"I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night."

--William Shakespeare

Will Turner never asked to become the captain of the Flying Dutchman. He was still reeling from the shock of his wound when Jack Sparrow pressed a sword in his hand. Only half-aware of his actions, he stabbed the heart of Davy Jones. Things blurred quickly after that.

He had spent many years at the helm of the Dutchman. He continued the task initially given to Jones, guiding the souls of those that died at sea to the other side. But he always longed for their day.

He could still remember the shock of seeing his son, their child, for the first time. He had been away for the required ten years and the boy was already losing some of the roundness of childhood. He had missed so much and it nearly killed him when he had realized that he would miss more.

"I named him after our fathers," Elizabeth had told him. "But he only seems to resemble you."

He had treasured this unexpected gift. He couldn't imagine the life she had had to live. The world was a cruel place, especially to widows and orphans. However, Elizabeth hadn't become the woman she was by accepting her circumstances.

The next time he saw his family young Bill was a man. It was not hard to notice military bearing in his stance. Elizabeth had confirmed his suspicions when she told him that he had joined the Royal Navy. He had almost laughed at idea of the son of the two infamous pirates becoming a naval officer.

Unlike the previous two days, he had dreaded the third. He had agonized over how he would answer when she invariably asked him about the death of their son. He could still see the gaping wound and the vacant eyes. He had known then that he could carry that image through eternity.

But Elizabeth had merely asked if it was quick and if he had guided their son's soul safely to the other side. When he had answered yes to both, she gave a broken sob. He had held her as they both cried. He had been glad to be of some comfort to her. He had been extremely reluctant to leave her when the sun threatened to set. However, he had had no choice.

An older Elizabeth had waited for him on their next day. Gray was threaded through her blond tresses and lines framed her mouth and eyes. Although neither had spoken of it, each had suddenly become conscious of the distance and the years between them. When it was time to say goodbye, she had whispered that she still loved him. It had almost killed him.

He had been unprepared for their final meeting. He had not allowed himself to think of her death. He had never imagined what would happen if he had been the one to usher her to the other side.

"Will," she had said with a sad smile, "I think I'm going to miss our day."

He had ignored his tears as he took his position at the helm. He would fulfill his duty. With extra care, he ferried the souls, including the one most precious to him, to the other side.

For the first time, he had lingered. He wondered what awaited Elizabeth and the others. What someday might await him, if he was lucky.

He had been startled when his father had appeared at his shoulder. "I think it's time for us to go about our business, captain."

"Right you are, Mr. Turner," he had replied, stepping aside. "Take the wheel."