(OT: Once again, not a long chapter, but I'm quite happy with this one. End of deleted scene/ cut lines and into my own creations. Next chapter will be partially my own and then back to the genius lines belonging to Ted and Terry. Sorry for the delay and all this week I will be at camp, so you will have to forgive me for the break. Enjoy this one! I hope it lasts you for the week)

As Jack guzzled the brown liquid, defiantly returning her angry gaze behind the bottle, Elizabeth scooped the rum out the washing tide, wiping away the sand before uncorking the bottle. Was there really nothing she could do? Nothing she could say to probe Jack to create an escape as he did before? She supposed there wasn't with those last words of his. She and Will...They were doomed, and she might as well not die of being thirsty. After all, her mouth was quite parched.

She ambled up the slight slope, her gaze drifting over the waving, brilliant green palm trees. Perhaps Jack was on the right track. Perhaps a bit of rum would do her good. She settled into a seat beside Sparrow, her grip tightening around the bottle.

He screwed the cork back into the onion bottle and glanced to the dour lady. "Don't be thinking I'm happy about this," Jack said. "But I see no use in wailing and gnashing my teeth over that which I can do nothing about."

"Not when you can drink instead, at least," Elizabeth retorted, rolling the bottle gently in her palm, watching the fluid swill in a hurricane motion.

"You should try it," he said, cocking a half-grin. He knew she was only seconds away from taking a swig, but she wouldn't admit it. No, definately not the governor's daughter who probably only drank fine, lovely wine. "It goes down rough the first time, but it goes down—and the second swig goes down easier."

Elizabeth stared at the rum. Was there anything left to lose? Besides...She glanced at Jack out of the corner of her eyes. Besides her purity, which she had no intention of blithely giving away. As she raised the glass bottle in her left, bandaged hand, she thought about her experiences from England...Actually, of her mother's silly songs. She smiled. Perhaps with her joyous song about pirates she had brought down the Black Pearl upon herself and had discovered William. If she was a child, she would have thought singing it again would bring back the Pearl and her passengers, and although Elizabeth knew better...She couldn't help but try and prove Gibbs' theory.

"Drink up me hearties, yo-ho," she hissed. She tilted the bottle and poured the rum into her mouth, grimacing when the flavor smacked her taste buds and dragged down her throat. Indeed, the first drink was rough and revolting, but it swirled in her stomach and made her heart flutter for a moment.

"What was that, Elizabeth?"

"It's Miss Swann," she growled. Her moist tongue pressed against the sides of her mouth as she lowered the bottle and stared at it once again. She couldn't convince Will to call her Elizabeth and she couldn't get this pirate to stop it. She wasn't certain what the name meant to her, but she knew there was no real point in correcting Jack. She would be stuck on this island with this wild pirate for a long time... But she refused to let the hissing word "forever" enter her mind.

Jack held up both of his hands. No offense, milady, he almost mockingly answered but then stopped. If he wanted to be on the girl's good side, he should certainly listen to her requests.

"Nothing," she whispered. Then, she leaned toward Jack with a sleight grin. "Song I learnt as a child when I actually thought it would be exciting to meet a pirate."

He immediately turned. Jack had heard many songs spouted from and about pirates, but none were suitable for children. From what he had heard, this song sounded promising, even, he dared to think, amusing. He propped one hand on his brown kneecap.

"Let's hear it."

"No."

"Come on," he glanced to the sea, his voice rich with alcohol and life. "We've got the time. Let's have it."

"No," Elizabeth said, staring at the expectant pirate for a moment before looking away, her right hand tapping against the sloshing bottle of rum. She hadn't sung a note since the time when she was fifteen and refused to play or sing to a pianoforte. She always hated the way her voice sounded. Somewhat grating on the high notes and gruff on the low. But a little French wine had convinced her once when she was lingering around Norrington and Will at a public function in the midst of Port Royal's citizens. That was just a foggy memory though. One that neither man dared to remind Elizabeth about, for her tone was more than likely dreadful and her swaggering all the worse. She did not meet Jack's eyes.

"I'd have to have a lot more to drink."

His mouth angled upward, revealing a few of his glistening, gold teeth as he contemplated the image of a sloshed Elizabeth. He'd like to see her wild for once without that business-like tone and glowering eyes, ready for a fight. Feisty was the proper word for the governor's daughter. Yep. That described her perfectly. The onion bottle neared his lips.

"How much more?" he asked, smiling and swigging another drink.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze, disturbed by that seductive smile as she impulsively swigged another sour drink. She shook her head. Too much. Burning in her throat, draining her head of cohesive thoughts. It was pleasurable and torturous at the same time. It was exactly what he wanted though, she thought, to have Miss Swann all to hisself. As Jack resumed his own drinking, she watched a thought flicker across his face. Her reputation was ruined anyway, especially when those high-to-do ladies learned she was trapped on an island with the infamous Jack Sparrow, known for his luring qualities but never accused of any heinous crimes involving them. She had breezed through his crimes at one time, and she didn't recall rape being among them. She hoped, and dared not utter, that Jack would not force Elizabeth to do anything, but if she was willing, Elizabeth would bet her father's fortune that he would take the opportunity.

"You know," she said softly, "you're lucky, Jack."

"Lucky," he repeated dryly, confused by the lady's words.

"You're not trapped."

"Are we not on this island together? Or is the rum making me hallucinate?" he asked half-heartedly, glancing around at the trees and the crashing ocean and her fluttering hair. Her eyes were rotating over him languidly, as if examining a new specimen. He took another swig in response to that eerie stare.

"No, I mean by marriage or a repressive father...Or a corset." She laughed. "You have freedom."

"You're not chained, love."

"I might as well be." Elizabeth tilted back the drink, chugging down the liquid without stopping for several seconds. Her voice gave out when she opened her mouth and then she said, "When I go back...What will be left?"

She still had hope they wouldn't remain on this island, while his own faith in the Royal Navy was dwindling with each and every mouthful of delicious rum.

"The Commodore!" His glass rose in a mock-cheer for the proper, white-wigged man.

"Yes," she said with a slight grunt. "James will remain." She drank again, not wanting to face up to the fact that his proposal lingered and with Will dead... She gulped down the rum and let it carry her toward Jack's world of madness; it was a lovely world without burdensome thoughts and her mind was absorbed in the pirate's drawling tone. It was alluring in a strange way, but James invaded her thoughts, as did Will's fate at Isla de Muerta.

Elizabeth had no excuse NOT to marry James. He was a good man but definitely not the one for her. Will was the man for Elizabeth. She wanted Will to lie beside her at night, and she dreamt of his calloused, stroking hands touching her face and drumming along her hips.

She heaved out a sigh, and Jack was quiet, realizing that it was best to let whatever was bothering her to eat away at Elizabeth until she saw fit to speak or expel it. He just hoped it wasn't in the form of anger.

"I used to dream about pirates," she burst with nothing but bliss in her voice. "Even after all James told me, I still dreamt about them."

The bitterness had washed away and down into her organs, along with the alcohol swilling betwixt her hands, now nearly at the half-way mark. She made quick progress, but Jack was a bit quicker. He liked that. His ears perked up, and the rum coursed through his veins in an absurd rush, making his insides writhe in happiness. Rum is good...Almost as good as the Pearl. He wanted to hear these dreams that she obviously found fascinating. Maybe he was involved. Maybe they could fulfill a dream...

"I dreamt of fighting with one and picking his brain. But no matter how many logs I briefed, novels I read, or sailors I bothered, I couldn't find it."

Jack arched one eyebrow. It?

"The trait that separates a pirate from a loyal sailor or fine swordsman." She paused, sighed, and guzzled down the liquid, beginning to wonder how long the bottle would last. "And then I did find it."

"And what is that, Miss Swann?" he asked, now curious and finding her light tone highly entertaining. Her voice was now hauling rum and her knees dropped to the sand as she stretched out her long, tan legs.

"Elizabeth, if you please," she swiftly said, without even meaning to. She had just corrected Jack the opposite way, and she heard a muffled snort from the man. "Rum," she then adjusted. "They have rum." Elizabeth chuckled, tilting back her head. "And those novels!" She staggered to her feet. "They were one extreme or the other. A pirate's life was fantastic or vile, exciting or insufferable. I didn't know what to believe."

"And then you met me," he said in a self-satisfied tone.

"Then I met you." She pointed to him and the drink slopped back and forth against the insides of the container as she began to sway.

"And which side do you lean toward now, Elizabeth?"

A smile quirked at the corners of her mouth, glad to hear her name instead of Miss Swann this or Miss Swann that. She didn't want to be that person. She didn't want to be the governor's precious, pure daughter on this island with Jack Sparrow. She wanted to be Elizabeth Swann, lass and lady.

"Somewhere between the lines, Jack," she said gently, leaning toward him before taking yet another drink. "Now," she said. "I do believe I owe you a song."