Sometimes, she thought, I think of Will.

I think of him, covered in soot answering the door to the shop; because that horrid old man couldn't stand long enough on two feet to unbar a door; Will still hot from the fire and tongs, Will breathless with pleasure at seeing me framed in the light. Will making sure nobody was around before he'd usher me in, ever mindful of my maidenly dignity, ever cautious of crossing my father, ever careful, ever sure.

I think of Will for many years, every year a little taller, every year a little quieter, a little more of an adult, a little less of a child. I think of the first day Will stopped calling me Elizabeth- and the day he started again.

I think of Will the man, who crossed the ocean with a pirate he couldn't, or wouldn't trust, to save my life. I think of Will bending every rule, throwing aside his surety in the right, his pride, sacrificing ever, for a moment, his good name… which, in the end, was not so good as he'd blindly believed. I think of Will, heavy-hearted, dropping the honest mantle of upright citizenry that bowed his shoulders like a yoke, to be a man on the high seas for a few precious days. I think of Will the man, not in service to a sword maker, but to duty.

I think of Will the boy, who opened his eyes to a girl he'd never met, and trusted her implicitly. Sometimes, too, I think of the girl that's left him. The girl who loved him, really she did. That one thing I cling to.

It was like a fairy tale. And I had been the knight, and he the lady, and our troth was plighted in deeds and glances long before any rogue with a rum-soaked gait ever plagued our quiet harbor. In a way, I suppose Jack was the dragon who came to rip us apart, but instead of the offered victim, he took me.

The secret is, I've never liked fairy tales.

"What stories did you like ?" Jack asks, truly curious, when she tells him this one day.

"Folk tales. Ghost stories." she said. "I didn't believe them, but I preferred them. I preferred them because they were real stories." he quirked an eyebrow at her, eager for the chance to play devil's advocate, maybe.

"Fairy tales are true stories as well, love. They're just older."

"I suppose." she breathed, and pushed his arms aside to make room for herself on the bed. He gave way good-naturedly. "But… nobody's breathing in them. I can't hear what they were thinking at all. They fight and bleed and love and despair and die in folktales all the same; but it isn't so clean as a fairy tale."

Jack grinned and stretched like a cat, making sure to droop his arms across her; and gave a surreptitious little squeeze.

"I myself always prefer a story I can touch."

Nineteen days out of the last supply run to Tortuga, the Pearl and her crew ran across a fat little merchant ship, with English colors and a thin-looking crew. Jack's eyes got hungry, and he ordered an attack, but at the last moment either the elements or the ship itself must've warned him right, and he drew away. Jack, the ever-blessed. Jack, who claimed in moments of extreme inebriation to have risen from the sea like Venus, only "better armed".

In truth, the merchant ship was no merchant ship- it was riding rather high in the water for a craft supposed to be carrying barrels of alcohol, spices, and trade goods. Its below-decks were full of King's men, soldiers and sailors, armed to the teeth; a sweet-smelling trap for unwary buccaneers. They came onto decks too quickly, before any great distance between them had been closed, and then Jack's confused crew saw the ruse as well.

The battle was brief, and the Pearl, outmatched in manpower, did herself justice in speed. They managed to get a few shots off before she outdistanced them, but it was wasted volley. However, in the rush to turn the boat around, Jack had been tripped by the ship's cat. He tumbled down a set of stairs on his way to deliver more shouted epithets, and dislocated his shoulder. Jack, the charmed, screamed fit to die until Elizabeth informed him he was being a wet washrag. The ship's cat, however, though he sorely would have liked to punish it, had gone overboard in the scuffle and was never seen again.

"I want to get married." Jack said, in the instant before Mr. Gibbs pulled his arm back into alignment; and before the delighted Elizabeth had a moment to respond, fainted dead away.

They were married in a church, which was already an unlikely prospect. But the grandest event of them all had to be the presentation of a gift to the bride, from the groom. The gift was the bride's father, kidnapped personally by Jack and well-trussed, untied in time to walk her down the isle.

His wrists were rather chafed, but secretly he was delighted. There had been very few weddings at which he had ever truly felt welcome. The governor relaxed enough to have two glasses of wine, after which he removed his wig and danced upon the table.

"I do." said Elizabeth.

"I do indeed." said Jack. He turned to the small audience. "Objectors will be shot."

Elizabeth and Jack disappeared several hours into the reception, in the direction of the shore and inn, and did not reappear until the next morning, to the knowing winks of crew and busybody townsfolk.

Few people, if any, suspected that the pair had spent the first hours of their married life swimming in their clothes.