(OT: Sorry for the cut at the end. I wanted to keep it going, but for audience purposes, I decided to go ahead and post it in parts. I tried to make the thoughts somewhat amusing/light at the end. Hopefully it worked. Enjoy!)
The Black Pearl was already underway, and Jack hesitated, watching it float toward the horizon, its brilliant, black sails flapping as the lad and his steadfast crew was led away, more than likely to the brig, while he swam here, next to a governor's daughter. Definitely not according to plan. His boots scraped against the muck as Elizabeth gained her footing immediately, rising as much as possible. Unwise, he thought, but she'd learn quickly to wait—
A wave splashed over her, knocking the woman off her feet. She murmured a curse and then felt a hand gripping her arm, hauling Elizabeth from the water. She didn't say, "Thank you." For some reason, she couldn't will herself to. She merely listened to the turquoise waves lap against the shore as she trudged forward, spinning slowly in the breakers, ankle-deep in water, and staring out to the fathomless sea. What now? Watch and wait to die, she supposed as her arms hung limply at her side, leaning her weight on one foot and popping out her right hip unconsciously.
His Black Pearl was fading into the distance, becoming narrower and narrower until it was a blurry smudge. He threw off his bonds, allowing them to drift back to the sea and then wash back on the beach. This was beyond just being as shame. His ship was tainted by that wretched cursed crew, her once brilliant black sails battered and withered away from a decade of abuse by Captain Barbossa. Still yearning for his comfort, still wanting a new coat and fresh routes. Jack's poor, beautiful vessel. Bitterness did not even begin to explain his feelings.
"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship," he said.
Elizabeth didn't respond. She continued to gaze into the arch of the waves, the glint of the curves, and her chest heaved up and down. She was restless. Will was out there without the slightest bit of hope...Without knowing how much she loved him. And Elizabeth was here with the very man that betrayed and had the spark of horrid schemes. To willingly want to exchange Will for a bloody ship. Gah. Elizabeth had to move away. She sighed and looked to her left and then to her right. Might as well travel counter-clockwise. The woman strode forward, the warm sand making her toes tingle as it seeped over her dainty, bare feet.
At least he was alive and had company. Who was he kidding? He was bloody thankful that a woman was nearby! Of course, two people would certainly deplete the rum cellar a bit faster, but dying with a beautiful woman in his arms was much more preferable to lying next to a mournful William or Mr. Gibbs. He watched her wander aimlessly away, her shift clinging to every curve (to which Jack smiled at) and her path somehow resolute. She needed time alone. Well, so did he. Strolling several feet away, Jack dragged a chunk of brittle driftwood toward him, rolling it upright so that its branches would act as handy pegs to dry his clothing. He swiftly removed his water-laden garments, unbuttoning his vest and shucking off his leather boots before looping them over the branches. After laying out his baldric and compass, Jack plunked onto the gritty sand and withdrew his scarf, staring at the droplets on the flintlock pistol, knowing the gunpowder would be soaked and useless for now.
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Locked in a solitary cell, Will hugged to the bars, tapping his fingers against the iron hinges. He could spring himself from the cell if he had the leverage, but at the moment, there would be no point nor did he have practical supplies. The crew was sleeping or murmuring amongst themselves. Will didn't really care. His mind was full of images of Elizabeth. The look he had seen upon her face before she bounded into the ocean had struck him. He didn't need to hear her say it. Well... Perhaps it would have been nice, but he was mostly assured –almost certain— that she cared for him more deeply than he had ever imagined. If he hadn't been restrained and gagged, he would have done something. Instead he had to watch the Bo'sun thump her unexpectedly into the swirling ocean, lost to that tiny island. However, he had heard gasp when she arose from the gorgeous depths. Elizabeth was alive and still had a chance. Will banged against the damp wall of the Black Pearl, his hands plastered against the wood, writhing against the cool realization.
The Navy would be out looking for her, except they wouldn't check deserted islands unless a signal was formed, would they? They would find her! He had to keep telling himself that. Elizabeth would live. That was what mattered all along. And Jack Sparrow...Jack Sparrow would get what he deserved. A nasty image of the pair formed in his mind, forsaken and staring at one another, Elizabeth completely disgusted with the pirate. Jack wouldn't try anything with her; at least, Will hoped he wouldn't. Jack had courted strumpets in Tortuga, aroused Anamaria's interest somehow, and fascinated the fair governor's daughter to some degree, but he had boundaries and a conscience. He was a good man at heart even if he was a deceitful, lying bastard at times. Will's fists crumpled; if Jack could escape the island once, he could do it again. Will had never believed his cock-and-bull story about thrusting sea turtles together, but he had some means of escape, and Elizabeth was intelligent, and she could think of something as well. Will slid down the wall until his rump hit the floor and his calloused fingers combed through his brown, curly locks. They would find a way. He just knew it.
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Elizabeth kicked the hot sand, launching it across the frayed strands of grass and glancing to the bleating sun, its sweltering rays soaking into her fair skin. The island was small; too small to hide from another person. As the woman strode forward, veering slightly with the bend of the island, she felt the coarse grains of sand gathering in the folds of her shift and the salt from the sea clustering in her drying hair. She fanned her hand against her face, but it only blew more hot air against her flesh. Good lord. Had it ever been this hot in the Caribbean? She now did not lament being rid of Barbossa's maroon gown. She would have stripped it off anyway.
Elizabeth knelt down and swept her off-white skirt into her hand, pulling it up to her knees. The edge was still damp, and her stocky legs continued to move her forward. It felt like it was singeing her figure until she finally passed through a place of shade, several palm trees bunched together, their fringed leaves dangling overhead, swaying lightly, and soothing Elizabeth's nerves. She flopped into a seat in the grassy shade, her hands entwining themselves around a fern. She then retracted her hand, realizing that any of the inhabiting plants could be poisonous. The woman tossed her golden locks behind her shoulders, leaning on her kneecaps and staring at the level plane where the water had made a serrated path.
Inexplicably, large tears dribbled down her cheeks, streaking onto her shift and making diminutive, wet marks. She hadn't meant for them to come all at once, but she couldn't help it. She buried her face in her hands. This was her bloody fault. This was Sparrow's fault too. If she had only told Will about the medallion, and if Jack had only dealt a just bargain instead of weaseling his way in and out through his twisted words. She swiped the tears away, and they stopped. She wasn't going to cry and weep like a damsel in distress. Jack was with her, and he had escaped. He had escaped so many people and places and guards that he had to have a plan. Elizabeth rose, scooped up a bundle of her skirt with her left hand, and started at off at a run, slowing when she recalled the blistering oppression above her. She resumed her stride. Elizabeth would make him feel guilty, vent her frustration, and demand his grand scheme, and ready herself to leave the island. Then, as she strolled around the final bend, Elizabeth paused and stared at Jack fiddling with his pistol.
"You can be the gentleman and shoot the lady and starve to death yourself."
She had heard those words shortly after she splashed into the ocean and now they reverberated in her mind. Could he do that? Would he have the willpower to shoot Elizabeth if she agitated him enough? No doubt he was capable...But willing was another issue. She halted and squinted at the man in the distance, rolling the black bullet between his fingers, lifting it to the air and then back down. Perhaps if she was shot, she would not have to endure his ponderings and would not have to face Will's ultimate death and the commodore's lasting proposal. She shook her head. What was she thinking? Actually wishing to die rather than escape this wretched island. Elizabeth approached Jack, but his eyes did not even lift to her face. She stared after her footprints that carried across the sand. The footprints that would eternally be there until the island was overtaken by a hurricane or rain or some hostile disaster. She looked back to him.
"Really not all that big, is it?" he said, staring at his pistol.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought he was talking about the bullet. That tiny, black orb of fury that could kill a man in an instant. It was a fascinating thing. She swiftly realized he meant the isle.
"Has it changed since the last time you were here?" she asked. Elizabeth had grown a bit more cautious over the past few minutes. It was best to ease into a confrontation.
"The trees are taller." Jack switched the pistol from one hand to the next, and then gripped the weapon with both hands, finished reconstructing the firearm that would one day murder Hector Barbossa. He had no quarrels with it. None whatsoever after what the bastard put him through. After what he had done to the Pearl and to his freedom. That man deserved to die, just as the crew deserved to be cursed. He wondered where Elizabeth's track of mind of headed. She'd proclaim one thing or another after a while, especially with dear William off breaking the bloody curse. Jack felt her gaze following his bejeweled hands, unphased but curious...Lifting his eyes to her face, he then saw there was not fear. It was pure loathing. Hmph.
"If you're going to shoot me, please do so without delay." Elizabeth had noticed his irritated shifting of the pistol. But she didn't want to die. Not until she knew if Will was alive or dead at Isla de Muerta. Nevertheless, she planned on facing whatever came her way. Perhaps she could slug Jack with that leather boot of his.
The gun went lax in his hands and he leaned forward, draping his arms over his legs. He noticed the fire in her tone. As if he would listen to Barbossa of all people. Shoot a lady. Nay. Not unless she was trying to do him in or if she really was drowning in misery.
"Is there a problem between us, Miss Swann?"
"You were going to tell Barbossa about Will in exchange for a ship," she said, stepping forward. So much for easing into the conflict.
"We could use a ship!" he barked mockingly. Oh, what little this lass knew. The boy was stupid and love-struck and no use to him, and yet he had still tried to protect him in a way. "The fact is, I was going to NOT tell Barbossa about bloody Will in exchange for a ship." He waved his pistol around, watching her face turn and her lip curl. "Because as long as he didn't know about bloody Will," he said, pointing the pistol at his chest, "I had something to bargain with... Which now no one has, thanks to bloody stupid Will."
"Oh," she murmured as Jack rose, swiping the sand from his loose trousers. Elizabeth's gaze dropped, ashamed that she had assumed the worst. Then again, Jack had allowed the estranged couple to assume the worst of him. Guess that was what made him Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Oh," he mocked her again, tucking his pistol in his belt. Now, if only she would sit down and leave him alone. He had to find rum if she wanted to bicker. Rum always made arguments reasonable and tended to sway a lady away from the source of the clash.
Elizabeth stared at the sand, realizing that she had allowed Jack to become as horrible as Barbossa in her mind, and then her gentle, brown eyes lifted, still angry. But he did everything he could to save her from the clutches of those pirates and even so much as to save Jack's.
"He still risked his life to save ours!"
"Ha!" Jack laughed. That was a good one, Miss Elizabeth. Oh yes. Except that the lad saved your life, not mine, he thought. The pirate walked away, his arms swinging and his legs pumping like a prancing horse. Rum. He had to find the rum before he went ballistic on the girl.
Elizabeth pursued the man, ankle-deep in the water and still holding her skirt, chasing after Jack. No! He was not just going to walk away. Where was he going to hide? The other side of the island? It was all within walking distance.
"But we have to do something to rescue him!"
Jack swirled around, his salty breath wafting against her narrow nose, and his wild eyes zipping across the woman. "Off you go then!" he shouted as he flicked his wrists toward Elizabeth. "Let me know how that turns out."
