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Bootstrap's Bootstraps	By : zad Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1325 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bootstrap's Bootstraps
- 1
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Of course the typical disclamer; I don’t own them, I don’t profit from this. But I would like to add that I wrote this a long time ago and was not exactly satisfied with it. It seemed as if it was missing something or in some way lacking. But it’s not improving itself sitting on my computer gathering the proverbial dust. So I give it to you, POTC fic readers, to critique and let me know what’s ailing this fic. Thank you.

“I really am a considerate man. I’m letting you join your lover. Over the side!” Barbossa spat out the taunt. Twigg and Koehler slid the cannon off the edge. It didn’t catch on the rigging, and he didn’t try to grab the edge of the ship. He just let it pull him over, into the ocean he had traveled all his life. The instant his head was under the water, he began pulling in great gulps of sea water. He had heard tales of what happened to sailors who fell past a certain depth, and didn’t want to chance the unknown. He had come close to drowning enough times during the course of his life to know that agony.

As he kept falling, he marveled at how little the salt stung his eyes, how little he felt the water in his lungs, how little the depths pressed against him. His mind relaxed away from its panic. He looked at himself, still falling through the seas, and realized he was not drowning. He was not being crushed to death. He was surviving. Some angel had blessed him; he would not die this day.

The farther he fell, the darker it became. Soon, he could see nothing at all. He realized this was no angel’s blessing that kept him alive. Perhaps he had already died, and this was Hell. To forever think himself alive, but be weighted and chained to the bottom of the sea. The sea, his only home, now his tomb. He couldn’t but smile at the irony of it. Truly it must be the hand of the Devil.

Still falling, he began to panic again. What if he never reached the bottom? What if his body was pulled deeper and deeper into Hell, never stopping? It would be no less than he deserved. He allowed the others to turn on Jack. To abandon him to a slow and miserable death, completely alone. He knew Jack, and Jack would never take the easy way out. He would never use that pistol. At this very moment he could be breathing his last on that scorched beach, thinking Bootstrap cared no more for him than a bit of treasure. This was his punishment, this eternal tortured fall, and he deserved every moment of it.

***

Eventually he did reach the sea floor. The cannon landed with a dampened thump, and he touched down soon after it. So. It would seem he might not be in Hell. At least knowing there was a bottom was some comfort, so perhaps he was not dead. He laughed at himself, but no bubbles rose out of him, just more water. How could he be alive? He was standing at the bottom of the ocean. It wasn’t possible.

Well, no point in standing around forever. He sat down on the cannon that tied him to the ocean’s floor, and began to think. Either he was dead or he wasn’t. If he was, this was not at all what he had expected. If he wasn’t... well, that would be a story. It would mean he was invincible, unable to die. But why? Why him? There was nothing exceptional about Bootstrap Bill Turner. Nothing that could put a reason behind some power from on high deciding to grant him eternal life. He was no saint. Bootstrap began tallying the sins weighing on his soul, and soon in decided they were much heavier than the cannon. Most recently, he had left his lover to die. The bald statement of that crushed him far more than the miles of water above him. But before that, he had abandoned his wife and young son, whose faces he could barely remember. He was a pirate. He had killed numerous men, who more likely than not had families of their own. He had followed men who most considered to be evil incarnate, including that mutinous bastard Barbossa. And Barbossa couldn’t even be called the worst of them.

So what kept him alive? It was no force of good; he could be sure of that much. Why did the world need one more pirate? What on earth was there that wanted him alive? At this point even his Jack would turn him away. And obviously the rest of the Black Pearl did not want to see his face ever again. He could see no reason why anything was tying him to this-

Oh. Now there was a thought. Something to do with the curse. They had found out about it soon enough, to be sure. It was hard not to notice when the moonlight turned you into a decomposing skeleton. But as ancient Aztec curses intended originally for Cortez himself went, that was a pretty cheap trick. It would stand to reason that there were some other, as yet undiscovered facets. Immortality though? It hardly seemed to be a curse. Unless of course you were stuck at the bottom of the ocean for all eternity. As his body pointed out how little pain he was in, Bootstrap started to laugh again. If he could feel no pain, that could only mean the others could feel no pleasure. Well, they had really done it this time. What more perfect a punishment could there be? Credit where credit is due, the Aztec sorcerers knew what they were doing.

Bootstrap tried to recall everything he could of the rumors of the curse. There wasn’t much, and what there was could be little trusted. Most of what he knew had been told to him by Jack himself, and he knew exactly how much water most of those stories held.

***

“Now gather round, ya scalawags! I know all of you lot want to be taken on as crew aboard the Black Pearl, the fastest ship this sorry port has ever seen, but beware!” Jack had climbed on top of one of the tables. They had just sailed into town, and Jack had decided upon their tavern of choice moments after that. Bootstrap, as usual, was keeping a lower profile than his Captain. Jack was ever the showman, Bootstrap the quiet force behind him. They worked well enough together to pilot the Pearl all on their own, for short periods at least. They had recently recovered it from the Royal Navy who had captured it, along with the crew, a fortnight before. They hadn’t made it in time to save the crew. Both of them had been crushed by their failure, and Bootstrap marveled at how lively Jack had become, playing to the crowd of Tortuga. He could tell it was all act though. Later this night, Jack would be slumped in his arms, most likely drunk and babbling on about something to keep his thoughts off the loss. He sighed.

“I intend to find the treasure of the Isla de Muerta.” Even Bootstrap couldn’t suppress a smile at that. It was all Jack had been talking about, when he was carefully avoiding the subject that was on both their minds. The legendary Aztec gold, cursed and buried, not under rock and earth, but far more cleverly hidden. As Bootstrap looked to Jack, he saw just how much the man needed this. A grand adventure to take up his time while he recovered from the blow.

“You, sailor, your name!” Jack had managed to find the one pirate in the entire establishment who was not gripping his sides and wheezing with laughter.

“Barbossa.”

“Well, Barbossa, how d’you fancy being my first mate?”

“Aye, Captain. Fine by me.”

“Ah, but you should not agree until you’ve heard full tell of the stories of the cursed treasure of the Isla de Muerta.” Jack somehow managed to capture the attention of all the pirates in the vicinity, his mere air bringing a hushed silence over them. He spun yarns well into the night, much to the dismay of the women who provided the usual entertainment. He even took the numerous hecklers in stride.

“Oi, but ‘ow d’you ‘spect to find the bloody island?”

“Well, my good man, that will be accomplished with this lovely trinket right ‘ere.” Jack brandished a compass. “It was ah... loaned me by a friend of mine. A friend who, it just so happens, is a direct descendant of one of the ancient Aztec priests who worked the curse upon the gold. The way ‘e tells it, taking but a single piece of the treasure changes you.” Bootstrap marveled at how low Jack’s voice got, but still managed to carry over the crowd. It was as if he was conspiring with the entire tavern, speaking to each man while keeping all waiting for his next word. No matter how many times he saw it, this trick always awed him. “Tha’s right. Changes you. Right down to your very blood. The gold knows you... speaks to you.”

***

Bootstrap shook his head, clearing it of visions of the past and returning to the wet darkness around him. Jack’s words spooked him, just as they had when he’d first heard them. The blood. Maybe Jack wasn’t so far off as they had all assumed. If they were cursed, it would make sense it was a blood curse. From the tales he had heard, those generally required some sort of sacrifice to break them. If what Jack said had any basis in fact, an idea that was gaining more and more credence with Bootstrap in spite of all previous experience, it would figure that the sacrifice would be blood from all of them. If the gold knew them, it would demand penance from each man who had defiled it.

Bootstrap smiled. He settled onto his cannon a bit more comfortably. He would be there a while. From the very start he had told them they deserved whatever their evil had brought down upon them. If they needed his blood to lift the curse, he would be sure they never got it.

What did he have to live for anyway? His lover was dead. The only man he cared about would never be in his life again. Why not spend the rest of eternity at the bottom of an ocean?

***

Bootstrap had been sitting on the beach, drinking of course, in some nameless port of Hispaniola. Just convicted of piracy and debauchery on neighboring Cuba, his pirate brand still stung. He had escaped, naturally, but he was at a loss. The crew of the Jade Prince had abandoned him, keeping to the Code and leaving him to die. And it was his birthday no less. Not that the crew of the Prince knew it. In fact, he wouldn’t even have known to mark the day, but one of the soldiers who had captured him mentioned when he was to be executed. He was twenty-two years old.

As he sat, cursing his lot in life and feeling quite sorry for himself, he noticed a ship along the horizon. It was jerking about erratically, zigzagging first one direction then another. He laughed through his drunkenness, heartily amused by the dizzied cavorting of the latest arrival. As it came closer to shore, more and more of the denizens of Hispaniola marked its approach. Work on the beach came to a halt; it wasn’t everyday one got a show like this. Bootstrap reached to his side and pulled out the telescope he had stolen off of some patron at the tavern where he had “purchased” his gin. As he took in the small circular view it provided him, his jaw dropped. There was one man - one man, attempting to bring this ship, which looked as if it demanded a complement of at least a dozen, into safe harbor.

Bootstrap shoved the telescope back into his belt loop as he started running towards the water. This damned fool would ram half the boats in the bay if he were left to his own devices. When he reached the end of the pier, he dove into the water and swam with all the speed he could muster to the boat. He paused to read Black Pearl on her side.

***

Bootstrap smiled at the recollection. It fit that he would spend his last days above water on her weathered decks. The Pearl had been his only home for... it must be well beyond a decade by now. Oh, he had taken a leave of absence in there, but the house in England was never his home. All that experience had left him with was feelings of inadequacy. For the most part anyway. He wondered after his son on occasion; the boy must be three or four by now. Bootstrap shook his head. No, the lad would be much older than that. At least seven. He laughed at himself, already turning into an old man. Well, nothing could be done about that now, and at least he wouldn’t be looking any older than he did at the moment. It was an interesting thought, but then Bootstrap reminded himself that he would be spending eternity where no one would ever see his face again.

A thousand curses upon Barbossa. Why had they not realized what a wretched man he was? His rage deadened out as he thought back to the numerous times Barbossa had shown his black heart and vile conniving manner.

After that scene at the tavern they had amassed a crew of five, which was not nearly what was required for a venture such as this. Barbossa had offered to secure the rest of the crew. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course.

***

“Captain Sparrow, ye be a busy man,” Barbossa grinned, “Leave the recruitin’ to me, and I’ll leave you to your... ship.” He cast a sideways glance at Bootstrap while waiting for Jack’s answer.

“Barbossa, you always know jus’ wha’ to say. Tha’s what I like about you. Make my job tha’ much easier.” It was barely past noon, the sun shone brightly on the pier, and Jack was already drunk. Barbossa stood his ground against the blast of rum-laden breath, and even managed a strained smile before nodding and turning on his heel.

“Jack are you sure this is wise?” Bootstrap was not drunk but could certainly understand why Jack wished to be. He was aching for their friends. And, Jack being the captain... he was taking it hard to say the least.

“Sure wha’s wise?” Jack craned his head to look at Bootstrap, a puzzled look on his face before he took an entirely different approach. “Course I do! I’m the captain. I’m always sure tha’s wise.”

“I mean, not picking the crew yourself. Always before we-”

“Wha’ I think would be wise at this very moment, would be for you to kiss me.”

Bootstrap thought that that would not be very wise, but then he made the decidedly unwise choice of looking at Jack, who was fluttering his darkened eyelashes, and, wisely or not, reversed his original decision. Leaning down, he grabbed at Jack’s lips with his own, wrapping an arm around the other man’s neck to pull him closer. They stood locked together on the pier for a good stretch of time, each taking comfort from the other’s familiar embrace. As the dock became a bit too crowded, Bootstrap pulled back. Jack, eyelids still fluttering, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him aboard the Pearl.

Once on deck, Jack led them into his cabin, albeit not in a straight line. He collapsed onto the bunk with a flourish, pulling Bootstrap down on top of him. “I love you, William.”

“Jack, all these years and you still call me that,” he protested through a blush hidden by his weathered skin. “Bootstrap is more my name than-”

“I’ll not stan’ for that, William. You’re my William. William.” Jack’s eyes drifted half closed as he savored the three syllables. Bootstrap bent and roughly kissed the man beneath him.

“And I love you, Jack Sparrow.”

“You’ve made me happier than any pirate deserves to be. Even with what happened... And it’s Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Bootstrap’s face melted into a frown. He had been so close to talking about it. He could see what keeping it all in was doing to Jack, and some careless comment on his part had ruined it. “Yes. Of course. Captain.” He gathered up his courage, took a deep breath, and braced himself for the kick that would throw him out of bed. “But Jack... what happened... It wasn’t your fault. There was no chance we could have made it there in time. Savvy?” Best not to mention that he and Jack would have been captured as well had they not been... best to not even think it. “Don’t do this to yourself. Jack?”

The form below him let out a faint snore. Bootstrap stared at him skeptically for a few moments before sighing and deciding the nap was real. He pressed his lips once to Jack’s mouth and once to his forehead, and then curled up against his side. He worried a bit of Jack’s red bandana between his fingers and settled in to join Jack dreaming.

***

Bootstrap was jolted from his memories. His remembered worrying had apparently carried over into real life. He could feel his fingers rubbing against each other, this time with no bandana to separate them. He brought his hand up to his face out of pure reflex. He couldn’t see them at all, but he no longer needed to see to know they had deep wrinkles in them. This was more furrowed than they had ever been in any storm or after any swim. He must have been down here, sitting on his cannon, for hours by now. Possibly even days, but he had no way of knowing. It didn’t matter. He started to wonder what he would look like after spending years down here. How long before he became unrecognizable? Before he ceased to look human? That didn’t matter either. He ran his hand through his hair to shake off the disgusting feeling of his own flesh and the thoughts that were making him panic.

***

“Captain, you have to do something about that hair.”

“What the blazes are you talking about man?” Jack spun around from the bit of sail he was mending to look at Bootstrap as if he’d grown another head. Actually, another three or four heads. Jack was always one for exaggeration.

“No one is going to take you seriously if your hair is sticking out in every direction. Why don’t you cut it?”

Jack reached about a half foot above his head to grab at a frizzy strand for closer examination. It was overcast, and the humid weather was doing nothing to tame it. He pouted. “I like it long. Besides, the crew thinks it’s fearsome.” He looked to Bootstrap for confirmation. “Don’t they?”

“Ah, it’s not my place to... Something has to be done. Savvy?”

“I am not cutting it. There’s to be no argument on that score.”

“Fine, no cutting. There are... alternatives. If I may?”

Bootstrap moved towards Jack’s hair, and Jack warily jerked away. “Sir, trust me.”

“Promise no cutting.”

“I swear. Sailor’s honor.”

Somehow Jack managed not to laugh at that, and he allowed Bootstrap to sit down behind him. He wasn’t quite sure where to start, but after picking a lock of hair and separating it from the others, he started weaving it. It was being buoyed up by the hair beneath it, so Bootstrap pulled a green glass bead out of his wallet and tied it to the end. About a half hour into the endeavor, Jack took one of the completed strands to look at. Bootstrap froze, ready to be pummeled for his handiwork.

“Where did you get that?”

“Oh, um. It was part of our last haul.”

“And why, may I ask, are you carryin’ beads around with you?”

“Well, we couldn’t sell them or trade them, and I though, best not let them go to waste, you see. So I just kept them, incase some opportune moment presented itself.”

“So you were just ‘anging onto them then, and not simply waiting for the opportune moment to make me look like some tart?”

“You don’t look like a tart! Or at least, you won’t when I’ve finished with you.”

Jack jerked his head around, eyes big and seemingly earnest. “I looked like a tart before?”

“Well, with the kohl and all... you gave the mere suggestion of...”

“But you promise this’ll make me look like a real, male pirate?”

“I promise, Captain.”

Jack turned his head back around, and Bootstrap let out a sigh of relief. He picked out another bit of Jack’s hair and started twining strand around strand. He really had come to appreciate it after all this time spent with it. It couldn’t be called soft by any stretch of the imagination. All the months Jack had spent in the sun and all the salt that had been blown into had made sure of that. No, it was greasy and coarse, but still... The fact that Jack loved it, in spite of all its flaws, made Bootstrap look at it twice. It had all these little variations in color. It stuck up in places where normal hair would not. It felt nice sliding through his hand.

“There. You’re done.” Bootstrap took a deep breath to clear his head. It had actually been done some time ago, but he had been... just running his hands through it. That was strange, to say the least.

***

Bootstrap let out another of those wet burbling laughs. How foolish he had been not to see it then. He was head over heels for the kid and hadn’t owned up to it for years. Good thing he could laugh at it now. When it really didn’t matter because he’d be spending the rest of his natural life and beyond at the bottom of the sea. Interesting how many things were funny with that sort of perspective. Like how it no longer stung that just after his little foray into hairdressing, Jack had decided to start wearing a hat. Ah well, not everyone appreciated fine art, and it had been worth it.

“God, Jack, what have I done?”

***

Bootstrap stood stunned. “I can’t believe what you’re suggesting.”

“Why sure ye can, Bill. ‘S no more than ye can’ve been expecting, with the way things ‘ave been goin’ as of late.” Bootstrap wanted to slap that vile grin off of Barbossa’s face. He knew how Bootstrap felt, what Jack was to him, how could he be asking this? “He’s not fit to be captain. You know that as well as I, as well as all the men. He’s done nothin’ but drink and lock ‘imself in that cabin since we left Tortuga. If he’s left in charge, you’ll lose this crew as you lost the last one.”

Bootstrap sat down on the galley bench, burying his head in his arm, trying to retain some semblance of dignity.

Barbossa moved behind him, pausing before he exited the room. “We’ll be doin’ this with or without ye. It’s for you to decide what would be easier on your dear Jack. Oh, I’m sorry. Captain Sparrow.”

He heard Barbossa’s steps retreating down the hall. Gathering up his feelings and forcing them below the surface, he moved to the door. “Promise me you will do him no harm.”

Barbossa stopped short, but did not turn to show his face to Bootstrap. “Aye. You ‘ave my word. Tonight then.”

He waited for Barbossa to clear the hallway, and then went to Jack’s room. He curled against the man’s sleeping body as sobs began to wrack his own, his tears soaking into the coarse sheets. As he hugged the man, Jack moved in his sleep, rolling towards Bootstrap and throwing a leg over his body without waking. Bootstrap moaned and tried to keep his crying low, so it would not carry through the ship’s thin walls.

After a while, Jack did surface from his drunken sleep. “William, why’re your eyes aww red?”

“It’s nothing, Jack. For the crew. Only for the crew.”

“Aw, poor fing. Lemme make it better.” Jack’s hands started finding their way down Bootstrap’s frame.

“No, Jack. Just go back to sleep.” He captured one of Jack’s wandering hands, and kissed it. “Shh, sleep.”

Jack hugged the man tightly, and drifted off once more. Bootstrap managed to still his tears until after the man fell back to sleep. Later that night, he just made sure Jack was more drunk than usual and then carried him to the brig.

***

Bootstrap felt aching and hollow. Like all the water around him had finally gotten to crushing his weak body. If he had needed to breathe, it would have been difficult. But there was a new sensation as well. Like someone was taking all that pain, that feeling that ran from his chest to his gut, and pulling it. Pulling it in a definite direction, which made for an odd sensation. He would have thought that with the curse and all, his feelings would be dampened, not taking on new dimensions. He swore. He was an idiot a thousand times over for not trusting Jack. The gold speaks to you indeed. That must be this new demon taking his pain and twisting it for the thing’s own use. The gold wanted to be returned to its chest, and it would use him for its purpose. It would point the way to the treasure, and just encourage him along on his way.

Not bloody likely. He knew pain, and that he could handle. It wasn’t like there was anything waiting for him above water anyway. And it hadn’t been so bad, his life. He could honestly say that he had been completely happy, on more than a handful of occasions.

***

Bootstrap was pacing up and down the scarred deck. He had gained passage on some pirate vessel he hadn’t even bothered learning the name of, and now it was within sight of the Pearl. The Black Pearl. His home. During the whole year and a half in England, he had not felt at home. He had gone back to marry a woman chosen for him by his family, thinking he could live a normal, decent life back on land, far away from the things that called to him. And then, when he discovered she was with child, he thought that that might tether him, keep his longings in check. Obviously, it had failed. Each day he became more and more miserable, until one night, when it became too much, and he escaped back to the sea. And now he was looking at the Black Pearl. His home. And more importantly, Jack’s home. He heard a click next to his ear.

“I’m a risk-taking man to bring you this close, but I’ll not run up along side the Black Pearl. So you will hand me over the rest of your money, and you will swim the remaining distance.”

“Yes, sir.” Bootstrap tried not to look to ecstatic as he handed his wallet over to the captain. He jumped over the side and began swimming with all his might as the ship behind him began speeding in the opposite direction. Within minutes, he was being hauled aboard the Black Pearl.

“Why William Turner. Not a face we thought we’d see again.” Jack had grabbed him firmly by the forearm and pulled him on deck.

After noting the fact that Jack had not changed his hair since the last time Bootstrap had done it up for him before he left, he closed his eyes, placed his hands on either side of his captain’s face, and kissed him deeply.

Bootstrap opened his eyes to look fearfully at his friend. “Well. If your return was unexpected that was doubly- “ Jack stopped himself mid sentence to kiss Bootstrap. After they had separated, Jack pulled back to gaze into the other man’s eyes. And then slapped him across the face as he turned on his heel and sauntered below.

Bootstrap sought out a familiar face in the crowd that had gathered on deck. Seeing Mr Liston, he started to ask, “Should I-”

“Bill, he’s been miserable since you’ve left. Like dark clouds have descended upon us. Go now, before I throw you down there myself.”

Bootstrap’s face burned as he walked across the deck, all eyes upon him. He quickly found himself standing outside a door he had not seen for what was almost two years but felt like much more. He just stood outside, trying to still the trembling in his gut. After he couldn’t stand it a second more, he reached up an knocked.

“Who is it?”

Oh, Jack would not make this easy for him. “Jack, you know it’s me.”

“What is it you want?”

“I would like to talk to you without a door between us, so I don’t have to shout loud enough for all the crew can hear. Savvy?” Bootstrap was quickly becoming frustrated with all of Jack’s questions. Some small part of him did admit that mostly he was just nervous though, and perhaps that had something to do with his increasing anger with Jack.

“Fine, you may enter.” Bootstrap did, and saw Jack wearing only by a sheet, his clothes covering all surfaces in the small room. “But there’ll be no ‘talking.’ For the moment at least.”

***

Bootstrap chuckled loudly, the sound carrying through the water around him. Part of him suspected that Jack hadn’t wanted to be outdone by his dramatic little scene on deck. Such a typical thing for him to do, never wanting to be upstaged and always wanting to have the last word on the matter. Even when he was a child, before Bootstrap had met him, he had desperately wanted to be the most infamous pirate in all the Caribbean. Oh, he would bluster on about freedom if you put enough rum in him, but Bootstrap knew he was in it for the glory. There were many things in this world that Jack could’ve done well, but being a pirate was the only profession he could truly love; infamy, danger and all.

Bootstrap’s reasons for turning pirate were a bit more difficult to discern. He had started out his career as an honest merchant sailor, but life at sea was just so boring. There would be weeks between ports and little to do with all that time. Sure there was always busywork on the ship, mending sails and rope or swabbing decks, but it was all so dull. And then the ship he’d been serving on was captured by pirates. They were short of crew due to recent raids by Her Majesty’s Navy, and so gave their captives a choice: piracy or death of exposure on some island. He’d taken the obvious choice, but soon found it to be a much more satisfying existence.

He couldn’t rightly say why, since from day to day the tasks were much the same, but he’d only realized what it was when he was in England. His life as a pirate was such a tenuous one. At any moment they could be captured or a raid could go wrong, and they would be blown apart aboard their own ship. Every day when he woke, there was a good chance he would not be going to sleep that night or any other. It wasn’t just that he had some lust for danger, but it gave such perspective on what was important. That was why he had left England, left his wife and son behind. When he was on land, he had stopped living his life as if he had only moments of it left, and that was unbearable for Bootstrap. When it came down to it, that was the sort of freedom he needed.

***

Bootstrap threw himself onto the deck, hands on his knees as he began heaving in draughts of air. As he slowly straightened, he found himself at the other end of a sword. Rising further, it was all he could do to keep from laughing at the sword’s wielder. He was facing a skinny child with dark hair forming a kinky puffball around his freckled and sunburned face. It was easier for Bootstrap to not laugh when he realized that the lad’s protection of his vessel was soon going to get them both killed, if not by a collision then certainly by several very angry ship owners.

“Who are you, and what is your business aboard my ship?”

“That can wait ‘til after we’re docked.” Bootstrap tried not to sound as panicked as he felt, but perhaps his tone convinced the boy more than his words. Either way, the young captain sheathed his sword and began ordering Bootstrap around as if he’d always been there.

The pair managed to see the Black Pearl safely into port, amid cheers and applause from the denizens of Hispaniola. Jack stepped off the ship bowing, much to the amusement of the gathered crowd.

“Come along, laddie. I’ll buy you a mug a’ grog,” Jack shouted over his shoulder. Bootstrap, still being young, bristled at being called “laddie” by the likes of his newfound companion, but obliged.

The two entered the sunlit bar, and Jack selected two mugs, carrying them over to the table Bootstrap had settled upon.

“Now, while you seem to be a fine upstanding gentleman, I must inquire as to why you stepped up so willingly back there in the harbor.”

“What?” Bootstrap was trying to figure out this strange creature before him, through a haze of drink no less, and following what it was saying while attempting that was impossible.

“Why did you help me?” Jack spoke slowly, with large gaps between the words.

“Oh.” Bootstrap smiled at him, and then adopted a more furrowed brow. “It’s my birthday.”

“Ahh, then happy birthday, mate! I suppose that is as coherent of an answer as I will be extracting from you this afternoon, so it shall have to suffice. And I do apologize for brandishing a blade at you out there, a bit rude of a birthday present.”

Bootstrap took the moment to interject before Jack carried his monologue on well into evening. “Who are you?”

“Once again I do apologize! My name is Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow, as it were.” He found Bootstrap’s hand before the man himself was able to and began shaking it vigorously. “And you are?”

“M’name’s Bootstrap. Bootstrap Bill Turner.”

“Ah, a William. Such a fine name, ver-”

“I meant, who are you?” Bootstrap knew his question had not been answered, and the more this whelp in front of him talked, the more confused he was going to become. Better to offend him than become lost entirely.

“Yes, good sir, and I answered you. Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“No, I meant... That ship is very large, and you are very small.”

“Oh yes I see. You must be wondering as to how I became the proud owner of such a fine vessel as the Black Pearl. Well...” Jack went on to tell of a marriage he did not desire to a girl of rank. His father was some sort of shipping magnate, and wanted a title as well as riches. Jack explained the long, sad story with a generous amount of hand gestures and much flashing of his kohl smeared eyes. After he told of his brave escape from the clutches of his well-appointed suite, he paused, looking to Bootstrap for comment.

“But... the ship?”

“Yes! The Black Pearl. She is magnificent, isn’t she? Intended to be an arras to my blushing bride.”

“Arr... Arr...”

“Arras, yes. Sort of a wedding present.”

“Ah.” Bootstrap looked moderately less confused. He was rather proud of himself, in fact. Though obviously this pixie fluttering in front of him was some sort of rum-induced hallucination.

“And what of you, Bootstrap?”

***

Bootstrap yelled and jumped so hard he budged the cannon. Some sort of creature had brushed up against him. Still somewhat unsettled but beginning to recover himself, he sat back down. Probably it was something he would have to get used to. All manner of sea creatures, monsters of the deep and whatnot, crawling over him. Though, the depths couldn’t be all that populated. He would most likely come to appreciate the little intrusions. After all, his life hadn’t been all that interesting. Oh, he was quite fond of it, but by no stretch of the imagination was it enough to keep him amused until Judgment Day.

He hadn’t done a whole lot with his life, by most people’s standards anyway. He’d spent nearly all of his adult life as a shiftless criminal, and even in that sphere he hadn’t risen to a rank above that of a common sailor. Not that he had wanted to, much to Jack’s annoyance. Bootstrap smiled, thinking at how worked up Jack had gotten over the matter. One of the few things Bootstrap had ever denied the man, but that hadn’t made it rankle any less. How different their lives might have been if he had just ceded to Jack’s overwhelming personality in this matter, like all the others.

***

“Can we talk now?”

The pair had just barely recovered breath after their happy reunion aboard the Black Pearl. Jack’s bunk was a mess of tangled pirate limbs and knotted up sheets, and neither of them could possibly imagine a better place to be.

“Aye, I suppose we can,” Jack conceded lazily. “Be my mate?”

Bootstrap balked. “Jack, that’s not normally something one asks a married man. Especially if one is another man.”

“I mean my first mate. On the ship, lad.” Jack’s fingers drifted over Bootstrap’s chest as he lovingly laughed at the man.

“What? No. Jack you can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am serious! I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, sailor, and you are aboard my ship. Now, I am ordering you to be first mate aboard the Black Pearl.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Pirates’ Code.”

“Damn. Please?” Jack made his eyes big, his lips pouty, and rose to his knees, clasping his hands in front of his body in an extremely alluring manner. Bootstrap felt a shudder run through him.

“You bastard.”

“Shall I take it we ‘ave an accord?” Jack looked very excited and inched closer to Bootstrap.

“No you shall not! We’ve been through all this before. I said no then, and I’ll say it again now.”

“Aw, come on.” Jack’s hands unclasped and started doing any number of devious things.

“You can keep that up all night-” Bootstrap started.

“I intend to.”

“I am not going to agree.”

The two men took a moment to try and stare each other down. Jack bored of it first. “Fine. I suppose I shall be off then.” He hastily started putting his garb back on, while Bootstrap watched him with a look that tried to be skepticism but had a greater part of worry in it. He did manage to refrain from saying anything as Jack left the cabin. He was gone for all of four very quick heartbeats before bursting back through the door, grabbing Bootstrap for a kiss, and getting out of his clothes even more quickly than he had gotten into them.

***

Jack had never pressed him for a reason why he didn’t want to be first mate, and Bootstrap was glad of that. He didn’t rightly know himself, but it had something to do with his dislike of being in positions of authority. That was part of what had made him so unhappy in England; everyone expected him to know what to do. He was supposed to be the head of the household, always giving orders. When Will had been born, he was faced with the prospect of guiding this new life through all the traps he had so easily fallen into himself. He couldn’t take it anymore. He fled back to the sea like a coward, but it was for the good of the child. Kate was a capable woman, who would provide for their son and see to it that he turned out better than his father. And Bootstrap did send them bits of treasure on occasion, to help ends meet. The child was his flesh and blood after all; he wouldn’t let little Bill starve.

Bootstrap felt like he had been gutted. Flesh and... Oh he was an idiot. And the crew had even seen him send a piece of the treasure to the lad. They would track him and use his blood to break the curse. Bootstrap started feeling around for the best place to grab the cannon. Oh, the crew had laced his bootstraps to it, they all had thought that very clever, but wiser heads had also seen to it he was chained to the thing as well. He would not let his innocent son pay for his sins while he moped around on the bottom of the ocean. Hoisting the cannon, he began to walk.
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Bootstrap's Bootstraps