FYI: i dont have ownership over these wonderful characters except for the ones you dont recognize to the trilogy

Not a word. Not so much as a "hello" or "goodnight" or "I love you" or "Papa". Nine days and he had not spoken a word to his father, nor did he have the desire to speak with his father. His father was just going to have to apologize to him before he would speak a word because it was his father who started the whole mess to begin with.

Feeling eyes gazing upward to look at him, Will lowered his head while his palm furiously rubbed at the back of his neck. There was no itch upon the back of his neck, not even a small tingle to make him uncomfortable. No, it was an action he needed to avert his eyes toward the person looking upon him without that certain person knowing he was looking back.

In the rigging, just below the crosstree to the mizenmast, Will could make out the figure opposite him leaning on the rail against the bow of the ship. His dark hair blew ragged behind him in his ponytail, arms stretched out across the rail, ankles crossed, and cerulean, sapphire eyes looking directly at him with longing and pleas.

Through with "itching his neck", the teenager settled himself further into the ropes, twisting his arms re-through in a more comfortable position and heels further into the hole. He knew there was no real threat to being in the rigging sitting there like he was. After all, he was nearly seventeen and still small enough to curl anywhere.

Laughter rang below him causing his dark eyes to narrow and become darker. Dirk. Just thinking of his cousin's name caused his muscles to tense and teeth to grit behind curled lips. He would forever call it unfair. Reminiscing deeper into that day, his eyes didn't see the line of the horizon. Instead, he saw the line of the marble floor and oak door.

Hauling the rest of his sailing necessities, Will walked down the long, main hall with the sack over his shoulder. Like he always did, he turned his head to the left to look down the stairs.

Dirk was standing by the door rummaging through a chest.

"Cuz, you know you shouldn't go through things that don't belong to you," Will told him.

"This is mine," said Dirk, digging his arm deeper into the chest.

"Why is it down here?" inquired Will, allowing the sack to slip from his arm onto his sea chest.

"Because I'm going with you," replied Dirk.

"No you aren't," Will snapped. "They agreed we would be sixteen the first time we both went sailing. I went the summer of my sixteenth birthday. You're still fourteen."

"I know," said Dirk. He pulled his spyglass from the chest and placed it on top. Satisfied, he shut the chest.

"This isn't fair," Will told him.

"Don't complain to me," said Dirk, beginning to walk away. "My father said I could come."

"Your father is coming too?" asked Will, incredulous. He threw his arms in the air. "What the hell?"

"William," Bill scolded as he walked through the door.

"Why is Dirk coming? Dirk is only fourteen. You and Gabriel agreed sixteen," snapped Will.

"Technically, you were fifteen when you went for your first sailing adventure," corrected Bill. "Two, I'm not Dirk's father am I? I said you would be sixteen your first time. Had Gabe raised Dirk on the sea to my disapproval I would not have told him otherwise. I'm not Dirk's father, I'm your father."

"I'm beginning to wish you weren't my father," Will told him.

"Will," said Bill, with a heavy sigh, clearly having enough of his son's teenage moodiness. "Grow up and act like you are nearly seventeen. Dirk is more mature than you are. In fact, that is the reason Gabriel said he was taking Dirk with him. He doesn't have to worry about Dirk like I have to manage you."

"Manage me?" said Will. "So now you manage me?"

"I certainly did not raise you to behave like this," said Bill.

"And how did you raise me?" wondered Will, folding his arms across his chest.

"I raised you to be a good man to always do what is right," replied Bill Turner. "You are not that. You rebel against everything. If I told you to put on clothes you would walk naked. You start fights at school. Do you know how much convincing and pleading your grandfather and mother and I had to do to convince Headmaster not to expel you? Your school grades have slipped. Will you're so smart yet you rank last in your class. Every weekend you go drinking with men. I say men because they are at least twenty years old. When you're home, you sneak away and start more fights. Gambling is your daily pastime here, not to mention you drink as much as your grandfather does. You hardly talk to your siblings and cousin and me. When I talk to you, I feel like I'm talking to a complete stranger. I don't know what to do with you anymore Will." His voice began angered then became a plea. He walked forward to gently grab Will's hands and hold them tightly in his. "What happened to my Will? Last summer you and I were running around and sitting in the tree house and staying up late talking about nothing and sleeping in my arms and sailing together. What happened to my Little One?"

Will backed out of his father's grasp. "I realized something father: I don't want to be raised like all of you want me to."

"And how do you think we want to raise you William," inquired Bill, curious.

"I don't want to be noble," replied Will.

"Nothing can change that Will. You were born a noble and third in line for the seat. There are differences between a normal sixteen year old and a noble sixteen year old," said Bill.

"I noticed," said Will. He looked at Dirk who was sitting on the chest pretending to ignore what he just heard. "Why does he have to come? It's not fair."

"Will, we just went through this," reminded Bill.

"Who's the damn cockheaded idiot who had the bright idea to bring him along?" asked Will.

"Your father," replied Bill simply.

Will looked at him and gave a nod of his head. "Yeah, you are a damn cockheaded fool anyway," he noted as he turned to walk out the door.

"William Alexander Jonathan Turner!" called Bill, grabbing his son's arm.

Dirk sought this as something he did not want to witness. He was there for one of their fights once and that terrified him for quite a while. When Will got mad was one thing, but when his uncle was upset, that was a good time to hide from the world.

Will pulled out of his father's grasp.

Not letting him get away this easy, Bill grabbed his son's ponytail and pulled backwards.

Will cried out in pain as he twisted into the grasp. He looked at his father with curled lips and narrow eyes burning with rage.

"You listen to your father William," said Bill. Will again tried pulling away, but whimpered silently as the hold was tightened on his hair. "The more you struggle the more it will hurt."

"Typical, all you ever do is hurt me these days," noted Will.

"If you would just listen to me," began Bill.

"Just because you are my father doesn't mean I have to listen to you," Will told him.

"It's called respect, something you used to know," said Bill.

"Will you let go of my hair," Will demanded, the hold beginning to give him a sharp headache.

"I will not be spoken to like that young man, especially by you," said Bill.

"I'm not going to apologize no matter how hard you pull on my hair," Will flat out told him.

"Not expecting you to son," admitted Bill.

"Then let me go," Will told him. "Why do you have my hair anyway?"

"I'm just trying to be your father and teach you a lesson young man," said Bill.

"Your lessons never work," reminded Will.

Shaking his head, Bill released his son's hair. He didn't know what to say to Will. Calling him son was odd. This was not his son. The day after Will's sixteenth birthday, something changed in him. Something dark and unknown came over Will. Literally overnight, his cheery, happy go lucky, loving son became dark, rebellious, and moody. He hardly saw Will's beautiful smile. For nearly a year, he tried to get inside Will's head. The more he tried, the harder he fought for his son the further Will pulled the two of them apart.

"You know something Will?" asked Bill.

"Enlighten me oh master," replied Will sarcastically.

"When I was sixteen I would have given the world to please my father and make him proud of me," began Bill.

"Don't start with your little guilt trip of be happy you have your father because I didn't," pleaded Will.

Bill shook his head. "Not at all. I was merely going to tell you that I am ashamed to call you my son. You will never make me proud Will. Never."

"I doubt that," said Will.

He suddenly flinched and eyes grew wide as his father struck him hard across the cheek and grabbed his arms tightly, pulling him to his tip toes.

"I don't doubt it. I've had it with you William. I'm done. If you want your father, you have to come ask for him. I'm through with this job of being your father. You will never, never make me proud."

Once he was released, Will watched his father grab the rest of the sacks and leave the manor, slamming the door. His eyes shut as a burn coated his blood. He felt sick to his stomach as adrenaline pumped through him. Tears formed in his eyes as his eyebrows raised high. The mouth that never showed emotion slightly widened. Around him, the world was silent. His body was quivering.

He wanted to fall to the ground and cry. His father spoke every word the truth. Bill Turner wasn't lying to him and he would never make his father proud. That was all he ever wanted to do, make his father proud.

Will's eyes returning to the horizon in front of him he realized there were tears on his face gliding with the lines formed. Praying no one had seen the tears, he quickly removed them from his face with his coat sleeve. How long had he been crying? He knew why he was crying but for how long? Would he ever make his father proud? There had to be something he could do to please him. He knew he screwed up the past year. He kept messing up everything. When he wanted to talk to his father, he couldn't find it in him. Looking at his father, he knew he was needed. His father wanted him back and he wanted to be held in his father's arms.

He turned to where his father was standing moments before. Not seeing him, his head turned all around searching for the father. He found him at the helm with his brother talking and Dirk in Gabriel's arms.

Dirk looked so happy with his father's arms around him. Something must have been said because Gabriel lowered his head to kiss his son's hair then pull him closer. Dirk reached up to clutch his father's arms and leaned his head into his father's shoulders. The two of them were perfect together. Nothing ever went wrong. Well, it went wrong once.

It went wrong when he brought his cousin home two years ago. Dirk developed influenza that became pneumonia. At age twelve, Dirk nearly lost his life in a month long struggle to fight the illness and then several months after to regain his strength. Gabriel thought he was going to lose his son and Will saw how desperate his uncle was. Gabe was never a true religious man, but he prayed every night for his son's soul and went to church every Sunday morning. He never left Dirk's side even after they told him Dirk wouldn't live.

After Dirk made his recovery, the father and son loved each other more and more. Because Dirk held on, he had strength and his father was proud of him. Gabriel wasn't afraid to tell Dirk how much he loved him and was proud of him. In fact, everyday Dirk was told he was loved and proud to be a son.

Will looked away and leaned his head into the rigging. What did he have to do to make it up to his father? What would it take to recover a year lost of himself? He screwed up so badly. There had to be something he could do to please his father and have things go back to the way they were or at least become close to it. Did he have to nearly kill himself to make his father realize how much he loved him? Did he have to get back to the top of his class? Did he have to apologize? What was it?

"What do I have to do?" he whispered to himself, allowing the tears to retrace the marks he removed moments before.

He remained in the rigging well past sundown. The cool air chilled him and caused him to shiver slightly. No one was on deck but he suspected the man on night watch was sitting somewhere. One person was easy enough to pass by. He climbed down the ropes and began walking to his quarters.

"How long before we talk Will?"

Stopping dead in his tracks at his father's voice, Will stared ahead of him. His reply was a shrug. He didn't know what else to do. His father made the first initiative just like he wanted.

"I need you back in my arms Little One. Nine days has been long enough. I can't look on you every waking moment waiting for you. I sit beside you at night and hold your hand and play with your curls and kiss you. I can't keep doing that."

It wasn't a dream. Will thought to himself. He dreamed many times his father was singing his lullaby and caressing his forehead. It was real.

The voice spoke softly, slowly loudening with footsteps approaching. "Why can't we just talk? You and I could talk about everything and nothing. We were so close Little One. You never were afraid to talk to me. Why can't you talk now? You know you can tell me anything. All I want to know is what has been troubling you since you turned sixteen. Can you answer me that? Let me get inside your head."

Will watched as hands and arms wrapped around his front from behind. Only his father held him like that and often it was unexpected. He should have always expected it, but every time it startled him, this time most of all. The arms pulled him back, into a warm body. A shiver went through him as the warmth touched him. His head slowly fell back, into his father's shoulder and slightly into his warm neck. He felt his father's cheek press against a small amount of his forehead. Shutting his eyes, he relished in this feeling.

The last time his father held him was when he came down with a terrible cold. He nearly coughed his lungs out one night and choked and gasped for air because he couldn't breathe. Hearing him, Bill sat on his bed with him and held him the entire night, helping him get through it

"You don't want to get inside my head," he found himself whispering as he opened his eyes.

"Yes I do," a voice whispered back.

"You would never understand," Will told him as he pulled out and continued walking.

Not turning his head, he knew how his father was standing. Most likely, he would be standing with an expression of hopelessness and longing on his face with tears forming in his eyes and his arms still in the air like he was holding him. He had seen it before.

And he was every bit right.

Sleepily, the sixteen year old walked on deck. He was expecting the warm sunshine to greet him as it always did. Instead, cold damp air and dark, lightly rumbling sky welcomed him to the new day. He groaned as he looked at the sky. Lightning flashed among the clouds and bolts touched the sea in the distance. The ship was rocking abnormally a bit too much. He walked to the side of the rail and looked at the condition of the sea.

Rollers and white capped waves was the abnormal condition. The waves nearly went to the rail when the ship sailed into them. Watching them, he felt queasy and that was something he hardly felt, but perhaps it was because he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

Not too far from him, he heard a sound that gave his stomach more sickness. His father stood against the rail with his head over the side. Every few seconds his body retched forward as he vomited.

Gabriel approached his big brother and rubbed his back in comfort with a sad smile on his face.

Will's eyes lowered in grief. His father was an amazing sailor, more amazing than any other in his eyes, but the moment the seas roughened his stomach was anything but amazing. Half the time during storms, despite his agility and quick reactions, he was on the deck, for he needed to retch into the sea every few minutes.

After a bit, Bill lifted his head and stood back. He pressed his palm against his mouth and shut his eyes. His face was ghastly white and he trembled slightly. He walked forward a few steps, unfortunately, as the ship took a wave that caused all to reset his footing. Those few steps left him with his head immediately over the rail again.

Hating the sight of his father in pain, Will shut his eyes and turned away. He personally had no problem with the sea. The most he ever felt was queasy on occasion and the seas had to be quite rough for that.

As he walked to the helm, the ship sailed into a wall of water. Literally. Darkness consumed all. The time of day appeared sundown when it should have been bright. Thunder crashed and lightening struck blindingly. A great flash consuming everything and a clap of thunder hurting Will's ears immediately afterward caused him to jump a foot in the air and squeak. He joined his cousin at the helm.

"I hate storms," Dirk admitted, frightened.

Will wrapped an arm around him. "You'll be fine as long as you stay on deck."

"And as long as the ship doesn't capsize," said Dirk.

"Don't worry, our fathers are brilliant sailors," Will told him confidently.

"Expect yours is currently puking his guts out at the moment," noted Dirk.

Will gave a nod of his head.

"You two get on deck and secure everything!" Gabriel called as he and his shaky brother rushed to them.

Each grabbed as side of the wheel.

"Go!" Bill told them.

With a nod, Will grabbed his cousin's hand.

"Will, I've never been sailing before and we're in a hurricane," said Dirk.

"Hurricanes happen in warmer water Dirk," Will told him. "This is the English Channel. It's always storming here."

The cousins secured a cannon. Above them, along with the thunder, the wood creaked. Both looked up.

"Will, I'm so scared," admitted Dirk quietly. He sunk against the cannon and held on.

Will noticed his cousin's tears mixing with the rain and his body trembling. He knelt beside him to set his hands on his shoulders. "You will be fine Dirk. I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you. Our fathers aren't going to let us die. They know what to do." He wiped his cousin's green eyes with his sleeve. "Everything will be all right."

Feeling a little better, but not brave enough to let go yet, Dirk nodded. He weakly smiled at his cousin.

"Secure that sheet!"

Will's head shot up suddenly. The mainsail was blowing in the breeze, attached to nothing. He remembered something his father told him. Only the bravest and most skilled of sailors dared climb into the rigging during a storm. This was the opportunity he needed. If he could secure that sail and impress his father, perhaps he would be proud of him.

"Stay here," he told his cousin.

"I'm not moving," Dirk said.

Will, despite the slippery deck and rough sea, ran. He nearly fell several times before he was able to climb on the rail and get a hold of the rigging. He drew a deep breath and began climbing. Listening to his uncle's advice, he stayed close to the ropes as well as he could without slowly climbing, for the rigging was the most dangerous place to be in a storm. One eye was kept on the sea and the other on the task ahead of him. With an eye on the sea, he could predict when to halt and hold on tight.

At the crosstree, he swung onto the beam. He looked down. The distance was higher than he remembered before, or perhaps it was because the bow of the ship was low and the stern high. His heart was pounding blood and adrenaline through him. Thinking about nothing else and timing movement with the waves, he took a step onto the beam. He couldn't be too slow about it; this was one sail they needed to keep the ship steady.

He reached out to grab the loose pulley. A wave knocking against the ship caused him to lose his footing. He shrieked for a moment then grabbed the rope on the crossbeam. His eyes looked down. A fall from this height on wooden deck would surely kill him. Tears cascaded from his eyes, as he was petrified. All that was saving him from death was, ironically, a death grip on the rope.

His father's voice came to his mind. You will never, never make me proud.

Determination setting in more than fear, Will's eyes narrowed at the pulley freely blowing in the wind. He pulled himself to his knees on the crossbeam. One hand remained intertwined on the ropes. He had to time this with the swell and wind.

Hearing voices, a familiar voice, his concentration was lost. His head lowered, until his father's figure was in sight. He loved his father more than anything in the world, including his fiancée and siblings.

Bill Turner wiped away the rain dripping in his face from his hair then immediately returned his grip to the wheel along with his brother. In those blue eyes was more determination than Will had never seen before. Something was causing this father to be more determined than he ever had been in his life. Was it to keep the ship steady? Or was it to keep the ship steady to save his son's precious life?

Will smiled softly until something came close by his head.

The pulley!

Quick reflexes that he himself didn't know he bore reached out and grabbed the device attached to the flapping sail. It took a moment for him to realize he did hold the pulley in the palm of his hand. Grinning in victory and pride, he pulled back and held the metal tightly against his chest.

The ship jolted forward, taking him off guard but only enough to lose a few heartbeats to fright. He searched around him for the one line hanging loose, for it was not wound through the pulley. Things suddenly became increasingly difficult. He was attempting to keep his balance while the massive sheet pulled with the wind. A sixteen year old against an entire sail through storming winds. He was not going to be the decided victor, but that wasn't enough to give up hope.

Lightning flashed as his head turned to the right. There it was. The single line that hung low on the crosstree yet remained attached to where it should on the ship was vivid in the light.

Shifting his position, he secured the pulley in his left hand, the hand that was beneath the secured rope on the beam. He leaned out his right hand to grab the hanging line.

It was too easy. Something had to go wrong. He wound the line through the pulley and tied the proper knot before pulling with all his might and strength. Soon, the mainsail was in the location it should have been and the ship felt more safe and secure.

Grinning from ear to ear, his eyes turned back to the helm. The brothers' heads were raised toward him, right at him in fact. He saw the smile on his father's face. The smile was proud. He made his father proud. Perhaps they could get back together and have the relationship he ruined. His father was still proud of him.

All of a sudden a great jolt sent Will off balance on the cross tree. He turned his head and reached his arm out for the beam. The beam was growing further and further from his outstretched hand. Why was it so far from him? His answer came in the form of a cry of pain he thought not possible.

"WILL! NOOO!"

A Note from TurtleHeart: i dont usually leave with cliffhangers 'cause they irritate me, but i find it appropirate in this story. dont worry, there will be an update within the week. reviews in the beginnings are, as always, appreciated.