A/N: 'Ello, poppets. This little one-shot popped into my head one day and stuck there and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. So I thought I would see what you thought of it. Review at the end, I would love to know what you all think of it…just please no flames.

He said he loved me. The memory is still as clear as the Caribbean Sea in the afternoon. I remember his eyes, dark and half-lidded, not quite looking into my own but sincere. Sincere in a way only he can be. I remember the feeling of his rough fingertips resting below my jaw, making me shiver. I can still recall with ease his hair caressing my cheek; his warm scent; his sweet breath mingling with my own; his salt-chapped lips as close as they could be to mine without touching. I remember his low, coarse voice murmuring those three words into my ear, his breath brushing the soft skin and sending a shudder down my spine. The look in his liquid eyes is still there.

And now I sit up in my room, knees hugged to my chest, crying. The sobs rack my body, the words pulse through my mind in that same intense voice: I love you. But now he is gone, never to return, never to hold me again. He left me without saying goodbye, without a backward glance, leaving me with his final words and the blazing fire he had kindled within my heart that seemed to eat at my insides. Now it has been replaced with an ache, as though his hand was still squeezing my heart that he had torn to pieces through his simple words and actions, the heart that he still holds, and he alone will hold forever.

I still love him, but I hate what he did to me.

Never again will I know the pure love and joy I felt with him with any other man. He stole all those feelings away for himself like the pirate he is at heart. A single glance, one simple word, is enough to take my breath away. His little quirks make me want to know what inspired each and every one of them, even if they are all one simple answer. His frequent gazes directed to the rolling waves make me want to know what memories still torture him to this day, make me want to soothe them all away.

But now I can't. Because he's gone forever.

I bury my face in the pillow and breathe in deep his lingering scent, no longer caring for my own bed across the room. All I want is to sit for hours and breathe his essence, to let it flow through me like a lifeblood, to let it bring him back to me.

But this is foolish. He isn't coming back.

I open up my drawer to write a letter. A letter explaining to my father that I have gone to find him. Instead of the neat little stack of stationary, there is an envelope with a single word scrawled on it: my own name. I open it with fumbling fingers, remove the paper within and smooth the folds out on the desk.

It is possibly the shortest letter I have ever received in my entire life. But to my eyes it meant everything; it's funny how those four simple words impact me so.

I will come back.

But will you? I ask silently. It's hard to believe his words without his eyes slowly bringing me over to his side, and yet I still feel guilty for not entirely taking the words to heart. I do not want my heart to ever be the torn, tattered thing he has made it again. Will he come back? Will he really? I hope that he is true to his word, for my sake and his. But I have learned not to lean too heavily on his promises. I slip the letter under his pillow and sleep with his very soul around me.

I wake from my dream with my hand reaching for his face, happy tears welling up, my heart pounding with excitement at having him back. But I find that he is not there; only the silvery shaft of moonlight on the bed, dust motes swirling in it and giving it a twinkling yet cold feel. My hand drops to my side.

The tapping that woke me is there again, reverberating in my head in short little raps. I roll over to look fearfully at the window. And there he is, grinning, his knuckles raised to knock again. I rush over and tear the window up, leaning over the sill to help him in.

"You came back," I whisper, giving him a small smile. He smiles back, that same smile I fell for in the first place.

"I always do," he murmurs. And then he truly meets my eyes for the first time, and I gaze back, awestruck. Their dark, liquid quality entrances me, pulling me in. They hold a lifetime of pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, each constantly lapping at the other, nearly dragging it down before almost disappearing itself. They tell me a story of lost love, and then a tale of a beloved ship. They weave me a yarn of yearning, of wanting to hold a woman and never let her go. Pure love filters through, shining like the sun through the final dregs of the gray rain clouds. I gasp and the eyes close, his forehead leans on mine.

"Lizzie," he says in a half-whisper. He rests his hand on the point where my shoulder meets my neck. I shiver.

"Jack…"

His hair touches my cheek, and his lips brush mine. I lay my head on his chest to listen to the strong, reassuring heartbeat. "I thought you weren't coming back," I sob quietly.

"That's just foolish," he tells me. "I couldn't live with meself if I did that. Especially not after Katherine…"

"Katherine?" I say softly, tucking his hair behind his ear.

"She was murdered when I went off pirating."

It is a simple sentence, said in a quiet voice, but his vocal cords hold back a tidal wave of sorrow.

"Oh," I say. I can't think of anything else. I lightly caress the small of his back in a comforting way.

"I think it happened for a reason…because now I have you." I can almost see the corners of his mouth turn upwards. I place my arms around his neck.

"Tell me you love me," I whisper to him.

He places a small kiss on my neck. "I love you," he whispers to my ear. A small pause. "Lizzie…" he gets down on one knee. My eyes widen with fear. "Will…will you marry me?" I nearly laugh. He sounds so…so shy, so unsure of himself.

I look down, hold onto his hand, bite my lip. "Of course I will."

Jack slides a humble but beautiful sapphire onto my finger and kisses me. Everything seems beautiful now, even the rumpled covers of my bed, the dusty books that silently watch from their shelves like sentries. Now the books begin whispering amongst themselves as Jack slowly untangles one hand from my hair, so slowly that I almost don't notice.

The small sound of a gun cocking snaps the silence into millions of pieces. It is then that I know something is truly wrong. I pull away and revolve slowly on the spot, coming to rest when my eyes meet those of one William Turner. He stands in the doorframe, breathing hard, a pistol trained between Jack's eyes. Jack is likewise.

"Will…what are you…oh my God…"

"I want you to suffer as much as I did when you left me for this…this pirate. I want you to suffer," Will breathes, and it is as though he has sent a vaporized venom through my ears. He seems unsure of himself, though; the pistol shakes slightly, and his finger wavers over the trigger.

"Don't do it, Will," Jack warns, his voice unusually deep.

"They'll hang you," I plead. I try to shield Jack, but he pushes me away. "They'll hang you for murder."

"Who says I want to stay alive?" Will hisses. "Especially after what you did to me. I want you to know what it feels like." The words seem to hearten him; his finger finds the trigger.

"I'm warning you, I'll do it if I have to. I don't want to, but I will," Jack says, tightening his own forefinger. They stare at each other a long time, each daring the other to follow up on their threat.

"I came here to do something," Will breaks the silence in a shaky voice. "I keep the vows I make." He levels the pistol. Jack's nostrils flare; he steadies his own hand.

I sink to the floor. "No, no, no, no, no…" I close my eyes…and gasp when a shot rings through the house. A choking cry reaches my ears. I cover them up, tears coursing down my face. Hunched over on the floor, I finally pluck up my courage and open my mouth. "J…Jack?"

"I'm sorry, luv. It had to be done."

I begin sobbing uncontrollably. I hear something drop to the floor, and a strong pair of arms enfold me and take me in. I lean back against Jack's chest. Tears soak into his dirty white shirt. His heartbeat thumps wildly against my ear, and takes a few minutes to settle into a regular rhythm. My breathing calms with it. "Why did you do it?" I ask him, still tearful.

"Why did you?" he returns.

"Oh God, Jack, please don't…"

He places a finger on my lips. "I did it for the same reason, luv. I didn't want him to hurt you." A choked laugh escapes me.

"Not a single thought for your own life, as usual?"

"Nope. Not a-one. Not unless you want to count the fact that I didn't particularly want a bullet through my head either….Other than that, I was completely unselfish." I can hear the usual crooked smile in his voice. I sniffle.

"I'm sure Will didn't want a bullet in his head either," I say quietly, burying my face further into Jack's shirt.

"I'm not sure if he did or not, luv. I'm not sure any of the rest of us do, though," he says heavily. Then he gathers me in his arms and takes me down the stairs of my private home, out into the crisp, clean night air. I close my eyes and listen to his footsteps, trying to guess where we are. Now they are a muffled, sharp sound; we're on the road. This sound continues for a long while. They change to a short, hollow sound, sending little judders through his body and into mine with each step. The dock. I smile into Jack's shirt. "Do you wish I hadn't done it?" he says suddenly, his voice laced with barely held back pain.

I am silent for several moments. "I don't know, Jack. Everything's so uncertain…"