A/N: You know, I am really enjoying writing this fic. It's like a fic I'm reading, and I can't wait for the next update. But, of course, the only way for it to be updated is for me to write it, hence all the updates my few but lovely readers are enjoying. A big, appreciative hug for Gambit Gurl Isis, it was so sweet of you to review every chapter like that, and evanescence kiks (sorry about that) ass.

To reply to all your comments:

For Isis: I'm really flattered you can relate the gang to characters as famous as J.K.R's, actually. Though to tell the truth, I had no intention of having an Arthurian naming scheme, I chose the name Guinevere completely at random and Gawain just happens to sound a bit like it. It's kind of you to feel I should get more reviews, but beggars can't be choosers, right? I know, I know, I'm a review whore. About the Gibbs conversation; thanks, I tried. I probably shouldn't say much about whether or not Jack and Guinevere meet at all, don't you think? But I'll keep your suggestion in mind. And finally, thank you very much for the italics advice and for putting me on your favorites list, you're a wonderful person.

For evanescence: glad you're enjoying it and I'm terribly sorry for your loss, of summer vacation that is. Sorry again, but I think I'll keep Jack's whereabouts, or lack there of, to myself for the time being. Remember, a magician never reveals her tricks.

You see, people? You give detailed, ultra-kind reviews like that, I take notice. Also, let it be said that these reviews played no small part in the act of getting me on my word processor and whipping out another chapter for yall. Okay, that said, enjoy chapter four!



I'm still stalking when Pete joins me. Finally glancing around at my surroundings, of which I'd taken little notice in my stony rage, I discover I've made it all the way to the docks and the sun is an orange ball low on the horizon.

"Been wonderin' 'bout you, boss," Pete is saying, but I'm not paying much attention, "Seem kinda out o' sorts lately. You workin' on a new plan?"

This question sends the wheels of my mind spinning once more. Do I have a new plan? I can in a heartbeat, just to spite Gibbs. He doesn't think I can be a pirate, well I'll show him, "Aye, Pete," I say with a more devilish grin than ever before, "The best plan yet." With that I jog away to let him wonder. I spend the rest of the day tooling around the harbor, watching the ships come and go, and plotting my little black heart out.



And not a moment too soon it seems, for Mother and Father choose this particular evening when I emerge from my sanctuary to reveal their new plan. They stand a united front before me in the hall, and the grin I've been cultivating promptly slides away.

"Could you join us in the parlor, Guinevere?" Mother oh so politely requests.

"We must talk with you," Father adds, concern riddling his strong countenance.

I regard them as one might regard the two deadly snakes that have one cornered, "Very well." I walk with them flanking me and can't help feeling as though our journey will end at the gallows, not the parlor.

My parents guide me to a seat on the lounge in the parlor; my mother sits in one of the small chairs scattered about the room as my father sits next to me and takes my hand. I look into his eyes briefly and find a deep sadness. I can guess his thoughts; Elizabeth is right, Look at her, It's time she left, She's not our daughter. I turn away when the lump from my conversation with Gibbs returns and stare into my lap. I flinch in surprise when I see Mother's hand awkwardly pat my knee.

"You know how much we care about you, Guinevere, don't you?" I nod instinctively, "And you know we only want the best for you?" Again I nod, "That's good because your father and I have come to a decision that perhaps living here isn't the best for you, that maybe it is time to try something else."

I look up at her then and try to act surprised, "What do you mean?"

"We mean that maybe you should try living in a different environment, away from Port Royal. We think you may be you would be happier there-"

"Where? Where would we dump me?" Even knowing that this was coming, I can't help the anger boiling up inside. The irrational thoughts bubble on the surface of that anger. How dare they do this to me! They're supposed to take care of me! Isn't that what Jack wants? Luckily none of these accusations spill out. But who is she kidding, saying we like I know all about this, though the irony didn't escape me that this is the first time that is true. I do know, if not all, at least I had a vague idea until this very evening.

Mother continues undeterred, "There is a boarding school back in England run by an old friend of mine. Now, I've spoken with her and she said she'd be happy to have you, if you're willing."

This hits me like a blow, and I murmur, "England? But- but the Caribbean is my home." I can feel the tears coming, and my lip quivers despite myself.

Father squeezes my hand, "We know, sweetheart, but we're sure you'll love it there! There's plenty to do, people to meet, you'll be so happy." He smiles brightly, as if that makes it all okay. William Turner, brave, strong, but oh so stupid at very inopportune times.

"And how would you know?" I lash out at him, "You've never been to England- you were born here, just like me!"

He quails and Mother quickly comes to his rescue, "But I have, Guinevere, and I agree with your Father." I snort in derision but she barrels on, not leaving me room for sarcastic comments, "Now, you can either fight this, making it harder for all of us, or you can see what we're trying to do for you and accept it. It is your choice." She sits back, satisfied with her delivery.

I gaze at her, then Father a moment, "I have to think about it."

"By all means, love," Father says, his eyes like that of a dog that's been hit too many times, "But we need a decision by tomorrow, your ship is scheduled to leave the day after."

I almost laugh before turning to Mother, "That's a little presumptuous, you make the travel plans?" She doesn't respond to my barb, just watches me, "Fine, you're no fun." I leave without saying good night.



I slump behind the door of my sanctuary for little more reason than it seems fitting. I've had an eventful day, don't I deserve a good slump? But it doesn't last long as my energy levels tower and I burst into action. I love when a decision is finally made, especially a really big one, things seem to roll into place and everything becomes clear. My short- and long- term goals lay before me like stones across a river, I merely have to accomplish one after the other to reach my final destination. But my path is transient, I have to move now or risk the consequences of it disappearing and leaving me stranded.

This has to be the most cliché thing I've ever done, I think as I stand at the foot of my benefactors' bed and say goodbye, "Goodbye, William, Elizabeth," I say with a steady voice, "You did your best with me, and I appreciate it, but things don't work out the way we hope sometimes. You probably won't see me again, but I'll try to write if I'm able. Wish me luck," I add after running out of things to say. I leave a letter on my bed, addressed to the Turners, to the same effect. I figure why make them worry all the more, they have the right to at least know their charge wasn't kidnapped or anything. I slip out of my sanctuary through the trusty window for the last time, feeling better about the whole thing.



"Hey, Pete, wanna know my great plan?"

"Yeah, 's been buggin' me all day!"

"Well, put some stuff together an' come on out here."

"You got it, boss!"

The twins and I wait in the moonlight outside Peter's house. The only sounds to be heard emanate from the King's Compass a few houses down.

"Do ya' think sound travels farther at night?" I wonder aloud, gazing up into the inky sky at the cool moon.

"Dunno," Tom replies automatically. My boys have long since gotten used to my odd, mostly unanswerable questions, and their replies rarely differ from some variation of "I don't know."

Pete stumbles from his house as he pulls on a shoe while immediately asking, "What's the plan, Gawain?"

"We're gonna be pirates, Pete!" Tuck cries in his excitement. Tom is the older, and inherently more mature, twin, while Tuck shares in Peter's naïve excitement in all things.

"Ya' mean we're gonna leave home?" Pete turns to me as he says this.

His expression is inscrutable in the dark, so I can't help but answer honestly, "Yeah, Pete, we're leavin'." I feel a flash of panic, was Peter going to back out? It took about three seconds for the twins to be out of the door and by my side, bags in hand, when I knocked on their door.

"What's a' matter, Petey-boy?" Tuck nudges his mate in the ribs, "Worried ya'll get seasick?"

Peter faces Tuck, and the light from a candle in a window half- illuminates his determined face, "No, I ain't. Let's go."

As we walk to the docks, my doubts rear their ugly heads. It occurs to me that I could be taking my boys to their deaths. You never know what could happen at sea, there are all kinds of dangers. Can I live with that? They don't even know the real me, they know Gawain and they trust Gawain when Gawain's nothing but a shadow. Will they trust Guinevere, if I tell them? Pete possibly will, but the twins are a different story. There's no telling with them. Well, I think as I see our destination come into view, only one way to find out. I swallow my nerves as The Spartan looms over us and we step onto the docks. I don't know what the name means, but it caught my eye earlier during my whirlwind of plotting. I casually inquired if they were in need of any extra strong, healthy, young hands aboard and was quite pleased with the answer. Men wait on the dock as another man checks their names and they go aboard. My gang and I take our place at the end of the line and I feel a hint of Tuck and Pete's excitement chase a rabbit down my spine as we come down the line, but I keep myself contained. Man after man the line dwindles, closer and closer we come. I realize this is my only chance to come clean with the boys.

"Fellas?" I ask, my voice perfectly even, almost conversational.

"Next!" Another man heads up the gangway.

"Aye, boss?" Pete answers first.

"Next!" One more man is checked.

"Ye' should know, me name's not Gawain." I keep my eyes trained on the man we approach, not daring to see my gang's reaction.

"Well," Tuck says slowly, "What is it then?"

"Next!" The last man in front of me gets checked off.

I finally turn to them and say as quickly as I can, "It's Guinevere."

"Next!" calls the man, and I stand before him as tall as possible. He's a fairly small man with a thick beard and handkerchief over his head, "Gawain Burns?"

"Aye."

He makes a small mark in the log book before him, "Get onboard."

I walk up the gangway, away from the docks, over the moonlit water, and onto The Spartan. I feel a strange weight suddenly dissolve the moment my feet land on the deck and I allow myself a smirk. I don't look back to see if my gang is behind me, I know they are, and that only widens my smirk. They followed me, the real me, Guinevere, and now we're headed for Tortuga. Delightful.



A/N: Yes! Done with at least some of the tricky part! Good for me, and good for you all as well. No promises as to when my next inspiration will be, but I'm still enjoying this story, so it can't be long. Review please!