A/N: Thank you so much for all the great reviews! :)

Disclaimer: Jack, Elizabeth, etc. belong to Disney.

Chapter 21

His feet were half-buried in sand, his eyes fixed on the immaculately blue water in front of him. The sea was terrifyingly bright. For a moment he was not sure if it was possible for him to be at such a point of his life in such beautiful surroundings. Should not they be grim, like his thoughts, like his choices? Filled with dust like world-old books in Shipwreck Cove. The darkness and dusty interiors were safe, conveniently familiar. He did not need false lucidity of light. Dim flickers of a candle sufficed to read, to live. The sun was just another star that kept dying from view.

"I see you enjoy the hopelessness of the situation."

The wind blew the grains of sand against him, a tremor getting lost in the miniature sand storm that slightly ruffled his hair and clothes.

He subconsciously hesitated before turning his eyes to her as if his attempt to see her could make her disappear.

"Jack has a history of being stranded on deserted islands and he managed to get off every time," Teague said slowly after a pause, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Why should we have less luck?"

"I highly doubt he ever got off by contemplating the horizon," Celeste snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, waiting for him to look at her. She was glad he had not done that right away, giving her time to prepare herself for it but now that it was not happening at all she felt her courage begin to falter.

Teague's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze becoming dimmer. "I don't know," he said in a barely audible, humming voice. "I've only heard rumors. I don't know the truth."

He did not need to look at her to guess that her eyes flashed more with irritation than compassion.

"It never bothered me more than now," he said pensively.

She looked down at him, torn between staying and storming away. She found herself greedily listening to everything that concerned Jack, hoping to pull out the shreds of memories from the vastness of time she was desperately trying to embrace. On the other hand, however, Teague's words offered no comfort, causing even more suspicions of her son growing up in the whirlwind of fear and loneliness to spring to her mind.

"My conscience died with you," Teague said in a low, mesmerizing voice, thick with that strange kind of alluring remorse she had always made a mistake of trusting.

"Did it?" Celeste asked, raising an eyebrow, glad for the quickness of her retort that hopefully prevented him from noticing that she shivered. "That's quite a discovery. Are you trying to say that you had a conscience before?"

"Well-hidden," he answered, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She did not smile, not even faintly. He turned his head. "Would you sit down?"

Their eyes met and Celeste's hands rolled into fists. "I have nothing to tell you," she said coolly, for the first time taking a closer look at Teague's face, noticing the deep wrinkles, the shadows around his eyes, a scar running across his cheek. For the first time it occurred to her that he was iold/i but she could not figure out the exact meaning of the word. So many years engraved in his face... yet, all she could see were his eyes - black, sad, impenetrable. The same.

He did not repeat his request but continued looking at her.

Upset and not really knowing why she sat down on the sand with a huff, averting her eyes from him. Only when he spoke she noticed that she was sitting too close to him but she felt it would be ridiculous to move further away now.

Glancing over her shoulder toward the remnants of the bonfire she slowly pressed her open palm against the sand, and then lifting it slowly, started drawing a shape of a boat with her forefinger.

"You can't remember only the dark days."

Celeste snorted humorlessly, pushing her hair behind her ears. "You know what I discovered at some point?" She turned her head to look at Teague, determined to hold his gaze. "That you had the ability to make everything painful," she said, forcing herself to appear effortlessly merciless. "With you being happy hurt as much as being unhappy. Rather astounding, don't you think?" she spoke in a slightly rushed voice, trying to make it sound cold but despite her efforts it slightly quivered with emotions. She fell silent, angry with herself.

She could feel Teague's gaze on her face. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue.

She gathered her courage and gave him the sternest look she could muster. "I will never forgive you," she said even though she quickly realized that the statement was quite superfluous seeing that he had not asked for forgiveness. She averted her eyes from him once again.

The wind blew a few strands of hair against her face and when she raised her hand to brush them off, her hand collided with his. "Leave me alone!" she said, hastily moving a few inches away.

"I know it was my fault," he said in a low voice, withdrawing his hand and outstretching his long, gnarled fingers over his knee.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the sight of them, wondering if he had correctly understood that she was distancing herself from him in general and not from him now. She drew a breath, sharply scolding herself for having been making the same mistake over and over again. The vicious circle of making up. She was used to feeling guilty for the most trivial things and it had always resulted in her recurring inability to escape.

"What was your fault?" she asked mockingly, wondering if it was not the right moment to walk away. The conversation was making her head hurt reminding her of that continuous, erratic struggle that her life had been.

"You wouldn't have taken your life away if-" he started in a voice heavy with sorrow and drained of melody but she interrupted him in an almost shrill voice.

"What did you say?"

There was a familiar edge to her voice and he remembered calling it – but only in his own head – her non-fairy tone of voice.

He looked at her, slightly surprised by the expression on her face that sent inexplicable shivers up his spine.

"You killed yourself but it was me who killed you, I know that," Teague said, the words sounding so foreign when spoken out loud.

It puzzled him that she just stared at him, her violet eyes wide and sparkling with indignation.

"I killed myself?" Celeste pronounced each word so slowly that it almost literally burned his conscience. He tried to discern her train of thought. "I killed myself?" she repeated and only then it dawned on him that she did not expect him to continue his miserable confession but simply answer the question.

The frown of shadowed confusion that passed across his face made her blood run cold. "Is that what Jack thinks? Is that what you told him? That I killed myself? That I left him?" She jumped to her feet, shaking, and angry in such a disarranged way that he found it necessary to stagger to his feet as well and reach out to hold her so she would not run away.

But his hand froze in mid-air and he slowly dropped it when she laughed, her laughter thoroughly bitter and filled with frustration that caused tears to well up in her eyes.

"I killed myself!" she nearly shouted, shaking her head and hiding her face in his hands in hopeless, belated, bizarre astonishment.

"Celeste, I don't..." Teague murmured in sincere, dim bewilderment after watching her for a while.

She uncovered her face and glared at him, and then without a further word turned around and marched off.

The sudden noise of rushed footsteps on the stairs leading to the brig made Jack, Elizabeth, and her parents freeze in anticipation, the atmosphere changing from grim to joyous only when a familiar face appeared in front of them.

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack widened his eyes at his former first mate.

"Captain," Elizabeth whispered, poking Jack.

"Aye," Jack cleared his throat. "Of course. Captain Gibbs!"

Gibbs chuckled. "I'm not easily offended," he said but trailed off, rendered speechless by the sight of Governor Swann.

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked, ignoring the confused expression that appeared on Gibbs' face.

"The Black Pearl was flying wrong colors," Gibbs explained with a smile. "It couldn't be a good sign so we decided to step in," he said with a wink, his eyes flickering between Governor Swann and the woman next to him. He gave Jack a questioning look but apparently, it was not the best time to ask questions.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Jack narrowed his eyes in a smile. "Now we just need to find my effects," he muttered with a twitch of his nose.

"And mine," Elizabeth cut in with a sigh, struggling not to close her eyes.

Gibbs stepped closer, helping Jack and Elizabeth's parents to hold her.

"Is she hurt?" asked Gibbs with a worried frown. "I have a doctor aboard. The man was late for his passage from England to the Caribbean and bartered one with us. Quite a figure, I tell ye. But saved a crewman's leg when-"

"Good," Jack broke in, hoisting Elizabeth into his arms, and Gibbs found it quite alarming that he did not seem even remotely interested in what Gibbs had been doing in England. Something was not right. "We are in a dire need of a doctor, in a direr need of rum, and in the direst need of... other tools that I hoped we would never be in need of," Jack concluded with a small frown.

Gibbs nodded, deciding to postpone further questions. "Let's go, then."

"Aye," Jack muttered. He wanted to carry Elizabeth but she protested in such a literally feverish way that he had to kiss her to hush her and then just let her stumble while holding onto his proffered arm.

Gibbs glanced around, suddenly struck by a noticeable absence. "It's a good thing you left the kid in the Cove," he said conversationally but regretted it almost immediately when Elizabeth's eyes darted to him. He thought he remembered her look that way but he could not recall the occasion... Nevertheless, there was a silent scream in her eyes that made his blood run cold. "Holy..." he mumbled. "What happened?" he asked, giving Jack a worriedly questioning look.

"Nothing that could not be reverted, restored, and otherwise retrieved," Jack said in the firmest voice he could muster, his fingers interlacing with Elizabeth's.

"I told you to hide!..." Will said, his voice rasp from effort as he tightened his grip around Lillian to make sure the terrified child would not slip out of his arms. He quickly grasped Blaxton by his sleeve.

Being dragged by one's sleeve felt rather intimidating and it reminded Blaxton of a boy in the Cove whom he had once seen being dragged away by his father. Except that the boy had been dragged by his ear.

"I know how to fight," Blaxton argued, trying to free his hand, risking the announcement since his mum was not around. She did not know about secret sword fighting lessons and an unloaded pistol that dad had given him. His thoughts briefly drifted to the pistol under a loose floorboard in his cabin... to his cabin... to the Black Pearl... It was so inexplicably odd to be far away from all that.

Will gave him a quick look. "I'm sure," he said quietly, eyebrows knitted, a memory flashing across his head... clashing of swords blending with laughter, the air in the smithy and Elizabeth's hair dark with dust.

Lillian was sobbing into his shoulder, shocked into a trance, her cries muffled and quiet.

Blaxton glanced at her, the difference between the haughty girl who had been asking him questions mere moments ago, and the frightened girl that she was right now making him feel indescribably gloomy. He could hear the noises coming from above, the blood-freezing screams, canons and fire shots, everything loud and unimaginable, interlaced with the word Pirates! uttered in such strange voices. He frowned.

Will ran into his cabin with Lillian in his arms and Blaxton's hand in his. The cabin could easily turn into a trap but he needed to get his sword.

Having shut the door closed, he put Lillian down and let go of Blaxton's hand. He pushed the wardrobe against the door to block it and took an assessing look around.

What was happening? He could hardly collect his thoughts while searching the trunk with his few belongings and pulling a sword and a pistol out of it. He had not had enough time to pack, being endowed with at least two reasons to hurry for he had received the letters at the exact moment when he had decided it was the opportune moment to run away.

Lillian did not pay the slightest attention to what was happening but the trunk caught Blaxton's interest and he leaped toward it.

"You are not a doctor," Blaxton said, struck by an idea.

"And you're not John Smith," Will retorted, narrowing his eyes in what in happier circumstances could have been a smile.

Blaxton's eyes widened slightly, curiosity taking over all other emotions as he watched Will push the pistol behind his belt and keep the sword at the ready. "Are you... a pirate?" Blaxton asked hopefully, quite certain that Doctor Collins did not look like a soldier, and only soldiers and pirates were carrying swords with them.

Will lowered his sword, giving Blaxton a look he could not quite decipher. "Do I have it written on my face?"

Blaxton seemed to consider this for a moment, and then shook his head, believing the question to be sincerely asked.

Will suppressed a smile. "That's a relief to know. Thank you."

"But... are you a pirate?" Blaxton insisted, afraid that conversation would end at no definite answer.

Will glanced at the door, grateful that nobody seemed to be chasing them. "Are you?" he asked challengingly, shifting his eyes to Blaxton who wrinkled his nose at the question in such a way that Will hardly kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Why these things are always happening to me," he muttered to himself with a humorless snort, taking his father's dagger out of his pocket and sticking it into one of his boots.

Blaxton made a mental note of the idea. "What things?" he asked, unaccustomed to not asking any question that sprung to his mind.

Will sighed. "I've been trying to keep out of trouble since I was your age," he said, and continued before Blaxton had the time to question him how could he know how old he was. "Yet I keep getting in trouble all the time since then."

"Getting in trouble is alright. You just need to get out of trouble as many times as you get in trouble." Blaxton said expertly, pouting slightly when Will did not quite succeeded in stifling a snort.

"Your father's words?"

Blaxton blinked. Will looked at him and seemed to ponder something for a moment. "Alright," he said at last, bending to the level of Blaxton's face. "Let's make a deal. I'll tell you my real name if you tell me yours."

Blaxton crinkled his nose, seemingly hesitant but Will broke the moment of silence by extending his hand and introducing himself. "Will Turner."

To his surprise, Blaxton's face lit up. "Grandpa Weatherby had a neighbor whose name was Will Turner!"

"Grandpa Weatherby," Will echoed, for the first time realizing that his suspicions were undoubtedly true. Blaxton nodded. "Well, it seems... that I'm the Will Turner," he said with a small smile, searching for something in Blaxton's eyes and finding it so quickly it threw shadows of nostalgia across his memories.

"I knew you were not a doctor!" Blaxton exclaimed triumphantly but then his eyebrows knitted in slight confusion. "What does a soprano do?" he asked, suddenly remembering that something had interrupted him in obtaining a clarification from his dad when he had told him that.

Will looked at him for a moment before understanding dawned on him and he shook his head with a humorless chuckle. "Remind me to tell you a story about..." He stood up and wrinkled his forehead trying to decide what to do. On the one hand it seemed fortunate that nobody had followed them here but on the other it could only mean one thing.

"About Grandpa Weatherby?" Blaxton prompted. "He was asking about you when he woke up."

Will gave Blaxton a strange look but before he had a chance to ask for an explanation, an explosion shook the entire ship and Lillian started screaming.

An only too familiar scent of burning wood sent shivers up Will spine. "They've set the ship on fire," he muttered to himself, trying to quickly think of the best course of action. "We need to get out of here," he said, leaping to the door and beginning to move the wardrobe out of the way. Blaxton ran to help him, trying to move the wardrobe and apparently succeeding since the door was soon set free.

"We need to find a longboat," Blaxton offered.

"I'm afraid this won't be possible," Will said, kneeling down in front of Lillian and gently asking her to be quiet. She was not screaming anymore, merely sobbing but he was not sure if she would not start screaming again.

Knowing that one's parents were dead was bad enough and he could not imagine what she was feeling, having actually seen her parents die. There was no time to think about that now but somewhere in the back of his mind he could not get rid of the heart-wrenchingly firm and faltering at the same time voice screaming Take the line! "It will be alright," he said in a low, reassuring voice, trying to believe that he was not lying. "Your parents are still watching over you. You may not be able to see them... anymore but they are with you and they will always be." He doubted that right now the little girl could make much sense of his words but he felt this had to be said nonetheless.

Blaxton looked between Will and Lillian, wishing to contribute to the conversation – or rather Will's monologue – but not quite knowing what to say until he was struck by an idea of which he did not even know where it had come from.

He subconsciously knew what was happening even if the events were making little sense to him. Death was a surreal phenomenon and he could hardly attach it to anything except those recent events that had made everyone so happy.

"Maybe they will come back later like my Grandmas and my Grandpa," Blaxton said convincingly, and Lillian's glassy eyes darted to him.

Will looked at Blaxton with a puzzled frown, doubting that a false glimmer of hope would make any good but then beginning to actually ponder the words and finding them too strange to be simply made up to bring comfort, especially at the age of six.

But another explosion sent them all to the floor reminding Will that there was no time to lose. He lifted Lillian in his arms and then after a moment of consideration lifted Blaxton up as well.

"I can walk by myself," Blaxton protested, vaguely recalling that only small children were to be carried around like that and having his feelings hurt by such treatment.

"One pair of feet walks faster than three pairs of feet," Will said dismissively.

"I can walk very fast," Blaxton insisted. "I can run very fast too! Dad says-"

"I knew that was coming," Will cut in.

Blaxton blinked finding the interruption slightly confusing.

"I want my mum and my dad!" Lillian broke into the conversation, shouting the words right into Will's ear and bursting out crying.

Blaxton glanced over Will's shoulder, his eyes widening at what seemed like an avalanche of fire rushing toward them.

"I found it behind these bushes, isn't it peculiar?" James said in the most casual voice he could muster, greeting Celeste with a question diplomatically unrelated to her flushed face.

Celeste glanced at the boat with little emotion and something in the way she simply assessed the boat rather than noticed it with visible astonishment struck James as curiously suspicious.

"Do you know- Can you imagine!" she started in an agitated voice apparently not going to take advantage of James' politely introduced opportunity for her to avoid discussing with him her latest conversation. He stepped away from the boat and came closer to her finding the fact strangely relieving. "He said- He told Jack that I killed myself! He told my son that I took my own life! He told him that I left him! Can you imagine?" she uttered every sentence in a louder voice, pressing her open palms to her face and then flailing them in the air in a slightly frantic and undeniably familiar manner.

James frowned despite or rather because finding her behavior endearing. It seemed truly untoward to enjoy her outburst and he should wish to calm her down rather than watch her, especially considering the seriousness of the subject matter.

"Why would he do that?" he asked cautiously, his voice causing Celeste to shift her eyes to him as she was once again caught off guard by the effect that his voice had on her. All anger seemed to fade.

"I don't know. I don't want to know," she said tiredly, shaking her head with a frown. "Maybe that's what he thought too!" she said with a bitter snort and squinted into the distance, for a moment actually contemplating this possibility that she had not taken into consideration.

James looked at her with gentle intensity. "I've never thought I'd ask anyone this question but..." he gave her a small smile that faded when she looked at him, and she noticed a glimmer of utmost solemnity in his eyes. "How did you die, Celeste?"

She smiled at the obvious oddness of the question but then grew pensive, letting the smile slowly vanish off her face.

His fingers skimmed across the skin of her hand and she looked up, letting his hand close around hers.

"I drowned."