In September of 2009 my friend Stutley Constable expressed an interest in writing a few oneshots with unusual pairings (ones that are not Sparrabeth or Willabeth). We decided that it would be fun to cooperate on such an undertaking. This story and eleven others are the products of that venture. We hope you will enjoy them.

Bill Turner and Will

With the use of Bill Turner and Elizabeth

"It isn't about me, father."

"You have a job to do," Bill Turner said slowly, clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, and turned for the door.

"It's about her."

"'Course it is."

"Seeing her today... on the beach..."

"It wasn't meant to happen."

"But maybe it was. Maybe the ship went down there for a reason," the younger man mused, staring at the wall across from him, thinking.

"The reason was that the ship blew to pieces, in that port. We just went to pick them up."

"She was there, though."

"There were a number of onlookers."

"We need to go back."

"It wouldn't make a difference, son. You can't touch land for another nine and a half years. It's best to forget it ever happened," Bill said, treading carefully. He wouldn't have his son sailing into the same situation as his predecessor. He wouldn't tell him no outright, either.

"I'll write her a letter, and you can give it to her. I'll send you."

"William, it's a big port."

"You'll find her," Will insisted, rising to his feet. The organ that Jones had played had been closed and now made for a somewhat decent writing desk. It seemed Jones had used it as the same thing, based on the scratch marks across the once varnished surface. Will had once tried to read the words left behind, but most were hardly visible.

"I suppose it isn't completely breaking the rules. Returning to the land of the living is permitted, so long as you don't touch land..." The older man considered, wondering if it really would be breaking the rules.

"Good, good. Would you mind giving me some privacy?" Will said, already distracted with his writing.

"I'll leave you to it."

-:-

The letter he held in his hand was rather fat, composed of four thick pages overflowing with words that were only just drying. He had expected a little more, actually, but there can't be too much to say when you haven't been doing much. You can only say "I love you" in so many different ways.

Bill Turner wondered at what his son had written about as he walked. The sun was setting behind the houses of Port Royal and he hoped to find Elizabeth before it was dark. The letter was tempting to read, but he knew he shouldn't. He had missed so much though... he knew almost nothing about this woman and her relationship with his son. Would the letter explain it?

The blacksmith Mr. Brown had been hard to talk to, but he had figured out where Elizabeth lived without too much effort. A short walk from the blacksmith's shop brought him face to face with a wood doorknocker. Bill shifted the letter in his hands, wondering if he should do this.

It was what Will wanted.

He lifted the knocker and tapped it lightly against the door, hoping that she wasn't home. She was home, and answered after only a short moment.

Soft brown hair, dark brown eyes. She looked slightly different than he remembered her. Cleaner? Less stressed?

"Bill Turner," she said, eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to give you something."

Her eyes slid to the letter. Her lips parted, closed again. "Who... who's it from?" she asked, but he knew she already knew the answer.

"Will."

She nodded and took the letter from his outstretched hand. "I should read this and write back," she said after a pause, "Will you come back another time?" Her eyes flitted from him to the letter and back again.

"I can wait here if you'd like," Bill suggested, wondering how quickly she could write.

Elizabeth paused then glanced behind her into the house before turning to face him again. "Well..."

"If you want I can come back. If you want to read it by yourself."

"No, no. Come inside," she stepped aside and gestured with a nod for him to enter.

"Not a bad place you've found yourself," he commented, taking in the tidy armchairs and writing desk as he stooped through the doorway.

"The house is nice, but the neighbours are quite a different story."

"Hm."

"Would you like a drink?" Elizabeth offered. She walked off into the room just left of the front door, leaving him to follow behind.

"Yes, thank you," he said. The kitchen and dining room were one. A few miscellaneous chairs were pulled up around a sturdy table, a bouquet of blue flowers wilting in a vase on the table.

Elizabeth pulled out a chair for him to sit, then went to the kitchen counter.

"What would you like?" she paused and glanced into the room they had just come from. "I have rum," she said distractedly.

"Rum's fine."

She poured the drink then sat down at the table as well. She brought the letter out of the folds of her dress and laid it out carefully, stopping when the ink smudged onto her hand. As she was doing so, she noticed the two half-empty glasses of rum she had just pushed out of the way. Laying the letter down, she grabbed the drinks and stood, bringing them to the sink.

"Just a moment," she said and smiled awkwardly before leaving the room.

Bill watched her go, then turned his attention to the letter, lying open faced on the table. He could read a bit of it before she came back... he'd hear her coming. He angled the letter towards him and leaned forwards.

"His father," someone whispered. He removed his hand from the parchment and turned towards the voice. He got to his feet and walked slowly to the door.

"Should I go?" A man's voice.

"Yes."

"I'll come back later."

"Wait until tomorrow, I don't know how long he'll be here."

"Of course."

There was the slightest creaking of the front door opening and Bill saw a flash of dreadlocks, a red bandana, before the door shut again.

Swallowing back his discomfort, he moved back to the table and slid the letter towards the chair Elizabeth had been sitting in.

She was gone for a few more minutes then she came back into the kitchen and sat down in her place.

"Sorry."

He grunted a reply then reached for the rum. No doubt it was meant for Sparrow.

As Elizabeth immersed herself in the letter, Bill sat back in the somewhat new wooden chair. He wasn't comfortable in this woman's kitchen and certainly not with this situation. He wondered what he should tell Will.

He supposed it wasn't really his business. But it was his son's. Mostly though, it was hers.

But who would tell him? He swished the rum around the glass as he thought, watching the liquid swirl around and around. Perhaps there was nothing to tell.

"I'm going to go write him back, in there," Elizabeth said, pointing to the first room. Bill looked up slowly, tired. She looked at him for a moment, waited for him to say something, then got to her feet and left to write her reply.

The minutes ticked by and Bill stared at the rum swirling around the glass. Eventually he set it down, unable to finish it. He reclined in the chair and shut his eyes.

"Bootstrap," Elizabeth's voice cut through his sleep as she waved an envelope in front of his face.

"What did you tell him?" he asked, shaking off his drowsiness.

"What?"

"My apologies, never mind."

"You're not going to read it, I hope."

"Of course not. You have my word."

"Just make sure he gets it," she said. She looked worried, like he might drop it on the way back and not realize it until it was too late. He might get jumped in the street and a poor thief would take off with her words.

Bill stood and rolled his heavy shoulders before taking the envelope from her. "I'm not going to forget to give it to him, don't worry lass."

"Thank you. For coming to see me."

"Anything for my son."

She smiled then, and he turned for the door, ready to be rid of this.

-:-

"I found her."

Will's eyes lit up and he scanned his father for the letter.

"She didn't write back," he said gravely.

"No?" he was trying to hide his disappointment, Bill could tell. He felt a moment's guilt, then shrugged it off.

"She cried. Wanted me to go."

Will swallowed and looked away.

"What took so long?" he finally asked.

"Couldn't find the place."

"Oh."

"She was happy to get it, just overwhelmed I think."

Will nodded. "Perhaps it was too soon."

Not soon enough, Bill thought. But he said nothing, and left his son to think.

The parchment whispered against his fingertips as he felt it in his pocket, as if it were speaking to him.

Liar.

Thank you for reading, please review :)

If you enjoyed this story and wish to read the other stories
in this challenge you can find them on my profile and on Stutley Constable's fanfiction(dot)net/u/1963348/Stutley_Constable (replace the dot)