Winds

Winds

Rated: PG-13

Pairing: Jack/Will

Summary: Will wishes Jack and his mistress had not ensnared him and left him helpless.

Will felt it. He felt it as the winds blew the salty air past him; he could see it in his dreams as he tossed and turned restlessly in his cot.

The sea was calling to him, beckoning to him and drawing him in as a wanton lover would.

It was calling for him to return back to Her. She told him that she missed him. She told him that she was the place for him…the only place in the entire world where he truly belonged, where he could let his naturally adventurous spirit free. She told him that he was destined to stay with Her, only Her.

The sea was a seductive mistress and Will found her difficult to resist.

There was also something else trying to get his attention…something in the back of his head…the something that had admired, respected and even grown fond of Jack Sparrow. This miniscule voice kept reminding him of the odd, sly, drunken (and yet very much intriguing) pirate.

Captain Jack Sparrow and the sea dominated the young Turner’s dreams.

Or were they nightmares?

No.

No, for they did not horrify him, only confused him. Before he’d met Jack, he had known exactly who he was—William Turner, resident blacksmith and dear friend of the Governor’s daughter—but afterwards, he could not say the same. Tonight, he questioned why he felt such a strong bond to the sea and why Jack and his silly grin refused to leave his mind.

He shook his head furiously, continuing to work on perfecting the hilt of the sword he was currently working on. After Jack’s sudden departure—thank God he had escaped the noose, Will thought—he had began to fall back on his work. And Mr. Brown wasn’t doing much to help him, unless drinking too much and passing out constantly was somehow counted as help. He had orders to finish and he could not afford to waste his time dwelling on such ridiculous things. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

And he would never succumb to Sparrow or to the sea.

But the dreams would continue to plague him, dreams wherein Jack stared at him with strange, powerful emotions in his sharp eyes and the sea rocked the vessel gently and a calloused hand trailed across his cheek and the wind lifted his dark strands tenderly and the sails of the ship ruffled in the breeze with the sleeves of Jack’s shirt and Will woke with a start—a man’s name upon his lips and his cheap sheets suspiciously sticky.