I apologize for the gap between these two chapters. I struggled with this one. Jack's dialogue and who was on which side, so to speak, and how the details factored into the rest of the story... It all means nothing to you, for now, but I had to wrestle with a lot, and it didn't help I had barely any time.

Anyway, I'm hoping I'll be able to post the other chapters quicker. I have them more planned out in my mind. Prepare yourself for a different AU. No little William III. No chipper Elizabeth. No conniving Elizabeth, either. I'm venturing into dark places.

And thank you for the reviews! I really do appreciate it!

And just FYI, I will be switching between vantage points. You won't see the inner workings of Elizabeth for a while, which is quite unusual if you know my fics!

And Jack is intentionally... I don't know.. A little off. He's still pretty scarred. The same ol' Jack, but you know, I don't believe Johnny Depp or the writers when they say Jack is completely unchanging. He has to change... Slightly. Even if it's only really internally done. I'm exploring that... perhaps... All right. I'll stop ranting.

ENJOY!

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L'Amour, a young, vibrant sloop that had only hours before coursed through the buoyant waves like an animal set alight, now lolled in the ocean, its captain in a mutual stance, his wiry body slumped over a jaggedly cut map. Jack Sparrow's bejeweled fingers spun the wheel on the Chinese charts, and thousands of curses flew through his mind. None of this was according to plan, and he was fairly certain his ship was pointing the wrong direction.

That was just brilliant.

He was supposed to have his lady, the Black Pearl, back under his possession by now. Instead, Barbossa was beating her to death; ripping her beautiful sails, pushing her to limits she had known so well before by the bellow of his voice. It wasn't healthy for her, and it wasn't healthy for Jack Sparrow not to have a well-provisioned, trustworthily- manned ship. Not even Gibbs was on board!

His gaze flicking to the map, Jack wished he could cup eternal life in his hands right then, the Aqua de Vida promising to resolve the problem of eventually dying and not meeting all of his expectations of seeing the world.

Thus far, however, his luck was running on low, and unfortunately, so was the rum.

Grabbing a nearby onion bottle, his lips gently pressed to the cool neck, debating on if it was worth it to take the last swig.

It would mean facing his crew again when he reached into the cellar.

It would also mean slipping between their fingers before they realized their captain's compass was acting strange again.

Eh.

Jack angled the bottle upwards and felt the last gulp trickle down his throat; yes, indeed, rum did never fail to make things better. After rolling the chart back into his inner pocket, Jack staggered from his seat and took over the helm, dismissing the young sailor with barely a glance.

It was good to be infamous. Everyone respected you then. Everyone knew of you and your tales upon the mighty sea. As for believing them, well that was their business, not Jack's.

He checked the compass again, watching the blood red dial whirl 'round and 'round before resting on one direction, and then clamped shut the case, finding himself disgruntled by what he saw. The contraption was a fickle thing, and Jack was very glad it had no actual bearing on his heart's desire.

By nightfall, the sloop was stationary again and no longer listening to Jack's commands. The waves suddenly turned turbulent, crashing into the hull and causing panic among the mangy pirates. Jack gripped onto the helm, shouting blind directions at his crew and hastily forming a plan. The nearest port was not a port he wished to be seen at, and the closest island was not meant for his feet to walk upon.

Quandary.

Well, it merely meant he would have to urge the sloop on.

No storm brewed above and no hurricane whirled below, and yet the canvas sails whipped as if high winds were amidst the men, and the once sparkling, starry sky darkened ominously. It was a curious thing. Unique weather had no place in Jack's plans, though, and he looked upon the white caps of the waves as an omen; a very bad omen, to be sure.

When the waves finally stopped stirring, a great vessel of Dutch design exploded through a whirl of spewing water, and Jack recognized it immediately even in the black of the night, his eyes widening.

So Captain Turner couldn't resist checking up on him.

Unexpected didn't quite explain Jack's feelings.

The sea bubbled and foamed, finally settling around the ships as they halted close to one another, and Jack dutifully clamored into a longboat and stroked toward The Flying Dutchman, a lantern planted beside him as he wondered what dear William could possibly have to say. A question perhaps? About oh-what's-her-face? Or an inquiry into the world of pirating?

All seemed unlikely. With only a year and six months under his belt, what could the captain of The Flying Dutchman want from him, Jack Sparrow, the pirate without immortality, without a ship, and without rum.

Jack slowly climbed up the gangway, and while the vessel still retained its menacing exterior, with a sailfish's mouth of teeth and cannons spread hither and thither, there was a general ease about the ship that calmed him. Jack appreciated the refurbishment; he envied the ability to improve a ship and its crew. There was talent in that.

Eyes pinned to him, Jack hopped on board and scanned the well-lit deck, not particularly looking for Will. Instead, he noticed that while the main cannons were in pristine condition and begging to be employed, the majority were gone. Removed. Disappeared.

What a waste.

They would've been a great addition to his Pearl when he got it back (not "if." WHEN). He also noted a paranormal flush emanating from the dank floor, illuminating everything in an emerald green glow.

"Jack," Will's voice boomed toward him, and he spotted the young captain bounding down the steps from the helm.

Outfitted in a black cotton vest with matching trousers, Will stalked toward the pirate, and Jack couldn't resist delighting in the fact that Will still adorned his head with a sea-green bandana. Blacksmith to Pirate. He quite liked the huge alteration; it made business much easier for him.

"William," Jack said evenly.

"I need your help."

A bad sign.

"Elizabeth—"

"Is in grave danger and has so obligingly put you in the position to rescue her, but you cannot feasibly do it alone." Jack finished for him in one breath. "Who causes the disturbance betwixt the Turners? Cursed pirates?"

"No, she—"

"Is locked up in a brig somewhere?"

Will's face contorted. "No."

"Enslaved by a pirate lord?"

"Jack," Will cut the man off, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know what's happened, but we must find her."

"Shouldn't you be fetching souls?" Jack asked, his index finger accusingly pointing toward the man.

Will said quietly. "Elizabeth has betrayed me, Jack. Have you seen her?"

His tone was desperate, and Jack noticed how Will anxiously touched his right arm, clearly agitated by something beneath the white fabric of his blouse. Jack's eyebrows furrowed, and he wondered about this professed betrayal. Elizabeth loved William with such great intensity, it was beyond simple words; Jack had learned that the hard way. But betrayal was not beyond Elizabeth. No, Elizabeth would do anything. Well… Almost anything.

"And by aiding in this venture of yours, what do I gain?"

Sparrow was always one to bargain; never one to merely concede.

"Gain?" Will clarified. "I have nothing to offer."

Jack's eyes eagerly drifted over the magnificent vessel.

"No," Will said.

Jack scrunched up his nose, and his eyes rolled from the floor and up to Will's twisted frown. "You owe me one."

"Excuse me?" Will's eyebrows furrowed, and his fidgeting hand finally slid down to the hilt of his sword, reminding Sparrow of Will's unmatched skills.

The lover boy was quite vexed by this predicament. Jack could see it pulsing behind his eyes, and nerves gnawed on the end of Jack's thoughts. Desperation was a tricky emotion to deal with: there was no consoling, there was no sane thought once it ravaged your mind, and there was no way to escape it. You would go to any lengths. You would go to the end of the world and back. Jack knew that feeling; Jack had mastered that feeling less than two years ago, and as much as he loathed it, the pirate never wished to feel that again, and he now had to use that deep and unyielding anguish. Use it against Will to protect himself.

"I saved your life, and your bonny wife too."

"I defeated Beckett with you," Will nearly snarled. "Consider that payment."

"You had your own vendettas against the white-wigged miscreant, mate, and consequently, I have a proposition to put to ye."

As Will sighed heavily, Jack scooped out the miniature version of the charts and pursed his lips together as he attempted to flatten the material out in the air. It immediately curled to his fingertips again, and he stretched the map again, gritting his yellow teeth. He turned the chart toward Will, who snatched the Chinese coordinates out of Jack's grip in one smooth motion.

"And what am I finding for you this time?" Will asked. "Another bloody key?"

Jack tapped the map. "No, something much more valuable."

"The Aqua de Vida?" Will's eyes widened.

"Eternal life," Jack said. "No consequences. No boundaries." His kohl-masked eyes danced at the promising thought. "The last pirate of the seven seas." He cocked a half-smile, and Will shook his head. "Besides you, that is."

Will grimaced. "And what must I do?"

Jack tilted slightly, his arms swinging at his waist as he grabbed the chart from Will and returned it to his coat. "Lead me to Barbossa and his crew of mutinous malefactors."

"You will lead me to Elizabeth." It was half-question, half-statement.

"Yes," he said. "I shall take you to your perfidious better half so you can win her heart once again." You would think once would be enough, Jack snidely thought. "We can take my ship," Jack added, gesturing over the railing to the grandeur of his little sloop and hoping the love-sick boy had a better vessel in mind for the voyage.

Will rolled his eyes. "We'd best take mine."

"Only if you insist," Jack said.

-*-*-*-

The captain begrudgingly returned to L'Amour, commanding his crew to make port and stay there. Fortunately, his infamy had yet to wear off, and Jack threatened the grungy sailors that if any man disobeyed or attempted to commandeer his ship, hell would hath no fury like a Turner scorned.

The Flying Dutchman did have its advantages, despite the fact that Will and Bootstrap forbid him from manning the helm, and Jack cheerfully scoured the ship for artifacts of Davy Jones in the meantime. After all, he needed a trinket to truly tell a superior tale of the monstrous creature and his love affair with Calypso; yes, the ladies certainly would appreciate it if Jack could only find that blasted locket.

As the last chamber to be searched, the music room was also the filthiest. Crustaceans still clung to the musty green walls, twitching when Jack ventured too close, and the yellow-tinged organ was still plastered on as if cemented by the slimy soul of Jones'.

Creepy.

Jack tip-toed around the place, his fingers brushing the keys but never resting too long, for he did not wish to hear any sound relating to that ruddy git, and he carefully thumbed through the sticky drawers for the remains of Davy's tortured life.

"Jack?"

He whirled around, his arms bouncing, his fingers unintentionally slamming on the white and black keys, and a voluminous sound swelled within the chamber. Will winced, and he walked forward, meeting Jack by the organ.

"What are you searching for?"

"Nothing," Jack said quickly.

Will shrugged, his eyes never locking with the man's. "I'm losing her, Jack."

Oh, boy. He had heard this before.

"I see her now, in ghost form, but only in glimpses, like she's only partially dead... Or dying."

Jack sealed his lips together; it was best to let Will get to the root of the problem on his own.

"And she looks peaceful except for her eyes. Her eyes are dark. Sad." Will frowned, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "She promised to keep my heart safe."

Jack meandered away, nearing the crusty walls again and idly prying at the crevices. It was rather ironic that Elizabeth gave her heart away to someone who didn't have one, now that he thought about it, and he watched William out his peripheral vision.

"Mate, are you certain—?"

"Calypso," he practically frothed at the mouth when he said the word. "She visited. By deceiving me, just like Calypso did to Davy, Elizabeth has corrupted my purpose."

Because Elizabeth WAS Will's purpose.

Yes, Jack knew that fact very well.

He had warned Will about this. If he locked his heart away, he was sure to lose Elizabeth. That's what he had said, and he had meant it, at the time. Women weren't very dependable. Actually, humans weren't very dependable. That's why Jack preferred to rely on ships; they were always attentive and never strayed unless by force. No human could say that.

"And how do you think you'll woo the lady back to the Turner team?" Jack asked impishly.

"I haven't figured that part out yet," Will said.

He was hoping love was enough.

Mmm… Love.

Silly thing.

"Where do you think she is?" Will asked.

"Shipwreck City," Jack said.

"Think," was a horrid word in this case and astoundingly inaccurate. Jack didn't think. He knew where Mrs. Turner laid her head to rest each night.

"Why there? She never said…"

"Because," Jack said slowly, his eyes darting. "I visited her there."