I'm told this is a bit of a departure from my usual stuff, being a very romantic thing, but I hope you'll enjoy it. It made me happy at any rate. Back to the other stuff soon.

SUMMARY: My take on what transpires when Elizabeth and Will return to Port Royal, post AWE. Some hints on what may or may not have happened on that return journey... J/E, of course.

DISCLAIMER: Disney owns all, I'm just having fun, don't shoot me, let me have my fantasies, yadda yadda...

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Runaway

It had been three months, three weeks, five days and seventeen hours (give or take) since she had returned to Port Royal with Will, and had last seen Jack. It had been only one month, one week and two days (hang the hours!) since she'd agreed – again – to marry Will. And it was nine days and… well, the wedding was coming nearer. By the hour.

Against the protests of her father, she'd started taking horseback lessons within a week of their most recent return, throwing herself into it every day while she endured bruises and curses from the old fellow who taught her. She learned quickly, as she did all things, and soon was choosing mounts beyond her skill, as though she were determined to conquer something in her life. And then she would ride for hours – alone, despite the complaints of everyone around her – reportedly exploring the island, and coming back smelling of the sea. In reality, she was riding every day to one certain point, a point where she could look out across the horizon and cast her thoughts forward, cast her entire being into one focused call, calling across the waves, return to me, return to me, return to me…

Will could not follow, not being inclined to learn to ride, and neither being inclined to pry into her thoughts when her tongue was so uncommonly sharp these days. He told her that he chalked it up to nervousness about the wedding and would kiss her gently. She'd put him off for two months while they sorted out everything that had happened to them and the lingering memory of kisses shared by she and the Captain, refusing to yet talk of marriage. She sometimes caught Will's father, Bootstrap, looking at her with an odd mix of sympathy and sarcasm. As if he knew her better than she knew herself. As if he knew where her thoughts were sailing and why. But then, she knew that Bootstrap Bill was always a day away from talking himself into returning to the sea, to brave it again. And that the bottle that was so often in his hand continued to convince him otherwise. That and the lingering fear.

But she was a fine one to talk about fear. She was riding away, running away. Away from Will and the life she'd been neatly trapped into. Away from Jack and his caressing voice that continued to invade her thoughts. Away from herself and the wild urges she was trying to contain. Away from the howling voice that shrieked into her mind, Is this all there is? Is this all? She sleepwalked through her days, tending to the affairs of her father's house, the servants and the finances. Her father had never quite recovered, that delicate mind of his having been strained by the past couple years. More and more, he delegated his duties to others, to his lieutenant and the council. He made no comment on Will and Elizabeth's impending marriage other than typical pleasantries and promises of the finest wedding Jamaica had ever seen. He made vague threats about getting Will a position in government, to which Will always smiled and declined, insisting that he was happy being a blacksmith and an honest merchant.

Elizabeth, however, was not interested in being an honest merchant's wife. She knew that, just as she knew she truly did love Will but might have been still in love with him if he were a sailor. No, a pirate. Braving adventures, using his swords instead of crafting them, laughing in the face of danger, seeking treasure and taking what he found. Like Jack. Jack, who was twice her age and, these days, only half as deceitful. Sneaking around her father and Will, she took to haunting the docks, casually asking around for any word of Joshamee Gibbs. Or Ragetti and Pintel. Or… yes, they did sail with Jack Sparrow, didn't they? Goodness, I wonder where that rascal has gotten off to… you don't say! Tales came of him being off somewhere sailing the coast of Africa, the seas of India, even as close as South America. But never Jamaica. And she airily waved her hand, pretending to scorn that pirate who'd gotten her into so much trouble. Only she never fooled anyone. The sailors knew her eyes, read her like a book. She was the typical lass left behind, and they pitied her as they would their own sweethearts. Pitied her young man, Turner, for that matter; he was the one that had to deal with her. And he was also the one that didn't seem to have any idea what his wild lass was up to.

Yes, she was the talk of the shipyards, the talk of the docks, and both her father and Will were too blind to see it. James Norrington knew, of course. He always seemed to know everything. He'd caught her once, talking to some old sea dogs, and his lip had curled as he realized who she was asking about. He'd said some harsh words then, intimating certain things, and she'd slapped his face in front of the whole dock. He'd looked down at her a moment, then kissed her hand, never again speaking to her, never again coming anywhere near. Not that he'd been particularly welcome anymore, anyway. She knew she'd wounded him long ago, but his actions since then were not to be pitied, what with helping Beckett – even if it had been a ruse. Indeed, when she thought of the hand he'd played in getting Jack killed, stealing that damned heart, she could just… only she'd had her own hand in that deed, hadn't she? And though Jack had easily forgiven her – peas in a pod, love…admire a person who does what's needed, love – she'd always had a hard time forgiving herself. Even after that mad journey to the ends of the earth to save him, to bring him back. And the yet more insane journey home when words had been spoken, bodies had touched, and there had nearly been bloodshed between the three of them: herself, Jack and Will. And in the end, it had been Jack who'd neatly deposited her in Port Royal, tipped his hat to Will, wished them both luck and was off again. And Elizabeth had watched him go, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes.

So now she rode. And she ran. From everything around her. And she called to the ocean, calling his name and insisting – not begging, no, never that – that Jack return to her and bring back with him that taste of adventure, that rush of madness and joy. And every day, she felt a little colder, felt her heart turning stony. She smiled at Will, accepted his shy caresses, dutifully smiled when he brought up the wedding, and exclaimed over her bridal gown when she saw the embroidery they'd done. But Will never seemed to notice that her eyes didn't smile along with her mouth, that her voice was more distant than ever it had been. Or at least he pretended not to notice.

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Two days until the wedding, and she could feel a scream rising in her throat, feel the panic of chains coming to bind her. She'd made herself stop going to the docks, had kept herself from riding even though her hands bore the marks of fingernails clenched in desperate struggle. It was useless. She knew that marrying Will was expected. She loved him, how could she not? It was foolish to think of Jack Sparrow, for he certainly did not think of her. And it was lunacy to even consider jumping the first ship for Tortuga, the first crew that would take her back to that life of rolling waves, ropes and rigging, battle and blades. No, she would marry, become a blacksmith's wife, remain a governor's daughter, keep house and bear children and… try to learn to shut out the sea. Perhaps it would be best if they left Jamaica, moved back to England? But that very thought would make tears threaten to spill as she realized that she could no more leave the Caribbean than she could leave behind the thought of a certain pair of wicked, dark eyes or the man that possessed them.

And then it was just one day before the wedding. Will was nervous as a cat, alternately blushing and pale, jumping whenever anyone asked him a question. Funny, he'd not been so nervous the first time they were to be married. For all that they had been through in the last couple years, there had still never been anything between them than kisses, and those were generally stopped before it went "too far". Will always told her he wanted them to wait until their wedding night, and was always a bit flustered when she tried to push his boundaries. Just once, just once, she'd like to see him let go and be wild, wild as… no. Will Turner could no more be wild than she, Elizabeth Swann, could be tame. And so on this last day of freedom, this last day before she turned herself into a "good" woman, she allowed herself a last ride to her point above the sea. And of course, there was nothing to be seen but dark blue, endlessly stretching out before her. She stood there, laughing silently at herself for hoping to see black sails on the horizon. And then she frightened her horse terribly when she sank to her knees and screamed in denial and desperation. But it only lasted a moment. She regained control, got back on her horse and turned him for home, chanting to herself I love Will, he's a good man… I love Will, he's a good man…

After she'd endured the bridal supper, endured the well-wishes and simpering of her friends, endured the excited giggles of her maids and barely endured the teary exclamations of hope and happiness from her father, she insisted that she be left alone in her room. To prepare, she told them. Once alone, she sat staring at the gown that was draped across her bed and tried not to scream again. The candles fluttered in the breeze that came through her open window and went out, and as she sat in the darkness she realized there had to be one last night to herself, one last moment. She dressed herself in the boy's clothes that she'd kept hidden, padfooted her way out of the house and down to the docks. She prowled around, looking for some of the men she'd spoken with before and found one of them, smoking his pipe, waiting for the tide to change so his ship could set out again. She noted his raised eyebrow when he saw the governor's daughter in her boy's clothes, but he said nothing of it. They chatted of nothing for several minutes, and he said, "I figured congratulations were in order for ye. Fer tomorrow." She murmured her thanks, turning her head away. "I daresay it's something ye've always wanted," the old sailor continued. She could feel the panic rising again, trying to think of something polite to respond with. "And ye've waited so long," the sailor smiled, nodding at her. Finally, she found her voice.

"I didn't know I would be so afraid, so unready," she murmured.

"No need, lass. Ye've done it before, should be easy." He winked at her and she frowned.

"Well, not exactly. It was interrupted the first time, we didn't get to finish, and, well…" she broke off, not knowing how to continue.

"Interrupted, was it? Well, you can just start off where you stopped, eh? Jump back on board, as it were." He was grinning broadly now and she had the distinct feeling that she was missing something.

"I – I suppose… the wedding shouldn't be much different now than it was before…"

"Oh? A wedding is it? Bless me, I nivver thought he'd would be the marryin' sort." The sailor chuckled and took a long pull off his bottle, then held it out to her. "Congratulations all the more for snagging 'im, then."

She stared at him, blankly. "Not the marrying… but he asked me to marry him years ago."

"Then why'd he sail off and leave you?" asked the sailor, cocking his head at her.

"He didn't… he's up in town, waiting for us to… Sail off and leave me?" She heard bootsteps coming up behind her. Something she'd always wanted. Something she'd been waiting for. And she suddenly understood what was being said.

She turned to see him standing there, teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he smiled, hands glittering with more rings than he'd had the last time she'd seen him. "Heard you were looking for me, love. Not too late am, I?"

She couldn't even speak, she simply walked straight into his arms, burying her face in his coat that smelled of sea and sweat and spice. She pulled back a moment, then took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely. When she stopped, he looked bemused, "I take that to mean that you missed me, then?" When she leaned to kiss him again, the old sailor who'd been watching them cleared his throat and hastily retreated to his own ship. Who'd have thought the famous Jack Sparrow would be caught at last? But caught he clearly was. The old salt chuckled to himself, thinking of the commotion that would be in the Governor's house in the morning.

He looked back to see the dark captain and his golden lady walking down the dock to where a longboat was moored. Squinting his eyes, the old sailor could see a ship in the harbor, a ship whose sails were invisible in the night. Because they're black, he thought to himself. He heard the woman's laughter float back in the moonlight, heard the captain's answering chuckle, and saw them kiss again before climbing into the boat. Love and luck to ye, thought the old salt. Though love ye certainly already have.

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Author Note: Much love to my "piratemistress" for being my first beta, and for being kind. I know this is a departure from the type of thing I usually write, but I had a wild hair to do something romantic.