Disclaimer: I do not own Captain Jack Sparrow or Elizabeth Swann (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time.

A/N: This is a prequel to my other Scarlet Swan stories, so I suppose you can read it by itself, but go read A Debt to be Repaid and The King's Seat anyway. I warn you now, this is totally unbeta'd, and will remain so. Because...it just needs to be unbeta'd. This was orginally supposed to be a rather short oneshot, but it got a little out of control. Once Mary and Anne showed up I abandoned all pretense of having control and just let the characters take over. I was pissed they weren't in AWE anyway. I like them. The world could use more bisexual polyamorous pirates anyway. Not that they're overtly bisexual and polyamorous in this fic, but still. I'm bloody sick of queer history being totally ignored. Stupid Disney.Umm...history lesson: Yes, that is laudanum Jack drugs her with. Humans have been utilising opium derivatives since at least 34000 B.C.E., and possibly since the Neanderthals walked the earth. Although it gained greatest popularity in the 19th century, it has been called laudanum since Paracelsus named it that back in about 1527. Since this fic takes place sometime in the early 1700s, I think we're safe calling it that.

And needless to say, the battle and so forth went quite differently in this universe. The only similarity is Will's Captain of the FD.

Chapter One: Godawful

There was a scream, followed by the crash and clatter of most of a silver tea service hitting a wall.

Jack sighed. And yesterday she seemed to be doing so well. He poured a few drops black sticky liquid into the cup he held and stirred, watching it curl and dissolve in the heat of the tea. He hated having to drug her, but it as the only way to make her sleep. And if she didn't sleep, she's go Mad. Er.

He sighed again, and made his way to her quarters. It'd been nearly two weeks since the battle, nearly two weeks since that idiot whelp had torn her heart out, pretending it was his. The first day all she'd done was scream, and occasionally try to throw herself into the sea until they'd tied her up for her own safety. After that, she'd just sat staring at nothing, never eating, never sleeping, as though her soul had fled and her body had yet to stop breathing. And then Jack had found that knife of Will's, and on some mad whim he'd given it to her. She'd stared at it for a long while, and then she'd spoken for the first time in a long time. True, all she'd said was "Leave me," but they were words, and they were coherent, and he'd seen the first flicker of sentience in her eyes since the fighting had started.

It was a start. Or so he'd thought. Lately he'd been wondering if someone had hit her hard on the head during the battle and no one had noticed.

He reached her door. There was another crash, and her voice inside screaming "I don't need your pity!!"

A small Chinese man slipped out the door and looked at Jack, his face carefully blank.

"Her Majesty will see you now."

Jack took a breath and opened the door. A knife whizzed past his face and buried itself in the woodwork beside his right ear.

"You know, Lizzie, if you keep throwing that at people, I'm going to have to take it away from you."

He set down the tea and pulled the knife from the wall. Elizabeth looked up at him, her hair disheveled, her eyes wide with alarm.

"You wouldn't actually, would you?" she asked, as though he'd threatened to take away her favorite dolly.

"No," he said. "I wouldn't." He handed her the knife and the teacup. "Drink your tea."

She took it from him unquestioningly and raised it to her lips. It's funny, he reflected, how she seemed to trust him implicitly now. She only accepted food or drink from him, despite the fact it always made her sleep. Perhaps she was glad of the brief respite, or simply for his company.

She put the cup down and closed her delicate fingers around the knife, holding it tight as if for comfort.

"You really should stop throwing that at people, though," Jack said. "They might get tired of it and mutiny, and there where would you be?"

Elizabeth laughed softly, an unpleasant sound.

"They won't mutiny, Jack. They're too scared of me to entertain thoughts of rebellion yet. Or perhaps they simply think me mad and do not wish to upset me further, because upsetting a madwoman can be a very dangerous thing."

Her honey eyes glittered feverishly as she spoke, and a small, worrisome smile played about her lips.

"Anyway," she continued, "you'll take care of me. Won't you?"

Jack looked at his King, this wild-eyed, grief-mad, lost woman and nodded.

"Aye," he said. "That I will."

Her eyes focused on him properly for the first time since he walked in, and the smile softened to something more genuine and more heart-breaking.

"Sleep now," Jack added.

She relaxed, leaned back against the pillows, already drowsy with the drug.

"Do you think I'm mad?" she inquired after a moment, her eyes closed. Jack watched her, dark sadness in his Trickster's eyes.

"No, Lizzie," he said, gently. "I don't."

Her eyes snapped open, a glimpse of terrifying sanity visible for a moment through the haze of opiate and anguish.

"I do," she said, before Morpheus tightened his embrace and her frightening, frightened eyes closed for the night.

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Mary Read watched the man at the railing, silhouetted against the setting sun, and wondered if she'd ever seen him more dejected. She wandered up and handed him a bottle of rum.

"I suppose you've come to tell me you're leaving?" he said, taking it without looking up.

"No. We're here for as long as you need us. We were just—"

"Wondering how long that might be," said a new voice. Jack turned away from the sunset and passed a hand over his face.

"I've no idea," he began, but she cut him off.

"Jack, how long are you going to do this? You have a life, you know."

"Anne—"

"She's mad, Jack," said the Red Queen, flatly.

"Goddammit, Anne, don't you think I know that?" Jack glared at his oldest friend, who glared back just as furiously. After a moment, Anne through up her hands.

"Fine. Cling to your hopes. They'll prove false, you know."

Jack rolled his eyes and turned back to the sunset. He didn't have the energy for this right now.

"Anne, imagine if that was you in there," said Mary. "Imagine if it was me dead, or Calico."

"I'd heal," said Anne, stubbornly.

"Yes, but what if it was your fault?"

Both Jack and Anne stared at her.

"What?" said Anne.

"It's not her fault!" said Jack, indignantly. Mary shrugged.

"It's how she feels. She's thinking that maybe if she didn't something different, maybe if she's acted different, been a better wife, a better daughter, a better person, he wouldn't've left. She's blamin' herself for what he did, thinkin' she did something wrong that drove him away."

"But—"

It's not rational, Jack, I know. She probably does too, in her head. But not in her heart. Hearts aren't logical Jack, they don't listen to reason. The most we can do is wait. And hope."

"Is there any hope?"

Mary sighed.

"I don't know. I was half-mad when my Johnathan died, but never like this…There's always a chance though."

"So what're you gonna do Jack?" asked Anne. "Just stay here and care for a mad girl with a broken crown on her head and blood on her hands?"

Jack nodded.

"For as long as I have to," he said, staring out at the horizon.

"You really love her, don't you?" asked Mary softly, so softly Jack could pretend he didn't hear.

Jack lifted the bottle to his lips and pretended he didn't hear.