writing this for a friend who asked me to, since she loves Curiosity so much. Looks like it's going to be a long one, but i am ever so bad about updating... we'll see... enjoy the first segment.

Dearly Departed

I watched as my husband died, as an old friend took my husband's sword and stabbed the heart of another man, beating alone in a trunk. I watched as my husband's heart was carved from his body and as his body was given life, of a sort, once more. I watched as he was announced as captain of the dreaded Flying Dutchman and as he turned to me and called for the crew to take him to shore for our long belated wedding night. And I watched as his ship sailed away without me and an eerie green flash lit up the horizon as my husband disappeared to fulfill the duty appointed to the captain of that godforsaken ship. And I knew that even as he went to ferry the souls of the dead, he took my soul with him, as good as dead, until he returned to me. And I knew, with as much surety, that his soul was beside me in the trunk on the sand; only able to be opened with the key that hung around my neck, and that that soul had lay at my feet for years.

The first year without him was the hardest. I missed him fiercely, the way a pirate misses the sea, the way a captain misses his ship…

The way a wife misses her husband.

I returned home to Port Royal, forced to face my father's death once more, to settle his debts and sell the things I couldn't keep. But this time Will's strong arms weren't there to shelter me from the hurt; his callused hands weren't there to wipe tears from my eyes with my hair and I had no one to turn to for comfort. I tried to feel pride at introducing myself as Mrs. William Turner but instead there was a sense of aching loss, a place in my heart that lacked substance without him. I ignored the whispers and stares of the women who were never really my friends and hid away in my father's house surrounded by my father's things, missing the men stolen from my life.

It took a little more than two weeks to deal with my father's things. I couldn't leave Port Royal fast enough. I alternated between being absolutely ill with grief and being a smiling radiant bride whose wedding night had been every thing she had dreamed of and more. I dealt with it as best I could, trying not to count down the years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds until my husband's return.

"Nine years, 273 days and this afternoon, Jack", I would tell the fellow pirate. "Can you imagine how long it will be?"

"Long enuff, darling" he drawled, "but 'twill seem like yesterday when he appears, I imagine, and wiv enuff rum, he'll forget the wrinkles you'll've gained in the meantime."

I ignored him and kept a weather eye on the horizon, watching every sunset for the green flash of a departed soul, praying for a loophole that would bring Will back to me.

I had nightmares about Will's heart which I kept in a trunk under my bed. I could not stand to see his heart, beating without him, but I could not bear for it to be far from my side, for fear of the worst. I tried not to make the calculations in my head of how many more times would I see Will in this life. I tried not to imagine what would happen when I died. I missed him with heart and soul, hands, lips and eyes. My heart missed his love, my soul missed his spirit and my body missed all of him; his scent, his laugh, the gentle touch of rough hands, the scent of the sea in his hair and the passion in his smile. I missed him with every fiber of my being and I watched the sea, even as I knew his ship would not grace the horizon for many years to come.

I returned to the Black Pearl, gave up my captainship to a better man and settled with my friends. We rode the high seas and pillaged and plundered while every heartbeat brought me infinitesimally closer to Will.

Then one day, about a month after I had last seen my husband, I was seasick for the first time; it continued for weeks. And, slowly, my belly started to swell, my breasts ached in the mornings and the scent of rum sent me running to the privy. Ignorant as I was in the ways of women, my mother dead since I was a child, it took me a few weeks to dare to guess at the cause of my illness. I was elated, terrified and utter grateful even as I was surprised. But I had no one to tell. So I asked Captain Sparrow to return me to Port Royal and I spoke my news to my father's grave and hoped the briny breeze would carry my words to my love.

Life in town was not easy for me. I'd spent the better part of the past 2 years criss-crossing the sea. I was used to unkempt hair, filthy clothes and bronzed skin, calluses, damp feet and the sway of a hammock lulling me to sleep. I was accustomed to long days of boredom punctuated by brief bouts of danger and the people I knew, loved and trusted by my side through all of it. I missed Tia Dalma, (or Callipso if you wish). I missed Jack and Barbossa and their constant swaggering, swearing, bawdy jokes and arguments over the best course of action. I missed the sea herself and the sunlight on the morning that made a path from the sun to the ship. But most of all, I missed my pirate of a husband. Life in town was dull compared to the life on the seas. The Pirate code states that the Pirate King must actually be a pirate and when I retired to land, I retired the post as well. I had promises of visits from my friends from the Black Pearl, but the sea is a lusty siren who holds sailors close until they forget all else, and I do not expect many will find their route passing my island home. As my condition became more obvious, I withdrew from much of my social life, spending most of my days drawing careful maps and writing the story of my adventures on the sea

Will's son was born on a late April afternoon. The labor was easy and before dusk, I was holding the spitting image of Will as I had first seen him, only smaller, chubbier and completely and utterly mine. I wished that someone would come who could bear the news to Will and when young William was only eight weeks old, an early hurricane brought my wish.