Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.


Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Six - Gratuitous Depredations
unwarranted or undesirable acts of thievery

She had to get to Will. Elizabeth had to get out of this mess and find Will, no matter what.

Faintly, she heard, "Young Mr. Turner will be dead long before you can reach him."

Was that true, or was Will already dead? Years ago, Jack had said those words to her, and he had been proved wrong. This time, he had seemed far more optimistic, and it appeared that now his tidings might prove true, if only to spite their maker.

Her father and the Commodore had encouraged, however moderately, that she give up on Will after he'd left her. Twice, since his return and great plan, Sparrow had been the one to deliver her shreds of hope back to her in well-working order.

Now, she found that she wanted to return that favor, pull him from this rather hopeless situation, but the Fates, seemingly, were not on her side. Or perhaps she was just out to foil the task inadvertently by foolishly losing her grip on the dagger as they hit the bottom. Whatever the reason, things did not look good for the uncanny duo.

"So that's it then? That's the secret grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow?"

Even through the impediments of gag and water, she worried her lips, wriggling around. She felt Jack loosen his tight grasp and drop his leg. She tried to shimmy downwards, but it was proving quite the difficult task. She tilted her head backwards and to the side, searching for him. Their eyes clashed, her panic evident.

She recalled the last time she'd been in a highly similar position.

"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind."

She blinked, fire kindling over her lungs. Damned, but she wanted to oblige him this time.

Apparently, he caught her drift, his eyes squinting momentarily before he pulled her back against him. His arms and chains twisted, seeking something out, and in the dim light, she was able to decipher the outline of his cutlass as it left its scabbard.

Her eyes actually brightened, and she writhed, managing to turn enough so that he could angle the blade at her binds.

Her wrists jumped away from each other like repelling magnets when the last thread was cut, and she would have sighed in relief, could she have. Instead, she pushed her way from his arms and hit the seafloor softly, knocking some sand out of place. She groped for the dagger, which had landed close to Jack's feet, and went to work on the ropes at her ankles. Above her head, Jack's movements were conveyed by the water, as he was diligently trying to free himself as well. She caught sight of the iron ball and shuddered, considering herself lucky not to have such a burden.

Finishing, she ripped off her gag and stood, legs grateful, lungs insistent, and water insubordinate. Jack had found his solution, and she looked on, fighting the bay as he took aim at the chain on his ankle with his pistol. He pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened.

He dropped the hammer back into place, then tripped it again, pulling the trigger.

Again, nothing. Repeat.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, Love."

· § ·

"My Lord. Your Grace, we have taken that which you requested." He set a small pouch on the desk that his master had his back to.

"How long?"

"Hours ago, but as for the other business, it has been but a few minutes."

"Did you tell him anything?"

"No, Sir. Only mentioned our Liege, as you instructed."

"Good." The speaker turned to face the man who stood in the doorway. "Be ready to set sails as soon as we have word of his escape. We must be on our way."

"Certainly, Sir." He hesitated. "If I may, Sir. Something has come up."

"Yes, Garren? What is it?"

He gulped. "The Captain, Sir. He had with him…a woman."

"A woman? Now that's interesting. What did you do with her?"

"We sent her into the bay with him."

"Hm. Do you know who she is?"

"No, Sir, but she talked very proper…ly. Her speech was better than that of the Captain."

"I see. That would be the lovely Miss Swann, I suspect," he said, almost fondly, then waved a hand at the other man, "You may go, Mei."

Garren bowed his head and left quickly.

"Very int'resting, indeed." He looked up at a huge painting of the fair Captain. "Jack, you old cad, it has been too long." He ran his fingertips along the clumps of paint. "And so it begins…"

· § ·

Jack Sparrow was not a good man. He was neither gentlemanly nor kind, and for the better part of his life, he had wanted but one thing. And he had been willing to go to any extremes in order to achieve that goal.

The ends justify the means.

But as he watched the wisp of a woman before him, struggling against the water to stay close, awaiting his next plan of action, he relaxed grimly. Will Turner had called him a good man. Damn the whelp: alive or dead.

He holstered his gun and made several upwards motions with his hands.

She took him in for a few seconds, no doubt a look of disbelief crossing her as she shook her head indignantly.

"To what point and purpose, young Missy?"

Ignoring his surroundings momentarily, he attempted to growl, succeeding only in sending several gushing bubbles to the brink. She had swum closer, and he pushed her away with his chained hands.

Damn, but she was stubborn.

He hung his head and moved his hands around in search, trying to look as though he actually did have a plan. He looked up to see if he'd gotten through to her and came face to barrel with the wrong end of a very familiar smallarm.

"There'll be no living with her after this."

She was closer and grinning smugly as she readjusted her aim to the chain at his ankle, holding the pistol he had allowed her in her hands. She reeled back the dog-head and eased both index fingers over the trigger, shutting her eyes.

Whoa, not good. His hands shot out, and he grabbed her upper arms, shaking her until she looked at him. He widened his eyes several times to ensure that she got the point and held her in place as she again fixed the barrel on his chain.

She fired, and they were both rewarded by the discharge that flung them apart, as the shot hit home, busting open a link.

Shaking his head to recover his bearings, Jack reached down and dislodged the broken link, indicating for Elizabeth to follow him to the surface as he kicked off the floor.

They broke through the water, fighting for air.

After a few minutes, Jack discarded his gag. "Right. Well, I suppose it's never a bad time for a brisk swim. Shall we?"

She drew in another shaky breath and nodded, making way for the nearest plot of land, which was beneath the cliffs that they had crossed over recently with their escorts.

After a few peaceful moments of rest ashore, he broke their reverie, "Do you suppose the inn mistress will think we've skipped out on the bill?" he asked lightly, stretching his legs out before him and leaning back on his elbows.

She sat on her knees, watching him with awe, and ignored the question. "Jack…you saved me. Again."

"I saved your life; you saved mine. We're square."

"Likewise, M'lady."

Without warning, she thrust herself at him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she murmured. She pulled back, him sitting up with her, and she looked down at his hands, which were still chained and held in an apologetic fashion, him being unable to return the favor. Then, she sobered, and deftly, her hand struck his cheek.

His palm petted the expert mark she'd made. "I did not deserve that!"

She reared. "The Hell you didn't! Those men were after you. I was bound and gagged and thrown to the bottom of the bay with little more than dead weight wrapped around me."

"I didn't hear any protests at the time."

"I wasn't given any choice or word in the matter!"

"I won't be blamed for something that I had no control over—you." He pointed. "I tried to get you to playact the role of an evening mistress and go about your business, but your mouth," his hand opened and closed a few times, "wouldn't have it. As I've said before, it'll be your undoing yet. I know it's difficult for you, but there are certain instances in which one must hold her tongue, even a Governor's daughter."

She averted her gaze, glaring, for a moment, at the quiet bay instead of him. "Where do we go now?" she asked finally.

He took in the rising sun, and then said, "You're right." She turned at this, an eyebrow raised. "They were after me. They would have searched the Pearl before coming ashore." He stood and offered his hands.

She looked at them for a second before pushing herself upright and slapping him again.

He recovered, moving his jaw around. "What was that for?"

"I am no wanton wench, and you'll do well to remember it, Captain Sparrow!" She spun on her bare heel and marched towards the nearest ledge.

He slanted his head, taking in her wet, retreating form. 'Well, I'll give her that.'

"The scenery has definitely improved."

· § ·

Joshamee Gibbs yawned as he trudged down the dock, shrugging into his jacket. It was warmer this morning, the storm having finally ebbed, though still crisp, as was common in these parts. He shook his head. He had gone to retrieve the Captain but had found hide nor hair of him or the lady. That meant he was late, which was never good because Jack always cut his rum rations when he was late.

"Gibbs!"

Joshamee squinted, seeing Duncan jump up and down in one of the rowboats that they had brought ashore.

"Gibbs, hurry!"

Understandably a mite confused, he hastened his step, reaching the pier's edge. He climbed down into the boat. "What's got ya in such a frenzy there, Duncan?"

The younger sailor shook his head, putting the oars into action. "Sumthin' terr'ble's happened. They sent me get the Cap'n, but ye'll do until we find 'im."

"Jack isn't aboard?"

"Nay. Only crew s'far as I know."

They continued in silence, Gibbs wondering exactly where his Captain might have gotten to and whether or not Miss Elizabeth was with him. He was beginning to think something along the lines of a romantic interlude, the missy finally getting to Jack, when Duncan nearly lost an oar. He grabbed the thing quickly, preparing to chastise the youth when he saw what had distracted him.

"Holy Mary," he breathed.

· § ·

"And I'd like to know how it was that you ended up in my bed, Mr. Sparrow," Elizabeth proclaimed loudly, pacing back and forth along the edge of the cliff, waiting.

Jack grunted as he pulled himself up to the next ledge. "It was my bed. The one I paid for, Miss Swann."

"You were paying for both, and you still have yet to pay at all."

He moved his head from side to side for a bit. "Nevertheless," he finally called, "that was my bed that you made yourself comfortable in. And need I remind you," he jumped, his hands gripping the top of the cliff, "that due to your obvious lack in judgment, I was forced to make sure that you didn't put us in anymore sticky situations? I mean, what would have happened to you," he grunted again, trying to find his footing, "if I hadn't come along when I did?" He struggled to pull himself onto the cliff. "A little help, if you don't mind."

She groaned and grumbled that she did mind, but grabbed his chain and half-lugged him onto the ground, all the same.

He ended up in a heap at her feet where he rolled over, searching his upside-down view of her for her eyes. "What do you expect you would have done if left there to dig up the grave of your lover?"

She sighed, hands on hips, and looked away. Her gaze caught the high rise that had nearly led her to her death. "It doesn't really matter, now does it." Hah. That almost sounded like one of Jack's ambiguous replies. But she knew it did matter, to her at least. It had been a moment of sheer desperation, and she didn't like reflecting on that fact one bit.

He watched her for a few seconds, and she thought he might attempt to negate her claim, but he only bobbed his head in acceptance and got to his feet. He took in their surroundings for a moment, then nodded towards a patch of trees. "This way, then."

"But we came up from the south."

"Aye, but I know a shortcut back around. Should cut our time in half," he said, starting off.

A shortcut. She should have expected as much (or as little) from Captain Sparrow. Shaking her head, she followed him. Of course, she had to admit, her feet had not enjoyed the walk earlier. She had never before realized how much she took something like a pair of shoes for granted. Once they got back to the hostelry, she wouldn't be taking them off for quite some time.

But they weren't going to the inn right now, were they? Jack was worried about the Black Pearl. He hadn't expressed this aloud. It was more his sudden distance that had tipped her off. And his worry made her worry. What if they had burned the ship? And what of Mr. Cotton? He was set to guard it the previous night in her stead. Jack had bribed the old man with her cherub earrings.

"Those were from my father, you know," she had told him after he had informed her of what he'd done.

"All the more reason for him to treasure them."

She had snorted. "Until he hocks them."

She smiled at the memory, knowing that Jack was probably right about that as well. He had likely told Cotton that they were a gift.

"Keep to the rocks," he ordered as they came into a marshy area.

She lifted up her breeches and hopped along the larger stones that were embedded in the murk. A rather disgusting smell wafted its way up to her nostrils. Just lovely. As if it weren't bad enough that there had been an attempt made on her life due solely to the poor company that she kept, now, she was going to stink as well. This was not shaping up to be a good day.

In fact, it got worse when she slipped, one ankle finding its way into the marsh. She let out a small cry. The sensation was beyond deplorable.

Jack's head popped into her line of vision. "I have but one question. Did you do it just to spite me?"

Her brows furrowed. Well, at least she wasn't the only one suffering. Misery did love company. "Sorry," she muttered, and grabbed onto his shoulder, righting herself. Not wanting to be subject to his wit-laced reprimands, she turned and continued swiftly across the bog, only stopping when she was on the other side, ready to let him resume leading the way.

He traipsed up to her, eyes glinting crookedly as he paused in passing. He glanced down for a second. "Unless you're fretting for infection, I suggest you do something about the little pets you picked up back there." He held her gaze fully again. "And Miss Swann, no more interruptions." With that, he went about his way.

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut momentarily, dreading the worst. With a swallow, she looked down and, biting the insides of her cheeks, picked up her muddy foot and relieved it of the two plump leeches that must have had some sort of premonition of her trifle. She flung them away and, shuddering in good measure, left them behind.

The rest of their trek to the southern wharf of the island was made in silence.

They noticed the lack of their rowboats at the dock.

"The men must have gotten a late start," Jack decided after a minute or two of scratching his head. "We'll just have to borrow someone else's."

She sent him a flat stare. "You mean steal someone else's."

He grinned. "Commandeer. But, if the lady insists…" He started off, but then turned to face her. "Of course, you're more than welcome to go settle up with the innkeeper, if you've had a bit too much seawater for the day."

It sounded like he was only half-joking. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, walking over to him. "Not a chance, Captain." She patted his shoulder. "The mistress is all yours." She headed for the nearest unguarded boat, smirking when she felt him get in behind her. Her smugness faltered when he brought the handles of two oars around her front.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be propelling us this morn, as I find myself a bit…disinclined." His chain was brushing over her back. "Besides, you are my subordinate."

She took the paddles and waited while he moved around so that he sat before her.

He lounged back and made a motion with his hands. "Stroke, Love."

Oh, she'd stroke all right. She began to row, resisting the urge to glare at him. It would only broaden his grin. This was exceedingly more complicated with two people. He could stand to lose some pounds himself. How did he come by all that food anyway? Compared to what sailors were rumored to survive off of, she had practically been preparing feasts for him and the crew.

She paddled harder. If she could get him to swing his head to the side, she could just swipe his ear with an oar. Or maybe, when he stood up, she could 'accidentally' knock him overboard. The water was pretty nasty looking, not that he would mind.

She was trying to choose her method of torture when she saw his face suddenly fall, and he stood up, rocking the boat and shielding his eyes from the morning sun; effectively, he had taken the decision out of her hands. She was about to put her plan into action when he let out a soft, "Christ."

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Faster."

Fear gripping her, she obliged to his request, sniffing the air for smoke.

"Jack, where've ye been? We've scoured the coast in search of yeh." It was Mr. Gibbs. She almost sighed in relief. "Is 'at Miss Elizabeth?"

"Aye, Gibbs, it's her. We've been down by the bay."

"Didn't think you'd go that far inland, Sir, or we might've found ya sooner."

The little boat bumped against the Black Pearl's port side, and Elizabeth retracted the oars.

Jack was already making his way up the side of the ship, and she followed suit, concern still nagging at her. Something wasn't right. As she set foot on the main deck, her sinking suspicion was confirmed.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she turned away from the mainmast.

"Sorry, Captain. We would have done somethin' about it sooner, but we…well, we all thought it best to await yer order."

Jack held a beat. Then, "Get him down from there."

"Aye, Sir." But no one moved.

Captain Sparrow's face tightened, and he angrily drew his pistol. The clean shot rang over the ship.

Elizabeth swung around (surprised by the fact that his weapon had chosen to start working suddenly), only to be greeted by the sight of the body sliding down the mast, its noose hissing the whole way. She felt the sting of tears but kept them at bay.

"He shall have a proper burial. See that it's done, Gibbs. We'll return to shore in half an hour." He started for his cabins.

"Captain, there's somethin' else ye should know."

He stopped but didn't turn. "Yes, Gibbs? What is it?"

"They took somethin' with them."

· § ·

"Jesus, yeh didn't have to shoot me!"

"You should have stopped running," Commodore Norrington muttered. "Now, where is Sparrow?"

"I told ya already. I don't know no Sparrow! I know of 'im, yes, but I never met the man. I thought 'e was a legend until yer Governor started goin' on about 'im."

"Mr. Sullivan, I am going to find Elizabeth Swann. With or without your help. Need I remind you that should you prove useless to me, I will have no other option but to have you greeting outsiders on Gallows Point? Now, what did you do with the Governor?"

"I told you everythin' I know. After I let 'im go, I don't know what 'appened to 'im." He clutched at the wound on his thigh. "Where's the doctor yeh promised?"

"He will not see you until y—"

"Commodore! Commodore, Sir!" Mullroy came running down the stairs into the hold. "Sir, this just came for you. It's from Sparrow!" He held out an envelope.

Norrington stood and took the letter, opening it. "He's ransoming Governor Swann. He wants three hundred Spanish doubloons within the week, or he'll kill Governor Swann."

· § ·

After knocking at least five times without eliciting a reply, Elizabeth let herself into the room quietly, closing the door behind her. A shabby curtain had been drawn over the window, mostly obliterating the bleak picture outside; the sky had grown overcast again. In its place beyond the hearth, the fire crackled. He sat just in front of it, straddling a chair, staring into that fire as though it would soon spout all of the answers that he was seeking.

They had returned to the inn only a few hours ago, Jack having freed himself from the irons on the ship. Since then, they had been resting in their separate rooms.

"I'm sorry, Jack." That sounded familiar; it was also terribly lacking, just as it had been the first time she had uttered it. She doubted that he would respond with that same slightly defeated indifference this time.

He sighed. "What do you want, Miss Swann?"

'Back to the formalities, are we, Mr. Sparrow?' After surviving the day's events and actually having time to fully process them, she had decided that she rather liked the fact that they were again on mildly good terms, using each others' given names. The ordeal was a secret just between the two of them—well, themselves and their assailants—something that bonded them in an odd way, regardless of their past discrepancies. Usually, Jack required no invitation to take such liberties.

Presently, she considered how to return his question ambiguously and settled for reiterating, "What do I want?"

The chair creaked loudly as he stood, facing her. "What is it that you want me to say so that you may go on about your quaint little life?"

She nibbled on her lip. Jack was not up for the game. This was a new development indeed. Should she worry? "Gibbs came by." She awaited a reaction, but at his prolonged blank stare, went on, "He said he didn't want to disturb you."

Actually, it was more like, "Captain's in a bad way, Miss Elizabeth. Don't rightly know how to handle him when he takes these notions. Usually locks 'imself in his cabin for a few days, heavy on the rum. But with young Turner still missing, and now Cotton… 'E's never done anythin' like that before."

Elizabeth had nodded. She had not expected that Jack would react like that either. If there was one thing that pirates were suspicious and mindful of, it was the dead. "They're going to hold the service at sundown." She had promised Gibbs that she would have the Captain there, in at least a partially sober condition, to preside over the ceremony.

His heavy footsteps startled her, and she looked up from her fidgeting hands to see that he was advancing. He stopped a few beats from her, and she noted the half-drained bottle that swung by its neck in his left hand.

She cleared her throat. "Are you alright, Jack?"

He gave her a hard look. "I'll ask again. What do you want from me, Elizabeth?"

Well, it was something. "I just wanted to deliver Mr. Gibbs's message. Cotton would want his Captain there." She waited for him to agree. Or at least disagree. Or grunt, even, but he remained steady, studying her as though searching for some ulterior motive. She could really do with his light-hearted remarks right about now. "And I wanted to give you this." She pulled the pistol from its place within her sash. "I cleaned it, just as you said to."

He set his bottle aside on the floor and took the weapon for a moment, appearing to examine it. Then, without warning, he turned partially, slinging it across the room where it collided with the wall and clunked against the lower molding. "I don't care about the pistol!" he practically barked, turning back to her.

She jolted away slightly; worrying might not be such an inappropriate thing at current. "Then what do you care about? What is it that drives the famed Captain Jack Sparrow when he's away from his precious ship?" she countered. He gave her another dark look, and she immediately decided that that was the wrong question to pose in this instance. She glanced away for an instant and tried to calm herself with some air. Needing to break the silence, she said, "I'm sorry about Cotton. I know that it was my fault that—"

"Your fault," it came out as a quiet statement, the interrupton drawing her body taught with attention.

"Yes, I..." Searching for the words, she bowed her head and rushed on, "The Black Pearl would have never docked at Fort Brine when it did if it weren't for me. It was my watch, and—" This time, she was cut off by the familiar touch of cold metal to her temple.

"You're ready to offer up your life as penance for that of a bloody pirate, is that it?" he asked, holding his pistol in place.

"If that is what's required of me, then…" she wavered momentarily, biting her lip, "God's will be done."

He chuckled. "His will be done, eh? That is what they say before carrying out an execution order. Usually the sentencing party, if I recall correctly, though it has been a while." His demeanor lighted a bit. "Do you want to die, Elizabeth?" And he almost laughed again as she actually seemed to be weighing her options.

"No," she decided slowly.

"No," he echoed, running the tip of the barrel down her jaw line. He moved it beneath her chin and urged it upwards so that her solemn gaze met his. "Then let's not go getting anymore of these…noble notions, savvy?"

She glared. He couldn't even brood without making her seethe with ill favor.

He took in her shift in spirits. Good. He could take anger any day over self-pity and defeat.

"You cannot expect to simply threaten me into submission."

"Can I not?" His thumb wrenched the hammer back. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, Darling" he cooed, drawing closer, before shifting and allowing his voice drop again. "Cotton was a good man, a good pirate, who should not have died by the hands of those sent for me in the first place. But do you really think your poor attempt at sacrifice will comfort him in the grave?"

"It should be my grave," she whispered pitifully. He lifted a brow, and her words as well as her defiant chin rose a notch, "I should have been the one on duty, but I begged you to let me come ashore."

"Ah, too true. I would have much preferred you to have been on the ship so that those pirates could not only kill one of my best men, but also rape and murder my newest crewmember who also happens to be a governor's daughter. Yes, you would have fared much better there than here, with me, in remote safety."

She drew in a sharp breath at his words, eyes widening at their frankness. She was attempting to own up to her actions for once in her life, and he was making it impossible. Why?

Desperate not to let him get the better of her in this, she spat, "You are being impractical!"

"I am the one being impractical? Love, I'm not quite sure you grasp the full meaning of that word." Fire leapt up behind her eyes, and he leaned closer.

She watched as he examined her with that annoying half-lidded gaze of his, like this was some sport that required a good poker face and a quick mind. She found that she didn't like the familiarity of the situation: the cool mix of this domineering pirate and his unfeeling pistol. If not forced into this second go, she would have much preferred to have his dark eyes behind her line of vision—when had he renewed their kohl? It strengthened his intimidating look, and she was starting to regret coming to see him in the first place.

Now why had she done that again?

Oh yes. She was to deliver information. Sophocles was right; the role of Messenger was not a preferable one to fill. If it was all the same to any lingering deities, she would really rather not die at the moment.

A quick, silent prayer, and she realigned her thoughts to the matter at hand. What was that she'd called him?

Something odd crossed Jack's features, and he shifted again. "So I'm impractical, am I?"

Impractical. That was it. She slipped a glance at his steady arm. Could he really blame her for that outburst?

She quickly came to the conclusion that she had managed to get herself into quite the precarious situation. She swallowed. Again.

Watching the realization of her captivity dawn, Jack, too, came to a conclusion of his own and snaked his free hand behind her head, and he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen again as he lowered his, sending her an infamous smirk. Soundly, his mouth took hers captive, tasting his forbidden fruit.

Elizabeth had to fight to keep herself from gaping; her arms braced against the door in frozen panic. What was she supposed to do?

Her mind was brimming with suggestions. 'Slap him!' 'Strangle him!' 'Wallop him!' 'Exactly what does a wallop entail?'

His tongue traced over her lower lip before forcing its way into her mouth, and she felt the pressure beneath her chin relieved as he moved the pistol out of his way.

She stiffened at his silky, yet commanding enticement, her fingernails gnashing into the door. This couldn't be right. He was invading her, plundering her. He was a filthy, loathsome pirate. Not like Will at all, not like any of the other beaus of her past… Did she just moan?

Jack was rewarded in his efforts by a delicate moan, and his hand tightened in her hair as he took a step closer.

'Loathsome and filthy! Filthy and loathsome! Loathsome and tempting.' Her breath caught, and she arched against him. 'Loathsomely tempting.' She gave into temptation, her eyes slipping shut.

Things were going quite smoothly for Jack Sparrow. Right up until the point where the woman started responding, her mouth and body moving in tune with his. Now that was unexpected. Abruptly, he broke the contact, dropping his hand and retreating a bit. He inclined his head so that he could look down at her in speculation and watched curiously as her lids fluttered open, revealing the flames that still licked about; only now, they were darkened with desire.

'Very interesting.' Not a chance in Hell that he would avoid the wrath of her hand this eve.

He holstered his pistol and withdrew something from his sash. He roughly took her hand and pressed the item into her palm. "From Captain Curry. Will wanted him to deliver it."

Her only reaction was to swallow, gaze opportunely averted from his.

She would probably belt him. Seemed like he recalled her having a nice left hook. Then again… Maybe he should cut back on the rum. 'Rum…'

He backed away a bit more and knelt to lift the bottle from the floor. He took a swig and offered it to her. Then, he took another one at her slightly shaking head. "Well, it's nearing sundown. Get dressed." His hand swung to indicate the dress that still rested on the table in the corner, where he had flung it the previous night. He sauntered over to her and gripped the doorknob. "If you'll excuse me," he murmured in her ear.

She slid out of the way, and he left the room. Once in the hall with the closed door at his back, he grinned. At least something had come out of this rather unproductive day. He examined his rum.

This was not good.

Slowly, Elizabeth emancipated herself from the safety of her corner. She looked at the wooden box in her hand. Obviously, it was made of a fine wood, intricate little designs littering it. No doubt the work of her blacksmith. After a bit, she opened it. A letter. Will had written her a letter?

She took it out and read it. Sinking into the chair that Jack had recently vacated, she read it again. And again.

So, it really was her fault.

After about an hour, she finally got up and changed into the dress that Georgia had sent for her. When finished, she ran her fingers through her cropped locks, the letter again catching her eye.

She picked it up, glanced over it, and then threw it into the dying fire. She wrenched the ring from her finger, and it, too, soon followed.

Soon after, a knock on the door drew her attention from the fire.

"It grows late, M'lady."

It was Jack. She crossed the room and opened the door, letting him brush past her.

"I see you finally took my advice," he meant the change of dress. He looked around. "What have you been doing in here?"

She ignored him. "Will you take me home?"

He smiled. "I was going to suggest that I do just that. We shall be delayed here for a few days, but after that, you will be freed of your Articles and escorted back to Port Royal where you so rightfully belong...Miss Swann."

She nodded. "Thank you." She walked over to him and eyed him a second, then managed a half-hearted slap. "Do not contrive to take your liberties with me, Captain. I shall not stand for any further...gratuitous depredations on your part." And with that, she took her exit.

'Gratuitous, aye?'

He was about to follow her when something in the fire caught his eye. He reached down and pulled a scrap of paper from the embers.

changed…leave Port Royal…you.

Will's letter to Elizabeth? It did not resemble an assuring message. He looked up and saw something else glittering in the fireplace. He swatted at some of the ashes.

Not good at all.


Original Content: 2003.10.20