Wow! This chapter started off really bad but now is actually one of my favourites. It brings William and Aletté just a little closer together- and has beautiful Jack to get in the way. Well, its past midnight, so on with the show!

Review replies are at the end of the chapter- but then, you knew that already, didn't you?

***

The voyage from Tortuga to Sierrbo, Spain, where Aletté said the prisoners would first be taken, was long, uneventful, and above all things, tense. Meryl shunned the world from around her, shrugging off all conversational opportunities with mutterings of "7463" and glares of ice. Will, who was quite close to giving up on telling Aletté anything at all, was growing accustomed to her out-of-place bursts of irrational anger. And in the centre of it all was a very unconcerned Jack.

Jack kept his mouth relatively shut, which was a pleasant change for some, a pressing concern for others. He would spend his day at the tiller, staring ahead of him in a zombie-like trance, holding his steely gaze at level with the emptiness of the horizon, as if daring it to never show him Spanish soil.

The horizon, however, can be swayed with time. Just over one week had passed into the voyage when the white beaches of Spain rose up and speckled the grey-blue waters. Aletté, who had been ignoring her pressing fears at returning to her homeland, was beginning to feel a new sensation; whereas before she had been afraid of pain, torture possibly, but not death, now she felt her emotions had reversed. She could bear pain, perhaps, and it did not trouble her to suffer. What she would miss, silly as it was to say, was Will. Fighting with Will. Seeing him every day, pretending not to need him.

I've done it now, she would tell herself, I've ruined everything. I've let myself fall in love with hating him, with punishing him. I've let myself cling to something- Good God am I in love again?

No. No I am not.

I am.

Not.

In love…

Never!

Denial, denial. You're head over heels in…

Insanity! Daftness! Dementia! Fever, monthly cycle pangs, hallucinations… Oh good God anything but love!

Admit it.

I will admit nothing.

You are in love!

I am not in love with that stupid, arrogant, toying, lying…

…beautiful, caring, kind, gentle…

…conniving, abusive, absolutely horrible-

-God amongst men!

Dear Lord am I talking to myself?

And then she would shake her head and resume whatever it was she had been doing. Any crewman who glanced her way would have no way to tell what she had been thinking, and so nobody ever thought to ask.

Except Will. He saw. What precise internal battle he was witnessing he could not have guessed, but regardless, he could sense something was wrong. But to ask was to make things worse than they already were, this he had learned from experience.

"Aletté?"

And she would jump from her trance with a start. "What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh drop the act, Turner, like you care."

She would shove past him and find something else to occupy herself with. It did not take genius to see something was wrong, but only Will paid heed, and he himself being the problem could not aid in finding a solution.

By the time they reached the shores of Spain, Aletté and Will had held a silent contract of ignoring each other. The ship docked in a small port far from Sierrbo, so as not to cause a stir. Will, Aletté and Jack went ashore, while Gibbs and Meryl had been instructed to wait two weeks in the small village before sailing to Sierrbo to pick up the Captain, First Mate, and others.

Jack managed to commandeer himself a stagecoach and thus began the most tedious and mind-numbing carriage ride any of the three had ever partaken in. Between Jack's mutterings of what revenge he would take on those who wronged his woman and unborn child, Will's pleading for Aletté's understanding, and her subsequent snapping at him at any possible occasion, the ride had proved to be irrefutably monotonous.

At night, Jack, Will, and Aletté sprawled themselves out uncomfortably over the seats, not caring who's foot was jabbed in whose ribs. Had the lady traveller been anyone but Aletté, this arrangement would have been looked upon as totally indecent. For Aletté, however, her days of prostitution from the age of fourteen until she was twenty made such a predicament seem like peanuts. By the time they reached Sierrbo, all three travellers had only rumpled clothes and stiff necks.

They spent the night in a shabby Inn room that contained only a double bed and a musty old sofa. Jack took the liberty of claiming the sofa for his own, which left Aletté and Will with an uncomfortable night next to one another in a bed that could comfortably fit one person, though it could theoretically fit two. Will was able to lull himself to sleep eventually, though Aletté slept scarcely an hour the entire night. Wills body would press against hers, and she would shiver and sweat at the same time.

When morning finally decided to grace them with its presence, Will rose first, glad to get out of the awkwardness that had consumed his hours of rest. Jack awoke only moments after him, and the two friends drew up the day's plan. The prisons were their first destination. They spoke at length on how they would manage to infiltrate the dungeons without arousing suspicion, and as Aletté's name was mentioned, the latter began to wake.

At first she heard only fragments of conversation. "…find her a disguise… could pass for a woman of high birth… do the snooping for us… good idea…"

"What's the plan, boys?" Aletté mumbled into her pillow, sleep still fogging over her eyes.

Jack raised his eyebrows as his eyes trailed over her bare shoulder where her blouse had come loose and slipped down almost to her elbow. Her skin was ochre and smooth, her arm very slender and graceful. He pulled his stare away, reminded of his vow to at least try at fidelity, and glanced over at Will. The kid's face was hysterical.

His brown eyes were locked intensely on the woman before him, as if he'd never set sight on a female in all his life. His chest was rising and falling more gawkily than usual, a sure sign his breath had quickened.

Aletté blew a puff of air out through her lips, sending her blonde-again hair billowing off of her face in untidy strands. She glared at Will. "What are you looking at, Turner?"

He shook his head to break the trance that had been holding him. "N-nothing. I'm not looking."

Aletté snorted. "As if you're not looking."

"I'm not." Will said, trying to sound matter-of-fact but only succeeding in making his voice very hollow and satirical. "I wouldn't have a reason to. Why would I look at you?" He gulped, his attempt at confidence most observably an act. "Don't have any reason to look, Aletté. Couldn't find you more unattractive. Nope. Ugly to me."

Jack snickered. This kid was a riot.

Will held Aletté's gaze a moment longer before breaking the strange, unspoken argument between them. His eyes shifted back to the captain, who sat pensively in the corner, observing the young couple with intense amusement. "We have a plan then?"

"Aye." Jack smiled and nodded to Aletté, who was only now beginning to re-tie her blouse. "Now, Miss Swallow over here" Aletté smiled at his remembrance of her alias, "will make her way to the dungeons to visit, erm, lets see… her uncle. Yes, she's going to visit her uncle, savvy?" Both Aletté and Will nodded in chorus. "Aletté, luv, you'll scout out Morgan and the others, and report back to yours truly as to whereabouts we find them when inside the prison. Then we work out our plan in detail. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Aletté tied her blue bandanna on over her hair and pulled the big floppy hat on down about her ears.

"Wait." Will stammered.

"What?"

"You cant go into the prison like that!"

"Why the hell not, Turner?"

He looked her up and down sceptically. "You're in breeches and a men's blouse. Your hair is ratty and matted. You expect to pass for a lady like that?"

"A common lady, yes." Aletté retorted coolly. "I'm sorry I might not fit the standards of your lovely high-bread Elizabeth, but in case you didn't notice all we have is the clothing on our backs."

"But-"

"Listen to the lady, mate." Jack interrupted. "She knows what's best. Women always do." Aletté smiled at him. For once he was taking her side. She felt endeared to him. That is, until he added, "Except in matters of bed. Now Aletté, darling, you cant deny your poor ol' Jack, can ya?"

Both Will and Aletté glared at him icily.

"I'm gonna shut me mouth now." He muttered.

***

The Spanish prison was filthy. It reeked of rotting beings and human filth, and everywhere the floors were smeared with excrement, vomit, blood or worse. Aletté walked daintily through the rod-iron gates, peering around with a very timid glance at the rows upon rows of cells. Everywhere lay dying and decaying men, but nowhere could there be seen either Morgan or Elizabeth.

"Can I 'elp ye, Missy?" A gruff voice came from behind her. She turned around to face an old sentry with a two-day beard and a cutlass in his left hand. He looked something familiar to her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was in his face that was so memorable. "Ye lookin' fer yer uncle, ye said?" The man had traces of a Singaporean accent in his speech, though it was well mixed with his Spanish tones.

Aletté nodded. "I can find him myself, thank you."

The sentry eyed her suspiciously. "Now, wha's a pretty little dame doin' hidin' under a big ol' hat like that, Missy?" Before Aletté could stay his hand, he reached up and pried the hat from her head. Her strait, golden locks flew down about her face. He stared at her intently for a moment. Then a little light seemed to flicker on in his eyes. "Yew! Yer the daughter o' that little whore!"

Aletté gasped. "I beg your pardon?"

He scowled. "Yer tha' spoiled little countess's daughter, aren't ye? Aren't ye?"

And then the light of understanding, which had already dawned in his mind spilled over into hers. The Singaporean accent, the familiar face, him calling her mother a whore- why, the only men who had known of her mother's out-of-wedlock pregnancy had been her grandfather (her mother's father) and…

Her father.

Her father who had abandoned her mother on the streets of Singapore while she was still with child. Her father who had forced her mother into prostitution just to make ends meet, who had subsequently been responsible for the hell that had been Aletté's adolescence.

"You knew Annabelle Malycho?" She croaked, her voice strained with excitement and shock.

"Knew her?" He laughed maliciously. "Wa'nt a man here who didn't know the little slut. Was just me bad luck I knocked 'er up. Let 'er fend for 'erself, spoiled little brat that she was. Needed to learn 'erself a lesson. Little whore needed-"

"MY MOTHER WAS A DECENT WOMAN!" Aletté hissed, fury boiling up in her voice like a hurricane as it gathers out over the water. "DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK ILL OF HER YOU MAN-WHORE, YOU DESERTER, YOU BETRAYER! YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

And without thinking, she did what she had always promised herself she would do if she found her father again. It was like a reflex, imprinted in her mind by years of hate-filled meditation. She snatched the cutlass from his hands and buried it deep into his heart, leaving yet another bloodstain to mark the floor. And then, just as two more sentries had ducked their heads in the door to see what the commotion was about, Aletté wrenched the blade from her father's heart and made a mad run for the door. The guards, momentarily stationary by shock, did nothing to detain the fleeing woman. By the time they had come to their senses, Aletté was long gone, heading back to the Inn by every side road and back alley possible.

She still clutched the bloody cutlass in her hands. The blood of her father. Half of who she was, was dripping out onto the streets of Sierrbo, Spain, staining the cobblestone a dark shade of crimson. She tore through the hallway, up three flights of crooked stairs, and burst into the door.

Jack must have gone out. Only Will was in the room. His eyes darted from her shadowy, imposing face to the tainted weapon in her hands. "What- Aletté? Who- how? Why?" He stammered.

She sank down onto the bed, closed her eyes and let the sword drop to the ground. Tears began to push at the back of her eyes. How could she tell this to Will? He who had probably never felt hatred, never killed out of malice, never born a grudge against a fellow human being. How could she explain this? She knew only one way. He would have to understand this way.

"My father was a sentry at the prison."

He stared at her, the look in his eyes turning from confusion and terror to pity. "Your father?" She nodded. "Oh God, Aletté, I… I…"

"There's nothing you can do." She turned to face the wall. She didn't need pity to get through this. I don't need anyone.

I need him.

"Yes there is." Will crossed the room and took her in his arms gently, burying her head against his chest. She sighed and let herself melt at the sound of his heartbeat, steady and calm against her. He was so warm…

"Thank you." She murmured into his waistcoat, inhaling his scent and memorizing the feel of his body against hers. I need him. She felt his lips caress the top of her head. His breath on her neck, his hands travelling up and down her back. He was going to kiss her. Any second now. I need him.

The door swung open and Jack entered. He paused mid-stride, hands poised in the air, a characteristically ridiculous and yet pondering look on his face. "Am I interrupting?" His gawking strayed to the cutlass lying abandoned on the floor.

Aletté wrenched herself from Will's embrace bitterly. "You're not interrupting anything…" She searched for a change of subject. "Morgan was not in the prison. They must be keeping them up in the garrets of the Countyhouse."

Jack looked at her quizzically. "And whom, darling, did you so recently thrust in?"

Aletté met his eyes coldly. "My father."

My father.

As if that explained everything.

Jack simply shrugged. He would get the whole story from Will later. Begging details of Aletté was a fool's errand. "Right then, we'll be sending the two of you in to the Countyhouse tomorrow. But ye'll need proper clothing to get in there… Will, you understand that junk, you figure it out." He snatched a few pieces of silver off the nightstand and headed for the door. "Well, I wont stay in the way. I'm off to drown me sorrows in a bottle of rum… or whisky, or whatever it is they serve here." And in a blink he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Will turned back to Aletté. "We need new clothes."

"Aye."

He held his arm out, bent at the elbow. "Shall we?"

She smiled at him genuinely for the first time in a long time. Her arm slipped into his and fit there so perfectly. His warmth made her feel a little giddy, a little light-headed, the way a great final cadence makes a musician leap for joy. And they headed out arm-in-arm to a back alley street, to buy themselves a disguise.

***

Review Replies:

Erin Richards-

Flawless? *blushes* Well, that is FAR from the truth. You are way too nice in reviewing! Insult me for Pete's sake! *laughs* Well, um, ok, I'm tired. It's half past midnight and I was only up because this chapter was fun to write. WORK ON THE SEQUEL! PLEASE? *begs on bended knees*

Cecile Li-

Glad you're so enthusiastic.

Untypical-

Yeah, I know. Jack as a father may suck, but I wanted to give him a bigger motivation for saving Morgan than just "getting the girl." Glad you like Aletté- contradictions are fun! *laughs*

Lizard-

Ok, um, daemons are like problems. Well, yeah, I hope you got that.

Elentari II-

Well, I just wanted Elizabeth gone so that Will wouldn't seem like a floozy. I don't know, maybe it was abrupt. More about Meryl? You don't have to tell me twice! Thanks for the review!

PLEASE REVIEW!

-SQ