My, I've jumped on the POTC ship as well, it seems. I've been a steady J/E shipper since the beginning, but I'm also a (sadly) realistic one, and I'm quite sure that Will and Elizabeth is going to happen. Unless Bruckheimer fulfills my wishes in the third one (and, while he's at it, pushes for Warrick/Catherine...). So. This is my (slightly off) little exchange that everyone's writing about between the heroine and the greatest hero in the world.

For those of you who read my other fics, you know my fixation with Terry Pratchett. I'm referring to his definition of "hero."

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of POTC, except for a poster of Jack Sparrow. Actually, I don't have that, either, but I want one. Of Jack going into the Kraken. I'm pretty sure I have no claim to the bluebirds reference either, but...

The only problem with her life, she mused, was that it was nothing like what she thought it would be only maybe two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, she could have been living something akin to a cheerful bedtime fairytale. The sort of thing that never happens in real life. Which she should have seen in advance.

She was the daughter of a fairly rich man. A governor, of a sort. He was a handsome officer in the royal navy. They skirted around each other for a few years, and finally, on the day of his promotion to commadore, he professed his love for her, and asked her hand in marriage. She gladly accepted, and they are now wildly happy in planning their wedding. No, he's not a naval commander, he's her...er. He's her father's stable boy. Yes. That makes sense. Or maybe the tutor. Anyway, they have already fallen passionately in love and are waiting with anticipation towards their wedding date, which will, no doubt, occur on a beautiful sunny day by the sea.

She was the daughter of a governor, the governor of Port Royal. He was a handsome blacksmith who, to her relief, beat out the commadore of the navy. They skirted around each other for quite a few years. Ever since he was pulled from the water, actually, when she was about 11. And on the day they helped the most disreputable pirate escape from hanging, he...er. Well, they declared that they were going to get married and waited with anticipation towards their wedding date, which, when it came, resulted in a rainy day, a ruined wedding dress, and several arrests. The worst almost-wedding in the history of all almost-weddings, which, in Elizabeth Swann's mind, was quite a feat. There had to be horrible circumstances to make an almost-wedding, she thought, not without a trace of dark humor.

They sat contentedly beside each other in her father's garden, staring at each other in utter bliss. It was about mid afternoon, and they were shaded by the tree above the bench they rested on. As all situations like this called for, bluebirds flew amiably around the couple, chirping melodically.

Will Turner straddled the bench she was sitting on. They didn't even try to avoid eye contact; such an endeavor would include the exchange of embarrassing glances and undue blushes. Instead, they discontented themselves with staring fixedly at the ship deck. There were no obligatory cricket chirps.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Elizabeth. What, er." Will stopped. "I was just. How are you." He stopped again.

"I was just thinking," she sighed.

"Mm. I'm just thinking, Will," she said, in a bit harsher tone than she intended.

"About what?"

He remained silent, hoping that it would prompt her to continue.

"You."

"I just thought. I just thought I would be married now." He would have smiled, but the heavy weight of circumstance kept his mouth in a straight line.

"You're beautiful," he whispered in her ear. She blushed furiously.

"We'd...We'd have to find you a new dress," said Will wretchedly, a sad attempt at a joke dying on her lack of acknowledgement.

"I couldn't imagine marriage to anyone other than you," she replied.

"This isn't what I expected at all that morning."

"Nor could I."

"Nor I." He realized how little the phrase made sense. "It's not what anyone expected, I expect."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

She chewed her lip. "No. It's not."

Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder, drinking in his manly scent.

Elizabeth rubbed at her eyes. Their personal hygiene had taken a turn for the worse since starting out with Barbosa, but she could barely notice it over her fatigue. The burning in her right eye was in no way related to the grimy condition of her hands. At all. Her fingers felt sticky with sweat, and she could smell the rum rolling off Will's breath. He almost never drank.

He buried his nose in her hair, and plucked a white flower from the laden boughs of the overhanging tree and presented it to her. A giggle bubbled up from her throat.

She opened her mouth, but, upon realizing that she had nothing to say, allowed it to remain open for a short time before his expectant look caused her to close it. She'd almost told. Elizabeth had almost admitted to doing something wrong, which was, frankly, impossible. Elizabeth Swann never did anything wrong. Apart from cross-dressing and occasional bouts of swearing, but that was beside the point here.

"We should have these at the wedding," he said absently. He was distracted by her adoring eyes.

"I want Jack back, too," Will ventured. She didn't even reward him with an alarmed glance. "I mean...I'd. I'd suppose you to want him back. As, as well." He wished she would at least look in his general direction. Namely, turn her head slightly to the left, He'd at least be peripheral detail.

"They would be beautiful."

"Yes. I suppose we all miss him. Except, perhaps, Barbosa." Their sad humor quota finished for the conversation, she turned serious. Well, more serious than she had been before, a grave position, indeed. "Why...did you say that?"

"Indeed."

"I was just." Will was horrible at playing nonchalant, which was obvious even to those who could not see him. Would not see him. "You were. That you seemed. Well, it just."

She didn't reply.

"I understand," she interrupted. "I suppose. Well, I suppose that we all will understand. In the end." She wasn't referring to Jack, as much. Just the bit that nobody said out loud. They simultaneously turned their eyes to the horizon, straining to make it out through the gathering dusk. There were no stars yet. He hazarded an educated guess, but did not question her cryptic unspoken words that betrayed what happened.

Slowly, as though they had all the time in the world to sit contentedly under flowering trees during the breezy summer days, he took her hands in his, and heated her ever-cold fingers with his ever-warm ones. "I love you," he said, and they leaned against each other in perfect understanding. In love. Bluebirds sang in the foreground. They would sing at the wedding.

"I love you," said Will, as though it was his last resort, right before they headed into the beastie's mouth, the last consolation before the eternal rest. The last sappy metaphor...er...flowery phrase before the end. Elizabeth didn't say anything. And though they never experienced something so intimate as looking at each other in their interaction, the silence was enough.

They sat contentedly in the park, hand in hand, looking happily forward to their bright and sunny wedding day.

She reached out and grabbed his hands, her heated flesh warming his almost immediately, blisters forming on his palms. He worried for a minute that she might be sick, but did not ask, because he knew she wasn't. Not with a physical illness.

Still not maintaining eye contact, they touched their foreheads together, hoped that this love, this desperate love that they still held in this worrying calm, this fairytale love lingering with faint bluebirds, they hoped...hoped that it would still exist when the morning came.

The End

-end-

Ah, yes. That's all. And if the third movie shows Elizabeth "confessing all," I will lose what little faith I still possess in Disney. I'll burn it!

Feel free to flame, seeing as how I didn't exactly promote J/E or W/E. Maybe W/E. Acknowledged, at the most. But if you do choose to flame, please, PLEASE, do so with passable spelling and some indication of intelligence.

Hrm. Please review.