Twigg and Hawksmoor bound his hands and escorted him to the captain's cabin, looking uneasy all the while. Will was busy trying to remember if Jack had gotten to the tale of his escape from the island while they'd lain together. Looking back, it was difficult to tell what had been truths, what had been lies, and what had been his own dreams.

"'Tain't nuffink personal, Will," said Hawksmoor apologetically as they looped his ropes through a ring bolted to the ceiling. A potted plant had hung from it awhile, but this was clearly its original purpose.

"'S just..." Twigg paused, scratching at his beard and not meeting Will's eyes. "Well, ye know how 'tis."

"I know," said Will, resting his suddenly heavy head against one suspended arm. He closed his eyes as they left, seeing red tentacles and stinging pain and Jack's bloated body drifting in the waves.

The chitter of Barbossa's monkey drew his attention, though he had not heard the man enter.

"William," he said, inclining his head.

"Sir," said Will. He wondered if the brother had been older or younger.

Barbossa swept a hand out at the ropes. "Jus' a precaution, ye understand. Ye'll not be harmed f'r true."

He was lying and not even bothering to hide it well. Will would not give him the satisfaction of answering. Barbossa, used to approaching a problem from various angles, tried a new one.

"So you let Sparrow fuck ye, eh?" Despite his resolve, Will stiffened and the ropes creaked. Barbossa saw his reaction and chuckled. "If I knew ye were tha' desp'rate fer a proper rogering, I'da obliged meself." Will shuddered at the thought, his lip curling in disgust.

Barbossa stepped up to him, touched a hand to his belt as he drew around behind. "He holds t' nothin', ye know." Barbossa's breath against his ear was not warm like a man's breath should be, nor was it cold; it only disturbed the air, smelling of rot and death. "Ye were only a plaything, a rosy young cock fer hiim t' suckle an' a pair o' legs t' spread as he saw fit. Nah, come t' think on it," he added after a thoughtful pause, "ye were prob'ly meant to fill yer pa's shoes. Jack were always after Bill, ne'er quite got 'im, but then I guess he weren't a whore like his boy."

He concentrated on keeping his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, trying not to sway like a side of meat. When he got no response, Barbossa snorted and ambled to the door, looking back at Will over his shoulder.

"Hope ye tol' the lass I've gotten t' quite like this little trinket." He lifted something from beneath the neck of his filthy shirt. It shone silver before Barbossa tucked it away again, snickering at the rage Will had not managed to suppress. It had belonged to Elizabeth's mother and she had entrusted it to him. Such things were not meant to be defiled. There were was much he regretted, but nothing more than having forgotten to thank her for saving his life.

Then he thought of the way Jack's tar-stained fingers curled around his hip, how small he had looked at the end of the plank, and his regrets shifted considerably.

"Wretch!"

Jack squinted up from where Elizabeth had shoved him to the ground. "Had a good swim in, nice t' see you alive and well, sincerely hope we don't die out here."

"Blackguard!" she shouted, kicking sand at him. "You didn't tell me about the Black Pearl and the curse, not once in all these years!"

"And you didn't tell me about the medallion," Jack pointed out reasonably. Elizabeth was unfortunately not in the mood for reason; she tossed her hair back and stalked off. By the time she returned from her circuit, he was seated quite comfortably with his boots drying out beside him, checking the shot in his pistol.

"It's really not all that big, is it?"

She shot him a dark look, gazing at her small footprints in the sand. "Best keep that away from me," she said, nodding to the gun. Jack was smart enough to take her at her word and tucked it safely away.

"Is there a problem between us, Lizzie?" he asked, holding up a hand to be helped to his feet, not really expecting her to take it. She didn't and he heaved himself up with a groan.

Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips. "Barbossa's got Will. Will is responsible for saving our lives, not to mention being the boy I quite failed to save years ago, and he's got him."

Hoping to avoid having to think about Will for as long as possible, perhaps the next three minutes, Jack only shrugged.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" she demanded.

"Look around," said Jack, embarrassing himself thoroughly while he mapped out where the hidden trapdoor was. "If y' see anything useful, do let me know."

Elizabeth scampered along behind him, holding her skirt up. "But you were marooned on this island before, weren't you? You've talked about the turtle often enough, but you never said how you managed to get off."

"That is because," said Jack with a grunt as he pulled on the rope handle, heaving a layer of sand off the door, "last time, I didn't actually do anything. Last time –" The door creaked as it swung all the way open, the musty scent below making his eyes water. "The rumrunners used this island as a cache. Three days after I was marooned I held their stock hostage until they agreed to give me passage." He surveyed the dusty bottles with a wrinkled nose. "From the looks of things, they've long been out of business. Probably have your bloody beau Norrington to thank for that." He tossed a bottle up to her, selecting another for himself.

Elizabeth gave him an eviler eye than the one he'd seen on a weather witch in Africa once. "No wonder you never told me that story," she sniffed. "It makes you look a fool."

"Aye, well, that's not so hard to do when one knows how." He returned to the spot where they'd come ashore, dropping down into the sand. The bottle in his hand could settle for the color of Will's eyes if he was really pressed to remember it. It wasn't so warm though, having been buried underneath the ground for years. The rum inside was thick and good and it burned all the way down.

Elizabeth stood before him, silhouetted by the sun. "But we have to do something!"

"I fully intend to do something," Jack replied, taking another swig. "Get so stinkin' rotten drunk I can't feel me own feet, then pass out on the sand." He clinked his bottle to the one she still held. "Let's drink to th' boy, shall we?"

For a moment he thought Elizabeth was going to argue further. Then her clenched jaw relaxed. She settled down next to him with a little sigh of defeat, popping the cork out of her bottle and considering it thoughtfully.

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," she murmured before knocking back a generous swallow.

Jack looked at her askance. "Quite apropos, darling. How 'bout a round or two?"

"No."

"C'mon, we got the time." He needled her in the ribs. "An' it's your very favorite tune."

"Sing it yourself," she retorted, turning away but leaning back against his shoulder all the same.

"I'll wear you down yet," Jack promised her, watching out of the corner of his eye as she sipped at her rum.

By the time he finally got the song out of her, it was full dark. They'd built a blazing fire and Elizabeth had downed three-quarters of two bottles each, which was quite impressive since it came to a total of one and a half bottles. Or, wait, no – he rubbed his eyes and looked again. Just the one bottle in Elizabeth's hand. Just the one Elizabeth for that matter.

"Really...bad eggs," he mumbled, tripping over someone's foot that had gotten in the way – his own, perhaps – and taking a fall. The sand proved so comfortable that he felt compelled to tug a giggling Elizabeth down beside him. She snuggled against his side as she'd done when she was younger, her hair smelling of the sun.

"Will Turner's a bad egg, y'know," he informed her in a secretive whisper, proud of himself for going a full two minutes without thinking of the boy. "And he's shite in bed!" he shouted to the island at large. He remembered in whose company he was and added, "Beggin' pardon o' the ladies present."

Elizabeth fumbled with her bottle, nearly dropping it in shock. "Captain Sparrow," she said, only a little slurred, "do you mean to say you buggered the boy?"

Jack boggled at her. "Where'd a nice girl like you learn tha' word?"

"From you," she said with a burbling laugh.

"Oh," said Jack, taking another drink. "Well, that's all righ' then."

Poking him in the chest, Elizabeth said, "So you did, though?"

"It weren't me fault," Jack protested, clutching the neck of his bottle tightly. "Too pretty for 'is own good, an' thrice as sweet as he should be, considerin'." Suddenly he scowled. "How was I t' know he'd leave me on the Isla de...de..." His Spanish was a bit fuzzy at the moment. "Mujeres? Mariscos? Nah, can't b' right..." He guzzled the last of the rum and rolled onto his back, staring up at the stars which refused to stay still.

"He was planning to come back for you," Elizabeth said, propping herself up on an elbow as she stretched out beside him. "He told me so."

Jack peered blearily at her. "Did he? Decent o' the boy. I take it back, th' bed thing." He dug his fingers into the sand, cool now in the dark. "Miss 'im," he said, closing his eyes to get that flash of Will again: Will naked and perfect in the moonlight, Will in the storm, Will in the jail, Will sleeping with his head on Jack's shoulder. "Dunno why I couldn't hate him properly." His voice rasped, throat already too dry. "Dunno why I can't bear th' thought of losin' him."

"Maybe you love him," said Elizabeth, but her voice was very far away, and he was no more aware of it than he was of the slender hand stroking his hair off his brow. In his dreams, he imagined it was someone else entirely.