Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Disney. No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.
Summary: A companion piece to "A Matter of Trust". Jack and Elizabeth, years after the
end of the movie.
Author's note: Real life, again grumble... I'm sorry to have left you all on the edge of
that cliff for so long, but here is, at last, the final chapter. Thanks to everyone who has
stayed with this story, as dark and angsty as it has been! Your reviews have meant a lot!
And Shad, I hope you'll think it was worth making that exception...


Reasons to Believe
by Hereswith


Chapter 4

Elizabeth fidgeted; she could not stay still. At first, the parrot attempted to follow her
with its beady gaze, but it quickly gave up that notion and spread out its wings, instead,
as if preparing to take flight.

"You do realise you could go there, don't you?" Elizabeth asked. "Just to scout around,
before the rest of us arrive."

The bird ignored her and folded its wings back again.

Elizabeth huffed, shaking her head. She had never been much good at waiting and had
she been on dry land, she would have started to run, a long time ago. But even though
Gibbs had taken the Black Pearl as close as he could, without risking damage to the
hull, there was yet a wide expanse of water between the island and the ship and they
would have to use the dinghy to traverse it.

"Jamie!" Gibbs barked. "Yer comin' with me!"

"Aye, Capt'n!"

Gibbs turned to Elizabeth, but he wouldn't look her straight in the eye and she froze
in mid-step. "Is something wrong, Mr. Gibbs?"

"It might be better if ye remained here, Mrs. Turner," he said carefully. "Just to be safe."

"Safe?" she repeated, nonplussed. "Why?"

"Chances are we'll find a corpse, if anythin'," he replied, with some reluctance, and
it was obvious he disliked talking about it. "I've witnessed that before, lass. 'Tis not
a pretty sight."

Elizabeth bristled, but she held her tongue. "I saw Barbossa and his crew at their
worst, Mr. Gibbs. I don't need you to protect me from this." She gestured impatiently.
"I'll swim ashore if I must."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but far too stiffly for it to be any kind of smile.
"Those skirts'd drag ye down."

"Hang the skirts and hang propriety too, if it comes to that," she snapped. "I'll not
let you leave me behind."

Gibbs stared at her, disgruntled, then threw his hands up, as much in defeat as in
exasperation. "Fine," he said, irritably, "'tis settled, then. Just remember I warned ye."

"I won't forget, Mr. Gibbs."

And she vowed it was a promise she would keep.

-

The island loomed up in front of them, sunlight throwing everything into such sharp
relief that it seemed unreal. Almost like a dream. It was Jamie who manned the oars
and the dinghy cut through the waves like an arrow set loose from the bowstring,
swift and sure. Jamie's face was strained with the effort and Elizabeth couldn't tell
what he was thinking, but Gibbs looked like a man on the gallows, in that heartbeat
before the hangman pulls the lever. She knew he expected the worst.

They landed, without any mishap, on the beach she had seen from the Pearl, and
while Jamie and Gibbs secured the dinghy, Elizabeth went exploring along the edge
of the water.

The beach was quite small, both jungle and ocean encroached upon it, and she
came across twisted pieces of driftwood that had been cast up by the surf, but the
only palpable sign of life was the set of tracks that some tiny sea-living creature
must have made. There were no footprints, except her own. It reminded her, forcibly,
of that other isle, the isle she had walked around, years past, fuming with anger
and bitter despair. Hoping to escape from the same man she now hoped to find.

She kicked at the tracks, eyes prickling. Bloody pirate.

"Mrs. Turner!"

Elizabeth twisted on her heel and hurried to join the others. Gibbs took the lead,
the parrot riding on his shoulder, and the four of them headed off, following the
eastern shoreline, searching as they went.

When they got in among the trees, the palm fronds cast a dappled shade, providing
some relief from the blistering heat, and they eased into a brisk pace, all too
preoccupied with their own thoughts and concerns to talk. Even the parrot quieted.

After a while, the ground rose and, to their right, it fell away to low, unstable
cliffs, which forced them to push further inland, braving a host of buzzing insects.
The undergrowth was denser, there, and the roots and vines conspired to hinder
their passage. At length, though, they came to a steep slope and Elizabeth, first
glimpsing the beach that lay beyond, felt all fluttery inside, struck by the fear that
they had come back to where they started. But it was longer, this beach, and
not as narrow, and there were smooth, flat rocks interspersed with the sand.

She slumped down at the bottom of the slope, trying to catch her breath. Gibbs
paused, as well, but Jamie, who didn't even have the grace to look suitably tired,
continued onwards for a bit.

"Lass?"

Gibbs handed her his flask and knowing it was, for once, filled with water, not
rum, she swallowed some of the contents, before returning it to its rightful owner,
murmuring a word of thanks. The parrot cawed, unexpectedly, taking to the air,
and it circled above them, a blue and yellow dot against the azure sky.

"Mr. Gibbs!"

Elizabeth jerked, as if she'd been slapped, and with full force, no less, and she
got to her feet. She and Gibbs met Jamie halfway, the young man all wide-eyed
and rattled.

"I saw—" he panted, sneaking a nervous glance at Elizabeth, "There's—somethin'
over there. By the trees."

Gibbs swore roundly. "Lass, let me—"

She didn't listen. She ran. Stumbled and scrambled and slipped, but she did not
stop, or stop to think. Shortly, she made out the prone, sprawled figure beneath
one of the coconut palms, at the far end of the beach, and she willed her legs
to push faster, though her muscles screamed in protest.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Gibbs called out, forgetting himself.

But she was already there, she skidded to a halt and fell, with a painful thud, to
her knees.

He lay on his back, arm flung out, head rolled to the side. Not broken or ravaged
by weather and wind, but peaceful, as if death had claimed him while he slept.
Her heart plummeted.

Jack.

And his chest moved.

An odd sort of strangled sound escaped her. She dared not touch him, dared not
even blink, lest he vanish. "Jack?"

Lashes flickered, then parted, and his gaze swept over her, unfocussed and jarringly
naked, deprived of all traces of kohl.

"Go away," he said, and closed his eyes again.

She gaped, as shocked as a fish out of water. "I'm not going anywhere, Jack
Sparrow! So you might as well look at me!"

He opened one eye, ever so slowly. "Not a dream, eh? Must be dead, then, there's
nothing else to it."

"You—" She choked up, couldn't speak. Could not even breathe.

Jack frowned, suddenly, opening the other eye. "Gibbs?"

"Aye," the older man answered. "Aye." And this time, the stray drops were tears,
Elizabeth was certain of it. "We thought ye were lost."

"Am I not?" Jack queried, and his hand flapped, much like the wing of a wounded
bird.

"No, lad. We've found ye."

Jack pondered that piece of news, for a moment. "Well, then, what took you so
long?" His voice lowered a notch and his face shadowed. "There's no rum, you
know. Not a single cache."

He struggled to rise and Elizabeth reached out to help him, taking care not to graze
against the makeshift bandage on his right shoulder. His skin was warm, beneath
her fingers, and he was thin enough that she could feel every bone. Every knob
of spine. And not even the beard, fuller than he had ever worn it, could hide his
sunken cheeks.

Less than a month, she thought, but still weeks without end. Perfectly sober and
with no hope of rescue. No rumrunners' ship, on which to barter his passage.
"The Black Pearl's here, Jack," she said, striving to make those shadows
disappear. "We're taking you home."

-

She could not, afterwards, remember exactly how they got to the Pearl. It was
all a blur of insects and jungle and sand, except for this: Jamie swept Jack into his
arms and carried him, he would not let him walk.

There was a complete uproar, among the crew and, to a man, they hovered
around them, like worried parents, crowding the deck and then, later, the cabin,
until Gibbs grew tired of their chattering.

"Enough!" he commanded. "Out, ye scurvy dogs!"

The men left, grudgingly, and a measure of calm settled over the cabin. Gibbs
examined Jack's shoulder, removing the torn strips of shirt that served as a
bandage. The bullet had gone right through, and though the wound was far
from healed, it was mending. There was no black discoloration.

"We'll take ye to a doctor, at the next port," Gibbs stated. "Blast it, Jack, Lady
Luck's favoured ye, to be sure!"

Jack muttered something that might have been assent, or might simply have been
a curse, and grimaced, jaw clenched, as the wound was cleaned.

When Gibbs was done, he applied a fresh dressing, then pulled himself upright,
looking at Elizabeth. "I'll get Cook to prepare some broth. Ye'll stay with him?"

"I'll stay," she confirmed, dragging a chair nearer the bed.

His craggy countenance was split by a grin. "Fool's hope, indeed," he said,
wryly. "'Tis fortunate we both were such fools, lass."

And Elizabeth nodded, as giddy and drunk on emotion as she had, once, been
on rum. "Yes, Mr. Gibbs, it was."

-

Gibbs closed the door behind him and Elizabeth shifted in her seat, trying to find
a comfortable position. Jack's eyelids had already begun to droop and it did not
take long before he drowsed off, snoring gently.

She watched over him, in that quiet room, and the tears came, unbidden, in a torrent
that proved impossible, now, to keep back. She cried so hard her body shook
and she gasped for air, clutching a hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to
muffle the noise.

But he noticed, of course he noticed.

"Elizabeth?"

She sniffed, hastily wiping at her eyes and nose. "I'm quite all right—it's just—"
And the wracking sob that followed disproved what she had said.

Jack sighed, a soft puff of breath. "You'll have to move closer, love. I'm
somewhat— indisposed—as it were."

It drew a shaky, brittle laugh from her and she went to sit on the bed. "You
should rest. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Can't rightly disturb a man, if he's not wanting to be undisturbed," he reasoned,
and his gaze was lucid, if tinged with pain. "Tell me, Mrs. Turner, Gibbs didn't fetch
you, now, did he?"

"No," Elizabeth confessed, with yet another, rather unladylike sniff. "I went to
Tortuga." His brows shot up and she flushed. "I wanted—" She trailed off, then
started anew, choosing her words with care. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"And that would be a bad thing, would it, love?" he asked, and his voice was light,
but his eyes were not.

"Bloody pirate," she said, past the lump in her throat. "You know it would be. Besides,
you've a pearl to win back."

"Ah, yes." The ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Fair and square. Lizze, me girl."

When he lifted his hand, she took it, pressing palm against palm. Scar against scar.

She held on tight. She did not let go.