A/N: First of all, I just want to say that the title is actually "Ten Years (Of...)" but the site won't let me put in parantheses. And I kind of want to get to the story instead of writing out all the Elizabeth-denying-her-love-for-Jack thing, so I'm starting with a prologue to explain all of that. I appreciate reviews!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!


Her first thought was that she was free

Her first thought was that she was free.

Free to run, free to leave, free to sail to her heart's content.

Free. For ten years.

Ten years is a long time to wait.

So why wait? Ten years was a long time. She hated the idea of waiting. She had waited her entire life—to breathe, to run, to go wherever she wanted. Ten years was a long time, and she didn't want to spend it waiting. She wanted ten years to live the life she'd fought so hard to have. She wanted ten years of tropical islands, ten years of sun and wind and water, ten years of swords and pistols, buried treasure, the rough feeling of a sail's rope in her hands—the things she'd dreamed of ever since she knew what they were.

There was no more denial left in her.

She'd used up all the denial on the ships, standing by the railing and making the best attempts to convince herself that the thoughts in her head were wrong, that it was the heat and perhaps the strange amounts of rum she had been drinking that made her think the way she did.

But now, she couldn't deny it any more. The thoughts kept coming back, even during her spontaneous wedding as she shouted "I do!" in the rain, even yesterday! Yesterday, when she'd spent a glorious day with the man she'd married, even then, the thoughts came back. She'd married him, but did she love him? The mere idea of it was a catastrophe in her mind, but still it lay there, taunting her. She had spent a day with the man she should have been loving every minute. But instead, every minute she used all the energy in her telling herself this was enough. Telling herself that it was enough, and that she could wait ten years for it.

But eventually, watching that ship disappearing on the horizon, she let go of her stubborn will to believe what she had been trying to believe for the past several months, and she knew that everything she'd been telling herself was a lie. It wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. There was somebody else whom she needed, somebody with a compass and a bottle of rum.

She hadn't told anyone, masking herself flawlessly the way she'd done as a child, pretending to be delighted about the gifts given to her by her father, the parties and banquets and balls he insisted she attend. She could remember acting everything out perfectly because she had known that her father was a good person who truly cared about her, and during her wedding, she had secretly felt the tiniest feeling of dread as she realized everything was repeating exactly the same way, that she had to play the part of someone else, for a person who'd been nothing but good to her. But there was more this time, much more. She did love her husband. He had been the most amazing friend to her since she was twelve and she loved him for that. But she wasn't in love with him, and it felt as though something was tugging at her heart, willing her to turn a different direction and enter another world.

To leap.

She didn't know where to go now, and this time no amount of bargaining or threatening would make anyone tell her. This time no one knew. This time there would be deep breaths, the closing of eyes, the blind stumbling in whichever direction she felt was right.

This time there were no rules or guidelines.

This time there was freedom.

Ten years of freedom.