A/N: I tend to get pretty detailed, so if your attention span can't handle it, I understand. This may have to do with my OCD on being as close to accurate as possible, and obsessively reading old sailing stories for super detailed info on ship handling (ie: Two Years Before the Mast).

I appreciate all comments or responses regardless of what they are!


Will Turner's thoughts lingered on Elizabeth from the instant she had disappeared with the pirate captain, to the moment he was currently in; thoughts straying too long; however, in his current condition he simply no longer cared how society felt about being a good proper lad who respected and admired the noble lady from afar, as he had before. Before all of this. Before Jack Sparrow, before the cursed pirates. When his world made sense, even if he must accept his lowly position and that he would very likely have to watch the woman of his dreams marry a man of high and noble ranking instead of he.

As he sat on the clapboard floor in the Black Pearl's brig, he remembered the expression on her face the moment before she'd fallen into the unforgiving ocean. Her eyes were wide with terror as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He would never forget the shriek she let out as her body toppled off of the plank and the splash that followed afterward. He could only hope to God that she knew how to swim and wouldn't drown or fall susceptible to the mélange of creatures within the deep. Dangerous fish and wildlife aside, Elizabeth very well may be a strong swimmer and still find herself sinking into Davy Jones' Locker if she succumbed to fatigue and could not go on any longer. And if she made it to the island, he prayed even harder that Jack would harbor enough restraint, seeing as he was an honest pirate and all, and leave the girl unsullied.

He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to imagine Jack Sparrow's filthy hands on Elizabeth's flimsy little shift. Why did Barbossa have to practically strip her to her undergarments and maroon her with none other than a womanizing pirate like Jack?

Will had read the infamous stories of the wild, raucous adventures featuring Captain Jack Sparrow, including his exploits with women. It wasn't that he thought Elizabeth would submit to Jack's whim, as she was certainly no shrinking violet, but the two were condemned to the speck of land alone, where law had no way of intervening had the man decided to violate her. Will hadn't had time to know the man well enough to trust him entirely. He felt an irrational spark of jealousy at the veracity of the situation. Why not me? Why wasn't it I who was stranded on the isle with Miss Swann?

He knew why – it was because of his father, the link he had in blood to Bootstrap Bill. The only reason he was not on that spit of land, or dead – yet – was simply because of the man he had only known as a small boy. Who had abandoned his family for the miscreants he was now entangled with.

"What's troublin' you, Will Turner?" came Joshamee Gibbs' gruff voice. The younger man peered over to the cell directly across from his where Jack's crew stood in their cramped quarters, crowded together. Gibbs let his elbows rest on the flatiron bars.

"Jack wouldn't…commit any transgressions upon an innocent girl, would he?" Will asked tentatively, scraping his fingers over his scalp to push the spindly mess of hair into some sort of order.

Gibbs visibly tensed, glaring with barely contained anger. Will thought his question had merit, but he realized he'd insulted the Black Pearl's crew by speaking ill of their captain. Despite their insistence to practice strict adherence to the pirate code —truly, a contradiction in terms— the allegiance they had to the man indicated otherwise. "Captain would never do such a thing to Miss Elizabeth, nor to any other woman. He detests a man who ravishes a woman, harlot or no. Even killed a few who done it, as it were. Or is it that you've forgotten, lad, that he's a good man?"

"My apologies. But need I remind you that he is a pirate and she is a beautiful lady?"

Anamaria snarled next to Joshamee. "Did ye not hear Mr. Gibbs? Jack is no assaulter of women!"

"No offense to any of you," Will muttered, gaze wandering over the small group of misfits that made up Jack's disheveled crew. "I have only known the man for a short amount of time. I have no way of knowing his true intent, since he seems to do only what is beneficial for himself, in spite of the consequences."

Gibbs held his hand up when Anamaria once again allowed her features to become enveloped in rage. It appeared that the young woman never had any middling reaction to anything. It was either explosive temper or disquieting impassiveness. "Fall back, love."

"Ya keep your endearments to yourself, ya filthy sod. And you mind your tongue, Turner. One more word questioning Captain Jack's honor and I'll cut the blasted thing clean from your mutinous mouth!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes while Cotton squirmed uncomfortably and Will frowned, glancing at his hands to break the intense stare down between him and the fierce piratess. "Pay no attention to Anamaria. She cannot control her rage, especially when it has to do with a certain daft pirate captain that explored her affections and then stole her boat while she was sleeping like the dead."

Will felt relieved, albeit nervous, of their unwavering loyalty. He was pleased that they insisted on his integrity, but felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding if he continued to pursue the conversation. He knew just as he could only deem the troupe 'acquaintances' at that particular point in their quest, they also did not know or trust him either. The concept of them turning against him if he kept going any further did not bode well for his physical safety. "Again, I'm sorry. I agree, Jack does not strike me as the kind of man to defile a lady."

"Precisely," Gibbs muttered.

Will studied the crew for a few silent moments, and then scrambled to his feet when the door to the brig creaked open, where the two bumbling pirates Pintel and Ragetti sauntered in, carrying a rather aged bucket and a mop that had certainly seen better days. The shorter man plunged the cloth end into the grimy water, obviously not eager to be cleaning the jail room. Pintel, clearly the most aggressive of the pair, held a permanent snarl on his face as he conducted his monotonous task of moving the cleaning utensil haphazardly, every now and then peering up at the young man and narrowing his eyes in suspicion, as if in serious thought. Ragetti, who had been put to the task of scrubbing down the floor with a holystone, would break the other man of his reverie with his busywork, and just like that Pintel would be back to his task.

As Cotton's parrot, perched on the mute man's shoulder, squawked out a random remark, Gibbs smirked mirthlessly. There probably was never any true meaning to the bird's sayings, but he was superstitious enough to avoid questioning the parrot's validity and often acted as interpreter to those less informed.

"Mr. Cotton here says you missed a bit." Pintel slammed the dripping mop onto the cell bars, and the inhabitants jumped back in response. Will forced back a grin, and then remembered his father's association with these vile infidels and leaned against the iron slats.

"You knew William Turner?" he queried, steeling himself from whatever potentially negative words they'd have to say about the only man he ever looked at as a father figure besides the poor old Mr. Brown back at the blacksmith shop.

Pintel glanced up from his work. "Oh, Bootstrap Bill. We knew him." The pirate's lip pulled back in a sneer, not unlike the piercing, aggressive demeanor of an angry dog, and he bared rotting teeth. "Never sat well with Bootstrap, what we did to Jack Sparrow, the mutiny and all. He said it wasn't right with the Code. That's why he sent off a piece of the treasure to you, as it were. He said we deserved to be cursed…and remain cursed."

"Stupid blighter," Ragetti spat, listening intently to his friend just a hairbreadth away, leaning in attentively.

Gibbs answered swiftly, "Good man." Will's head perked a bit in surprise. He had yet to know that the elder Turner had known anyone other than Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, and the undead crew. Apparently Joshamee Gibbs had as well, had even known him well enough to be confident in Bootstrap's integrity as a good man.

"But as you can imagine, that didn't sit too well with the captain," Pintel continued, ignoring Gibbs remark and choosing to proceed, fully appreciating the chance to tell the tale of Bootstrap's demise.

Ragetti chuckled. "That didn't sit too well with the captain at all. Tell 'em what Barbossa did."

Pintel exploded, and the slighter man recoiled like a whipped puppy. "I'm telling the story!" he growled, then turned back to face Will, his voice low. "So, what the captain did; he strapped a cannon to Bootstrap's bootstraps—" Ragetti giggled as he repeated the last two words. "—and last we saw of ol' Bill Turner he was sinking to the crushing, black oblivion of Davy Jones' Locker."

Will felt his spirits dwindle at the horrid realization of his father's fate. Death by mutiny, and by a gruesome drowning.

Pintel grew thoughtful. "'Course, it was only after that we learned we needed his blood to lift the curse."

"Now that's what you call ironic," Ragetti added and the two snickered. The occupants of the room were then startled by Barbossa's presence, who stood at the door with the rest of the crew behind him.

Tossing the keys to the iron cages he shouted, "Bring 'im!"

Ragetti caught them and set about unlocking the cell. Will didn't put up a fight as he was yanked from the brig; he knew there would be no point in doing so—the possibility of an escape was nil, and he was severely outnumbered.

The dread he felt started as a cold grip in his middle and it began trickling upward until he felt as though it threatened to clamp his throat shut. He was soon going to discover the feel of a knife slicing through his neck, would feel the blood drain from his body, would watch the men return to their mortality in triumph as he lay dying over a pile of cursed gold. It was doubtful that Jack and Elizabeth could come to his rescue, unlikely that they'd survive themselves.

He was almost frantic enough to run himself through with a sword, to kill himself or be killed to thwart their plans. But Barbossa could sense Will's desperation and as soon as he was on the topside deck, he was placed in shackles, effectively putting an end to the idea of spoiling their plans.

"Any sign of the Black Pearl or the Interceptor?" Governor Swann said as Commodore Norrington opened the door to his quarters aboard the Dauntless. The man removed his tricorn hat and sighed wearily.

"No, I'm afraid not, Governor." He moved languidly into the room and took a seat at the table across from the nobly-dressed Weatherby Swann, ever the man of court—even aboard a ship, and he asked his dutiful cabin boy for a cup of tea, then regarded the governor sympathetically. "We'll not give up, mind you. I refuse to cease our search until your daughter is back in Port Royal and safe."

"Thank you, Commodore," the older man said, smiling gratefully. He was nervous about the outcome of his daughter's return since the two men knew what kind of horrors the pirates had most likely bestowed upon Elizabeth, but he attempted to think otherwise. His daughter may be viewed as a ruined woman by the small number of courtiers that inhabited Hispaniola, but he knew it was important to retrieve Elizabeth before proceeding with the restoration of her reputation. The governor cleared his throat. "Which direction is the vessel headed at the moment?"

"Northeast 5 East, now that she's quit of Windward Passage," James replied and the other man merely nodded as he ambled on about nautical distances and positional longitude and latitude. The cabin boy who had the responsibility of refreshments appeared and placed a pair of cups and saucers before his superiors.

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas." Not long after a silent draught of their tea and the cabin boy quietly waiting for his next command, the three heard a familiar call, 'Land ho!' and they rushed to the top deck to see the shore they were approaching.

James was handed a telescope from an unseen sailor and he peered into it, then felt a glimmer of hope as he spied a ship with tattered black sails moored within the dark, looming volcanic peaks of an unknown island. He knew instantly that this was the Black Pearl. "Heave to windward and drop anchor!" he barked to his crew. "Prepare to launch the longboats!"

The men shouted their affirmation and Lieutenant Gillette approached the Commodore while hurriedly making himself presentable, as he had likely been in the forecastle sleeping. The dog watch had ended for which he had been placed in charge by Norrington as the Commodore decided on a strategy of rescue and/or attack with the Governor—'eight bells and all was well' until the call for hands to prepare for landing came. "What's your plan of action, sir?"

James grinned. "We're going to commandeer the Black Pearl, and save ourselves a governor's daughter."