Chapter 26: Escape

The next day, Will and Joana faced each other on the deck of the Flying Dutchman, both holding swords with barnacle-encrusted hilts. Will saw Joana wince, as her finger moved too quickly past a rather jagged barnacle on the weapon she was gripping.

He moved quickly towards her, as she tucked the sword under an arm, putting her sliced finger into her mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concern etched on his features. She looked up at him to see that his pupils didn't seem to be quite as black.

"I'm fine. Just a little scratch," she said, after removing the finger from her mouth and brushing it off on her dress. He noticed the blood welling on the tip of her finger, and moved to touch it.

"It's nothing," Joana remarked, wiping her finger off again as she smiled at him. "So—let's get to swordfighting; shall we?"

Will blinked several times. He had never expected to meet yet another unconventional female, one who ignored blood and all such things that caused many a woman to faint. Of course, Joana was a medic, but it was quite invigorating to be in the company of such a resplendently dressed woman being so—well, unladylike.

"Oh, you're getting much better," Will managed to say, easily avoiding a rather pitiful thrust from Joana's sword. "Just make certain that when you thrust, that the leg you lean on is at a ninety-degree angle to your thrusting leg. It offers you much more balance that way."

Will and Joana had been practicing swordfighting all morning, Joana since becoming good enough to at least dodge Will's attack-type moves, though she hadn't yet put him at any sort of risk with her own sword.

"You're quite the good dodger, but you can also parry an attack with your own sword," he added. "Unlike pistols, swords can be used both as weapons and as shields. Try an attack—and I will show you how to parry."

Joana weakly thrust the sword, legs not quite perpendicular to each other. With lightning-fast speed, Will raised his sword horizontally to deflect her attack upwards, knocking her sword out of her hand as well as knocking her backwards, so that she landed on the deck on her bottom.

She let out a cry of surprise as she hit the deck, Will coming to her side and offering her a hand. She glanced at the starfish that was his hand and was more than mildly disconcerted. Even so, she took it anyway, finding it had more strength in it than she had originally suspected.

"Ouch," she said, rubbing her backside with her free hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, releasing his handhold once he saw that she was stable.

"It's not your fault. I'm not very good at that," she said. "Odd, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

"My father is a famous pirate, certainly having killed many expert swordfighters in his lifetime, and, well, I—"

"You needn't worry; I consider myself competent enough to teach you, being as you're set to become the most fearsome pirate on the seven seas—I wager you'll even dwarf the infamy of your father."

She let out a sort of scoff, and rolled her eyes.

"What is it?" Will questioned. Her response was unexpected. "Do you not intend to follow in the footsteps of your father?"

"Although it's been interesting," she began slowly, "I'm not cut out for that sort of thing."

Very interesting, Will mused. Would've thought a tomboy such as her was born for that sort of life. Could she be the stark opposite of Elizabeth in this way? And I had supposed her to be some sort of skinnier, more embittered version of Elizabeth. Yet, she has more of a caretaking instinct and less of a fighting instinct. And surprisingly, no intention to carry on her father's legacy….

"Then what do you want out of life? Do you want to live in England, wearing petticoats and corsets and strutting about town shopping for furniture?"

"No," she replied quickly and resolutely, thrusting her sword out, which was barely parried by Will. "I just want… to live a quiet life… a life free from the hustle-bustle of—"

"Ha, you wouldn't say that after a month working on the Dutchman ferrying souls to the other world, with naught but traveling souls and craggy crewmen for company."

"Well, I don't know, really. You are doing the souls a great service in transporting them—"

"It's utter hell," he said. "I'm stuck in that silent, gloomy prison for ten years without the companionship of my wife, sailing day in and day out with the same headings, the only recompense being the anticipation of the day I shall meet her again on land—only to find out that she's been unfaithful with a—"

Joana released her hold on her sword, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth as she moved towards Will. Upon this action from Joana, he looked down. Joana's sword was buried in his stomach.

"Oh, Will; are you alright?" she cried, placing her hands on his arm as she bent down to examine the wound. Truth to tell, she just wanted to shut him up once and for all; hearing about Elizabeth's positive attributes day in and day out was greatly wearing on her sanity, so much that she hadn't realized she had stabbed him.

"Hmm," he said, looking down. "I guess I lost concentration there for a moment."

Without another word, Will pulled the blade out of his body, handing it back to a shocked Joana with a grim smile.

"I'm so sorry," she began. "I hadn't even realized what I did because I didn't even see you react—How did you—?"

"No need to apologize. I should have been paying more attention. As for my lack of reaction, it's because I'm immortal—every part of me, save for my heart. My heart is the only part of me that can be harmed—and harmed it certainly has been as of late," he grumbled, glancing down at the ground.

"Well, that makes swordfighting rather easy for you, being immortal and all," she commented. "No matter what happens, you'll come out on top in the end," she added bitterly. "Are your other crew immortal as well?"

"They live for as long as the captain of the Dutchman allows them. My father has been on the Dutchman for fourteen years, and has another eighty-six as per his agreement with Davy Jones."

"I don't see what's so bad about that. Why didn't Elizabeth agree to also serve with you, then you and she could be on the ship together for eternity?"

Will lowered his sword for a moment, looking thoughtful. He then sighed.

"The heart needs a living soul to keep it safe."

"Oh."

"I'd never thought of that possibility—both she and I on the Dutchman together… forever," he said with a far-off look. Joana rolled her eyes at the impossible romanticism this man seemed to incorporate into every thought of his cheating wife.

"Well, once you've convinced her to leave Beckett, you could always offer that as a possibility," Joana said, shrugging. "Of course, with the child and all, she probably wouldn't want to leave it—"

"That's out of the question," Will replied adamantly. "I'd never expect her to leave her child—our child…."

Elizabeth would never do such a thing, he mused. She can't even stay faithful to me for less than a year after our parting… let alone give up the rest of her life and devote herself to me. And the child adds yet another dimension of complexity….

"However—" Joana said, "if she did agree to an existence aboard the Dutchman within the next couple of months, perhaps you could all be together…"

"No!" he snapped irritably, a barnacle pulsating rapidly. "I'll not hear about my wife's—or my child's—death. Have you no propriety whatsoever?"

Startlingly, Joana smirked at him, a familiar gleam in her eye.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow's daughter; is that not a good enough reason?"

"So, would you like to be married aboard the ship?" Beckett asked Elizabeth earnestly, face dead serious. It had been three days since their engagement, yet it seemed to Elizabeth that Beckett was already getting antsy. They lay under the covers of her bed, their bare bodies side by side in the warmth they had created. A thunderstorm was roaring outside the ship, with them safe inside her cabin. The temperature had been steadily dropping all day, with icy cold rains pouring down on the ship like tiny icicles.

Elizabeth thought about his proposal. This was the Black Pearl, the very ship on which she had Will had been married. She could not do such a thing. Though Will had hurt her deeply upon essentially ending their marriage, she couldn't defile his memory in such a way.

"No," she murmured quietly. "I'd rather wait until we make berth."

"Is there a particular reason for that," he drawled, looking slightly irritated.

"This is the ship on which Will and I were married," she replied truthfully. "It would be too—strange." She recalled the similarly stormy weather during her marriage to Will, and felt a pang of sadness. "Please underst—"

"I understand," Beckett replied quietly. Damn that Turner. Even though he's long gone, he still has to influence my plans…

Joana found herself becoming more than a bit irritated with William Turner. It was not because he was rude or self-absorbed or uncaring; it was quite the contrary. She was fed up with his never-ending stream of devotion for Elizabeth.

"She and I, we used to practice swordfighting in the blacksmith's shop," he'd say, a sad smile on his face, his eyes distant. "Quite difficult for me to concentrate when she'd be unlacing her petticoats to enjoy the revelry. She could be as dirty and unkempt as she pleased, but she'd still be beautiful to m—"

"Can we talk about something else," Joana would then interrupt. There'd follow a cycle of, "But I can't think of anything else but her," and she'd beg, "Please, talk about anything other than that," and then of course he'd say, "I can't help but be reminded of her every time I ____," and so on.

Of course, Joana's irritation with Will would soon dissipate, when he would ask her about herself. He'd sit down by her side, focusing completely on her. She'd feel a thrill when all his attention was bestowed upon her.

"Tell me of your past," he asked her at one point, in between deciphering her ruined medical guide. "What was it like growing up in the Azores?"

"Well, at first it was wonderful, my mother and I…" Her eyes grew distant, cold. "Then the Royal Navy came when I was ten, and everything changed."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to—"

"No, it's quite alright. So, as I was saying, the Royal Navy arrived, many casualties all around. It was Beckett who fell for my mother in those times; she was a doctor's assistant who was helping with the injured men. She refused him over and over. Then, the night the Royal Navy finally left the island, she was kidnapped. Recently, I learned that she died aboard Beckett's ship."

Will's dark brown eyes, having returned back to normal, held a sadness to them, an understanding. His antennae moustache quivered very subtly as she sighed.

"I was raised by my grandparents, and taught a trade as a doctor's assistant. My grandparents have since died, and so I was living alone when my father and his crew came into town. I hated my life as it was, so I went with them."

"What do you want most?" Will suddenly asked, eyes seeming to light up.

"Why do you ask?" she replied, caught off-guard by the unexpectedness of the question.

"Just curious. You don't have to answer."

"What about you? What do you want most?" she asked him.

"I believe I asked you first," he replied with the subtlest of grins.

"Alright, fine then. Let me see…." Her eyes went distant as she considered. What do I want most?

"Well, being as though it's impossible to raise the dead, it may be more possible, though still impossible, to perhaps see my mother one last time, to tell her that I love her and miss her. The last moments I spent with her were horrible, her screaming for me to stay in my room as she was taken away by the kidnapper."

"I'm very sorry that you had to endure such a thing," Will replied carefully. "Surely she's in the next world now, safe from the cruelty and injustice of this world—though I'm sure she misses you terribly as well."

"What about your family?" Joana said, wishing to change the subject. It was unnerving having Will's full attention being bestowed on her. "I see that your father is aboard this ship—so he was recruited by the previous captain of the Dutchman?"

"Yes. When I was a boy living in England, my father would leave my mother and me often, though I never understood why. I later heard word that he had passed away, and went on with my life. When my mother and I were embarking for the New World to begin a new life shortly after hearing of my father's death, the Black Pearl sunk our ship, and a ship of the Line rescued me—a ship containing Elizabeth. I was the only survivor on my ship. She told me that she was charged with taking care of me that day, and did quite a good job, though she was not but nine years of age…"

Now that he was reminded of Elizabeth—his attention faded away again. Those bright shining moments Joana was beginning to rather enjoy—those moments in which she'd have a person's undivided attention—had left her for the time being. She would have to approach him later with a subject far off from what could be inadvertently linked to Elizabeth Turner.

"I'm gettin' a bit tired of this," Jack muttered grumpily, watching Gibbs nod in assent, as the Intrepid journeyed ever closer to its destination, though almost a days' journey behind the considerably faster Black Pearl. "I wager that we are quite close to land. If we could escape now, we may actually make it to shore."

"An' how d'ye propose we do somethin' like that?" Barbossa said, sneering.

"Like I said before, mate… Leverage. Not that you'd understand such a concept."

Barbossa shot him the evil eye.

"I do believe we be nearin' our destination, Cap'n," Gibbs spoke up, looking about the brig. The Turkish prostitute would still not look at him and seemed to be wasting away as she sat pouting in the corner of the cell.

"How certain do you feel of that assertion?" Jack asked him quietly.

Hands now shackled in front of him, Jack Sparrow heaved the board against the grating of the cell, observed carefully by Barbossa and Gibbs.

"Based on what the boy told us, I'm fairly sure—'less he was lyin' to us."

"I doubt he'd lie about that sort of thing. Southampton does make sense as a destination for a group who mos' certainly will be executed by th' very head of the Royal Navy hisself."

Meanwhile, Gibbs tried once again what Jack had been easily able to do: hunch over enough to be able to slip the shackles underneath his bottom, where he could then slip them under his legs. Gibbs, however, was too portly for this kind of flexibility, and Barbossa was too gangly as well as being a good deal older than Sparrow. They could only sit there in silence as they watched the dreadlocked pirate hop closer to his task, jamming the edge of the board against the bottom of the grating.

The Turkish prostitute had somehow gotten even further than Jack with escaping from her bonds. Her skinny wrists and ankles had afforded her room to slither out of both sets of shackles, yet she stayed seated in the corner, keeping her knack for escape hidden from the other prisoners.

Upon Sparrow's uncanny ability to reposition his shackles more conveniently, the dreadlocked pirate had immediately hopped over to the hull, where he had formerly noticed a board that squeaked when leaned against. He slipped a link of his shackles beneath the squeaky, loose corner of the board, pulling with all his might—as well as with both feet planted almost vertically along the curve of the hull—until a mighty crack was heard.

"Not one o' yer best ideas, Jack," Gibbs muttered, pulling himself heavily to his feet as the brig filled with a deluge of water. Meanwhile, Jack held a board several inches across and half his height in length, surveying the damage to the hull.

All in the brig flinched upon hearing a deafening clap of thunder from outside the ship, fortunately having also masked the sound of the board snapping from the hull earlier. Thunder roared every few seconds, making it more difficult to communicate in the loudness of spurting water and raging thunderstorm.

"Now what d'ye propose we do, ye halfwit?" Barbossa raged.

"I'd keep it down if I was you," Jack said with a flash of gold teeth, "lest we find ourselves bein' put to death before reachin' our destination."

"Aye, before drownin' firs'?" Barbossa shot. "Ah, fer a second there I thought we be in real trouble," he added sarcastically.

Staying silent, Jack positioned his shackles around the board directly above the one that was now missing. Struggling to get a foothold against the flood of water now spurting into the brig, Jack yanked the board with all his might. The Turkish prostitute had since stood up and was breathing very heavily. Jack glanced over at her to see that she was totally liberated from her shackles. Quite a survivor, he mused, noticing her caked makeup was nearly worn off by the incoming spray of the ocean. An' much less of a wench now….

"What be this about leverage?" Barbossa commented, having also stood up to avoid the entering water.

"I've abandoned that plan in light of a plan that's much more better," Jack said with a grunt, cracking yet another board from the hull. A flood of water knocked him backwards, but he recovered his balance.

"That bein'…"

"We swim right out o' the side of the ship, watchin' as the ship sinks in all its glory an' so on an' so forth... savvy?"

Gibbs immediately looked crestfallen. The water was now up over their feet.

"An' how d'ye propose myself an' Barbossa do such a thing?"

"Wiv your hands—oh," Jack said, upon seeing their intact shackles. "Forgot about that."

"How could ye forget?!" Barbossa shrieked. "Yer goin' to be the death of us all."

Jack flashed Barbossa a dashing smile.

"Actually, that'd be only you, mate. It seems our 'Turkish Torrent' has managed a way to escape her bonds—" he added, looking over at the prostitute, whose face was contorted in preparation to wail. Realizing the impending problem, he scurried over to her as best he could in his leg shackles.

"Now, ye've got to be quiet, if you want to escape, an' therefore, live," he whispered to her, attempting to place his hands over her mouth. She pushed his hands away, landing quite a heavy slap across his face.

"Ye scabrous wench; I in fact did not deserve that, bein' as it was the only way to save the whole lot o' us, including yourself," he remarked in a gravelly voice, rubbing the tender cheek.

The woman ignored him, then looking down at the water, prepared again to wail. Jack fought the desire to cover her mouth again, lest he receive another slap. Rather he put a finger to his own lips.

"D'ye savvy, ye wench? Quiet! Escape! Live! As in, not die an immediate an' painful death!"

She flashed him a look of hatred, opening her mouth again. As soon as a sound squeaked out, Jack lunged at her, knocking her roughly against the hull of the ship. He immediately covered her mouth with a hand, glancing briefly back at the water filling the brig, now entering the ship from a hole about one foot by three feet. He had successfully pinned her arms at her sides, so that she was not able to slap him again.

Eyes slightly widening, Jack leaned close to the woman's face. An element of fright had replaced much of the rage on her face.

"Listen, Madam, or wotever ye'd want to be called in your native tongue," he began. "I have found a way to escape. Howe'er, I will not help you… unless you help me. Firstly, d'ye have a name?"

She stared at him with an aghast expression, eyes wide in confusion.

He removed one hand from her, and pounded on his chest.

"Jack," he stated resolutely. He then pointed at her, poking her in the region below her sternum, and then shrugging.

"Ayla," she murmured quietly.

"Ayla, is it? That's quite a pronounceable name, quite fortunate indeed for myself." He poked her in the chest again. "Ayla."

She nodded, mouth drawn into a tight grimace. Seeing that the water was ever-rising, Jack leaned in closely to her ear, whispering his demand.

"I want you to free Mr. Gibbs, Ayla… savvy?" he whispered huskily. Remaining by her ear, he reached down and grabbed both of her hands, eliciting a little yelp from her. "Do this for me friend Mr. Gibbs." His hands moved from her hands to her shoulders, as he moved his face away from her own. He pointed at Gibbs, who was looking worse-for-wear as the water surged over his boots.

"See wot I'm sayin', luv?" he asked her. Quickly he moved his hands towards her own again, but she pulled them away. Jack sighed and ducked down, picking up a shackle that was about to be completely underwater. He lifted the shackles, watching her cringe in response.

"Ayla, take these off of Gibbs," Jack said, waving the shackles in her face. He pointed back at Gibbs, then at the shackles, and then shook his head, hoping she'd get the gist. Otherwise, Gibbs' fate was going to be quite unfortunate indeed.

Will's eyes widened as he gaped at Joana, sitting cross-legged in front of him, her mouth drawn into a wry smile.

"W-what did you say?" he asked, holding the tumbler of dice in a slightly less-starfishy hand.

"I said, I wager however long you see fit to serve you and your crew aboard the Dutchman."

"You do know what you're wagering, do you not?" Will sputtered.

"Did I not just repeat myself exactly?" she replied coolly, watching Captain Turner intently. Over these past few days, the enjoyment she had had with Will one-on-one was a rare delight she had never before experienced with someone. It was rather a shame that Will was committed to another, but perhaps once he saw for himself his wife's treachery, he'd leave her for good. And Joana was more than willing to help pick up the pieces of his heart. If Elizabeth can't see what she's losing in Will, that's too bad for her. On the other hand, I'm forced to know and not be able to win his affections. She reached back, pulling her hair out of the messy bun she always kept it in.

Will eyed Joana carefully, her dark eyes reminiscent of Elizabeth's eyes, but suggestive of Jack Sparrow's mischievous glance. She certainly had Jack's prominent cheekbones, yet her hair was another story—it was curly, full and auburn, cascading down her shockingly bony shoulders. The dress she wore was filthy and tattered, though it still fit her snugly, hugging whatever nuance of curves she had. She wasn't as pretty as Elizabeth, but she wasn't a hopeless case. However, Joana was quite the tomboy, even more so than Elizabeth, her exotic Portuguese accent much less refined-sounding than Elizabeth's proper British pronunciation. How could she wager such a stretch of time to spend on a craggy ship without proper source of nutrition, transporting souls to the next world?

"Ha," Will said flatly. "Though your wager appears at first glance to be selfless, I now realize that you can only wager as much time as the Dutchman is in this world—which looks to be the exact amount of time you'll be spending on this ship traveling to Southampton." He finished off his statement with a polite smile.

"No," she replied resolutely, holding her chin up, her eyes flashing dangerously. She realized she wasn't playing very hard to get, but she'd actually try to win this game of dice—this time.

"I don't understand," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What's your wager," she asked him.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you that equals or exceeds your offer," he muttered.

Of course you don't. If I was Elizabeth, it'd be a whole other story. Her disregard for your feelings is only increasing your feelings of love for her, whereas I'm stuck to watch you remain stubbornly devoted to a woman who could care less about how you feel.

"Make up something then," Joana replied.

"Maybe we should stop playing this game. The stakes have gotten too high for me to uphold my end. I'm not being fair to you."

Will stood up and walked away, unaware of Joana's subsequent frown of disgust.

No, she mused. You're not being fair at all.

Jack pulled yet another board free as the water continued to pour into the brig. The prostitute had successfully freed one of Gibbs' hands from the shackles using some form of ribbon to slither it off of his wrist. Meanwhile, Barbossa stood as far away from the entering water, watching Jack menacingly with narrowed eyes.

The last board was very difficult to remove. Jack heaved his legs against the slippery hull, straining and grinding his teeth as he applied all his weight to remove the soaking wet board. He was very glad for Joana's keen ability to suture his leg up so that it was not painful to perform such an action. Certainly he had burst the sutures back open with these actions, but importantly, his leg was not currently in mind-numbing pain. This time Jack yanked on the board, however, in addition to a fragment of the board, a link in Jack's shackles snapped in half, freeing him from the wrist shackles.

The subsequent smile on the dreadlocked pirate's face was soon swept away by another loud clap of thunder, along with the sound of yelling crew—coming from the direction of the hold.

"Bugger… they know," Jack murmured to himself. Suddenly he clapped his freed hands together, sloshing awkwardly through the ever-rising water. "Mr. Gibbs, Ayla—we must depart. Barbossa," he said, turning to his former First Mate, "treason an' mutiny aside—'twas nice knowin' you."

With that, Jack yanked the Turkish woman and Gibbs towards the small breach that he had created.

"Lady luck be wiv you," he mumbled to his two companions, taking a sharp intake of breath and forcing his body through the inward current.

"What do you make of the storm?" Elizabeth asked Beckett, watching his concerned expression as she flinched at the next loud crack of thunder. They journeyed closer and closer to their destination, further and further from the equatorial climate of the Caribbean and the Azores.

"It will probably divert us from our heading, but only slightly…. That is, unless the winds continue to pick up."

The couple could feel the ship groaning, certainly due to the waves beating against the side as well as from the whipping of the sails back and forth in the violent gales.

Suddenly Beckett felt Elizabeth shiver in his arms.

"What was that for? Are you cold," he inquired, her shivering continuing unabashedly.

"Actually, yes. I am. It's freezing in here."

"Well, then let me fetch your—"

"My nightgown won't help. Hmm…. There has to be something warmer."

Beckett sighed, a bit disappointed that she'd be returning to a clothed state.

"I know—how about your coat?" she exclaimed.

"Alright."

Both sat for a minute or so, Elizabeth regarding Beckett with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you like me to fetch it for you," he asked her in a monotone, half dreading the thought of getting out of the toasty bed.

"Yes, I would like that very much," Elizabeth replied with a smile.

With a great sigh, Beckett dangled a leg over the side of the bed, feeling the subsequent chill of the cabin air, having been previously enclosed in warmth beneath the covers that he and Elizabeth had created from their own body heat. He looked back at Elizabeth, grabbing the covers with a hand in order to cover himself up on his short trek to the coat.

"No you don't," she replied, pulling them back towards her. "Then I'll be exposed to the elements. Now, is that any way to treat a lady?"

Beckett turned away from her, standing up in all his naked glory as he strode quickly towards his coat, the chill of the floorboards beneath his feet almost unbearable. Elizabeth watched him with a smirk as he moved smoothly across the small room, completely exposed and therefore quite lovely to watch.

Soon Beckett had fetched the coat and sat back down on the bed, pushing the garment towards her. He pulled an edge of the blanket over his nether regions for modesty's sake—and because it made him feel too vulnerable to be in such an unclothed state for more than a matter of moments. Elizabeth subsequently sat up, very briefly exposed before she encircled her body with the coat, wrapping it closely around her.

"I happen to find that the coat better serves its purpose when worn properly," Beckett said with a wince, at watching her handle the expensive clothing in such a manner.

"Fine then, your Highness," she said with a mock scoff. Within moments, she had slipped her arms through the sleeves and was currently buttoning the coat up.

"No need to button it," Beckett commented, reaching for her hand that was currently clutching a button, the other bringing the buttonhole closer.

"Why, do you imagine my accidentally pulling a button off?" she replied with a teasing tone.

"Exactly."

"Recall that I grew up with similar high standards as yourself. Do you take me for some sort of ignorant commoner—"

"This is the only coat I have aboard this ship. I wish to be in top form for when we make berth—and marry—"

"Do you think I would really care if a button was missing from your coat?" Elizabeth said with a smirk.

"No, but I would."

"Alright," she said with a defiant hiss. "Fine then." With that, she began unbuttoning what she already fastened, afterwards burying her hands within the inside of the coat, palms flat against her sides. Beckett watched as her hands shifted beneath the fabric, running along the inside of the coat. Suddenly he remembered—

"That's quite enough," he said with a humorless chuckle. "I've changed my mind. You can button the coat."

"What? What brought about such a change in your countenance?" she questioned.

"Nothing, it's just that the coat is meant to be worn buttoned, and I did say that the coat best serves its purpose when worn properly—"

Instead of immediately buttoning the coat back up, Elizabeth's hands continued to wander beneath the fabric. Beckett held his breath.

Suddenly her hand stopped around the region of the hidden breast pocket. She squeezed her fingers together in that region as she opened the coat, a spray of powder shooting up from the pocket. As Beckett proceeded to almost swallow his tongue, Elizabeth sneezed.

"Gesundheit," Beckett said as calmly as possible, though his heart was racing in his chest. Elizabeth had found the Spanish fly.

Jack Sparrow surfaced outside of the Intrepid, sputtering as waves sloshed against his face as he struggled to keep afloat without full use of his legs. Thunder rumbled above him in the black starless skies, the air thick with humidity and gales of rain. Soon he saw the wench surface several feet away, her hair matted to her head as she gasped for air.

"There you are," he muttered to himself, swimming towards her as the waves peaked all around him. "Now where the bloody hell is Gibbs?"

Soon Jack was treading water beside the Turkish prostitute. A thick fog hung over the surface of the surrounding waters, making it near impossible to see more than forty feet in any direction. Gibbs had not yet surfaced.

"Where's Gibbs?" Jack whispered to the woman he now knew as Ayla. She glanced at him irritably.

"Gibbs," Jack repeated, to no avail. "You know." There was no response.

"Bugger. Well, I do know him to be—have been—quite the swimmer. I trust he can take care o' himself."

The Intrepid continued past Jack and Ayla, causing quite a concern to arise within the rogue pirate. Within seconds, the unlikely duo had begun swimming in the direction of the Intrepid, following behind it in desperation, for if it went beyond the fog, they'd never find it again.

Thanks for your continued interest!