Disclaimer: Only the plot, folks. Only the plot.

A/N: So I have come to the conclusion that many of you think I am a dirty, rotten author for leaving you with a cliffie like that. Unfortunately, I'm sadistic in that manner….I love to make my readers wait for the next chapter.

Well the wait is over. Here it is.

And by the way….I love each and every one of you. And your reviews too.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

Jack Sparrow Island

She hated crying.

A bloody nuisance, if anyone asked her. Crying was indeed very lady-like…but then again, she had never been a lady at heart.

But how could she help herself from crying? Her husband was dead and above her the deck creaked as Barbossa's crew celebrated a victory. They were now able to feel, to taste, to smell…they had all of the natural senses of men who were alive.

Only they were unable to die…

Elizabeth forced down a sob that began to emit itself from her throat and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't stand it; alone on a ship full of heathen, immortal, lusty pirates, with nothing but her good name to her ownership.

And then, of course, there was the baby.

It was inconceivable to think of raising Will's baby by herself. He would miss the child's birth, the child's laughter, its first words, its first steps. He would never see his son to grow into an admirable man or his daughter into a fine lady. He wouldn't experience grandchildren or their laughter. He wouldn't be able to tell them of his adventures with Jack Sparrow, the captain of the Black Pearl….

He was dead.

Heavy footsteps descending from the upper deck shook her from her thoughts. She looked towards the entrance and saw an outline of a man standing there. He was burly and broad-shouldered, yet she could not see any more of him due to the dark shadows that enveloped his face. She stood, brushed stray tears away from her face and asked with as much strength as possible, "What do you want?"

Only a heavy silence answered.

"What do you want?" she asked, fairly annoyed.

"A word with ye."

Elizabeth frowned as she noted the familiarity in the voice. "Who are you?"

"That is of no importance."

"It is if you would like a word."

A slight chuckle filled the air. "Same as always, Mrs. Turner. Haven't changed a bit, mind ye." Elizabeth didn't answer, but waited for the man to continue. "He ain't dead, lass."

Her breath caught in her lungs and her heart skipped at least two beats. "What?" she managed to croak.

"He ain't dead, miss. Only Barbossa fine right thinks he is. With a cut across the neck he bloody well should be. But he's got Turner strength in 'im, always did. Boostrap'd be proud." There was a certain kind-filled regret in the man's voice, and Elizabeth felt her guard drop ever so slightly.

"How do you know he's not dead?"

"He was a-breathin', Mrs. Turner. Dead men don't breathe."

Relief flooded her body so strongly that she almost let out a laugh of joy. She smiled and tears of happiness flowed down her delicate face. The man sensed this and said, "Jus' thought you'd want to be a-knowin' that, lass."

"Where are you going?" Elizabeth called as the man turned from her. He didn't answer so she continued. "I know you."

The man turned to face her again, his face still in the darkness. "Aye, you do."

She cautiously walked to the front of her cell and eyed him curiously. "Who are you?"

He walked toward her but stopped directly before he stood in the moonlight pouring in through a circular hole in the side of the brig. "These things don't concern you, Elizabeth. Only know that I am a friend, and that I'm here to save that husband of yourn and Jack."

"What?"

A deep sigh filled the air. "I'm a cursed man, Mrs. Turner. Ever since I had the pleasure of meetin' a monkey that was up to no good. Barbossa's monkey…blasted animal…purposefully handed me that golden trinket in that bloody bar. Of course, Jack and I had been drinkin' ourselves blind, celebratin' the return of our Pearl. Mind ye, when that monkey gave Jack 'n me those coins we were right drunk so that we couldn' tell the difference between a ship and a log floatin' in the water. So, bein' as we are lovers of the fine ale known as rum, we spent 'em on free pints o' the forsaken drink. O' course, ye know what follows that."

"You were undead," she whispered. "Gibbs, you were undead."

"Aye, m'lady," he said sadly. "We were undead. Jack 'n me, took us a while to realize it. O' course, he told me straight away the next day. I, however, kept it secret."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"Don' quite know that answer, Mrs. Turner. Perhaps I was ashamed, or maybe I was just stupid. The fact is that I knew Barbossa'd be out for young Will's blood."

"Wait, how did you know all of this?" she asked, her stomach churning in anticipation. "How do you and Jack know so much of the curse?"

"When yer undead, the curse asks ye to do chores for it…it gets inside yer head, Mrs. Turner. Tells ye to do things…told me to do things. I knew its plans to give Barbossa 'n his crew immortal life. I knew its plans of revenge upon all who have spent those accursed tokens. I knew, though, that it needed the final bloodline of the name of Turner to bring Barbossa and company back to life from the undead…the curse corrupts the very mind and rots the very soul. Tha's probably how I ended up betraying Jack."

Elizabeth, at first, didn't grasp the enormity at what had just been confessed to her. After a few moments of complete shock and denial, she suddenly felt furious and disheartened. "You betrayed Jack," she repeated quietly yet firmly.

"Aye," he responded, and Elizabeth knew he nodded his head from the way the shadows shifted on his face. "Told him to fire on the Royal Navy. Knew tha'd be the way to kill off the rest of the crew, and I hoped that it would somehow kill Jack too. But ol' Jack…he's smarter than the average Joe. He figures things out…he got away and got to Port Royal to you and Will. You see, Elizabeth, the curse talked to him too. But his mind is stronger than the rum he consumes…he ignored it. He knew what it was plannin' to do…he knew Barbossa was after you."

Comprehension, under any other circumstance would have been welcomed by her. Unfortunately, she was too busy contemplating ways to get revenge on Gibbs for betraying Jack to feel comfort in understanding everything she had been wondering.

"Look," Gibbs began again, shifting uneasily. "They won't be celebratin' for long, miss."

"What do you mean?" she asked reproachfully.

"The curse ain't lifted yet."

"What?"

"Barbossa didn' count on a couple-a things when he supposedly killed your husband. First, he assumed young Will was the last of the Turner bloodline, which he ain't."

"How do you know?" she asked breathlessly.

"Because, miss. You came in direct contact with the undead. The curse knows your blood…from when Barbossa slit your hand the first time. The curse is upset with you, Mrs. Turner, for trying to fool it by claiming that you were of the Turner bloodline."

"I never claimed-"

"I know, I know," Gibbs interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "I know it was Barbossa who was mistaken. But the gods don't like ye anyways, miss. Naturally, when you come in physical contact with the undead, you should've become undead too…and, you should've become under the influence of the curse yourself. But you didn't."

Elizabeth nodded, too overwhelmed with information to respond, not feeling the need to mention the awful drink Jack made her consume to see whether she had the curse or not. She hadn't…

"And secondly," he continued, "Barbossa figured he had all of his gold pieces back."

"You kept yours?" she asked him wide-eyed.

"No, Barbossa confiscated it as soon as the curse had be under its control," he corrected. "But Barbossa doesn't know Jack's undead…and he also doesn't know that Jack still has his accursed token."

"So they didn't break the curse," Elizabeth mumbled incredulously.

"Aye. And they'll be in a right state when they realize it. Naturally, we can't go a-tellin' them your delicate condition. We'll have to tell 'em about Jack's coin."

"But they'll go after Jack!" she protested pleadingly. "You can't-"

"Trust me, Mrs. Turner," Gibbs said soothingly. "Jack has more of a chance of survivin' anything than any of us. All we got to do is keep them away from you and your baby's bloodline, and we might be able to keep them from gettin' the gods revenge for them."

The relief that she originally feld suddenly vanished from her body as she realized that Gibbs was still under the curse's rule….how did she know that he wasn't leading her into a trap?

"How do I know you're not still under the curse?" Elizabeth suddenly asked, her heart beating fast.

"Because, lass, if a man as daft as Jack can ignore the curse livin' in his head, then so can I."

~*~

The pain in his head suddenly vanished. His aching ribs mended, his shoulder stopped throbbing and he awoke to a pleasant Caribbean breeze infiltrating his lungs. He opened his eyes and only saw a bright blur of white. Blinking and rubbing his eyes he pushed himself up and was suddenly aware of the peaceful lapping of waves at his legs. He looked behind him and saw the vast Caribbean Sea ahead of him.

He turned around and saw, about twenty feet from him, Commodore Norrington lying face-down on the white sand. Jack ran over towards him and was thankful to find a strong pulse, and upon further study he found that he was breathing. He had nasty bruises on his face and a deep gash over his right eye, but the rest of him looked to be intact.

Jack stood up and, upon surveying his surroundings, almost let out a gut-wrenching cry. He knew this island…he had seen it before…twice before, to be exact…

Jack Sparrow's Island. The Island he was governor of twice before.

He was about to scream in aggravation again when something caught his eye by the palm trees about fifty yards away. He looked closer and saw that something metallic was gleaming in the hot Caribbean sun. Realizing that the commodore wasn't going anywhere any time soon and seemed to be in good condition, he adjusted his effects (which, thankfully, had not been stripped from him when he was washed ashore), and headed in that direction.

"Bleedin' Christ," he muttered as his eyes grew wide with comprehension. "WILL!"

He ran up the bank of sand and fell to his knees beside Will Turner who was lying face-down, profusely bleeding from a cut across his neck. He turned him over gently and almost cried with relief as he heard Will groan in pain.

Jack tore off a sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it as a sort of make-shift bandage to stem the flow of blood from his neck. He had been lying there for what could have been hours, and Jack had a good idea who was to blame for this…

Barbossa must have kept the chest of gold here, and must have only performed the ceremony a few hours before. Jack gritted his teeth…he would kill Barbossa if it was the last thing he ever did…

He knew he couldn't leave Norrington at one end of the island with Will bleeding at the other, so he picked the younger lad up, swung him over his shoulder, and wavered under the weight. "Why do I always feel like a bloody babysitter?" he mumbled as he carried Will down the sand bank and gently placed him next to the unconscious Norrington. Fear nipped at his heart in concern for Will, but he knew that he was his father's son; a brave family they were, and undoubtedly strong-willed. He reached over and felt Will's prominent pulse, just to make sure that his hunch was correct. Luckily, it was.

Panting slightly, Jack sat down next to both ailing men and rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how in the name of the sea he was going to get them off that island. But as soon as he began thinking, he realized that thinking was too hard at the moment.

"Bloody hell, I'll start a fire," he told himself as he stood up resolutely. He headed over to the palm trees and gathered pieces of dried bark and leaves. As he bent down to pick up another fallen branch he felt the sharp blade of a sword place itself at his throat.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't Jack Sparrow, our infamous rum-drinker."

~*~

Who's threatening Jack? Well, I guess that's what chapter 18 is for.