Disclaimer: POTC is awesome, but I can't take credit for the characters or the events which have and will transpire, aside from this stuff, and Squirrel.

A/N: This chapter shouldn't cause anyone to have aneurisms or anything. Hopefully.

The waves were rough and merciless. Rain fell hard and harsh into Squirrel's face, leaving her spluttering for air. She ducked down under the hood of her cloak, trying to shield her face. She clung tighter to the only thing keeping her above the waves, the only thing stopping her from dying in this terrible storm.

The dolphin looked up at Squirrel with one baleful eye. Squirrel stared back, shocked. Her senses were so numbed by the cold and the rain she could barely feel anything. But now she realised she rode a dolphin, just as one would ride a horse. She clutched tighter to the dolphin's fin, remembering the stories she'd heard about dolphins saving people from drowning. And Squirrel would certainly drown in this storm.

The dolphin's jaw opened, revealing a row of sharp white teeth. "You again." It hissed, clearly displeased.

Squirrel lost her grip on the dolphin's fin, but her legs gripped tighter around the dolphin's middle. "What?" The dolphin bucked, leaping above the wild waves, crashing down into the water again. Squirrel coughed and gasped. The dolphin leapt again, twisting in midair, trying to shake Squirrel off.

"Stop it!" Squirrel screamed. "Let me go!"

"You're the one holding on!" The dolphin snarled back, a woman's voice. A familiar voice, forever associated with burning flesh and cruel laughter.

Squirrel grit her teeth, blinking away the sting of salt water and the harsh drops of rain. "If I let go, I'll drown!"

The dolphin leapt again, avoiding one wave only to dive through another. While Squirrel coughed and spluttered, the dolphin barked, "Exactly! Now let go!"

Squirrel wrapped her arms around the dolphin's neck, refusing to be cowed by an animal's demands. But doing so, she looked down. Through the turbulent water, she saw the Flying Dutchman, its sails billowing from the push of the ocean's currents. The Kraken's tentacles whipped through the water closer, just below them. Coiling and uncoiling, the Kraken looked to be searching for something. Or someone.

Squirrel gave a hiccup of fear. Death at the hands of the sea. Her arms fell slack. The dolphin shimmied in the storm-churned waves, thinking to shake Squirrel free, but Squirrel dug her fingernails into the dolphin's slick pink skin and clamped her legs tighter around the animal's girth. The dolphin hissed, annoyed; Squirrel grunted in return, refusing to let go.

"Suit yourself!" The dolphin's powerful tail flicked, and the animal and its rider were lifted high into the air. Squirrel screwed her eyes shut tight and continued to tighten her grip. She could feel the dolphin climbing, higher and higher through the air. Finally, Squirrel opened her eyes, disoriented, and looked down. The sea was leagues below them both. Squirrel's stomach dropped… and then, so did the dolphin. Nose-first, it made to dive into the sea which churned far below them. The Kraken's tentacles began to break the surface. The wind and the rain rushed past Squirrel's face, backwards.

As Squirrel and the dolphin fell ever faster, time seemed to slow. The waves below them smoothed out, becoming as flat and as reflective as any mirror. But instead of reflecting Squirrel, it showed the face of one she knew too well. She would have raised her arms to protect herself if she could, but she couldn't let go. She could only take one final breath - a prelude to a scream - as the water raced ever closer towards her.

Squirrel woke up as soon as she hit the surface of the water, panting and shaking. Such was the momentum of her waking that she practically threw herself off the bunk. She hit her head on the wall and tripped over her satchel as the world of dreams and reality collided. Staggering to her feet, twisted in the blankets, Squirrel fought for breath and balance both.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she remembered where she was, trying to solidify her place and sense of self. Another nightmare. Different from the usual one, but still terrifying.

She lifted and dropped her stone necklace repeatedly, in time with the slow breaths she took to steady herself. The thud-thud-thud of it was calming, steadying - it told her she was awake, and in solid reality. There wasn't enough air down here - she needed the wind and the sea. Quietly, she disentangled herself from the sheets, and went up on deck.

She leant against the mainmast and tried to breathe. The sound of the wind in the rigging, the groan of the timbers and the slap of the ropes and the canvas were soothing and familiar. Yet they jarred against her senses - this ship was different. It wasn't what she was used to. It was as though the Diana was reminding her: this isn't your home. This isn't where you belong.

Squirrel rubbed her eyes, trying to dispel the last residue of the nightmare. As she leant against the mast, listening to the usual sounds of a ship, she heard something else. Someone paced the deck, steps forward and back in one spot. Squirrel peered around the mast, and saw Will brandishing his sword, threatening the empty air.

Squirrel stifled a yawn as she crossed to him. "Evening."

Will turned and made a short bow to her. "Not really," he said, lowering his sword. "It's three in the morning."

"Urgh." Squirrel rubbed at her face again. It had been late when she'd left Barbossa's quarters after dinner, and later still before she'd finally been able to drift off. She'd never be able to get back to sleep now. She shook herself, her hair falling slightly into her face, and peered through to Will. "Why are you up?"

Will readied his sword again. "I've been lax in my practice." He made three steps, and swung the sword in a short fluid arc. The air screamed as it was cut - no doubt a man would do the same. Squirrel whistled faintly, impressed. Will tried to hide a smile.

"Who taught you how to fight?"

Will bowed his head modestly. "I taught myself."

Squirrel's eyebrows both rose. "Really?" She watched, silently, for a few moments more as Will stepped and lunged, stepped and swung, stepped and blocked, stepped and parried, and repeated the movements. "You're very skilled."

"Thankyou." Will paused a moment, rolled his shoulders, and began again. Squirrel watched the way his feet moved, how in time with his body his sword moved. Though Will was nowhere as graceful or as practiced as Barbossa, he certainly knew what he was doing.

Will swung the sword again, stepped back and levelled it at the air. "How was your dinner with Barbossa?" He asked, his tone casual.

Squirrel tilted her head, frowning a little. "We had a lot to talk about."

"Really? What about?" He didn't sound so much as curious as offhanded.

Squirrel refused to be baited. "Nothing much. Just stories, really." She watched him a moment. "You seem a little concerned, William. Why is that?"

Will swung his sword again, cutting an 'x' into the air, still refusing to meet Squirrel's gaze. "It may not be the best idea to become so familiar with him."

"Why not?"

Will finally lowered his sword and looked Squirrel dead in the eye. "Because I think he's just using you. When the rest of the crew see how you and Barbossa are getting along, they'll begin to trust him too."

Squirrel did not stoop so low. "You're entitled to your opinion, William. But I'm not going to judge him for who he was before."

Will sighed, displeased. He lifted his sword again, and made a few half-hearted swings at the air.

"Just give him a second chance," Squirrel pleaded softly. "As you said, if he proves untrustworthy, then we can walk away. But all he wants now is to be accepted as part of this crew. He's not asking any more than that. And he's not forcing us to do anything we don't want to do."

Will sighed. "I suppose." He lifted his sword and parried and struck at invisible enemies. But he made no promise. Squirrel stepped back and watched Will step and turn and strike, step and strike, strike and step and turn.

"Could you teach me?"

Will stopped mid-stroke and turned to look quizzically at Squirrel. "I beg your pardon?"

Squirrel paused a moment. "Could you teach me how to use a sword?" She shrugged, preparing to accept rejection. "I know you're already teaching me how to swim - or you did, once - but I was just wondering…"

"Of course."

Squirrel blinked, surprised. "Really? Oh. Thankyou."

"I'd be happy to." Will smiled. "But no-one's ever taught you before?"

"No." Squirrel rolled her shoulders. "I guess they thought that my being able to use a shanghai was enough."

"And it isn't?"

Squirrel looked down at her feet. "It wasn't enough the Kraken attacked."

There was a silence between them a moment, then Will nodded. "I'll go down to the armoury," he said softly, "See if there's a spare sword down there."

"Wait." Squirrel held out her hand, and Will gingerly passed her his sword. Despite the tightness of her grip, Squirrel's arm shook, and the sword soon tumbled out of her hand. "I'm not strong enough," she explained ruefully, as Will picked his sword off the deck. She rubbed the length of her arm, trying to sooth the muscles that had strained even from that minor exercise.

"How do you plan to use the sword if you can't even lift one?" Will asked, curious eyes locked on her.

Squirrel shrugged, then gave a weak smile. "I don't know. But I thought I'd ask."

Will shook his head, laughing softly. "I'll go look for something."

"Thankyou." Squirrel whispered as he went below. She leaned against the mast again, listening to the silent sounds of the night and the wild ocean. The nightmare seemed so far away and foolish now. She looked around the deck. Cotton was at the helm; his parrot was - for once - watchful on his owner's shoulder, instead of sleeping with its head under its wing. The bird spied Squirrel, and fluttered over to her, perching on her shoulder.

"Pieces of eight?" It asked, head on one side.

Squirrel shook her head. "Sorry," she said, "Until I finish the inventory, I'm not carrying anything for you." The parrot huffed, then started to preen itself, as though it really didn't matter that much anyway.

Squirrel was reminded once again about the belongings at her belt. The coin and the bottle - she'd have to deal with them both eventually. The coin she wanted to put somewhere safe. But the bottle… she wanted some privacy, some time alone, to examine her prize.

Your theft, you mean, a gentle voice scolded.

"Enjoyin' deh sea air?"

Squirrel turned to see Tia making her way across the deck. "Doesn't anyone sleep anymore?" She muttered to herself.

Tia gave Squirrel a wry smile. "Is too fine a night t' spend beloo. 'ow is your han', Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel gently unwound the bandage. Her left palm and the undersides of her fingers were now a mass of thick brown scabs, wrinkled and fissured. Though the wounds were all scabbed over, Squirrel's hand was still tender, and every time she accidentally brushed against something or curled her left hand she was reminded of this. But she no longer needed salves or oils. Just the bandage and more than the usual amount of caution.

Tia examined the mess of Squirrel's hand with pursed lips, then nodded. "Good, good," she murmured. "Is healing well."

"How much longer, do you think?" Squirrel asked, politely. She rewound the bandage around her hand.

Tia's inky smile widened. "By deh time we reach Africa, you will be back to your ol' seelf ageen." Tia tilted her head to one side. "Or… will you? While deh han' be 'ealed, will deh one who wears it be?"

"Tia," Squirrel sighed, "Please, no riddles."

"Riddles is what I am," Tia shrugged, then tilted her head. "You be havin' night-meers still." She smiled her feline smile at the short jump Squirrel gave. "Tell me about dem."

Squirrel's lips made a thin line. "If Gibbs were here, he'd say it would be bad luck to recount dreams before breakfast."

Tia chuckled, a short burst laughter from deep in the back of her throat. "But you don' believe in luck, do you, Miss Greeh?" Squirrel looked out to sea, stubbornly. Tia laughed again - softer this time - then sighed. "Ah, gherl, dere's such a mark on you, an' you do not even wan' to see it."

Squirrel held up her right arm, scowling. "I can see it just fine, thank you very much."

Tia's eyes widened, and her smile vanished. "What is dis?" She asked, gently taking Squirrel's arm in her hands. "What is dis dat happen to you?"

"My cousin Dawn pushed me into a metal plate a few months back," Squirrel said, voice low. "That's the 'mark' you're talking about, right?"

Tia shook her head, still wide-eyed. She traced a pattern on Squirrel's forearm with her finger. "Is not the burns of which I speak," she said, "But dis. What is dis?"

Squirrel pulled her hand out of Tia's grasp. "It's nothing."

Tia's eyes were deep and fathomless. "Under deh sunburn, is look like a han'prin', Miss Greeh." She tilted her head, and her braids and beads clinked softly. "'oose 'and?"

Squirrel closed her eyes. "You know very well."

There was a small silence. Squirrel heard the swamp woman waiting, heard the gentleness of her breath and her patience. "Ah," Tia said finally, slowly, sadly, "So it be deh Jack dat mark you?" She tapped her chin and murmured to herself, "So is more dan jus' deh mark I saw. Streenge."

"It might have been thanks to Davy Jones."

Tia stiffened. "What?"

Squirrel shrugged, though something inside her crowed at this small victory: Tia Dalma isn't so all-knowing after all. "He shook hands with Davy Jones before he grabbed my arm. So, it might have been thanks to Davy that the burns are gone, even if only here." She did not glance at the handprint, but tapped it with her bandaged nub nonetheless. "I'd like to think he had nothing to do with it."

"He?" Tia wrinkled her nose in a frown. "Who is this 'he'?"

"You know," Squirrel gestured vaguely, feeling somewhat queasy for no discernable reason at all. "The pirate."

Tia stared at Squirrel, a slow dawning realisation. "Seey 'is neem."

"What?"

"'umour me, Miss Greeh. Seey 'is neem."

Squirrel frowned, then opened her mouth to speak. And she found she couldn't. She spent a few moments struggling with her tongue, but it was as though the words were being held back from her. She'd heard Tia say it not a moment ago - yet Squirrel could not say it herself. Frowning, Squirrel looked to the swamp woman, wanting an explanation.

Tia looked at Squirrel with such pity, such sympathy. "Ah, gherl! You canna even seey his neeme no more."

"What are you talking about? I should be able to." She frowned to herself, struggling with her tongue. "What's wrong with me?"

Tia reached out and brushed the hand-shaped void on Squirrel's burned arm. "Deh min' has is weeys of protectin' isself. Sometimes, somet'in' so teerrible 'appens dat deh min' locks isself up like a chest, hidin' away deh trut' inside." Tia drew her fingers along the side of Squirrel's face; Squirrel flinched back, finding the woman's touch unwelcome. Tia did not seem offended. "You bear scars, Miss Greeh, scars of deh min' as well as deh skin. You've forgotten your pas' when you see your parents die, an' now wid deh deat' of your Captain Jack Sparrow…" Tia withdrew her hand, such sadness in her eyes. "Your min' try to protect isself, but just be hurtin' you."

Rattled, Squirrel asked, "Who told you my parents died?"

"I see it in you," Tia shrugged, still full of pity. "Your eyes speak of peen, peen dat happen wit' one so young. Deh cards speak of bot' knowledge and love, as whell as 'urt an' loneliness." She made a gesture with her left hand, the fingers spread wide. "What deh cards show en't alweeys pleen, until deh answers come t' light." Tia tilted her head and considered Squirrel again. "Is like dreams. We don' know what dey mean 'til we see dem in deh deeyligh'."

Mister Cotton's parrot chewed gently on Squirrel's hoop earring. "Fo'c'sle?" It asked softly.

"Somet'in' you see when you were younger," Tia said, thoughtful and pitying, "Dat's what cause you to lose your memory. Somet'in' teerrible." She held out her hand. "Let me see it."

Squirrel edged away slightly. This woman's perceptiveness was alarming. "See what?"

"Deh coin you carry," the swamp woman said softly. "Deh amulet you wore, deh firs' time you keem to me. You were playin' wit' it. A silver coin."

Uneasily, Squirrel shook her head. "I'd rather not."

Tia gently withdrew her hand, nodding in understanding. "Maybe not todee," she said, smiling faintly. "Maybe not t'marra. But one dee you trus' me enough for me t' help yeh fin' what you've lost."

"You can help me get my memories back?" She shook her head, disbelieving, but inside her there was a flicker of hope. "You can help me remember my name?"

Tia shrugged, and suddenly in her hands was a deck of cards, the cards all larger than the ones Squirrel carried. Tia shuffled them, spun them in her hands restlessly. "P'raps." She looked under her eyelids at Squirrel. "Your dehstiny is a 'ard one to see, Miss Greeh."

Squirrel couldn't help but scoff. "Tia, my future does not lie in those cards you hold."

"No," Tia agreed, a gleam in her eye, "It does not." She pulled out one card and handed it to Squirrel. It showed a figure, cloaked in a grey cowl, carrying a lantern and staring out into a grey wasteland. The figure's head - leaning on a wooden staff - was bowed and their eyes were closed. Some guardian, Squirrel thought, You're not even paying attention. But then she wondered why she'd thought that the card showed a guardian. Perhaps it was merely someone waiting for something - or someone - and their eyes were weary from that endless search.

Or perhaps they had been looking for something that had never existed, and were finally realising what a fool they'd been to have looked for such a thing in the first place.

"When I first drew deh cards fer you," Tia said, her eyes hooded, gently taking the card back from Squirrel, "Dey seey yoor feete was t' die at sea."

Squirrel felt a cold shiver march up and down her spine at Tia's words. The sight of the Pearl's deck bloody and broken, the feeling of the Kraken's tentacle crushing her, and the taste of its foul skin and bitter blood came hauntingly back to her. The dolphin from her dream laughed faintly.

"But now…" Tia shrugged, seemingly not noticing Squirrel's barely-concealed fear, and shuffled the cards again. "Everyt'in' is under a fog. You stan' on deh fifth point of deh compass, all choices laid bare before yeh. Is hard t' see what is in store fer yoo."

Squirrel pursed her lips sardonically. "Aside from a great pain, you mean?"

Tia looked sidelong at Squirrel, lazily rather than sharply. Neither of the women had forgotten the words spoken on their first meeting. "Yeess," Tia murmured, almost hissing the word.

Mister Cotton's parrot chewed on the necklace Squirrel wore. "You can't direct the wind," it said in a jaunty Cockney accent, "But you can adjust your sails."

Squirrel looked to the bird, surprised. Mister Cotton's parrot had never been so coherent before - it usually spoke in short phrases, never complete sentences. As if sensing Squirrel's scrutiny, the parrot lifted into the air, flying back to his owner, leaving Squirrel behind, mystified.

"Well, I didn't die at sea," Squirrel looked back to Tia, and forced a smile. "And I'm not likely to let that monster hurt me again. I also don't mind not knowing my future - that's the way it's always been." She drew herself up, reassuring herself as much as Tia. "I'll head south-east, endure great pain, get my name and my memories back, and then live the rest of my life as it should be. Without fear or hesitation."

"Sout'-east?" Tia frowned, the cards vanishing from her hands.

Squirrel nodded. "When I used… his… the pirate's… the… the compass…" Tripped by her faltering tongue, she grit her teeth and started over. "When I wanted to know my name, the compass pointed south-east." Squirrel shrugged, wryly. "But you already knew that, right?"

Tia said nothing, but frowned thoughtfully.

"Miss Grey?"

Squirrel turned, and saw Will emerging from below decks. He handed something to her. It was light enough, surely, and the same length as Will's sword. But it wasn't.

"This was all I could find," he said, regretfully.

Squirrel turned it in her hand, then raised an eyebrow at Will. "It's a stick." She and Will looked to each other, silent a moment, then both burst out laughing. It was a short laugh, but it lightened the tension between them. It was forgiveness, of a sort - their disagreements from the previous conversation was water under the bridge.

"Alright," Squirrel chuckled. "Stick verses sword. This fight won't last too long."

"We're not going to fight just yet. But if we do, I'll use the flat of my blade." Will smiled. "Shall we begin?"

Squirrel nodded, adjusting the stick in her hand. "Alright."

"No, no." Will paused, coming over, "You're holding it wrong."

"It's just a stick, Will."

"Just pretend it's a real sword." Will set one hand on Squirrel's shoulder, and the other on her wrist. "You'll sprain your wrist holding it like that. And you're tensed up." He gently put pressure on her. "Relax. Hold it more loosely. Try not to make your muscles rigid." Under Will's hands, Squirrel gentled and calmed, moving under his direction. "Is that better?"

Squirrel nodded. "Yes, much better." She smiled at Will.

He smiled back, then released his hold on her to draw his own sword. "We'll start with the basics. Once you're strong enough to hold a real sword, I'll start pushing you." He raised his sword. "Watch me first." He slowly moved in his exercises - swinging his sword, stepping, moving. When he was done, Squirrel awkwardly repeated what she'd seen. It was harder than it looked, and Will gently chided and corrected her, standing beside her, guiding her arm and wrist with his blacksmith's hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, Squirrel saw Tia watching them both. There was a strange look on the swamp woman's face - though her expression seemed blank, there was a pinch to her brows. The corners of her lips pointed downwards, as if in disapproval. And there was a hint of incredulity and alarm in her dark glittering eyes.