Archive of Our Own ^beta

10 years

"I named him William James," she said, with a soft smile.

He watched his son play along the edge of the water. "It's a good name," he said, matching her smile as he took her hand. "Tell me about him."

"He reminds me of you," she said, settling down on the blanket he spread out, waiting for him to join her. The sun climbed from the horizon, slow and steady, as she spoke, telling him of their son, and his eyes were drawn back to the boy again and again.

"And you?" he asked, knowing that ten years was a long time.

"I'm good." She tilted her head, shaded her eyes, and he remembered all the reasons he'd fallen in love with her. "Jack comes to visit when he's in port. Mostly, it's quiet, though."

"Quiet isn't so bad," he told her, glad that she'd achieved some measure of peace.

"No," she admitted, then grew silent. For a long moment, she watched their son, then she glanced at him. "It would be better if you were home."

He just flashed her a brief, sad smile, fingertips touching the scar across his chest before reaching out to rest over her heart.

"I am," he said.

20 years

"He looks like me," he said.

"He does," she agreed with a smile, taking his hand as they followed young Will down the beach. "He acts like you, too."

"Is that a good thing?" he laughed, studying her face as they walked. The years had been little more than an eye blink for him, tied to the Dutchman as he was, but he could see their passage on her face, in the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes.

"Sometimes," she admitted with her own laugh. "Other times, I'm almost afraid he'll find Jack and run off to be a pirate."

"Being a pirate's not such a bad thing," he teased, pleased when she smiled.

"No," she said, softly, "no, it isn't. But I still wish..."

"I know," he said, just as softly. He lifted their joined hands until they rested just over her heart. "Forever."

"I know," she said.

30 years

"She's dying," young Will said, eyes on his mother as she walked along the shore.

"I know," he said, quietly, feeling something inside him crumble as he watched her, taking in the gray in her hair, the lines of her face that looked wrong, the thinness of her body and the fragile way she moved.

"She wants you home," young Will added, eyes shifting to his father as they walked.

"I am," he said, still quiet, hands clasped behind his back. "I always have been."

"I know," young Will said. There was a moment of silence, then he dipped his head to watch his feet as they walked. "You should take her with you."

"The Dutchman is no place for her," he said, but he wanted, oh, how he wanted to.

"She can still sail," young Will said, slowing his steps as she stopped ahead of them. "She's dying."

"I know," he said.

"Take her with you," young Will said, eyes shimmering in the sunlight as he fought back tears. "Take her home, Father."

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the waves washing ashore and the gulls crying overhead. Then he took a deep breath.

"Take her home," young Will repeated in a whisper.

"I will," he said.