AN: Could be considered the companion piece to Sun In Her Eyes.

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Summary: From the Flying Dutchman 's deck, Will finds it increasingly hard to witness another's happiness.

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RETURNING HOME

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"Tis such a beauteous sight, is it not?"

Will turned from the rail, a light sea breeze pulling at his dark shirt. "I suppose it is," he concurred, his back to the lush green mounds of coastal land.

The tall, pale, bedraggled man grinned in broken-toothed awe for another moment, then blinked and rushed forward to grip Turner's hand. "I'm, I'm truly goin' home, cap'n? Jones, he said --"

"Your service this last year has not been under Jones," Will chided him mildly, before the elated sailor could bring life to those dark memories. "You've acquitted yourself well, Reginald, as a crewmember and as promised, you are now released."

Reginald's smile trembled with hope and relief. "I, I never thought ta stand on land in me darlin' Constance's lifetime and now…"

"I know." Will leaned forward and patted the man's boney shoulder, understanding. "Be gone then. You truly are a free man, Reginald."

Reginald leapt to the gangplank excitedly twisting around to wave farewell. "Yer a fair and decent man, ya are, Cap'n Turner," he declared, "Sorry 'bout the trouble me and the lads caused ya… ya know… when we was…" He shrugged, thinking better to remind anyone of their 'fish' days this close to escape. "Yer wife, I'm sure, will be proud of ya, sir."

Will's forced smile fell as he watched the man hop ashore, knowing what was about to happen even if Reginald did not. When his foot touched earth, the former crewman suddenly was aglow in a dazzling spear of bright green, like a formless, single-colored rainbow spreading briefly across the heavens. As he emerged, oblivious of the phenomena, in his stead strode a tall, healthy-looking, well-attired man, his once scraggly silver-brown hair bound back in a tidy black ribbon. A sort of re-birth with penance lifted which Will marveled at - the first five or six times.

Pressing down familiar feelings of envy and regret at the wondrous sight, Will tried to be happy for the liberated man, but as usual, he found no celebration roused in his soul and wished only to leave and return to the sea's numbing depths.

Reginald didn't look back because the Dutchman already lay beyond his sight amid pale shadows and wafting mists carried by the ocean. In time, she would be less of a memory and more of a fading dream.

"REGINALD! Sweet Mother of God, REGINALD!!"

Will's gaze shifted from the running sailor to a stout woman on the low hillside. She stood before a cottage with her wash bin, arms waving crazily as if he might somehow miss her spectacle. And when her limbs gave out from exhaustion, she jumped up and down, trampling the poor grass and whatever clothing items had spilled out of her overturned wash bin. Yet she still managed to scream his name loud enough to rouse curious neighbors from their homes.

However, before Reginald could throw loving arms around his Constance, Will turned away. A fatherly hand fell light upon his shoulder. "I know it's a hard thing for you to see, son. Yet you've given back a chance of new life to these men most what thought they'd never again have."

"Yes," Will agreed reluctantly. "By doing so, it was necessary to abandon my own wife and sacrifice a new life with her. I know it was the right choice, but you cannot imagine how sorely I miss Elizabeth, father."

Bootstrap sighed, solemn eyes straying toward the faint horizon. His grip tightened before retrieving his hand. "Ah, William, she'll be wantin' to give you a good home to return to … like Reginald and the others because you were… honest … unlike me."

"What do you mean?" Will frowned, moving from the rail to study his father closely, almost suspiciously. "Mother knew you were a merchant trader while you were gone and she accepted that."

Bootstrap looked despairingly at the deck. "Aye. That she knew, William. What she would not accept was the knowin' I never meant to return home."

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