A/N: Obviously, I switched things around and made things go differently in POTC 3; I had to make my story work. Sp let's just pretend that Will and Elizabeth were happily married (ew)…or at least, so he thought.
This IS a Sparrabeth pairing, just to warn you
And Please Review!!!
Disclaimer: No, I don't own POTC. I wish I did, but we don't always get what we want in life, do we? No. No indeed.
Though it was midday, and the Caribbean sun was full and bright in the sky overhead, a haunting stillness hung over the usually beautiful manor atop the hill. Today, its statuesque beauty was marred by the presence of a black carriage that had remained in the drive for far too long.
Inside the manor, a man stood in the doorway or one of its many chambers, looking disheveled, a pitiful figure who completed the foreboding aura of the day. His hair, usually so neatly tied at the nape of his neck, was loose and hung to his shoulders, tangled from the frequent jerking his hands submitted it to. His eyes were heavy, red from crying and full of despair.
It was these eyes that the man by the bed, a doctor, looked into as her closed his black bag and soberly moved towards the door. The doctor touched the man opposite him lightly on the shoulder and shook his head dejectedly; confirming the worst fears of the other, desolate man.
Will Turner, hands hanging limply at his sides, stood in the doorway until the doctor's footsteps were inaudible on the wooden stairs before shutting the door of the bedroom to the world.
One candle, only one, sat on the bedside table, flickering, giving the only illumination in the otherwise dark room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, blocking the sunlight and warmth; the fireplace, too, was doused, leaving the room drafty and cold. The air smelt sour, like sweat, blood, and too much medicine. A basin in the corner held water foggy with blood; a red-stained cloth lay wadded on the bedside table, next to the solitary candle that cast such a pale glow over the still figure among the pillows. Death hung in the air, a threatening shadow waiting to pounce.
Will sank to his knees beside the bed, his throat constricting, hardly recognizing the woman before him. Her chest barely moved, her eyes were closed, and her parched lips parted slightly. He reached for her hand and held it tightly in his, desperate for a sign that she knew him. He swallowed, every part of him in agony, staring at the ghostly white face of his beloved wife.
Elizabeth Turner struggled to open her eyes, lifting them slowly as if they were weighted down. She shifted her head on the pillow, looking at Will through dull, feverish eyes.
"Elizabeth," he breathed, barely audibly. He reached out and brushed her sweat-soaked hair off of her forehead, stroked her cheek, flinching when he felt how unnaturally hot her skin was.
"I'm…I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely, her pale lips trembling. He squeezed her hand, unable to bear the pain in her honey-coloured eyes. He shook his head, his vision blurring with furiously suppressed tears.
"No. No, Elizabeth. It wasn't your fault." He assured her passionately, stroking her wrist. "It was mine." He whispered brokenly. He should have known…he shouldn't have taken her horseback riding. Not when she'd suffered to much after the first two…It was his fault, his fault they'd lost another baby, his fault she lay bent and broken at death's door.
Elizabeth's eyes fluttered, she seemed to be struggling to keep them open, desperately clinging to life with every fiber of her being.
"I'm dying," she choked, her eyes filling with tears. She was so pale, so fragile, so unlike the bright, vivacious Elizabeth Swann he'd married two years ago.
"No! Elizabeth, please…don't. Don't. You'll get better." Will pleaded, trying to convince himself it was true. But with every shallow rise of her chest he felt hope slip away. Gone was the strong woman who'd once been Pirate King, gone was the fiery sword fighter who'd so captivated him. The woman before him was fading, a shell of her old self, broken by the sorrows of the past months.
"There are so many things I…I should have said. So many things you should know." Tears were falling down her cheeks now, falling on to the silk pillows like liquid diamond. She seemed not to know who was with her, or where she was. She sounded sorry, so regretful, and heartbroken. "Things should have been so different," she whispered.
"I know. Elizabeth, please, you've got to fight! Hold on, Eliza, hold on…please." Will's voice broke and he pressed her pal to his forehead, his shoulders shaking. She couldn't leave him…they hadn't had enough time…this couldn't happen.
"I can't live like this…I can't take it anymore…" she sounded pleading now, desperate. She sobbed weakly, her head slipping on the pillow. Her tears fell faster now, staining the silk, leaving a relic of her final misery. "I can't. It hurts too much."
Will pressed his hand against her feverish cheek, catching her tears, wanting to hold her close to him but afraid he would hurt her.
"Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Don't do this!" he begged fiercely, his voice cracking again, tears falling freely. He pressed his lips to her palm, unable to face it, not believing he was really losing her. His Elizabeth.
"Hurst…I can't. So many…I should have told you." Her eyes fluttered again and she sobbed, fresh tears wetting her cheeks.
"Shhhh…tell me later. Later, Eliza. Elizabeth!" Her chest was barely moving, he couldn't see it rising anymore, her pulse was barely tangible in the hand he held. "No," he whispered to her, "Don't leave me!" he cried desperately, almost screaming. "Elizabeth!"
She opened her eyes again, and he saw the candle's flame reflected in them, the only light left in the once sparkly orbs. Her shoulders trembled and her lips moved silently, as she tried to speak again.
"Elizabeth," he said, softer, a last desperate plea to the gods to save her, let her be his, give him another chance. He stared lovingly, brokenly, despairingly down at his wife, his lover, the woman he'd loved for eight long, painful years before he'd finally been able to call her his. "Elizabeth."
Her head slipped further on the pillow, almost touching her shoulder, and she took a deep shuddering breath, one glistening tear sliding slowly down her cheek.
"I love you, Jack sparrow."
Her last tortured whisper, the last words she ever spoke, his will like a bullet, like a thousand sharpened knives at once. He felt like his hear was being ripped out, torn into pieces. Her hand slipped from his and hung limply against the bed sheets, a diamond ring on her finger glistening in the light.
Will lifted his eyes to her face, his chest aching, every breath he drew a stabbing pain in his chest. Her last words echoed in his head, painfully, loudly, hurting him again and again as he gazed on her lifeless face, beautiful even in death, looking unearthly in the flickering candlelight.
He fell forward, resting his head on her chest, sobbing, feeling like he'd lost her twice, not knowing anymore if he'd every truly had her, mourning her, hating her, loving her, unable to bear the pain. Her last words, spoken in that heart-broken whisper, would haunt him forever.
I love you, Jack Sparrow.