Archive of Our Own

“You’re sure there were no others about?”

“We swept the beach end to end. There was a bit of driftwood – not nearly enough to indicate a wreck – and him.”

“That head wound looks like it might need stitches. Ana?”

“Already got th’ needle.”

“Wait, I think he’s coming ‘round.”

“James? Can you hear me?”

A few of the other voices had sounded familiar, but that one he definitely recognized. He opened his eyes, looking up into Elizabeth Swann's concerned face. Her hair was loose, the ends of it sweeping across his chest. Behind her he saw a pretty dark-skinned woman and several rough-looking sailors, as well as Will Turner and Jack Sparrow.

He immediately shut his eyes again, stifling a groan. Of all the likely rescuers...

“Don’t think he’s very happy to see us,” said Sparrow in a stage whisper. A rustle of clothing from above might have been someone elbowing him in the ribs. James sincerely hoped so.

“Ah, Commodore Norrington, sir,” said Will, still polite despite his recent slide into piracy, “if you could sit up, we’d get your wound looked at.”

“You’re drippin’ blood all over the deck, and we did just swab it,” Sparrow added.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell us what happened,” Elizabeth ordered. When he did sit up and rub his aching temples, he saw that she had her hands planted on her hips. Which were clad in breeches and swathed by a yellow sash. He said nothing, but his disapproval was apparent in the tight lines of his mouth. Elizabeth, instead of being properly shamed, merely quirked an eyebrow. “Well, go on.”

He sighed heavily, reaching up to touch the gash above his right ear, which was still bleeding. “The Dauntless came upon a small boat of British merchants floating in the open sea. The storm that was brewing this morning - it broke while we were pulling them in. I suppose I must have taken a blow to the head from some debris, because the last thing I remember is being knocked overboard.” He looked out at the sky, calm and pale now, feeling a flush even under the vicious sunburn on his face. It had been a ridiculous mistake, born simply of paying too little attention. Admitting it to Sparrow and his mates, not to mention the two former residents of his own town, was most humiliating.

“You washed ashore on a small beach where we happened by,” Will told him. “We didn't know if you were alive or dead.”

At the moment, James wasn't sure which fate he favored. He didn't have any real fear for his safety, but then again Will and Elizabeth had been gone for months, and who knew what vile habits they had adopted since their disappearance?

The woman bent over him, brandishing her needle and thread. “We’d best get that sewn up ‘fore he faints.” When James shrank away from her, her brows drew together and she flung the supplies on the deck. “Take care o’ yerself then!” She stalked off, muttering about ungrateful buggers and how they should have left him to rot.

“I’ll do it,” said Elizabeth, retrieving the needle and stretching out a hand to him. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist when he hesitated, yanking upward with a strength that surprised him. He shook the dizziness from his head, realizing that Sparrow had drawn Turner some distance off. It looked like they were having a heated discussion.

“Come on.” Elizabeth tugged on his waterlogged sleeve, calling to the captain as she passed, “Using your cabin, Jack.” He waved a hand at her in dismissal and went back to making his point, whatever it was, with emphatic gestures while Will shook his head.

He couldn't keep a bit of a sneer from his face upon seeing Sparrow’s cabin. It was large and luxuriantly decorated, in all manner of exotic fashions. He found it cluttered and ostentatious. The desk, however, was solid, beautiful oak. Elizabeth prodded him into the green velvet chair behind it and perched herself on the surface, sticking the point of the needle in the flame of a hanging lantern. From this angle he could nearly see down her shirt. He turned his eyes away, though not before noticing the deep tan to her skin as well as the linen that served to bind her breasts. He had heard of women posing as sailors and going to such lengths, but never had he thought to actually see such a creature, much less one who was the progeny of the King’s governor.

He realized his gaze had drifted and focused on the scarred wood of the desktop. “I am relieved to find you and the blacksmith alive, Miss Swann – or is it Mrs. Turner by now?”

“Your first instinct was correct. I’m quite fond of my name and have no intention of giving it up.”

So she was not just living in the den of vice that was the average pirate ship, she was living in sin with William Turner. The day just kept looking up.

He continued, watching out of the corner of his eye as she threaded her needle. “Nevertheless, I am distressed to see what you've made of yourself.”

“Is that so,” said Elizabeth absently, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she fiddled with the thread. Her lack of response to his admonition was galling. He tried a different tack.

“Your father has been frantic with worry for you, you know.”

At this, she looked up with the hint of a frown. “I left him a note.”

James snorted. “And that was supposed to be sufficient? I have been combing the Caribbean for you and Turner all these months – or for the Black Pearl, I should say, since it was perfectly obvious where you sought shelter – and you care not a whit for my efforts or your father’s concerns. For shame, Elizabeth! You are his only child.”

Her face hardened and she made her first stitch with less care than she might have. He made an effort not to wince. “If you think to guilt me into returning to Port Royal, James, you may as well give up. The Pearl is home to me now, as it is to Will, and we've no desire to leave her.”

“But –”

“If you don’t be quiet, Commodore, I might slip and put your eye out,” she told him, smile much too akin to Sparrow’s for his liking. He held his tongue, staring resolutely past her as she worked. The pain distracted him from his increasing unease over her seeming unconcern about the course of her actions. He'd suspected she and Turner might pull something like this, but had been sure they would find life as outlaws entirely unlike the romantic ideals they’d cherished, and be more than ready for him to escort them home once he caught up to them. So far, Elizabeth had exhibited no sign that this was the case.

“Aha!” she said when she was finished, hazel eyes triumphant. “And Jack claims I can’t sew to save my life. You won’t even have much of a scar once that’s healed up.” She reached – God, he couldn't believe he was actually watching this – between her legs to pull open a desk drawer. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror she held up, admitting to himself that she’d done a good job, but he was more interested in her hand so close to his face. Catching her wrist, he took note of the unkempt nails, the small scars across her knuckles, and the calluses he had felt while she doctored his cut.

“You are better than this, Elizabeth.” She looked down at his hand on hers, so that her sun-bleached hair fell forward and he could not see her face. He took this as a sign that she was considering his words and layered his voice with soft passion. “You’re better than this and you know it. Please, reconsider before it’s too late, before you have committed crimes which must needs be –”

She snorted softly, her wrist flexing, although she didn't attempt to pull away. “It’s already too late. Those people you rescued in the storm? We are the reason they were set adrift. They were at least bright enough to surrender.”

That news alarmed him, but there were still loopholes to be found. “Then there isn't much I can do for Turner, but you – all you need do is say that you were coerced into following him. You’re young and well-born, and the admiralty would be much happier to not have to hang you.”

For a long moment she didn't speak. When she did, her voice was cool. “If I were you, James, I’d be careful about making enemies, woman or not. There are few aboard who would speak for you.”

“You can tell her that I apologize,” he said, annoyed at her evasive maneuver. “She merely startled me.”

The arm he held stayed perfectly still while the other drew a knife from her belt. The blade was pressed against his throat before he could scarcely register the fact that she had moved. Now she looked at him, and her eyes burned a little. “I wasn't talking about Anamaria.”

Slowly, carefully, steel cold against the jump of his pulse, he released her.

“Better,” she said. His relief when she put the knife away was short-lived, because she pulled a pistol on him instead. “Get up. Out of respect for your friendship with my father and our mutual history, I won’t put you in the brig, but I can hardly leave you in Jack’s cabin, either.”

He followed her to the door, where she drew back and waited until he moved to walk in front of her. Men jeered in their direction as she led him to a tiny, bare antechamber, not unlike the one where he had kept Will Turner on their return journey to Port Royal. The irony was not lost on him, nor on Elizabeth, he suspected.

She directed him inside and leaned against the bulkhead, idly twirling the gun in her fingers. “There’s nothing in here that can be used as a weapon, so don’t even try.”

“What’s to be done with me?” He still spoke to her with a measure of respect and grace, because he could not allow himself to believe that she was truly lost.

Elizabeth shrugged. “That’s up to the captain, really. I trust he’ll be by to see you eventually.” And she left, locking the door behind her.

Night had fallen by the time the captain came. James had long since lowered himself to the deck, propped against a bulkhead and counting cracks in the boards.

Sparrow knocked, entering before James had the chance to say anything. He balanced a plate on one hand with a roll, thick slices of pork and cheese, and some grapes. James was surprised at the rich fare until he remembered that the Black Pearl had taken a prize just that morning. He stayed on the floor as an expression of insolence, which seemed to go right over Sparrow’s head.

“Evening mate,” he said heartily, offering the plate and a tin cup. James merely looked at him, hands resting on his knees. Unfazed, Sparrow set his delivery down at James’ feet. He leaned back against the door and crossed one ankle over the other. “How’s the head? Looks like Lizzie sewed you up neat enough.”

“Let’s cut the pleasantries, Sparrow,” he broke in, getting perverse enjoyment out of the sour face and silently mouthed ‘Captain.’ “What exactly are you planning on doing with me?”

Sparrow studied his tar-stained fingers. “How ‘bout you venture a guess?”

James hated being answered with a question. “Well, you would have killed me already, if that was what you wanted.”

“Not necessarily,” Sparrow countered. “You’re quite the infamous capture. Might want to make a show of it.”

“But I’d do you more good as a hostage.”

Shaking out his sleeves, Sparrow chuckled. “Bargaining for our life, are we?”

“Hardly,” said James evenly. “Merely attempting to reason from your deranged point of view. So far we have the pleasure and honor of killing me, versus what you may be able to gain from those who’d rather see me alive. A dilemma.”

Sparrow fluttered his fingers with a dismissive air. “Oh, none o’ this dancing about, Commodore, adept though you may be. I intend on taking you back t’ Port Royal for ransom.”

“Assuming you get one, you realize you’ll have the full wrath of the Royal Navy upon your head once I’m free.”

His mouth twitched sardonically. “And you've done such a spectacular job hunting down the Pearl so far.”

James bit out, “If you are fond enough of the boy and girl to risk sheltering them aboard your precious ship, you ought to have sense enough to send them home.”

“For one thing, you speak of them like they’re wayward children,” said Jack quietly. “Neither is a babe in arms any longer. They’re fully grown and capable of making their own choices, complete with concern over all possible ramifications resulting from those choices. For another, ‘m hardly sheltering the pair, as you so succinctly put it. I don’t give free rides, Commodore. Both Will and Elizabeth work as hard as any man on this ship – harder, at some tasks.” His absent-minded smile bespoke of some fond memory to which James was not privy. “And fin’lly, you ever tried getting a burro to do something it didn't wish to do?”

James blinked. “I must admit that animal husbandry is not among the skills a naval officer is expected to acquire.”

“Of course not,” said Jack, holding up both forefingers to point at him, “but I trust you’re familiar with the generally stubborn nature of the common ass, yes? Well, think o’ that contrariness bolstered by extreme youth and near constant solidarity betwixt lad and lass, and then we will talk about making those two do anything.” His tone took a turn for the aggrieved. “I’m their bloody captain andI can hardly get ‘em to listen t’ a word I say.”

He sounded remarkably like the governor lamenting his daughter’s headstrong behavior. James changed the subject in order to stifle a sudden urge to smile. “We were about a fortnight’s sail from Port Royal this morning. You ought to be able to take at least a day off that time.”

“While I do thank you for the compliment, who’s t’ say we’re in such a hurry as all that?” An impish grin made James want to dash his mangy head against a rock.

“Then how long might I expect to remain a prisoner here, Captain?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Afraid that would be telling, Commodore. Really though, think of yourself as a venerated guest.” He dipped at the waist in a mockery of a bow as he turned to go. “Eat that or Marty’ll know the reason why,” he added over his shoulder. “An’ don’t be thinkin’ you can steal a boat. You may not be chained, but rest assured, you’re well-watched.” He left without locking the door.

James stared at his supper and wondered how long he would have to endure this. It was one thing to be locked in a brig with the rats, half-starved, or beaten, or tortured – but Sparrow’s genial manner was simply unforgivable. What was more, the things he’d said about Will and Elizabeth were very much in line with what he had seen so far. That had been no dreamy-eyed girl tending his wound. She had grown up, and he knew he had to stop thinking along these lines or he was going to picture the worst possibilities of how it had happened.

Eventually he ate the food, which was very good, and not long after, the woman he had so offended came by to drop off a pallet for him to sleep on. Remembering what Elizabeth had said, and seeing how fiercely she glared, he swallowed his pride and attempted to rectify his earlier mistake.

“I – I apologize if I caused you any distress the first time we met, miss,” he said haltingly. “Perhaps we could start again. You are called Anamaria, is that correct?”

She gave him a withering look, tossed the pallet at his feet, and stomped out the door.

“No harm in trying,” he muttered, rolling out his bedding. It was comfortable enough – they had even provided him with a pillow – but try as he might, he could not get his eyes to rest. After what felt like hours of tossing around, he got up and peeked out the small window in the door. It was, after all, unlocked, and no one had forbidden him from leaving his makeshift cell. He had believed Sparrow’s words that he would be constantly watched, but there was no reason for anyone to apprehend him if he did nothing wrong.

Straightening his clothing (and doing little good, for it was wrinkled and stiff with salt, but the gesture buoyed his spirits), he stepped out beneath the full moon.

Either it was not as late as he’d thought or Sparrow’s crew kept abominable hours. A motley group of folk was arrayed across the forecastle deck. They were drinking, shouting at each other, roaring with laughter, and generally being rowdy. As he crept closer, he could see that Sparrow, Will, and Elizabeth were at the opus of it all. The captain was leaning against the wheel, stroking his fingertips along its spokes as he watched the two young people engage in some sort of drinking game. It was impossible to tell how far along they were, as the bottles rolling about the deck could have belonged to anyone, but neither of them looked sober. Will in particular was swaying unsteadily, his face reddened, and he kept having to blink moisture from his eyes. Elizabeth was grinning as she raised her bottle to her lips and waited for Will to catch up. He lifted it about halfway before shaking his head and letting it drop. Sparrow stooped to fetch it before it lost its precious contents. He was nearly bowled over as Elizabeth, letting out a wild yell of victory, flung herself at Will and tumbled them both to the deck. The lookers-on laughed or grumbled good-naturedly, depending on which direction their coins were changing hands.

He knew he ought to be filled with righteous indignation at this shameful display, and in a corner of his mind he was. But he was distracted by an unexpected ache in his throat. Will had taken his defeat gracefully, rolling onto his back with Elizabeth in his arms. She chattered brightly, propping her elbows on his chest. After downing what remained in Elizabeth’s bottle, Sparrow plunked himself down on Will’s legs, ignoring the boy’s indignant shout. The three of them might as well have been the only souls on deck. It had been a long time since he’d last seen such a comfortable sprawl, and he couldn't help being envious of their companionship.

As the crowd began clearing away, Elizabeth glanced up and caught his eye. The afternoon’s hostility was either forgotten or assuaged by drink.

“Hello, sailor!” she called, waving an arm at him. “Something you wanted?” Will immediately tried to struggle upwards, letting Elizabeth bump to the deck and sending Sparrow sprawling.

James backed away, ducking his head. “Nothing,” he said, barely loud enough for them to hear. He beat a hasty retreat to his temporary quarters, unwilling to watch Turner bear her off to wherever they spent their nights. It had not been nearly so torturous seeing them around town, since the constant presence of chaperons meant that their touches and longing looks had to be as discreet as two starry-eyed twenty-year-olds could possibly keep them.

Then, too, there hadn't been such a palpable connection between them as there was now. It was the sort of thoughtless intimacy – her hand pressed against his chest, his fingertips lightly grazing the swell of her hip – that two people could only share after they had shared a bed. Remembering his own fumbling courtship, having been painfully aware of every single time his skin had brushed Elizabeth’s in those days before the Black Pearl came to Port Royal, the difference was that much more pronounced – and that much more painful.

He slept at last, but fitfully, and he woke from half-remembered dreams in an embarrassing state of arousal. Deciding it was more practical to take care of it than wait until it went away, he slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and thought of the last brothel he had visited, nearly three years ago. It worked for a few blessed seconds. Before he realized what was happening, black hair watered to sun-burnished bronze, bold curves softened to lithe modesty, small hands became weathered until they were closer to his own callused palm. And before he could put a stop to this unwanted progression, he was biting his knuckles to stifle a cry as he came.

Stepping out on deck was a bit like emerging from his cabin as a young officer, when someone would have undoubtedly heard his recent activities and needled him about it. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, however, Elizabeth least of all.

He wandered, uncomfortable beneath the stares, until Sparrow found him at mid-morning and offered to give him something to do. Since it was better than being bored out of his skull, James reluctantly agreed. Once he got over the indignity of being put to work like a common sailor, he actually enjoyed the opportunity to get into the business of running the Pearl. Her master treated her as well as any legitimate captain he had seen and much better than some. The crew were wary of him at first, but upon seeing that he didn't shirk duty, mostly accepted him in their midst.

He did his best to avoid Elizabeth, who spent most of the morning practicing swordplay with Will. James was surprised at her skill, though with the blacksmith to teach her, it was really no wonder. A few moments passed when he had to bite his tongue to keep from offering his opinion, a force of habit from his time spent training with Will as a boy. The commander in him couldn't help but be pleased to see he had not only kept up the practice but further honed his talents; James hadn't been sure if he would after his increase in responsibilities brought their lessons to a halt.

Sparrow did pop in from time to time, offering advice or clarifying a point Will was making, and James was irked to note some actual measure of ability. One didn't meet many pirates with formal training; mostly they relied on the hack-and-stab school of fencing.

James ate his meals alongside the crew, sharing a bench with Joshamee Gibbs, a man with whom he was acquainted. The tale of exactly how he’d come to leave the king’s service served to distract James’s attention from Will popping grapes into Elizabeth’s open mouth at the other end of the table. He only glanced over once; when he noticed Sparrow watching him with keen, dark eyes, he dropped his gaze to his own plate.

For a few days the routine was much the same. The affection between Will and Elizabeth still stung him without ceasing and she still occupied his thoughts at night. Once or twice, to his utter shame, the hands he saw on her body were either several shades darker than his own or flecked with tiny burn marks. He blamed these fantasies on the general state of lawlessness surrounding him.

At least, he reasoned, he was able to move freely about the ship. On the fourth day after he was taken aboard, he went down to the food stores for whatever fresh morsels might still be lingering. Due to a stroke of bad timing, he got a shock instead of a piece of fruit.

On a handful of occasions he had caught two men having a tryst aboard one of his own ships. His policy was to pretend he hadn't seen it or, if that was not possible, impress upon the involved parties the importance of discretion. This time, however, the first thing he recognized was Sparrow’s twisted black locks, and being infernally curious as to whose fingers were tangled in them, he hesitated. In that fraction of a second Sparrow turned his head just enough for James to be able to see that it was Will Turner pressed up against a water barrel, moaning his captain’s name.

He was aware of making some kind of panicked sound, probably much too close to a squeak. In any case, it caused Sparrow to twist his upper body around, though his hips remained firmly aligned with Will’s. He blinked at James, pupils dilated.

“D’you mind?” he rumbled. Will made a petulant noise and tugged on his braided beard, recapturing his attention and his mouth.

“Oh...I’m sorry,” said James. He beat a hasty retreat, muttering, “So very, very sorry.”

As luck would have it, his flight sent him stumbling directly into Elizabeth.

“James, is something wrong?” she asked, steadying him. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Her smile faded. “You haven’t, have you?”

“Elizabeth, forgive me, but you are being deceived,” he blurted out before he had the chance to think. Her blank look only tied his tongue in a bigger knot. “I saw them – I didn’t mean to, but there they were and – Sparrow and Turner, they were...” he trailed off, unable to find an explanation suitable for mention to a lady.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Caught them out at last, did you? Bugger, I’ve lost the bet. I put three shillings on tomorrow between noon and five.” Suddenly she frowned. “They weren’t in the mess again, were they? I've told Will time and again, we have to eat on those tables...”

“You – you know?” He was aware of his mouth falling open again, but he was too astonished to care. Tears and screaming he had expected, perhaps even violence. He could have handled those reactions better than this indifference.

She shrugged, lifting one leg to rub at a scrape on her boot. “Of course. They’re hardly familiar with the practice of self-restraint, although they've been making an effort these past few days – I suspect it’s because I insinuated that Jack was fundamentally incapable of it. He takes offense at the strangest things.”

“And you don’t...”

“Mind?” Elizabeth finished, with a laugh at his befuddled expression. “I've no more claim on Will than I have on you, James.”

Recalling the hazy fog of his dreams, he cleared his throat to hide a stab of shame. “But when you left,” he said, still trying to work this new development out, “you and Will Turner were engaged.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “and now we are not.” She touched her right earlobe, where a modest diamond caught the sunlight. “See where the ring’s gone?”

“I – I’m sorry,” he said, thinking he had spent too much of his day making excuses for himself.

“Why should you be?” Elizabeth asked. She tilted her head and smiled at him as if she thought he were a bit daft and needed to be humored. “Your sunburn is healing, I see.” And she swept her fingertips along the pink skin just above his shirt collar, leaving him standing there flustered.

It seemed to James that, their secret now unveiled, the two men began to go out of their way to flaunt their union. He blamed this mostly on Sparrow, although really, Will was as likely to initiate it as he was to scowl and push the captain’s roving hands away. As if he simply wasn't present, James was witness to simple contact similar to what they shared with Elizabeth, the only difference being frequency of the touches, as well as long, lingering embraces approaching the fervor he had seen in the hold.

For a little while he was scandalized into incoherence. It wasn't as though he was a stranger to what men did while they were at sea, or even those who maintained their tastes on land. Yet it was impossible to imagine his two lieutenants behaving in this manner, and he knew they’d been lovers for years. It simply wasn't done, even among those who were sympathetic to deviant love lives. Sparrow’s crew, however, showed little reaction beyond the occasional eye-roll or indulgent grin. It was clear they liked both the captain and the boy, and they seemed to regard the two as some form of entertainment. If Elizabeth resented Sparrow hanging off of the man she’d once intended to call husband, she didn't show it. Whenever it began to look as though some privacy would soon be needed, she merely found a task to occupy herself or someone else to talk with.

One afternoon, he found himself the new focus of her attention. Sitting by himself while he inspected a patch in his borrowed breeches, he noted Will dragging Sparrow past in the direction of their cabin, but didn't look up until Elizabeth poked a sword into his lap.

“Changed your mind about doing me in?” he asked mildly, eyeing the blade and its mate in her other hand. No matter how comfortable he became with the Black Pearl herself, he never stopped wishing for a weapon close at hand.

“I suppose we’ll see.” Elizabeth held one sword out hilt-first, jiggling her hand impatiently when he hesitated.

He gave her a doubtful look. “You want to match me?”

“Yes.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “I've fought every competent soul onboard; I desire new blood.”

“Elizabeth, I really don’t think –”

“Do you refuse a lady’s request, sir?” She raised her voice, grinning wickedly as others glanced over. “Or do you yield to my sword?”

Pride, already wounded by this whole ordeal, stirred anew. He would not be shown up in front of this rabble, least of all by a girl who used to come to Sunday service with muddy shoes and twigs in her hair.

“Certainly not, miss.” He took the proffered sword – a Turner blade by the looks of it, as was Elizabeth’s. Hers was lighter, its balance suited to her slight frame; a custom order, as his own had been. The loss of it struck him with a pang. The boy may have been a shameless sodomite but he was also a master craftsman, and that sword deserved a fate better than rusting on the sea floor.

Still, this one would have to do. As Elizabeth raised her arm, James felt an anticipatory thrill before he remembered that he was facing a woman rather than a seasoned opponent. This would be no opportunity to hone his skills, for all that her stance was nearly perfect and she held the weapon like she’d been born to it.

And she was quick. He stumbled over his own feet early on, having failed to anticipate the swift pressure of her drives. The crowd that had slowly been gathering spread out to form a rough circle around them, murmuring in low voices. He had only a fraction of concentration to spare, however, because Elizabeth was pressing him hard, making him retreat and sidestep from her advances. It was easy to see how she might win a fight with a man who was loathe to face her in the first place; defense was putting the greater strain on him, and he would become exhausted and careless before she would.

Apparently this strategy was not enough for Elizabeth. Her face became grimmer and grimmer until her lips were thin and pale, her eyes storming. Stepping in close, she shifted her weight to one foot and kicked him.

“Attack me, damn you!” she said under her breath.

Ignoring the twinge from his shin, he decided it would be favorable to listen to her. He’d disarm her rather than dancing about like a fool, putting a quick stop to this silly match. Elizabeth’s face split into a fierce grin when his thrusts grew sincere.

After a few minutes, he was faced with a new problem: she was as good at beating him back as she’d been at driving into his defenses. Rarely did she allow herself to be drawn in close where he could use his superior weight to advantage, and even then she somehow managed to skip away from him again. She was breathing hard and blinking sweat from her eyes, but weariness was affecting her no more than it was affecting him. Just as he was wondering if he’d have to call a truce before they both collapsed on the deck, she feinted to the left, swept a leg behind his knees, and stepped on his right wrist when he threw out his hand to catch his fall.

Blowing honeyed strands of hair out of her face, she held the point of her blade to his throat. He flexed his fingers, letting the sword she’d trapped fall free.

“Now that,” Elizabeth panted, “was more like it.” Releasing him, she reached out her hand.

What he wanted to do was turn her own tricks on her, tug her down beside him, seek victory until she surrendered with his name on her lips and those long legs wrapped around his waist.

Fortunately for his sanity, unfortunately for the ache in his groin, the cheers going up brought him back to reality. He got to his feet under his own power, mystified by the sympathetic pats he received. It seemed a few men had been rooting for him, including the captain.

“Cor, I’d’ve liked t’ see you trounce ‘er,” said Sparrow, thumping him between the shoulder blades. “She beats the whelp two times outta five.”

“One out of five, and only because she’s a horrid cheat,” said Will, pulling a face.

Elizabeth gave him a shove. “You lose very poorly, Turner. Much more poorly than James here.”

James was fidgeting, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair back with his hands, hoping no one would glance down. Which, of course, was exactly what Sparrow did. He raised an eyebrow, then reached a groping hand out to herd Will in some other direction, leaving James relatively alone with Elizabeth. He didn't know whether he should be grateful or suspicious.

She laughed breathlessly, picking up his fallen sword. “Good God, that was a roust. I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted, to be honest. I thank you for putting me through my paces.”

James made a noncommittal noise as she brushed past him. He skipped supper that night in order to retire early. In his sleep, he processed the day’s new information – her strength, the way she pursed her lips in concentration, the beads of sweat slipping down her neck to soak her shirt between her breasts. His dreams were rich and detailed, and contrary to his brief fantasy following the duel, he did not always end up as the one doing the pinning.

Frustration warred with pleasure whenever he passed her the following day. She was much warmer to him now, and though he treasured every smile sent his way, he knew it boded ill for putting his desires behind him. He didn't have sufficient time to worry, however, because in the afternoon, the Pearl came upon a Dutch merchant ship.

James made a hesitant protest to Sparrow. “It won’t be an easy fight – she’s heavy, and those are twenty-four-pounders on her gun deck...”

“Heavy and slow,” said Sparrow, handing his spyglass to Mr. Gibbs, “and no doubt stupid. Stay out of the way or you’ll be shot without warning.”

Looking into his dark, unforgiving eyes, James believed him. He hovered at the outskirts of the crew, scrambling out of the way, while the ships loaded the guns and shouts rang out across the water. In the end the Pearl had no need to actually fire; the Dutchman ran up the white flag. Cheers erupted aboard the ship as a contingent of the crew swung across to the prize’s decks. They were, however, soon back: it seemed that prior to their apparent surrender, the Dutch had dropped most of their men into a boat over the starboard side and lit so many fires below that she couldn't be taken.

“Bloody Dutch,” Elizabeth muttered, squinting at the gray clouds of smoke rising through the air as the Pearl began to drift away. Will came barreling up to their little group at the helm, soaked with sweat and gasping for air.

“Well, that was a waste of our time.” Gratefully he accepted a flask from Gibbs and tipped some of its contents down his throat. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he asked, “Where’s Jack?”

Gibbs, Anamaria, Moises, and Elizabeth exchanged equally puzzled looks.

“Ye didn't see ‘im cross back?” Gibbs asked.

Will froze in the middle of shaking his head, his eyes going wide as he turned to regard the Dutch ship, now almost fully ablaze. Elizabeth lunged for him as he threw himself forward. “Will, no! Help me!” she snapped over her shoulder as he struggled free of her hold. James, being the closest, stepped to her side to assist her. Will writhed in their arms, straining in the direction of the burning vessel.

“Be reasonable, man,” James hissed into his ear. Will's heel ground into his instep.

Behind him, he heard Anamaria’s hushed exclamation of “She’s goin’ to blow...” a split second before the boom of the explosion sent them all flat to the deck in reflex.

James landed halfway on top of Will, who immediately went still beneath him. Seemingly ignorant of James and Elizabeth touching him, he pressed his face into his folded arms and whispered raggedly, “No, no, oh God, no...”

Feeling the boy’s body grow tense, James met Elizabeth’s gaze over his head. She closed her eyes, shuttering a deep, mourning pain, and laid her cheek on Will’s bent back. He thought of how she might have looked at him if that fateful morning had turned out differently, after seeing Sparrow drop at his hands, and his throat ached.

“Shameful waste, that,” said a familiar voice behind them.

As one they turned their heads to behold Jack Sparrow, looking like a drowned rat and trying in vain to wring out his headscarf. He raised an eyebrow at his boggling crew.

“What, you thought a little thing like a exploding sugar shipment would dare to be the ignominious end of Captain Jack Sparrow?”

Another moment of shocked silence and then Gibbs’ booming guffaw rang out, breaking the mood. Sparrow was immediately deluged with enthusiastic claps on the back (or, in Marty’s case, the knee) as a second round of cheering went up.

Though Elizabeth and James were on their feet, Will hadn't moved from the deck. Now he stood in one swift movement, his jaw clenched hard enough to set a muscle twitching near his eye. He shouldered his way through to Sparrow, who smiled expectantly at him and held out a hand. Instead of embracing him in relief, Will hit him.

Sparrow staggered back with a squawk, cupping his nose in his hands. He, along with everyone else, stared as Will stomped off to the great cabin.

“Is ‘t broken?” Sparrow demanded.

Elizabeth pried his fingers away. “It’s not even bleeding.”

“Think he mostly got you in th’ eye,” Gibbs added.

Gingerly touching the bruising flesh, Sparrow pouted in the direction Will had gone. “What the devil’s gotten int’ the boy?”

“You,” said Elizabeth, poking him in the chest, “are an idiot.”

“What’d I do? I didn't do a damned thing, except not be blown into tiny bits!”

“But he thought you had,” said Anamaria.

Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest, voice softening a bit. “He thought he’d lost you, Jack.”

Slowly, Sparrow’s hands fell from his face. “Oh.” He wrinkled his nose, his eyes sheepish. “S’ppose I oughta go apologize.”

“Or,” James interjected, clearing his throat to get their attention, “you could let him be. Let him calm down.” He was as surprised at his own words as Elizabeth looked.

Looking downright miserable, Sparrow nodded. “Reckon you’re right. I’ll give ‘im a few hours.”

Those few hours ran out around suppertime, when Will still hadn't emerged and Sparrow decided to take him a plate. The mess was too noisy for them to hear how this reconciliation attempt panned out, but Sparrow’s return made it clear enough. The plate was empty, its contents having been relocated to Sparrow’s clothing and hair. Head down and tail tucked firmly between his legs, he glared at Elizabeth when she opened her mouth to ask a question. She pressed her lips together to quell a smile.

“A bit more time, perhaps?” she suggested delicately.

Sparrow muttered some kind of imprecation under his breath and snatched her tankard of rum. Elizabeth kept quiet as he downed half of it in one gulp, her eyes dancing at James across the table.

He got to see Sparrow’s second try, since he was preparing to retire as well. Sparrow wandered past him without giving him a look, screwed up his face, and knocked tentatively on the door. When it failed to open, he heaved a long, loud sigh.

“Will,” he called, letting his head fall against the door with a thud, “you going t’ let me in any time soon? I’ll sleep on the deck ‘f you want. Just – just open the door, love.” He jumped back, startled, as the door swung open.

James could hear Will’s low hiss, although he couldn't see his face. “If you ever, ever do anything like that again...”

“Never,” said Sparrow, steepling his fingers, the very picture of contrition. The corners of his mouth turned up hopefully. “This mean I don’t have to sleep on the floor?”

A hand shot out to grip his shirt and yank him inside.

Despite himself, James smiled. He wandered about until he found Gibbs, Duncan, and Marty in the midst of a cutthroat card game, watching them stare each other down for an hour before he chanced to go back to the cabin. To his intense relief, nothing but silence greeted his ears.

Not long after he’d settled in, however, a throaty moan penetrated the bulkhead separating his tiny cabin from the captain’s roomy berth. James clapped the pillow over his head. They only got louder. And it seemed that Sparrow intended to spend the entirety of the night making up for his transgressions, for the noises went on far longer than James thought was healthy for any man.

“All right, that’s quite enough.”

James glanced up. Elizabeth had let herself in without bothering to knock. “I’m sorry?” Suddenly he was quite glad for his wakefulness, because there were several states in which he would have preferred she not find him.

He felt the color drain from his face as she strode toward him. She was clothed only in a white shirt, which clung to her breasts and didn't quite fall to her knees. There was a chill in the spring air, enough for him to be able to discern the rise of pert nipples beneath thin cotton and – indeed, there was that state he wasn't too keen on revealing.

Elizabeth, thank God, didn't appear to notice. Hands on her hips, she stood at the foot of his pallet and glared daggers at the cabin from which the sounds were emanating. “I’m going on watch, it’s a still night, and I simply refuse to listen to this for the next few hours.” She poked him in the calf with her bare toes. “Want to help?”

“Errr...” He clutched the sheet about his waist as she dropped down next to him, sitting cross-legged.

He was a gentleman, damn it all, and he would not look.

Fortunately for his nerves, he found a distraction in her soft, off-key humming. It was the tune of an extremely filthy ballad about lonely merpeople. “Elizabeth!”

She flashed a grin at him. “Know this one, do you? Join in whenever you like.”

“I will do no such –”

“Oh Christ – Jack – yes, there, there! Oh!”

James sat up, cautiously keeping the sheet over his lap, and launched into the chorus.

They sang at the top of their lungs, making it through three and a half verses before shouts of “All right! We get it!” from next door became loud enough to drown them out.

“Well, that takes care of that,” said James, unable to wipe the undoubtedly ridiculous expression from his face.

Elizabeth paused to consider this option, then shook her head. “We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot...”

She’d taught him about half the song when the repeated thumping on the planks became too insistent to ignore.

“Fine then!” Elizabeth hollered, tossing one of James’ boots at the source of the noise. “We’ll be quiet if you’ll be quiet!”

“We’ve been being quiet,” Will retorted. For some reason this caused Elizabeth to fall across James’ lap, helpless with giggles. His own sense of euphoria quickly dissipating, he squirmed and wondered if she’d had a bit too much to drink tonight. After a few moments, Elizabeth seemed to realize that he was uncomfortable and pushed herself to her feet.

She held out her hand, face grave. “It was an honor undertaking this mission with you, Commodore.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Inwardly marveling at his nerve, he kissed the back of her hand instead of shaking it. Her skin was cool against his lips, her eyes wide and luminous in the moonlight. She bent forward a bit, nearly leaning over him. It was with great reluctance that he released her. “Good night, Miss Swann.”

Elizabeth brought that hand up to finger the collar of her blouse. “Yes,” she said, her voice subdued. “Good night, James.”

His sleep was disturbed by neither sound nor dream. At breakfast she sat next to him, her knee pressed against his own, and stole bacon from his plate. Will and Jack didn't emerge from their cabin until well after noon, both of them unsteady on their feet. James was momentarily shocked to find himself dropping the customary surname; he supposed it had something to do with how frequently he’d heard the captain’s Christian name called out last night.

Late that afternoon, they dropped anchor at a small, nondescript island to refresh their water and pick up whatever food might be easily available. Gibbs and Cotton killed a couple of wild pigs during their jungle foray, so Jack declared an impromptu roast. James helped drag loose branches out to start a roaring blaze and a smaller, smokier cooking fire. The roasted pork went down as well as the rum.

Watching Elizabeth laugh as she let Jack and Will pull her into a stumbling dance a few yards away, he drank more than he’d meant to. Certainly more than he should amongst such unfriendly company, but truth be told, he couldn't call them strangers anymore, and he didn't feel unsafe in their presence.

The only thing twisting a fearful knot in his stomach was the sway of Elizabeth’s hips. She had donned a simple shell of a dress for the occasion and she kept running her hands down her sides, as if she’d forgotten the smooth lines fostered by skirts. To lessen the stirring in his groin, he turned his head away, looking at Jack and Will instead. They were moving very slowly in one spot, arms looped around each other, Will's cheek resting on Jack's shoulder. Somebody was playing a fiddle, but he suspected it wouldn't have made a difference to them if there had been no music. It was lovely to behold, even if it was indecent...

No, he decided, taking another small sip. It was simply lovely, and he could leave it at that.

He looked for Elizabeth. She had moved closer to the fire now, a bundle of kindling in one arm and a bedroll in the other.

“I’m off to make my camp elsewhere,” she said to the crew at large. “You lot are too boisterous for my tastes.” The few who were still sensible waved her off in good spirits. She started out along the beach, following the curve of the shoreline to where it dipped behind the edge of the trees.

“Well, aren't you going to follow?” Will dropped heavily beside him, spraying him with sand.

Jack plucked the bottle out of his hands, sitting nearly in Will's lap. “She’ll be very cross in the morning unless you snap to.”

“I suppose this is the part where you threaten me with severe bodily harm if I hurt her?” He gathered courage as best he could, glad that the rum was still warm in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, no,” Will assured him, toying with a bead in Jack’s hair.

“Lizzie can take care of herself,” Jack confirmed. As James walked away, he could scarcely make out the hushed aside to Will: “‘Sides, he’s more likely t’ be the one with regrets.” The rum and the pearly moonlight allowed him to disregard this.

He found Elizabeth just out of sight, the faint strains of music still audible at this distance. They didn't speak as they worked to get a new fire started. Once the sparks caught, she laid out her blankets and he settled himself down in the sand to her right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean back on her arms, looking up at the stars. For awhile, the only sounds greeting his ears were the buzz of insects, the crackle of the flames, the muffled murmur of the ocean, and Elizabeth’s even breathing.

Just as the silence began to get to him, she said in a neutral tone, “You seem much more relaxed today.”

“Do I?”

“Mmm. Didn't bristle every time Will and Jack touched each other, for one.”

He chuckled, tugging at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “How did that happen? The two of them, I mean.”

“Oh, that’s quite the tale.” She blew out a long breath. “When we first came aboard, Will and I were, as you said, still engaged. In practice we might as well have been married. Jack gave us that one spare cabin the first night, and we kept it for awhile. Everything was so new and exciting, we were finally together, and we were happy. Or so I thought.” She rocked up, locking her arms about her knees. “It’s funny, isn't it, how easy it is to tell when someone has changed, but not so when they are still in the process of changing.”

He looked at her profile, at the scar on her collarbone, and he said, “Yes.”

“It happened gradually,” she continued, “the way they looked at each other, and how I noticed it. Will got edgy and nervous whenever he came near, and Jack wouldn't let up teasing him, and I’d be short with them both even before I understood the reasons why. I don’t know what might have happened if we’d kept on like that. Eventually I suppose one of us would have snapped. But instead...” She paused, looking down at her interlaced fingers.

“After a few months, I – I fell ill. It was nothing serious, but it did keep me abed for a few days. Will devoted himself to my care and seemed to cut Jack out entirely. Jack stopped teasing him and became...very much not himself. Once I worked up the nerve to mention it, and all he did was throw a quote from Job at me. I think what he meant to emphasize was Will’s guilt – he felt that what had happened to me was a result of his feelings, that I was paying for his sins. That was when I came to the conclusion that the two of them were never going to work this out on their own, and that I would have to step in.”

“That can’t have been an easy decision to make.”

“It was, and it wasn't. I fought the notion of giving Will up at first, until I realized that it would be more accurate to call it letting him go – and I have some experience with what that means.” She shot him a sidelong glance, lashes falling over her eyes. “So I gathered us all in Jack’s cabin, made sure Will had just enough to drink to quiet his nerves, and...” Trailing off, she bit her lip as she smiled. “I don’t suppose you want to hear the details.”

James stretched out on his side, head propped on his hand. “Not really, no.”

“Are you shocked?” she asked, her tone too strident to be taken at face value. “Do you think I have been irrevocably corrupted?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “Was it –” He pursed his lips, surprised that he was actually following up on this topic. Even in his most erotic fantasies he’d never considered all three together. He wasn't entirely certain how that would be arranged. “Were they...considerate?”

The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched slightly. “Yes. Or rather, Jack was; Will was too twitchy and wound up to be good for much. Even then, it was obvious that they were...oriented to one another. I could have stayed till morning, and maybe after that, but after watching the way they slept, I knew the balance would have been off.”

“You know,” he said, “I used to think you foolish for running off with him, but now...now I believe I would call you brave.”

Elizabeth tucked her hair behind her ears before hugging her legs close. “Not always. There are days when I can’t bear the movement of the deck beneath my feet, when I long for a garden and fresh baked bread, when I feel like casting my sword into the waves. And I miss my father very much. There are good things about the life I left behind, and they haunt me in a way they don’t haunt Will, because I never had to worry about money or hunger the way he did. At the same time, I know I need this so much more than he does. I –” She faltered, drew in a deep breath to compose herself.

“I spent my childhood wishing I could be somewhere else, someone else. When we came to Jamaica, I thought that was the answer. Before long I realized that all we’d really done was bring England with us, and so I grew to resent the island as much as I loved it. There was always so much out there, so much more that I knew I would never see or do or touch, while my own world had such a narrow focus. And now, with the sea open before me, I feel like I have finally stretched as far as I can, and that right here, right now, is where I want to be. In this very spot, at this precise moment – this is the horizon.”

She twisted a garnet ring on her middle finger, making it catch the firelight.

“Jack told me once that what the Pearl means is freedom. I thought I understood it then. I know I understand it now.”

For a long time, he did nothing but count heartbeats and watch her stare into the fire. Then she turned her head to look at him, drawing him forth without a word. He raised himself up on his arms and moved across the scant space between them, until he was near enough to catch her scent of rum and salt air.

She raised her hand to his face, curving it along his jaw. “At this very moment, James,” she whispered, “what is it that you want?”

You, always you, he thought, but that wasn't right, because this was nothing like his suppressed desire for her in the days of their courtship. This was nothing about what she represented, and everything about who she was.

“To be free,” he said, and kissed her.

When he pulled her down to him, he felt the strength he had faced during their mock duel, coiled muscle and sinew in her long legs, her slender arms clutching him fiercely. Yet she was soft in all the places a woman should be soft – her breasts, the downy patch of hair below her belly, the flesh rounding beneath her backbone - and within, when he pressed between her thighs. Here she was both – soft and warm and wet, but tightening and releasing as surely as her fingers gripping his shoulders. She threw her head back when she came, the line of her throat unbroken and pale, before she crumpled against his chest. He murmured nonsense into her hair, soothing her through the lingering tremors. Her mouth descended on his to swallow his cries as his release made his hands spasm on her hips.

He suffered no further dreams after returning to the ship.

She was ruthless in her desires, often cornering him in the middle of the day. It embarrassed him to be dragged off to his cabin in full view of the crew, but he would not have refused her for all the world. Besides which, Elizabeth had always been creative about getting her way.

“Tell me, James.”

“Elizabeth –” He broke off on a groan, thrusting helplessly into her firm grip. She would not let him touch her, nor alter the twisting motions at the base of his cock. He was aching with need and he thought he’d go mad from the unending torture.

“I want to know the name of the first woman who touched you like this,” said Elizabeth pleasantly.

She flicked a thumbnail against his shaft and his hips bucked. “Ahhh – Margaret, her name was Margaret, a barmaid when I was a midshipman...” He gave in, babbling at her – anything to get her to take him fully in hand or mouth or whatever else she pleased to do, as long as she did it soon.

“Mmm,” she said with approval, giving him a close stroke. “And have you ever gone to bed with a man?”

He couldn't believe he was saying this, but then again he couldn't believe he was taking the governor’s daughter to his bed every night. “I – oh God – Lieutenant Teller, aboard the Chancellor. I was seventeen.” He let out a low gasp, hands fisting in the bedsheets as she leaned down to close her lips around his swollen cockhead.

“What did he do to you?” she murmured against his demanding erection, licking away droplets of clear fluid.

“He – he used his mouth – please, Elizabeth!"

She drew back, tsking at his impatience and sliding her hand back to cup his heavy balls. “A moment, James. Did you return the favor?”

Evil wench – “Of course I – in the name of all that’s holy, stop tormenting me! Oh...”

“And did you enjoy it?” Back to nuzzling his length, tiny questing kisses that were nowhere near sufficient. And he’d suffered just about enough of this. Every man had a breaking point.

“Yes...” He grabbed her wrists, taking her by enough surprise to enable him to flip over and pin her down. She growled and twisted in his grasp, sinking her teeth into his neck. James was undeterred, and in any case, she quieted down as he kissed a path down her torso. “Not as much as I enjoyed learning how to make a woman want me more than her next breath.”

A sharply indrawn breath from Elizabeth, her legs falling wide, her eyes squeezing shut. Grinning wickedly, he thought about giving her a taste of her own medicine, but she was simply too enticing like this. And he loved the noises she made when he swept his tongue along her silky folds, and inside, deeper...

Elizabeth whimpered his name, her hands coming up to wend painfully in his hair.

“How to make her give up all her own secrets...” he breathed against her inner thigh.

With a strangled cry Elizabeth grabbed his shoulders, drew him up, and kissed him wildly as she fastened her legs about his waist. He drove into her hard, relishing the way she met each press forward and followed every brief withdrawal. Knowing he wouldn't last long, he slipped his hand between their bodies to find that bit of irregular flesh just above where he sank into her. Her voice rose in a keen, sounding almost as though she was mourning the climax rippling through her. James let go and planted his hands flat for his final hard thrusts, gazed locked on her half-closed eyes.

“Elizabeth,” he rasped, throat overworked from all the times before. He tumbled down into her embrace, breathing harshly against her sweaty neck.

Slowly her arms and legs fell from him, lying still. He raised his head, confused at the distance in her eyes, fearing he’d done something wrong.

“I can’t do that, James,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles from his brow. The stars were fading from her eyes, leaving behind a wistful hurt. “I can’t give you all my secrets.”

He moved carefully off her, rolling onto his back and staring at the beams above his head. “I know,” he said, pressing his hand to his eyes.

She propped herself up on her elbow, leaning over him and drawing a figure eight around his nipples. “But here’s a secret I can tell you." Her voice was falsely bright. "If you should ever find yourself among hostiles, all you need do is take your jacket off.”

“Really?” Nibbling at her earlobe, he cupped the weight of her breast in one hand.

“Mmm-hmm,” Elizabeth said. “It’s those pristine tight breeches you wear. No one on earth could resist the form you cut in them.”

“And how, pray tell, would you know about my breeches?”

“That day I was playing down by the docks and you dove in to save Henry Watkins?” He nodded, remembering. “Well, let’s just say it was one of those moments which informed my burgeoning womanhood.”

“Burgeoning,” he said, drawing the syllables out on his tongue, making her giggle and press her ear to his voice box. “That is a terribly descriptive word, don’t you think?”

Elizabeth sighed in mock exasperation as she reached down to help coax him back to hardness. “That damn Navy training of yours – always at the ready.”

They spoke lightly for the rest of the night, when they could manage words at all. The next day, Jack announced that they were coming up on Port Royal.

It had been nearly a month. James could mark the time by the shade of his skin, the length of his hair (he had been allowed a shaving razor every morning, although he had been closely monitored). A brief span of time, all things considered. The man who had been taken aboard those scant weeks ago might have been considered a close relative, a brother or a cousin, whose blood he shared but from whom he had grown distant. Remembering what Elizabeth had said about watching someone change, he decided it was nearly as imperceptible in the self.

She came to him as he was bundling his spare clothing together. Closing the door, she leaned against it and regarded him with somber brown eyes.

“I thought a private goodbye would be welcome,” she said.

Something twisted then, deep in his gut. He crossed the tiny room in a few strides, reached out to take her hand. “Elizabeth...”

“James.” She smiled at him, her expression wobbling a bit.

“Come with me,” he burst out, spurred by her vulnerability. “I’ll keep you safe, we’ll think of something – you’ll be able to see your father again, your home –”

Elizabeth was slowly shaking her head, a disagreeable line forming between her brows. “James, have you been looking at me all this time? Listening to me?”

“Well, of course,” he said, squeezing her hand, “that’s why I –”

“No,” said Elizabeth, quiet but steady. “I've made my choices.”

“It doesn't mean you can’t change –”

“I don’t want to change,” she said with sudden vehemence, pulling her hand away. “What did you think, precisely – that all it would take to get me back in corset and gloves was a good fuck?”

He colored at her words, took a step back from her harsh tone. “I didn't mean...”

“You've no idea what you are asking. Tell me something – if I returned with you to Port Royal, you’d want marriage, a home, children, am I correct?”

The way she spat the words out made him flinch.

“Well?”

His temper flared. “Yes,” he snapped. “Yes, I would. Is that so wrong?”

“Perhaps not for you, but that is not what I want. Besides which,” she added, lifting her chin in that proud way of hers, “I can’t.”

“Please believe me, I would never force you to –”

“I can’t, you imbecile.”

Ill, she’d said – and realizing what that must have meant, he finished weakly. “Oh.”

“Look, James,” she said, her face softening, though not enough for hope. “This was – it was pleasant, but we only harm ourselves by making it more than it was. I –” She dropped her gaze to her feet. “I will miss you. But I can’t be what you need.”

His throat worked dryly before he could speak. “Right. Well, then.” He stepped forward to kiss her cheek, feeling unsure of his own limbs. Beneath his lips, he could feel the muscles of her jaw tightening.

“Shouldn't be too difficult rowing in,” said Jack, lowering a large flask of water into the ship’s smallest boat. James nodded mechanically, unable to keep himself from seeking out Elizabeth. She was standing aft, her head bent in a private conversation with Will. He noticed James’ gaze and raised his hand in farewell. Elizabeth turned her face to the sun.

He knew the blow was evident in his eyes, but Jack didn't comment. In shaking James’ hand, he brought them both back to their first meeting, and they shared a rueful smile.

“It’s been right interesting having you aboard, Commodore.”

“It was interesting being aboard, Captain Sparrow.” Jack’s eyes flickered in Elizabeth’s direction. James kept his face stoically forward.

“P’raps we’ll meet again, but forgive me if ‘m not exactly holding me breath,” said Jack with a grin.

No, James thought, for he wasn't sure he could survive this again. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he would survive it now.

As he rowed, he saw Elizabeth’s eyes, the sunlight in her hair, her legs tangled up in a white sheet. He heard her merry laughter, the way she whispered his name while she was in his arms, her whoops whenever she won a bet or a fencing match.

The Pearl began to drift, sinking out of sight around the cove as he came to Gallows Point at its mouth. He halted, letting his oars trail in the water as he stared up at the familiar bodies rotting away.

Then he started rowing again.

The sun was sinking to the horizon and his arms were rubbery with exhaustion by the time he caught up. Anamaria poked her head over the stern at his shout, tossing him a rope.

“Captain’s that-a-way,” she told him with a crisp nod.

“Thank you,” he said, touching his brow. That earned him a derisive snort, though he could have sworn her eyes brightened a bit.

He found Jack and Will, as she’d said, clustered at the door to the great cabin.

“Elizabeth, darling –”

“Go away!”

“Lizzie, we only –” Jack fell silent as James approached.

“Perhaps you might let me have a go?”

Mouth hanging open, Will nodded. Jack helpfully reached up to snap his jaws shut as he tugged the boy out of the way.

James began to knock, at a steady beat and without ceasing. He had counted to twenty-three before the door was nearly wrenched off its hinges.

“If you two don’t bugger off this instant, so help me God, I’ll – James.” She stared, her knuckles whitening on the door frame.

“Indeed,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back, as fully at attention as ever he’d been in the past.

Elizabeth tilted her head like she was listening to someone speak an incomprehensible tongue. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be making for the harbor.”

“And yet here I am, standing in front of you.”

She planted fists on her hips, eyes storming. “Think you’re going to take me back by force, do you? Well, I never –”

“No,” said James politely. “In fact, I was thinking I might stay. If the captain has no objection, of course.”

As he’d suspected, neither man had gone far. “I believe we might be able t’ squeeze you in,” said Jack, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“If we must,” Will agreed, embracing Jack from behind. His eyes twinkled at Elizabeth’s flabbergasted expression. “Move this, rearrange that, turn that all the way about...”

She gave them a look that would have melted glass before regarding James with suspicion. “What I said before – none of that changes, any of it.”

“I understand,” he replied.

Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Perhaps it was you who needed to be listening,” said James, fitting his hands to her waist. She allowed him to draw her close, although her posture was still stiff. “Or maybe I wasn't clear enough. What I want, in this very spot, at this very moment...” He kissed the tip of her freckled nose, smiling at the way her lashes fluttered faintly. “...is you.”

A shudder ran through her. She closed her eyes, looking as though she feared opening them and finding a different sight. “And the rest of it?”

“Doesn't matter. I would not be here if it did.”

Finally the uncertainty eased into a smile stretching across her face. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him lustily, drawing a round of enthusiastic clapping from their small audience. James drew himself out of the kiss little by little, until he could rest his brow against hers.

“Perhaps,” he said, “not in this exact spot.”

“How does...” She glanced behind her. “...six feet south sound?”

He backed her into the cabin, nuzzling beneath her ear. “Perfect.”

As the door slammed shut, Will and Jack blinked at it.

“That’s our cabin,” the boy remarked.

“Aye,” said the captain. He tilted his head, pondering, then suggested, “Crow’s nest?”