The ship was all things to those that manned her; a mother, whose gentle rock lulled them to sleep; a petulant woman that tossed her sails like so much flowing hair; a half-grown child that needed discipline; and, perhaps most clearly, a lover. In the rigging, they climbed her eagerly, reaching out with greedy hands; they polished brass with caresses instead of rags. She was always stately, her colors proud and high.

The bleak despair of the seamen's lives was that, though in the secret hours of the night they'd often spoken to her, she would never return more than a sigh of the hull, or a creak of the mast. Elizabeth was aware that tradition declared her presence a bad omen, but she considered the Pearl a kindred female spirit, and often caught herself asking permission of the ship when no one was around. But the ship remained silent as the air. Except for Jack, of course. To him she told her life story, kept him awake at night with tales of wind and water. Jack and the Pearl spoke a language built for two.

He kept her secrets, as was their bargain; and whatever secrets of his she knew, she sank with.

"We're not going to Port Royal. We're going for repairs- there's a crack on the hull that's not dangerous yet, but it could be."

"He's my father, Jack. I won't miss the ceremony."

"Yes, in the last three days of this argument, that's become quite apparent."

"I don't want to miss it !"

"And I don't want to be hanged !" he yelled at last, pounding the table with his fist. "Port Royal ! The site of my most recent arrest, if you'll check your nostalgia for the place a wee second. And have you ever thought, dear heart, that going back to see your father would not look very well for him ?"

It was possible. Her letters had most likely reached him, but nothing had returned for her where she collected her mail, at the house of Jack's elderly and land-retired shipmate. Her father was a king's man, through and through- losing a daughter to pirates, in whatever form that loss came, was a blow to his dignity she hadn't considered. But what I did consider, she thought, was Jack. And I have to consider him now if that's to mean anything at all. She thought of feet suspended in the air, helpless, and decided to congratulate her father from a safe distance.

"I'll send another letter."

"Send him some of that." Jack said, nodding to the cupboard where they stored some of their most expensive treasures. "A present for the septuagenarian."

"He's not that old."

"And I'm not that good-looking." he sidled up to her and laid a hand just above the curve of her backside. "Trick of the light, you know. But you could always find-"

"You love this ship more than you love me." she said, softly, begging to be proven wrong. Jack lifted his hand away and stared, one hand twirling a braid for concentration.

"This isn't about your father's brouhaha at all, is it ?" Silence. "Lizzie…there's nothing I love more than you." And although there was no "but", she felt it hanging in the air. "But. I love the Pearl as much as I love you."

He dodged the inkstand that flew at him, and ducked beneath a desk to watch her turn a bright pink. "No, love-"

"It's a boat ! A piece of wood and cloth !" she fumed. Sighing, he stood up and tried to take her into his arms, but she drew away, shaking her head.

"Love-" he began, patiently.

"IT'S JUST A BIG WET BARREL !"

"Please, please listen to me. Elizabeth, sweetling…" he coaxed, and she allowed herself to look at him. The boat pitched gently to the left, and they instinctively readjusted their footing. He smiled, all warmth, all understanding. "…is there nothing you value, just as highly as my roguish self ?"

Elizabeth, caught off guard, had a sudden picture of herself, standing in the prow, damp from the spray; alone in a moment between aiding the cook, tying knots, mopping, and the endless things that needed to be done daily. Her body remembered the inhale of breath, the sweetness of a moment alone. The taste on the top of her mouth, a flavor she had only ever associated with the water, the sky, the islands, a hunk of wood and cloth, and Jack.

The taste of freedom.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back; and she knew that he remembered, too.

"I'm sorry about the Pearl, Jack. I love her as well, you know."

"I know you do. I know it."

"What's this ?" Elizabeth, wide-eyed, cupped the elegant charm in her hand. It was an emerald set in silver, ringed with tiny moonstones, nearly too small for the eye to distinguish. It winked at her in the candlelight; and from the bed, Jack gave her a lazy smile.

"Anniversary present."

"It's not our anniversary. Do we… do we even have an anniversary ?"

"Somebody else's anniversary, then. Or perhaps we could make one up. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yes. I rather think I can."

She slipped underneath the coverlet beside him, and showed him a few of her best ideas.