RED SKY

"Will..."

It was Elizabeth, her voice, her hair, her beautiful face. It was her, dying and dead. It was her, defenseless at Beckett's hands. Elizabeth had gone back for Jack, gone back for redemption. And Will had just let her go.

It was Elizabeth dead now.

xxxx

"No..."

He murmured in his sleep. Barbossa shook his head. It was not a good sign. Not at all. William Turner was a man with loyalties divided. Will had drunk himself to sleep, but not a sound one. Barbossa looked to the horizon. Hopefully, when the winds turned that morning, they would bring good fortune and good news.

The captain looked to the woman at his side. "Ah, Miss Scarlet, so good of ye t' join me, 'en."

"Why, Cap'n, the pleasure's all mine."

xxxx

The Revenge had made excellent time to Tortuga. The ship had been lighter in the wind with its low supplies, and the crew had been more that happy to get her moving faster. The pirates were starting to sober up, and they couldn't have that.

And they were worried about Anne, especially Calico Jack. Elizabeth would have never believed pirates to have been so loyal and protective of a woman. However, they practically waited on her hand and foot, tending to her every need, despite the woman's protests. She had a magnetic personality it seemed, quite the polar opposite of the warrior, Sygne, with her chilling distance. However, with all the hustle and bustle about her, Anne found herself curiously drawn to the woman who just seemed to want to be alone.

The woman drew her shawl about her. She'd only found out about her condition a month or two earlier, but Calico Jack had been quick to usher her own of the preferred britches and into proper dresses. The man worried about her too much sometimes. He argued that, while it was an obvious breech of the code to have a woman aboard, no naval officers from any crown would believe a woman in her shape to be a pirate. Should anything go terribly wrong, Anne couldn't be caught, and, at the worst, with her predicament, should she, the pirate couldn't be hung. That still didn't stop Anne from hating the dresses with a passion.

As Tortuga came into sight in the pale, pre-dawn light, Anne approached the warrior, warily. Sygne had been cautious to stay away from the crew, it seemed. The warrior had quickly climbed up the bowsprit and kept to herself up there. Anne worried about the warrior. The Revenge had always been like a family; Anne had never seen someone not get on with the crew.

Sygne peered out, along the waves, to the Isla Tortuga.

"Are you alright?" Anne finally asked softly.

The warrior barely flinched. "I am physically well and uninjured."

The woman snorted, holding back a giggle at that. "That's not what I meant, an' ye know it."

Sygne turned to Anne. "I am in the service of my lady. It is not any concern as per how I am feeling." The warrior glanced down. "In truth, I am far more concerned with Jack Sparrow."

Anne shivered. She had known Jack Sparrow, and known him rather intimately. What female hadn't known Jack Sparrow intimately? Especially not when she was a female pirate. When Anne had first left home and set out on a buccaneer crew, Jack's sharp intuition uncovered her as a woman right away, despite her best attempts at cross-dressing. He uncovered her secret one night with what had seemed like the unusual proposition of one man to another man, to Anne's horror. Anne, being young and somewhat innocent at the time, had been horrified to think of one man bedding another man just as much as to think of being uncovered as a cross-dressing female aboard Jack's ship. However, as the captain revealed that night, he had known all along about Anne's secret. They became good friends up until Jack had introduced Anne to Calico Jack. That was when Anne found her true love, but she would never forget Jack Sparrow.

"Why are you worried about Jack?" Anne asked.

Sygne heaved a heavy sigh. "Lord Cutler Beckett is ruthless at the least and bloodthirsty at the worst. He will stop at nothing to find my island and to exploit my lady for his own ill deeds."

Calico Jack bellowed from the main deck behind them. "Tortuga, ho!"

Anne leaned close to Sygne. "You bring 'em back, ye hear me?"

"I shall," the warrior answered.

"You bring 'im back safe."

xxxx

Fat, drunk, and, thank heavens, not violent.

Tortuga had worked its magic on his crew yet again, Captain Barbossa noted with a mild satisfaction. The girls, the whores and the brothel girls, they'd been quick to take in all the world weary pirates for once. They had offered food, drink, and music the entire evening for all those who managed to drag their carcasses into the old, crumbling tavern. Barbossa had been thankful for their hospitality through the long night and into the morning. He could already smell fresh, hot drinks being boiled over the open fires. Davy Jones had been hard upon the city, but he could never crush the spirits of Tortuga's people.

Giselle smiled warmly at the captain and gave a little curtsy as she handed Barbossa a mug of hot coffee. "S'not all 'at special. Jus' a lil' somethin' from me an me girls."

"An' we're much obliged," the captain said, raising his glass to the woman.

The pirate snatched up another one before Giselle could argue, winked, and strode away with it. Barbossa took great care to thread his way among the slumbered pirates who had just slept where they dropped the night before. It took him some time to actually creep across the field of drunks, but, in time, Barbossa managed to find the person he was looking for.

The pirate set down one of the mugs on the ground beside the sleeping form. It'd been a rough night for Will Turner. Barbossa hadn't slept a wink, keeping a weather eye on the horizon in case Davy Jones should return, and, so, he'd had to listen to Will cry out in his sleep. His first mate had been searching in dreams for her.

Barbossa gave him a shake; Will started. "Is it morning already?"

"Aye. Day star's on the horizon."

Will rolled over. "I had the worst dream."

"I wagered," Barbossa said, handing the blacksmith a mug of coffee. "Heard ye fer half the night."

The blacksmith sat up, shaking his head. "I just... I don't know what to do."

"Seldom do men ever," the pirate captain replied. "Drink up. It'll warm yer bones."

Will looked to the ship. It looked nearly arrived. The crew were still running out the anchors and securely mooring the ship. The sails were being drawn up, and several men were making ready to launch a long boat. It had been neatly presented, but with no colors or markings.

"When did that arrive?"

Barbossa stood. "This morn'." He scratched the back of his neck. "Not too long ago."

Will looked up at his captain. "I'm sorry." Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "I have to leave. I have to find Elizabeth."

Barbossa laughed. "Lad, y'don't have te." He pointed. "She found ye!"

xxxx

His mind wandered.

He was no longer in the dark hold of the Herald Mark. No, for the sun's light beat down upon him, warm and comforting upon the captain's face. The pirate's hand were not empty. The soft, smoothly worn wood of the Pearl's helm passed through them, allowed to. His toes didn't scrap the hold's wet floor. Jack's feet were firmly planted on the deck. The warmth on his shirt, seeping down Jack's chest, was not blood, but merely spilt rum. The chill on his face was not sweat from trying to hold his weight on his right arm, off of his throbbing left arm, but the spray of the ocean, salty and sweet.

He was not alone. Even as Sparrow looked about him, the smiling faces of his crew were there to greet him. Gibbs, with his big, foolish grin. Ana Maria, with her coy smirk. The gleam in Cotton's eyes, speaking volumes more than his tongue ever could even with it.

"The Pearl's yours." Ana Maria's voice, cool and slick as silk.

A wave rose up, above the port side, splashing Jack. The cold brought him back, away from the Black Pearl and back to the harsh reality of the hold of the Herald Mark. His cool, refreshing wave had become but a bucket of tossed salt water. The salt stung and burnt at his wounds.

His bleary eyes focused. Before Jack stood a few of the Herald Mark's crew members, decked out in their cheery, red uniforms, jeering at him, trying to wake him. Sparrow struggled to stay conscious. He didn't know how long he'd been out, drifting in and out of consciousness, but Jack knew better than to let himself go out in front of them.

Two of the pirates left, leaving the third shrouded in shadow.

Jack gave a weak nod in the shadow's general direction. "A good man would put a bullet 'tween me eyes."

The dark form moved. Jack heard the spilling of water and the patter of drips on the floor. Footsteps drew close, scraping at the hold. For a horrible moment, Jack's heart contracted, but he was too weak to even struggle in the chains.

A cup rose, held up to his lips. The water was cool and sweet, and clean. This was the freshest of water he'd ever tasted on a ship, not grog mixed down with rum to cut the rancid and unclean taste of old, stale water. Jack gulp it down his dry mouth and throat. The shadow that held the pewter cup tipped it for Jack. Water streamed down the captive's throat. He coughed, and almost choked, but the cup was taken back to the darkness.

Jack hung limply. "Why are ye doin' this?" No answer met his ears. "Why are ye helpin' me?"

"Because no man, not even Captain Jack Sparrow deserves such treatment." A familiar face passed between the deck prism's light, revealing the sharp features of the former Commodore, James Norrington, looking rather refreshed and returned to their state of grace. "No matter what you may have done to ruin my life and take my world away, you do not deserve this."

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. "Norrington?"

"Do not dare breath a word of this, or else I'll end up in irons and you will have no one to fetch you water," the now-privateer cautioned menacingly.

And Sparrow understood full well. His silence was golden for several hours. Mostly because, before Norrington could say anything else, Jack couldn't hear it. He had already slipped into merciful sleep.

xxxx

"ELIZABETH!"

Will screamed her name as soon as he knew it was his fiance. The blacksmith threw down his coffee and bolted, running to her, to the longboat. He slogged through the waves, up to his knees as they brought the women ashore.

"Will!"

The woman threw herself at her fiance, almost knocking them down. Will laughed, spinning around with her to ride out the force of her landing. He held her close and tight, never wanting to let her go ever again. But Elizabeth, she cried. Tears streamed down her eyes as she sobbed. Her hands framed his face, holding him.

"Oh, god, Will, I'm so sorry!" Elizabeth cried. "I should have never done it."

The man shook his head. "No, no, you did what you had to."

"I shouldn't have..."

Will shook his head. "No. You had to. I know. I know. It's okay." The man wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. "I understand. I know you..." He could barely contain himself. "I know you didn't think there was any other way."

"Oh, Will."

Elizabeth kissed him. It was as if fireworks exploded in his lips and through his heart. He had given this up why? Some part of him still distrusted her, still hated her. In his mind, he did. But his heart. Will could not still the longing in his heart, the hope to just be loved by Elizabeth Swann for the rest of his life, or longer if humanly or unhumanly possible.

She looked to him. "Oh, god, Will. We have to save Jack." She looked into her lover's eyes fearfully. "Beckett has him, and the heart is missing."

Will looked back to the captain in the rowboat. "Don't ye worry, yer lass has already told us all the sordid details." The stranger's eyes scanned the beach, catching sight of Barbossa in his large hat, sipping coffee and biting into a green, fresh apple. "Ah, there's yer cap'n."

"Calico Jack Rackham!" Barbossa called out in greeting. "I sense a council be in order."

"Aye. I sense it, too."

xxxx

A/N... so... we've lost the heart, found the Elizabeth, and practically gave up the Jack. Who knew what to do?

And, no, I don't believe James Norrington is a bad man. I just believe he's a man bound by the laws of his country and a sense of unshakable, unwavering loyalty to his duties as a commodore, title or not. But, he's still in the employ of Beckett, so who knows what will happen in this little slice of ficdom. Well, I know, but you will just have to guess. Sorry!