The extra longboat on deck stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't just the crocked makeshift mast or the reddish hue of its wood that set it apart. Perhaps what made it stand out the most was the person laying in it.

Abigail watched the stars twinkling overhead. Once, she may have been able to name the brightest ones. She could still remember the sound of their names in her grandfather's voice. Still smell the mix of alcohol, tobacco, and sea salt that surrounded the man.

Now, the names were simply meaningless words to her.

The small boat creaked softly as Captain Jack Sparrow half sat on the railing. He looked up at the sky. "You know, you do have a perfectly good bed in a cabin."

"I know," Abigail replied, not moving.

Jack looked at his daughter from the corner of his eyes. "Might not be new, but its your own bed."

"I have my own boat," Abigail stated with a proud smile. "She may not be as grand as the Pearl, but she's still mine."

'Was I like this with the Barnacle?' The pirate captain thought with a smirk. He was much worse with the Barnacle. Part of him was still convinced that it was a just a small ship. "She'll still be here in the morning."

"I'd assumed she would, considering how hard it was to get her onboard," Abigail said as she sat back up. She picked up a bottle of rum. "I heard people talking in town. Is it true that Captain Barbossa is dead?"

"Saw it myself, luv."

"Captain Teague would not be happy."

Jack frowned, crossing his arms. "Not like I killed him. This time." He knew what his daughter meant though. It was a belief on Shipwreck Island that it was bad luck for there to be less than nine pirate lords when a new Keeper of the Code takes over. According to the stories, if that does happen, the new Keeper will die right after the ninth Lord is named. Still, Captain Sparrow faced worst odds.

"At least you've still got two more Lords to-"

"One more," Jack corrected with a smirk. "Congrats, Gail. You've inherited the Caribbean."

Abigail looked up at her father. She stared at him, amazed at how much he resembled his father. It wasn't the first time she felt in awe by the man. Growing up on Shipwreck Island, she knew of Captain Jack Sparrow only as a legend, the figure of many stories told by people in the marketplace or over pints of ale at the taverns. His name was heard most from teenage girls and young women, many who apparently collected anything even remotely related to the man, from wanted posters to strands of dark hair claimed to have been plucked from his head. Many claimed to have seen the pirate captain. Some even wished to eventually marry-or at the very least sleep with him.

Truthfully, even Abigail had a wanted poster stashed in her bedroom, tucked into a book under a loose floorboard next to her bed. He symbolized the freedom she longed for. He was one of the few people who made a life far from the protected island. Most would stay close and salvage wrecked ships for supplies and parts.

And now her symbol for freedom stood next to her, telling her that the very thing that seemed to elude her for so long was hers.

"Abigail?" Jack looked over his shoulder.

"Captain, I-"

Jack smirked, turning to face her, as he said, "Dad. We all know I'm your bloody dad. May as well call me that." He paused when his fingers brushed against the swords that hung on his old belt on either hip. He half expected that poor old strip of leather to snap at any moment for the last few years. With the added weight of the twin swords, he found himself checking that it was still there often.

"With all due respect, captain, I am nowhere near ready to be captain."

"Luv, I was named Pirate Lord when I was barely walking and look at me now," Jack said. He turned around and held his arms out to show off. "Captain of the Black Pearl and Keeper of the Code."

"Is it true you spent the first twenty years with your dad as your co-captain?"

Jack's arms lowered. "No. Yes. On and off. Not the whole time." His arms crossed as he turned his back. Then his fingers caught a cut in the boat's railing. He looked down and smirked. He knew that longboat very well. It was the one Captain Teague escaped on after the Misty Lady was lost in the battle against Salazar.

That was bugging him. Jack truthfully had no idea who Salazar was before hearing his name from Henry. Apparently, he had wronged him at some point, but then who hasn't he wronged? That wasn't the first time anyone had been that intent on killing him, though it was the closest.

Even his memories of the apparently epic battle where he supposedly was named captain of the Wicked Wench seem…wrong. They don't feel like they're his memories at all. In fact, they contradicted the facts he was sure of. Jack remembered buying the Wicked Wench from Lord Cutler Beckett. Why would he buy a ship he already owned?

"Can I co-captain with you?"

Abigail's question caught Jack off guard. He turned around to face his daughter, who was now standing. Even if she wasn't confident in leading others yet, the young Sparrow stood like him. "As long as you don't want the Pearl."

"Why would I want the Pearl now when I can just wait?" Abigail asked, climbing out of the boat.

"Wait for what, pray tell?"

Abigail smirked as she looked up to him. "Frankly, you're getting old. You've got grey hairs. You've got aches you calm with rum. You're moody in the morning. You're forgetful the rest of the time," she said, counting off points with her fingers. "Why go through all the trouble of organizing a mutiny when I can just wait a few years and inherit the Black Pearl?"

"I am not that old."

"You're only twenty years younger than Captain Teague."

"Dad could've lived longer," Jack stated, though he was secretly amazed that his father lived so long. A pirate's life was usually short. He knew very few in the Caribbean that lasted more than two years, and they were all on board with him. He remembered Captain's Teague's crew seemed to be a completely different group every time he saw his father.

Also, Captain Teague drank and smoked much more than normal. Even when he was a little boy swinging around a wooden sword and trapping mice, Jack was sure that the drinking and smoking would kill him.

Abigail leaned back, looking down at the deck. "The last few years, Captain Teague had this cough. It was horrible. Some nights, I'd wake to hear his cough echo in the halls." She looked up at the sky above them. The sky was starting to fade from the deep velvety violet of night to the soft pinks and blues of dawn. "He told me that, if anything happened, to get the Code to you. Then find William Turner."

Will Turner sat at a table, staring out the window. Out there, beyond the grassy hill, the rising sun's reflection danced temptingly on the waves. After all that time out at sea, abandoning all hope for a life like this, he should have been thankful to finally have the life he once dreamed about. Instead, he longed to once again feel the waves and the salty breeze.

Will Turner knew the Flying Dutchman sat at the docks with every other ship in port, though inspiring more awe and fascination. He knew that she was waiting to return as well. The captain could feel it in every fiber of his being. They were both still part of that big blue expanse just beyond the safe harbor.

"Freedom, mate," Will could imagine Jack saying, with a drunken smirk. Perhaps that was what he wanted. Freedom to stay on land. Freedom to go out to sea. Freedom to be his own man.

It was a freedom that Will Turner could not afford.

Elizabeth stood by the door, watching her husband. She remembered when she felt the tug of those ocean waves just beyond the reach of the lighthouse beam. She had a much easier time resisting the temptation though, in the form of her son. 'Our son', she was constantly correcting to herself. It was difficult to get used to the idea that she was not a single parent anymore. Maybe it was too late.

Over two decades too late.

"Good morning, Will," Elizabeth finally greeted as she sat down at the table across from her husband.

Will watched his wife. "Hello, Elizabeth."

There was an undeniable awkwardness between them, now that the initial surprise of finally being reunited had passed. So much time had slipped by as their relationship hung in limbo every ten years, anxiously waiting for that one day in heaven. Now that they had been blessed with forever, their worst fear was realized; they had grown apart.

Gently, Will placed his hand on hers. When she instinctive pulled her hand back a little, he sighed. "Sorry. I know they're rough."

Elizabeth smiled at her husband, at the memory of the man she loved. A man she wasn't sure was the same one that sat with her. There were somethings even rougher than Will Turner's hands. Such as the memories of the lonely lives they've lead up until this point.

Truthfully, they still lead strangely lonely lives, but together.

"Will, I am truly glad that you are here," Elizabeth said as she held his hand.

"It's amazing to be here, with you and Henry."

They both sat in silence, still holding hands. They already ran out of things to say. They spent their first few days together talking almost nonstop, about the short past they shared, about their difficult lives apart, their plans for the future.

Plans that Elizabeth could already see crumbling before her eyes, as Will's seemed to always drift back toward the open waters. "Do you miss it?"

Already, Will had gone back to watching the waves and had to turn back to his wife. "Sorry?"

"Do you miss being out there?" Elizabeth asked, looking out the window. She didn't want to be looking at Will when he answered. She knew the answer already, and didn't want to be disappointed when he either confirmed it or lied. Mrs. Turner already hated the sea. It took her husband away from her for what seemed like a lifetime, and was now tempting him back after just months away.

"Of course I do," Will admitted, looking down at her hands. "But I missed you so much more than I could ever miss it."

Elizabeth turned to watch as her husband brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. She knew, as her eyes followed his, that it wasn't the complete truth. He missed the sea now just as much as he missed her then, possibly more.

Will Turner stood from the table, his hand slipping away from his wife's. "I have to go," he said quietly, giving her a quick kiss. "I love you." He then grabbed the sack from the middle of the table and walked out of the room.

Sorry! I had so many different versions of this chapter! It was very difficult to decide on which version I wanted to use. I actually wrote the second half right after posting this story as the the beginning, but then the second half didn't quite fit. To be honest, I wasn't sure where this was headed.

Now that I've a clearer idea of what's going on, I'll try to update sooner!