In stories, people who love each other have a sort of magical bond that lets them know what the other is feeling or thinking.  At the very least, in stories, a person can tell when something very, very bad happens to someone they are especially close to.

But life isn't a story, and Elizabeth didn't feel anything at all as she lay sleeping, sweaty and sated, in her beloved's arms.

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Life after Elizabeth's confession continued on much the same as before.  Except … she was more relaxed, or so Will thought.  Less … anxious.  There were no life-shattering changes, no wild new adventures.  Every day save Sunday, Will went down to his smithy at six o'clock sharp (he never once beat old widow Harrison there), worked through the day, and returned home absolutely no later than ten at night.  Elizabeth cleaned, shopped, gossiped, fed the cat, kept house, and went out every Tuesday for tea with her father.  There were no pirates, no ancient curses, nothing at all to make them in any way different from any other young couple in Port Royale, Elizabeth's birth excepted.  In fact, all in all, some might say they had an ideal life – or as close to ideal as any two mortals might get.

Truth be told, they were both getting rather … bored.  It had been over a year since the Night the Pirates Came, as the townsfolk had taken to calling it, and for an entire year, neither of them had been on any ship of any kind, or heard anything but the vaguest and most absurd (and quite possibly entirely true) rumors of Mad Captain Jack.

One day, Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, around the time Will usually came home.  She wasn't doing anything … just sitting with the cat on her lap, absently petting its fur and thinking about nothing in particular.  Soon enough, the door opened, and she heard the familiar, comforting sound of Will hanging his coat and hat, and taking off his boots.  She didn't turn around, not even when she heard soft footsteps at the doorway, and he didn't say anything.  The footsteps got closer, and then the couch sagged and warm arms wrapped around her, unintentionally depriving the little cat of its perch.  The little thing meowed in reproach, and proceeded to thoroughly wash its fur.  Will chuckled softly, the first sound he had made, and Elizabeth leaned into his embrace with a contented sigh.

"'Lizabeth?"  He spoke quietly, as if unwilling to disturb the comfortable scilence.

"Mmm?"  She shifted a bit, and snuggled into his chest.

"Something the matter?"

"M-mn."  Well, that wasn't very clear, but from the side-to-side motion of her head on his chest, he gathered that that had been a "no."

"Mmm."

They stayed like that for some time longer, not speaking, not moving, just reveling in the silence and mutual comfort of holding and being held.  Will was just about to nod off, when Elizabeth shifted and said, softly, "Will?"

"Yes, love?"

"You … you know how much I love you, right?"

"You do?  Elizabeth!  You know, I never suspected anything of the sort."  Will teased her, tightening his embrace around her.

Elizabeth freed an arm from his grip and lightly clouted him on the shoulder.  "Blacksmith."

"Governess."

"Pirate."

"You'd have it any other way?"

Elizabeth sighed happily and snuggled even closer.  "Never."  Then she got serious again.  "Honestly, Will, you know I love you more than anything, right?"

"Of course I do, dear."  He shifted so he could look down at her.  "Why?"

"Because … because I … I …"

"Because you're bored?"  Will suggested gently.  She looked up at him with wide eyes and he continued.  "Because you're tired of being just a blacksmith's wife, only worrying about that stain on the wall or if Annie will mend fences with her John.  You're tired of walking on ground that doesn't even move a little, and absolutely sick of watching ship after ship disappear over the horizon through your window and not being on any of them.  But most of all, you're tired of not even being able to smell the sea before it's polluted by all the smells of the land."

Elizabeth was silent for a very long time before she finally said: "Are you talking about me, Will, or yourself?"

He sighed, and it was not a happy one.  "Does it matter?"

They stayed like that, silently curled together on the couch, for a very long time, or maybe it was only a few minutes before Elizabeth spoke again, in a plainative almost-whine.

"I miss Jack."

Will held her closer.  "So do I."

Believe me, 'Lizabeth, so do I.

******************

Well, Lord, you didn't have to wait too long, did you?  Heh – right when I say I'm not going to be able to write a lot, then I just go and make myself a liar.  Kinda funny, that.  I even feel like I could whip out a fluffy little W/E one-shot if I really wanted to …

Hmm.  Maybe I could explain about the cat …

Eh, just ignore me here.  This is just … visible projection of thoughts, or something like that.  Verbal diarrhea, if you will.

Now, important stuff.  THIS IS AN OPEN CALL FOR BETA READERS.  As of current time, I have, let's see, lemme count … ah!  None.  I have absolutely no beta, and that, my friends, is very, very bad.  If you are interested, please, please, PLEASE give me an e-mail saying such.  Hell, if you know someone who would be interested, talk to them and have them drop me a line.  I am BEGGING ON MY KNEES, HERE!  Please, just get back to me if you're willing to beta FF or any other PotC story that might wander through my head.

Oh, and important note for all would-be betas (if any exist):  You must have an excellent grasp of the English language, please.  The mistakes I make are either with homophones or those tiny little dropped or extra letters that, when re over, completely f*** up the whole meaning of the sentence.  So, please, I need a good beta who can catch things like that, please.  Have a fairly decent mastery of this wacky, irrational language and please demonstrate such in your e-mail, pretty please?

Assuming, of course, that there's anyone who would want to beta this …

Whatever.  Just … *sigh*

We need more hours in the day.  Badly.  24 just … doesn't cut it.  At all.