Sorry if that last chapter was a bit of a shock to you; I promise that there will continue to be some fluff thrown in here and there, but this isn't JUST a love story. Besides, if it's a POTC love story then you would expect the unexpected to happen anyway. Thanks for the support and hope you continue to enjoy—though let me know what the deterrents are and I'll consider your complaints.

"Sir!" James looked up and, upon seeing the look on Groves' face, waved aside the new ship's clerk—the poor lad was completely incapable of handling all the work expected of him but they had little choice in the matter before setting sail again.

As Groves drew closer, an unfamiliar sailor close on his tail, James felt his stomach roll and Groves hadn't even spoken yet. It had been well over a fortnight since the murders and as far as he knew there had been no sighting or capture of—he shook his head, unwilling to even think of HER name. "What is it?" he barked once Groves and the other sailor were standing directly before him.

"It's done sir." Groves looked ashen, his voice strained and his movements stiff as he held out a crumpled up letter.

James nodded, afraid to trust his own voice, as he took the letter and turned away. Groves did not recede into the business of the deck; however, he stayed off to the side with the unfamiliar man as James read the letter. No doubt the other man was the messenger and had already regaled the contents to Groves.

To the captain and officers of the HMS Dauntless:

It is with great satisfaction that I write to you that all is finished in regards to your fugitive. Two days ago we apprehended a barely seaworthy vessel on its journey into the Tortugas. On this vessel was a band of well known misfits and in their company was the woman you described, Mz. Ashlynne Fitzpatrick. In their possession were a number of items looted from recent harbor attacks. We made the charges of thievery and all had looked routine with our arrests until a Spanish galleon had unexpectedly swung around the islands and engaged us in firefight. The pirate vessel attempted to flee in the ensuing battle but the Spanish galleon, no friendlier towards pirates than His Majesty, pounded the vessel into splinters before re-engaging us. I may not have been able to write this report had it not been for another one of our ship's arriving on the scene and together we chased off the Spanish dog. Upon investigation of the sight of destruction of the pirate vessel, we drew out four bodies, one of which was the Mz. Fitzpatrick. Our surgeon examined all the bodies and pronounced them dead. We were not due back in port for some time and for expedience we conducted a Christian service and buried the blackguards at sea. I am most sincerely sorry that you were unable to witness the service, or the woman's death. Justice has been served, however, and the residents of Port Royal may rest easy knowing that the terrorizer of their peace has met her death. Should you care to further confirm these events I have included the reports of both my first mate and surgeon and the letter bearer is our purser. You may inquire of more details from him and study the other reports at your discretion. We will put to sea within a fortnight and stand waiting to serve you further in this matter if need be.

Sincerely, Captain Ives of the HMS Laconia

James felt the world around him fade for a moment as images of Ashlynne's face swam before his mind's eye. Every moment spent in her presence, every smile and jest traded, the forbidden touches, these all pressed in upon his mind, until they were superseded by the imagined scene of death. Her struggle aboard the pirate vessel, the explosion of cannon shells, her screams as she drowned…he could imagine all these things as if he'd been there himself.

He felt no such satisfaction as this Captain Ives did. No joy or desire to celebrate "justice" came to him with this news. He felt emptiness instead. A hollow sensation somewhere in his heart that he'd never truly felt before seemed to have spread further into other areas. The confirmation of her death acted more like a numbing agent than a torture. He'd known there would be no other outcome for her but to have it happen so suddenly…well he supposed he'd come to terms with it soon enough. After all, what had she been to him beyond that of a dishonest female clerk?

"Do you have anything to add to this report Mister?" James turned back to Groves and the Laconian purser.

The purser quickly filled in a few other details of the incident, namely how the "Mz. Fitzpatrick" had been the fiercest in resisting arrest until the galleon arrived, and that though she'd been violent she had actually kept one of her fellow pirates from killing one of the Laconia sailors. James listened with his jaw tense and when he was satisfied with the man's report he had Groves escort the purser and the letter to the captain.

He turned to the rail leaned out to look down into the water below. He tried to disregard the fact that the water's color still reminded him of Ashylnne's eyes. He tried to push from his mind the sound of her laugh. He tried to focus only on the image of her holding a corpse, the evidence of her true nature bleeding out all over a table. He tried to center himself on the fact that justice had been served and now the albatross of her escape was gone. He could move on with his life.

"Lieutenant Norrington." He turned at the sound of Groves' voice. "May I speak freely with you sir?"

Groves hadn't had much to say since Ashlynne had escaped. When the soldiers and himself had arrived on board the Dauntless that night, they'd found Groves unconscious in his cabin, Ashlynne having attacked him and fled with her belongings. He supposed the man felt foolish for allowing the clerk to get the advantage over him, especially now that her true sex was well known across the ship.

"Permission granted."

Groves hesitated a moment before he stepped up to the rail beside James and looked out over the water, "Before she rendered me unconscious sir she attempted to explain herself."

"Why did you not explain this before?"

"Because, sir," Groves turned his gaze from the Caribbean towards James, "it's taken me this long to decide if it was worth telling or not. I didn't know if it was just frenzied jibberish of a madwoman or if it could have some basis in fact. I didn't want to waste anyone's time reporting something that had no bearing on the situation."

James clenched his jaw, "That was not for you to decide Mister Groves."

"I realize that, sir, and that is why I'm reporting it now." He looked pained for a moment and turned towards the water again. "Before she knocked me out she explained that the Forester's had tried to attack her. That they were after some type of pendant that she'd been sent from England for. That this pendant was the key to saving the remnants of her family." When his eyes found James' again he noted James' disbelief and he sighed. "I know that explanation also sounds crazy but which is more unbelievable? That the clerk we'd all been around for months, though in disguise, who'd shown herself to be honorable and a valued member of our crew while she was here would suddenly, and without provocation, brutally murder two strangers? Or that two members of 'civilized' society, whom none of us had truly known, even the captain since it'd been years since he'd seen the Mr. Forester, would attempt to murder Fitzpatrick and steal from her the very thing she felt would save her own family? I ask you, Lieutenant, which sounds more improbable?"

James, not for the first time that day, felt his stomach roll. Could what Groves was saying be true? Could Ashylnne have truly acted in self-defense? How could he judge which was true, now that they had no conclusive evidence to say either way? What would be the point in pondering the could-have-beens other than to serve as a private torture device?

"What would make you want to believe her story Mister Groves? We have no evidence to confirm either story, that of her innocence or guilt; though with two bodies rotting in the ground now, I'd say what evidence we do have points towards guilt. Furthermore, if what you are reporting is indeed fact, then Fitzpatrick should not have run. She should have stood trial and defended herself in the proper setting instead of fleeing like the guilty would."

"Don't you see, sir, that she could never have stood trial? Why would she disguise herself as a male clerk to come here in the first place, when women travel to and from here freely, with their companions? Would it not be to protect the identity of her family, to distance herself from them while she was trying to seek out the key to their salvation? If she had stayed and tried to fight for her innocence we would have had to have contacted her family to collaborate her story and what if that was exactly what she didn't want for fear of jeopardizing their lives?" Groves sighed and turned his back on the sea and faced James. "She knew she didn't have a chance, sir, because she was already guilty in the eyes of polite society. No one would have believed a cross-dressing, Irish clerk and she knew that."

James felt a sudden urge to hurl Groves into the water below. He felt the man judging him to be a member of that "polite society" that had condemned her without her being able to defend herself. Even if that was true, even if he had assumed her guilt instead of trying to figure out reasons why she could be a victim, the man had no right to judge him. He was an officer in the King's navy. He had a duty to seek out justice supported by hard evidence, not trust in the words of dishonest women.

"Is that all Mister Groves?"

Groves watched him quietly for a moment longer before he nodded, "Yes sir, thank you for your time sir."

"Dismissed." Groves gave James a salute and turned away, leaving James in a haze of doubt and anger.

The first thing she was aware of was the stench: a mixture of sweat, rotting food, bad ale, and sewage. The second thing was that of a hand pressing down on her chest, fingers searching around inside the folds of her shirt. With a surge of energy, despite the sluggishness of her mind, she reached out with one her hands and tightly grasped the wrist of her assailant. She heard a hiss of surprise followed by a yell for help. Before she could open her eyes—they felt as though they'd been sewn shut—she felt more hands hold her down.

"She's alive cap'n. I don't know how, but she's alive. The other two we fished out of the Locker were as dead as dead can be and she was too when we first brought her aboard but she's breathing right for sure now. She grabbed my hand and everything."

"I can see that she's breathing, Pintel. The question we're all wondering is why she'd be breathing when as of late she was devoid of breath." She felt a presence hover closer to her face, could breathe in the sickeningly sweet scent of old apples mixed with sea salt and sweat. "Has she spoken yet?"

"No sir, she just grabbed my hand like some sort of mindless creature come back from the dead."

She felt a hand grasp either side of her chin and turn her head this way and that. She tried to resist, tried to twist out of the hands and away from the overwhelming smells, but her body did not want to listen to her. Instead she could only groan and her foot twitched. The hand left her face for a moment before suddenly her right cheek felt as if it were on fire followed quickly by her left. Whoever this presence was he was slapping her. She again tried to twist out of the hands holding her, but only succeeded in jerking one shoulder off the wooden deck beneath her. When the assault continued she felt anger rise up within her like a fire.

"Bugger off!" she screeched out, her throat raw, her voice strained and foreign to her ears.

There was a snort of laughter off to her right, "She's alive all right. Get her to my quarters Ragetti, I believe she may have some tales to tell just yet. Set in a new course. We make for Tortugas."

She felt her body twisted and pulled and pushed until she was raised from the deck, though she had the grave feeling that most likely she would fall to the deck more than once before she reached whatever destination she was intended for. Without fail, she was dropped, and again she was raised up and unceremoniously dropped, her head cracking against the wood. It would prove most advantageous if she could move her body more than mere twitches. Maybe then she'd avoid all these cracks and whacks that she knew would leave new cuts and bruises.

"Captain Barbossa?" a voice came from her left and the pair of men carrying her also paused at the sound.

"Yes, Mister Bo'sun, do ye have anything ye'd like to add?"

"Well Captain, do ye not recognize that over there?"

There was a pause for a moment then a low hiss, apparently a chuckle, "Why yes Mister Bo'sun," the regal voice attached to the man named Barbossa was stronger now, "we'll not be harboring this bit of sea trash then. No, ye see that? Let's send our dear friend a little present." Barbossa let out another hissing laugh. "Toss this sack of flesh over. Not quite dead and not quite alive is she Jack? Well I'm sure she'll prove tasty if yer desperate now."

What in the hell happened to her? She remembered the almost arrest, the ensuing battle between the Spanish and the English, and she most definitely remembered the pain of wood splinters exploding into her body after the boat had been hit, but aside from the darkness of the watery depths, she could remember no more. She most definitely did not know where she was now, why she was about to be thrown overboard, or how she was still alive to begin with.

"Out ye go miss." The same voice as that of the first she'd heard was growling now and she felt hands laying hold of her shoulders.

The last thing she heard before she was tossed back into the watery depths with a shrill laugh and the cry of a seagull.