes. "Bill, what'd ye come back in
the door to get?"

"My driver's license," Bill replied absently, and then his eyes went
wide. "Oh!"

Jack's voice was low, now. "William Smith, Sr. and Bootstrap Bill
Turner. Know yourself for both. Recall your past and present together,
me oldest friend. Be whole again."

Eyes still wide open, Bill stared at Jack and his son in turn. "Oh, holy
mother of... oh, holy fucking shit!" Blinked. "Um, sorry, son. But...
holy... we've done this before! We've done all this before! Oh my God.
Jack, are you okay? What the hell did I hit you with?"

"Fireplace poker, I think."

"Thank God - I mean, not that that was good, chrissake, I battered my
son's boyfriend, but..." He stood, finally. "Bootstrap. My name was
Bootstrap Bill Turner. And... damn, I... I was a pirate." Now he was
smiling.

In tandem, Smith and Byrd came forward fully, matching Professor Smith.
"Yep," Will said, "and I was a blacksmith. And a pirate, eventually."

"Does this mean I might have a chance at luring you back to academia?"
Bill smirked.

"I'm through with school," Will replied. "Sorry. Sometimes blood will
tell, and sometimes you're..."

"S.O.L.?" Jack put in.

"Jack. No wonder it was so easy to get to know you. Wow," Bill said. He
pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. "Hope you guys
don't mind, but I'm not quite ready to go to the market yet... my legs
are a little shaky."

"No problem," Jack replied. "Hey, you want some hot buttered rum?"

"Hell yeah," Bill replied.

"Whelp!"

"On it," Will replied, though he did give Jack a swat in passing.

"I guess this explains all that new-agey reading you've been doing,"
Bill said as Will prepared the drinks, for Jack and himself as well.
"All that past life stuff."

"Yeah. It all started coming back a few weeks before I called to tell
you about Jack and me. And we're not the only ones. There are other
pirates, not to mention some Royal Navy types..."

"I think I met some of them when we had that trouble at your office.
Thanks, kiddo," he said, accepting the warm mug. He blew on the beverage
and then took a long sip. "The man I used to be... Bootstrap Bill...
he's still here. I can feel him. Is that what it's like with you both?
Because it's the weirdest thing, but it feels...right."

"Was that way at the beginning," Jack said. "It'll probably get stronger
for awhile, and then balance out, if it's anything like the way it
happened with us." He swallowed. "My best advice is to trust William. I
recall him as a singularly good man among the brethren." Sparrow's music
shaded his speech briefly.

"And I recall ye as a singularly brilliant lunatic," Bill replied, then
looked somewhat startled.

"Yeah," Will said, "that'll happen too."

"But less randomly."

"Squeak!"

"Oh, who asked you, fuzzface?" Jack said, with affection. Hector ignored
him, climbing Bill's pant leg and shirt to alight on his shoulder. The
ferret nosed at his eyes, gave a lick, and made soft chirping noises.

"I like you too, fuzzy," Bill commented, then looked at Will. "Little
guy never even let me pet him before."

"I can't be sure, but I think he's agreeing with me," Jack said.

"Of course you'd see it that way."

"Can it, whelp."

"Stuff it, Captain."

"Boys..."

"Right." Watching Jack, Will held back a snicker. This all seemed a bit
familiar too. "What I mean is, he's saying he likes Bootstrap. You've
got the ferret seal of approval."

"Me joy knows no bounds," Bill said, still looking startled at speaking
as Bootstrap, but less so. "No offense, fuzzy. Just saying." Hector
seemed unperturbed, although he moved from Bill's shoulder to his lap.

* * *

Ultimately, they decided to go to the market together. Bill was still
half-lost in reverie, remembering and absorbing. Jack remembered a night
spent staring at a shot of rum and put a comforting arm about Bill's
shoulders before the older man slid into his back seat.

As they pulled out onto the street, Bill murmured, "I... *we*... feel
like there's still a piece missing. Something essential that we haven't
quite got our minds around yet."

Jack traded glances with Will, and it seemed the kid, too, knew what
that was likely to be. If you were Bootstrap, what would you attempt to
consign to your subconscious? But that dam was so weakened, it had to
burst...

Which it did, seconds later, as Will turned onto the coastal road, and
Bill saw the ocean.

At first it was but a whisper. "Will. Stop the car."

"What, Dad?"

"For the love of heaven, lad, stop!"

Will pulled over as soon as it was safe. Bill threw his door open and
leaned over, heaving. Then, eyes wide and wild, he ran for the shore.
Jack and Will tore after him, steps behind, leaping rocks and roots on
the path to the beach, for the accursed drowned darkness of Bill's past
had returned in full and all bets were off.

They found a man kneeling at the water's edge, arm outstretched and
trembling.

"I knew, you see" Bill said, voice rough with tears. "I knew that if I
did not go to her now, I might never have the courage to face the sea
again."

"Oh, Dad... Father..." Will was down with an arm about Bill's shoulders.

"I still can't touch the water," he said. "I can face her, true, but..."
his arm moved only so far forward and down, but no farther. "I am
sorry," he whispered out to the waves. "The fear is yet too new again
and too great."

"She'll be there when you're ready," Jack said, the lines of his
personality wavering. "What is both wondrous and fearsome about the sea
is that she'll always be there, different every moment but utterly
unchanged."

"Like some others I could name," Bill murmured. He stood, stepped two
yards back, and then knelt to lie on his back on very dry sand. "This is
why... the panic attacks. The nightmares. They're all from that time,
aren't they? Oh, Smith," he said, voice shifting halfway, "I am so
sorry. I never meant t' cause you such harm."

"And what does the Professor have to say to that, hmm?" Jack put in.

"He says..." Tension lines smoothed slowly, and Bootstrap's face took on
a look of wonder. "...there's nothing to forgive. He calls it...
post-traumatic stress disorder? And that it's no more my fault than the
color of his eyes... my God, Jack. How can I accept that? I knew the
curse first, I sent the coin, it was my choice..."

"Say that again," Jack urged.

"It was my choice. My penance... all our penance."

"And do ye regret it? Would ye do it again?"

"Nay, and aye." The words were crisp, clear.

"Feeling a little more in control now?"

"Ye bastard. But..." a shift in tone and accent, "Yeah. We...I really
am."

"It's going to take time, Dad," Will said. "This is an amazing thing
we've got, but sometimes it hurts."

Bill took a deep breath. "I hear you. And I'm ready. *We're* ready." He
stood. "Hell, we're ready to head to the store, too. As far as I know,
we still need green beans."

Will was first up the path, with a fondly incredulous look for his
father. Jack lagged behind, and so he heard Bill's murmured promise.

"I will not fear ye forever. I'll be back."

Jack smiled.

* * *

Not much later, a turkey went in the oven. Across two time zones,
another bird had a quick dip in the deep fryer, and Mexican rice went on
the stove. Cranberry sauce found its way from two refrigerators, and
bowls of eggnog to living room tables, one spiked with whiskey, the
other with rum. One laden board held green beans and the other salad.
Will set his gingerbread to reheating, and Monty's wife Julie set out
sopapillas with honey before anyone came near to finishing the meal; for
afterward, there were three kinds of pie. The Cowboys played the
Dolphins on two television sets, though one gathering was noticeably
louder, and as the game wore on, noticeably more depressed.

When toasts were raised at the Norton home, the first was to family and
the second to Dubya, the Commander in Chief. It was a tradition, J.B.
the Democrat confided to Liz - they'd toasted Clinton in his turn. And
then Lucy raised a glass, grinning, with "God save the Queen!" The
family echoed it, and while some looked slightly confused, Liz's head
whipped around to meet her soon to be mother-in-law's eyes. The
expression on Lucy's face could best be described as "gotcha," but it
was not unfriendly. Liz realized she did not, in fact, dread the
conversation she knew was coming.

The toasts at the Byrd house began with "To rum!" They went on in that
vein. Modern selves began with knives and forks, to give way to
impatient, hungry pirates gnawing on turkey legs and wings. Will managed
somehow to gnaw neatly, and the silverware did still get used, as it was
nigh impossible to eat cranberry sauce with one's hands. At some point,
the ferret got into the eggnog, and was later found walking on his front
paws. Barbossa was got out of the way early, as Bill needed to know, but
also needed to have time to build back the festive mood again. A toast
to the Black Pearl saddened Bill, for surely she must be scraps of
timber on the tide, but Jack explained his warm smile and Bill wondered
at the tale.

//...where do you think our place is?...// the Professor murmured, and
Bootstrap started just a little at the echo of his present in his mind.
Relaxing, focusing on the whisper, he replied.

//...to meet and have a reckoning? As the Pearl or Will's forge? I know
where we fear it be...//

//...yeah. well, if it's *there,* we'll be ready for it by the time we
need it, because nothing's going to get us there 'till we *are*
ready...//

//...oh, aye...//

Bill wandered away from his son and Jack, to one of the large windows.
He watched the moonlight shift through eucalyptus leaves, then closed
his eyes and remembered Boston in the fall, memories not his own.

//...but, 'tis lovely... I do look forward to our eventual return...//

Which would be a semester later than planned, he realized, recalling
Smith's thoughts again. For the visiting professor filling in had
expressed a desire to stay on one more semester, and Professor Smith had
agreed for the time to continue touring the Golden State, and to
discover and rediscover Jack and...

//...*me*// he thought, almost incredulous.

//...and why not?...// The link deepened, and Bill felt the Professor's
utter acceptance and hunger to *know,* to both learn and teach, recalled
mentoring young sailors, a skinny, tanned boy among them. And the other
way flowed Bootstrap's wonder that Smith would still know him, with all
the pain and fear he'd caused. //...no, oh no...// Smith murmured.
//...I said before that there's nothing to forgive, and I meant it. I
only felt echoes of that pain... you were the one in it... and we can
start healing now...//

Bill sighed, and then a warm arm fell about his shoulders.

"And did the two of ye have a nice chat?"

"Ye're positively uncanny, Jack. You know that, don't you?"

"I've been so told."

And Jack, swaying more than slightly, drew Bill back into the circle of
his family.

* * *

Texas...

On a ranch many miles from El Paso, the dishes had been cleared. Liz
Swan grabbed an instant of peace in the kitchen, sipping coffee laced
with eggnog. If it was good enough for Starbucks...she placed the cup
down on the sink when she felt Lucy Norton enter the room.

"So Greg pretty much told me everything," Lucy confided, as Liz turned.

"Yeah, I figured." Liz gave a brief, snorting laugh. "God save the
Queen?"

Lucy shrugged. "Sorry. Little bit of the devil in me, I guess. I just
thought I ought to come by and confirm. I know about Norrington and all
of it." She looked at Liz seriously. "You know he didn't tell me
anything at all about you. Said it was your call, and if I pushed you,
he'd know it."

"It's okay." Her eyes unfocused slightly and Elizabeth spoke. "We were
wed, once upon a time. Mind you, this was after many blind alleys and
false starts, not to mention other engagements on both our parts and our
own, broken and remade many times. You have no idea how grateful I am to
have found him and be given the wisdom to step over even one of those
pitfalls. I do not care to delay again, for I love your son beyond life
and reason."

"Who..." Lucy murmured.

"Elizabeth Norrington, nee Swann." Liz smiled. "Same girl, different
vintage."

"Well, like I said before, welcome."

"You're a very unusual woman, Mom." Liz paused. "And thank you."

"De nada. I can't fight fate, hon, and in this case I don't want to."
Lucy poured herself some coffee and sipped it black. "Speaking of which
- I probably shouldn't go into detail, but just so you know...the woman
who hurt him isn't going to get away with that." Cold, dry desert wind
found its way beneath the windowpane, whistling in to lift Lucy's hair
ever so slightly. Her dark eyes glittered.

"Two questions," Elizabeth replied. "Is it painful, and can I watch?"

"Don't know exactly. I have a few ideas, and the less you know,
probably, the better. Just thought I owed you the heads-up between us
girls." The rest went unspoken - Greg would probably not approve. Lucy
took another sip, and smiled. "But enough about that. You sit down here
and tell me your big plans for the wedding."

So they sat, and passed the rest of the evening in girl talk about
subjects other than revenge.

* * *

California...

Night fell, too, over the California coast. It looked to be a cool
evening by the Southland's standards, though balmy for a man used to
Boston's weather. Professor Smith felt a paradoxical shiver, then
realized it would be positively chilly for a pirate acclimatized to the
Caribbean.

//...sorry...//

//...you'll get used to it... but it's a good thing we're waiting on
Boston just a bit...// "Hey, Jack!"

"Aye? I mean, yeah?" Came the yell from the garage.

"Can I get an extra blanket for tonight?"

"Sure! My bedroom closet, top shelf, next to the hatbox."

Bill wandered in that direction, and was two steps in when he saw the
dark form slipping in through the window. Bill flipped the light on...

He was Bootstrap again in a wave of rage that consumed him. Lunging with
a hoarse, strangled cry, he grabbed the man as images flashed across his
eyes - an encounter in a Starbucks just weeks past, and back, much, much
farther.

"You!" Bill growled, shoving the skinny blonde against the wall. "I know
ye now, Ragetti. I remember you. Locks and chains about my ankles... I
remember you well."

"Not like it woulda killed ye," Ragetti said, eye wide, breath quick.
"We were all cursed the same, we were... please, Bootstrap..."

"Cursed the same? Oh aye, but would ye rather be aboard the Pearl,
longing for food and drink that'd quench your hungers, or would ye care
to be at the bottom of the sea, longing for a single... breath... of...
air?" His hand closed about the other pirate's throat, began to tighten.
Then, of a sudden, Ragetti stopped trembling, and a second later kneed
Bootstrap in the groin.

Bill folded, and the other man was on him in a second, pressing his
advantage. "Listen, *mate,* he hardly had a choice, now did he? Captain
had every man that could fit about you adding to the chains so they'd
all have a hand in the matter." Bill struggled, but the other had him
pinned. "And you. You mutinied same as the rest of them, though it could
be argued you had no choice, or the same choice he did. You could have
walked off the plank with Sparrow, damn you. So stop taking your guilt
out on Ragetti, as he has not earned it!"

"Who..."

"Robbie Jones, mate. Don't believe we've been properly introduced."

To the side, there came a click.

"Bootstrap, Robbie. Robbie, Bootstrap Bill. Robbie, step away now, if ye
please." Sparrow smiled, a shark's smile, and cocked his head. "Please."

Robbie let go and stood, raising his hands. "Jack. Been a little while,
eh?"

"Not quite long enough. So you did get away."

"You knew I did. The bit with the van wouldn't have fooled the likes of
you."

"And how is it that you know the likes of me?"

"I've had my memory jogged a bit."

"Apparently."

"What in hell is *he* doing here?" Will, walking in on the tableau.

"Excellent question, Will. Was just getting to that meself." Jack
gestured with the gun, and the other man flinched just slightly. "Well?
Either of ye?"

"Barbossa," Robbie said succinctly. "He's back, he's out there, and I've
been working for him again for years without knowing it."

"Is *that* all? Because I'd figured that bit out on me own."

"Well aren't you the bloody genius. Thing is, he doesn't seem to have
much interest in me any longer."

"Oh, you poor dear," Jack replied, fluttering his eyelashes. "Ye must be
so *terribly* disappointed."

"Shove it. I mean, he's hung Joey and me out to dry."

"And ye want me help? Sorry, love. Fresh out of charity for mutineers."

"Doesn't look like it to me."

Jack flicked his eyes to Bill and back. "He got me last bit. Like I
said, fresh out. And ye seem to have lost your sidearm, so I'm curious
as to your leverage."

"Screw leverage," Robbie replied. "I'll owe you, alright? He may not
trust me, but I was on the inside for years. Even if I didn't know his
name, I know how he operates now. Help me now and you'll not regret it."
The last bit was shaded with Ragetti's accents.

"Will?"

"Father, your decision, I think."

Silence for several beats. Then... "If you can help him without risk or
danger to yourself, Jack, do so."

"Bill, are ye certain?" All the mad gleam left Jack's face. "*Be*
certain."

"...I am." Bill looked the skinny ex-pirate up and down, then met his
eyes. "Much as I hate him, and I do, it does not change the fact that he
is, in part, right. It may be that he had less choice than I, but apart
from that entirely, I must begin to let go of hate that's centuries old.
It will warp me, if I do not."

"Good man," Ragetti murmured softly. "A good man, Bootstrap Bill." Then
his posture changed entirely - Robbie again. "What've you got?"

"I've a name," Jack replied. "As to whether it'll help ye or get ye
killed, I neither know nor much care, to be honest."

"Figured as much for anything coming from you. Go ahead."

"Serafina Pintoli."

"Who?" Will broke in.

"Joey's mum? What's she have to do with anything?"

"She's a prime mover in the Pintoli organization. Maybe as high as
second-in-command. And, so far, her tax records are impeccable, which
should give ye some idea of her savvy, savvy?" The hand without the gun
described a flourish, while the gun hand stayed steady as a rock. "If
anyone would be workin' t' get her son out of jail, legally or not, it'd
be her. If you want to help, it would likely be most advantageous to add
your efforts to hers."

Robbie shook his head. "Damn. And Joey always said his Mum was the only
one in the family what wasn't connected. Either she's that good, or he's
even better at keeping his mouth shut than I thought."

"Jack, how...when..." Will stopped, and just blinked.

"Just a bit of research, love. IRS's been trying to nail Sera Pintoli
for years."

"Well, in that case," Robbie said, "I think I'll be off to spend the
rest of Thanksgiving weekend with me dear mate's mum." He backed to the
window. "Captain, whelp..." One foot over the sill, he paused.
"Bootstrap. Ye are a good man... sorry for all the times I called ye a
stupid blighter..."

Bill sighed. "Just go."

"Right." Other foot up and over, and he caught his heel, pitched
backward. From beyond the window, they heard, "... ow...," and then
scuffling, and footsteps in the other direction, 'till a faint car
engine sounded.

"Somehow, I don't think we've seen the last of him," Will said, and
then, thoughtfully, "Jack, don't you have a rosebush under that window?"

Jack smiled as he put up the gun. "Aye."

* * *

The adrenaline wore off surprisingly quickly. Jack meandered off to the
garage, and Will to the kitchen, making certain all the food was safely
put away, if Bill knew his son. Bill found himself on the couch with
another hot buttered rum in hand, watching the fire and pondering mutiny
and the ocean.

//...'tisn't your guilt t' bear...// Bootstrap murmured to him.

//...but I can help you bear it. you think I'd rather have been a pirate
*without* a conscience?...// And there was warmth at the knowledge and
the thought of Will, a fine lad / good kid they'd raised. It was
something they couldn't have accomplished, really, if they'd been
completely scalawag.

//...and I needn't envy the time you spent with him, for I was there,
and I recall it...// All of it, including the one great fight they'd
had, which Will had attributed to his coming out. That had been
completely wrong on the boy's part - Bill had not wanted him to leave
the East because...

//...because we'd been so long parted before. I see that now...// And
anyway, they'd worked it out in time. Another soothing thought, but it
faded as his mind traced another circle, this time recalling the trap
that the far past had laid for him. Standing in California, seeing a
Tortuga inn...

//...Jack says that's rare. Maybe, but...//

//...Aye. We'd best watch ourself, just a bit...//

This was in his mind as he came to dwell on the ocean again, and her
layers of meaning. His eyes fell on the guitar against the wall and he
wondered idly if Will still played. Then he stood, walked to it, and
carried it back to the couch. Fingers lay upon the strings, and he let
the first song to come to mind flow out through his hands. His mouth
turned up just a bit at the corner when he registered the irony.

* * *

The guitar drew Will and Jack from their respective tasks, and as they
drew closer, they heard Bill singing softly. Jack got an odd, full
sensation when he looked at the man, and in fact, his voice was not
quite either self's, but blending. It was recent U2, and the mix of
accents gave a fair approximation of Bono's crooning.

"...I'm just trying to find a decent melody. A song that I can sing in
my own company..."

And this song... this *particular* song... Jack looked at Will, who
smiled, slightly.

"You've got to get yourself together...you've got stuck in a moment, and
now you can't get out of it. Don't say that later will be better. Now
you're stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it."

Jack found himself closer to Will, then resting against him.

"I am still enchanted by the light you brought to me... I listen through
your ears, through your eyes I can see..."

Jack Byrd closed his eyes at that line for a tingling in his chest and
fingers that was Sparrow's own gratitude. Soon enough, though, they
opened wide.

"I was unconscious, half asleep... the water is warm 'til you discover
how deep. I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall. It's a long way down
to nothing at all..."

Will squeezed Jack's waist, and he leaned in. Bill's voice rose.

"And if the night runs over, and if the day won't last, and if your way
should falter along this stony pass... it's just a moment. This time
will pass."

Hands and then strings stilled, and Bill looked behind. "So, how long
have you two been there?" Back to being Smith, mostly.

"Second verse," Will replied. "You still got it, Dad."

"Thanks." With a slight grin, Bill handed up the guitar and Jack stowed
it. "You want to give me a hand with this?" Bill asked, and so Jack
moved the coffee table, Will relocated the couch cushions, and Bill
pulled his bed back out. Jack tossed the extra blanket atop the sheets
and felt Will's fingertips brush his neck, a whispered promise.

"'Good night, Bill," he said, and the other man looked up from
straightening the covers.

" I think, for the first time in a long time, I'm pretty sure it will
be. Thank you both."

"You know," Jack replied, "You're giving us too much credit. Even my
piratey half doesn't have the guts to stage a scene like... well, you
know." And Sparrow, while grumbling at losing any credit, did have to
admit it was true, if only to his other. "It was just blind bad luck
that we managed to turn to good luck, while avoiding getting maimed or
killed in the meantime."

Bill laughed at that, Bootstrap's low chuckle. "I knew that, and it
proves only that naught's changed in hundreds of years, for so did ye
always do. Sleep well, me old mate, and we'll see what the morning
brings." With that, Bill slid into bed. He was asleep seconds after his
head hit the pillow, and as he slept, he smiled.

Will looked up at Jack, his face glowing with relief and something else,
that burning something that made Jack want to lose himself in the man,
body and soul.

Jack moved to lead them back to the bedroom, and on his way, turned out
the light.

* * *

Hours later, words were whispered on desert wind, and many miles away, a
woman with mid-length brown hair shifted in her sleep and moaned.

* * *

END TAXES 6

TMF

* * *

Credits:

Thanks again for the beta, Gundam Nymph! You rock.

Bunny Credits!

Permetaform wanted Bill to meet Hector. Done and done.

Rokeon wanted... let's see... Bill to get all his memories back, in a
similar circumstance to the way he found out about Will and Jack the
first time, triggering Bootstrap, a duel and/or a chase scene. Shino
Hoshi wanted much the same. You got it, guys!

Juniper200, for the last fic, wanted Sparrow and Turner to find
themselves compelled to take over, and perhaps relive some event from
their lives the first time around. Well, not last time, but, heh. Also,
I owed Junie a cameo from the contest in 5A, so she was the chick Will
T-boned with the cart.

If I've forgotten anyone, please holler loudly. More bunnies are
absolutely wanted - send 'em on over!

---

References:

Full lyrics to "Stuck in a Moment" by U2:
http://www.hugelyrics.com/lyrics/29032/U2/Stuck_in_a_Moment/

Why the Nortons were all just a little depressed after Dallas played
Miami: http://www.nfl.com/gamecenter/recap/NFL_20031127_MIA@DAL

Albert (Eberts), from the prologue, is a character from "The Invisible
Man," the 2-season TV show on the SciFi channel a couple of years back.
Loved that show.

There's a very definite reason Will drives a Lexus convertible: in Taxes
2, I established that Will had a convertible. In Taxes 4, Jack heard the
rain beating down on the metal roof of Will's car. I only know of one
hard-top convertible available in the U.S. at present, so it looks like
Will drives the Lexus SC, which you can view here:
http://www.automotive.com/reviews/13/2003/lexus/sc430/buyersguide/index.html.
Thank goodness for Lexus; otherwise I might've made a mistake :).

Will's Chocolate Chip Gingerbread (and yes, it is like crack, when
served warm with a nice vanilla ice cream...):

Basically, use the Epicurious.com recipe for Old-Fashioned Gingerbread,

EXCEPT:

Bake at 350 for 30 minutes in a 13x9 brownie pan,

AND, top with half a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips

Taxes 7 is in the very early stages...may be one fic, or may be a series
of snippets. Not sure yet...Hey, I know X-Mas is over, but if anyone has
any Taxverse holiday moments you'd like to see, email me!

This means you, plot bunnies!

--a

TMF