It's on days like these that he thinks he could be content simply to stare at her. Her eyes are bright, her mouth smiling and she is glowing with joy in her freedom. He knows that he should look away, look anywhere but at her but somehow he cannot tear his eyes away. He is sure that Gibbs has noticed, is sure that the whelp has seen him staring at the beautiful creature he believes to be his, but it doesn't matter, none of it matters as long as she doesn't stop smiling.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that he is standing at the wheel of his ship, his beautiful ship and that he ought to be steering her. He feels a brief pang of guilt at the thought that maybe he is betraying his beloved Black Pearl, but it doesn't last – Lizzie's face is simply too beautiful, turned though it is so that he cannot see much of it. Then, terrifyingly, she turns. Her eyes lock with his, and although her smile doesn't fade, there is a question in her eyes. He forces himself to look away and barks an order at Gibbs. He wonders what she is thinking.
She is happy here. She doesn't remember being truly happy before, not like this. Nothing is like this. Nothing could compare to the feeling of the wind in her face, the taste of sea salt on her lips, the spray that flies up as the ship moves through the water. Although their manners are foreign to her she finds herself starting to enjoy the company of the men of the Black Pearl. And Jack... She quickly dismisses Jack from her mind. What right has he to be there, in the place that should be Will's?
And yet she knows that she never felt for Will what she fears she is beginning to feel for Jack. She never burned under his gaze, never found herself challenged by his presence. He was always too nice. She feels guilty, feels like a bad person for allowing herself to think like this but somehow she cannot help herself. She is suddenly aware of being watched and turns slowly to find the eyes that are focused on her.
A shiver runs through her body, and she worries that he has noticed. It's Jack. Jack who has been watching her, Jack whose gaze has been burning holes in her clothes. She is almost tempted to reach and check whether he actually has been burning holes in her shirt, but catches herself. Of course he hasn't, it isn't possible, not when he's standing on the upper deck of his magnificent ship. He looks – she catches herself before she can complete the thought, unsure whether or not Jack can read minds. He certainly seems to.
And then his eyes are gone, and she misses them terribly. Such wonderful, intriguing eyes, she feels almost cold now that he has looked away. She hears him shouting something at Gibbs and wonders briefly whether he's feeling ill – his voice doesn't sound quite right, somehow, as if he's worried, or nervous, or one of the many other things that Captain Jack simply doesn't feel. It worries her that after such a short term of acquaintance she recognises nuances in his voice – has she really been paying such close attention to him?
She blushes and tries to think of Will. Kind, reliable, familiar Will, only she cannot, for every time she tries to think of his face the way she thinks of Jack's it blurs and his face becomes narrower, his hair longer, his eyes bluer until he has become Captain Jack Sparrow and nothing she can do will change him back. He walks up to her – can't he tell this isn't a good moment? – and smiles timidly at her. She forces her face into a smile and his face lights up. Even after all this time, she can still fool him with a smile.