A/N: OK...this fic used to be up, but then it got taken down by the ff.net people. *shakes fist* Anyway...it's an old fic, but I love it and really want to continue it. ^^ So here goes.

PotC is owned by Disney. Everyone save Rose does not, alas, belong to me, though I desperately wish Captain Jack Sparrow did. Ah well, a girl can dream…

Anyway…you know the drill. I love reviews, I love constructive criticism, I hate flames. Savvy? Enjoy. ^.~ (and yes, the title's under construction *g*)

~*~ Pirates of the Caribbean: Revenge of the Damned ~*~

~ Chapter One: The Visitor ~

It was a dark, stormy night. The winds were high, the rain pouring, and the cloud covering so thick that no moonlight had a chance of piercing it. It was dark, gloomy, and damp — one of the (thankfully rare) worst kinds of evenings you could imagine. It was horrible if you were outside, but actually quite lovely if you were inside, in front of a warm fireplace, like Elizabeth and William Turner.

Will, seated in a large armchair with a book in his hands, looked across the room at his wife, who was sewing. Looking up from her work, she smiled at him, and he smiled back. They'd been married less than half a year, and there was still that special spark of love between them. After their adventure at sea with cursed pirates, they had settled down in a fairly large house. Will had kept up with his work as a blacksmith, earning a fair wage, while Elizabeth's father, the governor of Port Royale, was always eager to do something for the young couple. Their lives weren't perfect, of course, but they had greatly improved, and were at a point where both Elizabeth and Will enjoyed themselves.

Will had returned to his book and Elizabeth to her sewing when there was a knock on the door. One of the maids went to answer it. Distracted by the knock, Will had barely gotten back to his book when a gasp and a shriek of "Lord have mercy!" made both him and his wife look up, alarmed. Seconds later, the maid dashed into the room, her eyes wide with fear and horror. "Milady…Mr. Turner! You must…you must come see…!"

The urgent note in the woman's tone brought both Will and Elizabeth to their feet. Will got to the door first – and stopped several feet away from the door, freezing with shock.

At the door was a girl, looking to be in her teens. She was extremely wet and shivering, but that wasn't what shocked Will. The girl was covered with bruises, cuts, and wounds – her clothes were almost completely torn away, and blood seeped through the cloth that remained. A large gash covered half her face; another matted her hair with blood. She looked extremely weak and it was obviously costing her effort just to stand up.

"Will, what – oh my." Elizabeth's inquiry was cut short as she, too, caught sight of the girl. Pity, worry, and concern marked her beautiful features.

The girl raised her head – she also had a nasty-looking black eye. She stumbled inside; anxious maids hovered around her and Will took several strides forward. She looked up at Will with a starved, empty look in her eyes.

"H…help…" she muttered faintly, stumbling forward again. She raised her eyes to meet Will's, and he was flooded with pity for the girl. "I…w – water," she whispered, then let out her breath and fainted. Will leapt forward to catch her, and was surprised at how light she was.

"Get some food…set it up in the dining room! Some water, some salve, cloths, bandages…hurry!" The urgency in Will's tone made the maids scatter. Elizabeth followed as he carried the girl into their spare room.

"The poor girl looks half-dead." Elizabeth's tone was motherly and sympathetic. "She's in a right state…I wonder what happened to her…"

"So do I," Will commented softly. "She doesn't look too much younger than you."

"Fifteen or sixteen, I'd say," was Elizabeth's verdict as she walked around the girl to take inventory of her wounds. "Whatever it was she fought with, it put up a good fight. I'll clean her wounds and give her clean clothes…you'll watch her for the night, give her food and water." Will nodded and left the room as a maid came in with hot water and bandages.

~*~*~

Later on in the night, Will was sitting on a chair next to the girl's bed, studying her thoughtfully. Without her own clothes, she looked older, though no more than sixteen. She wasn't particularly attractive, but there was something about her distinct features that gave her an unusual, unique beauty. She had dark, chin-length hair that had been messy, dirty and matted with blood, but it looked a lot better after Elizabeth has washed it. Her figure was slim, slightly thinner than what was healthy. Her old clothes had been burned after Elizabeth declared them unfit for anyone to survive in. She had dressed the girl in the plainest pair of pants and blouse she owned; as she told Will, the girl didn't look like the type to take kindly to a dress.

Her bruises and cuts, thankfully, ended up looking a lot worse than they really were. Her legs and arms were mottled with the blue and purple marks, and joined by several nasty cuts. Elizabeth had cleaned and bound the worst of them, as well as the gash on her cheek. The one in her head ended up being fairly shallow, to the relief of both Turners. Her hands and fingers were callused, blistered, and rough; Elizabeth had bandaged them.

Sitting on a table next to the girl was the assortment of weapons that she'd been carrying; two pistols, a sword, two knives, and four daggers, all concealed on various places of her body. There was also a small medallion with the engraving of an eye, hanging on a thin gold chain – it had been around her neck.

There was something familiar about the girl. Will couldn't put his finger on it, but he had the strangest feeling that he'd met her before. He hadn't, of course – that he was sure of. But the girl's features looked distinctively like those of someone he knew he'd met.

As Will studied the girl's face thoughtfully, she gave a sharp twitch. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she moaned softly before opening them. She groaned and put her hand to her forehead, then turned to look at Will. Her wide eyes were a cloudy grey color. Softly, she stammered, "Who…who are you? Wh-where am I?"

"My name is Will Turner," Will said, keeping his voice gentle and calm. "You're in Port Royale, in my house. Are you all right?"

"Mmmm…guess so, mate." The girl groaned again, propping herself up on her elbows. "I feel…like crap, but I guess 'll live." Her voice was light and pleasant, but with traces of a rough accent, which also sounded strangely familiar. Will's brain was searching desperately – who did this girl remind him of so?

Said girl's eyes suddenly went from cloudy grey to a darker, focused color and opened wider. "Where'd you say I was, Mr. Turner?"

Slightly surprised by the sudden urgency in her voice, Will replied, "At my home…in Port Royale."

The girl groaned loudly. "Port Royale? And in your 'ome? Oh, blast, I have to go…" She made an attempt to sit up, but cried out in pain and, placing her hand to her head, moved back down.

Will, getting to his feet, moved to her side. "You're not going anywhere." His voice was gentle, but firm. "You took a pretty bad beating, and you're hurt."

She smiled again. "Yeah, but you should see th' other fellows." Wincing again, she placed a hand to the bandage on her cheek, which had become soaked with blood.

Will took it off and dipped a clean cloth into water, wiping it across her cheek. She winced again, then sighed in relief. "That's going to scar," he said softly, turning to dress the wound.

The girl let out a noise of protest. "I can't, Mr. Turner…I can't stay…'ve burdened you and your wife enough already." Her face was apologetic. "If you'll let me up 'll go and be no bother to you anymore."

"You're no bother, you can't go anywhere looking like this, and call me Will." Will smiled at her. "Plus, you need some food, and a good night's sleep."

"Food?" He saw the girl's eyes go wide. "You…you'll give me some, Mr. Turner?"

"That's what I said…and call me Will." Will smiled as the girl struggled to get to her feet, and held out his arm. She grabbed it and propped herself up, following him to the dining room.

"What's your name?" Will asked as they walked.

The girl paused, then rolled up her right sleeve. On her upper arm was the small tattoo of a rose, the stem curling down several inches.

"Rose?" Will hazarded with a grin.

The girl nodded, her face serious. "Yeah. Call me Rose."

~*~*~

As Rose dug into the food ravenously, Will talked to her, and she replied between bites. He learned that she was almost sixteen and from Tortuga; that her mother had died almost a year ago; that she'd gotten beat up in a fight of some sort; and that she was searching for her father, who was a pirate. Will had curiously inquired about her father, but the subject was obviously a sensitive one for Rose; she refused to touch on it more than she already had.

Once she finished eating enough food for three people, Rose let out a huge yawn. "Ah…so good to 'ave a decent meal fer once."

"You look tired," Will said with a smile. He'd come to like the girl's bravado, quirky sense of humor, and honest, accented speech. "Here, I'll help you back to your room. Feeling any better?"

"Yeah." Rose smiled sleepily then looked up at Will, her grey eyes shining earnestly. "Thank ye, Will. You an' your wife have helped me so much…ye didn't have to do anythin'. Anyone else would've left me to die. Thanks…"

Will smiled at her again. "You're welcome, Rose." He helped her into the bed and, sighing, she settled back onto the pillows.

"I feel a lot better," she announced, turning to Will. He blew out the candle and settled into a chair to sleep himself.

"G'night, Will," said Rose sleepily as she turned over and closed her eyes.

"Good night, Rose," Will said softly, turning away himself Right before he fell asleep, it suddenly hit him who it was Rose reminded him so much of…

~*~*~

The sunlight streaming through the window onto his face woke Will up in the morning. He was slightly annoyed to find he'd completely forgotten who Rose reminded him of. Figuring he'd remember once he saw the girl again, he turned to her bed.

It was empty.

Will blinked, then turned to the table next to the bed, where Rose's sword, knives, daggers, pistols, and medallion had been. The table was still there, but the weapons and necklace were not. Will's brain registered it a second before his heart admitted it.

Rose was gone.

While trying to process this, why she would do it, and why he didn't think she would do it, Will noticed a piece of paper on Rose's bed. Walking over to it curiously, he picked it up. It was written in a messy hand, with several mistakes and lots of crossing out.

Dear Will,

Sorry I have to go like this, but I do. Hope you'll understand. I owe you and you wife a lot. Thank you very much for evrything. Best of luck in evrything you do. Regards.

At the bottom of the paper was the small but distinguishable drawing of a rose.