A/N: Apologies for the long wait, friends…a little thing called life keep bothering me whenever I tried to scrawl down something. I hope this chapter doesn't seem rushed; Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Stop depressing me. I do NOT own Pirates of the Caribbean; it belongs to Disney. I do NOT own Johnny Depp, though I wish I did…he belongs to himself. The only things I own related to this fic are the plot, my character Tristan Jones, Port York, and any other OC which pops up in here, which I shall inform you of immediately in future disclaimers…oh ya, and I own the postman. No touchy. The only things I own otherwise are my POTC DVD, my dog, computer, my imagination, and a few bucks in my pocket. So no sueing, savvy?

Summary: Sequel to Tell No Lies. On The Black Pearl, things seem pretty peaceful…but peace never lasts, at least in the life of Captain Jack Sparrow. Will he be able to survive when his enemy is…himself?

Remember Me

Chapter 3

When You Least Expect It

When Will next entered his house, a few days after Elizabeth had received the surprise letter, he was greeted by being tackled by his lovely wife.

Elizabeth hugged tightly around her husband's neck, holding back tears of mixed emotions. "Will!" she breathed, "Oh, Will, you're home! D-did you find Jack…?"

Will shook his head gravely. "No, I didn't, but I had to come home…so I could see your beautiful face,"

Elizabeth looked up at him, sadness laced in her dark brown eyes. "Will," she said softly, "A couple of days ago I got a letter…a letter for you…"

The blacksmith's eyes widened with curiousity. "Where is it?"

The pregnant woman left her husband's arms to retrieve the marked paper. She gave it to Will and he read it over. Over the course of reading it, the young man's expression twisted from curiousity, to fear, then to confusion and doubt.

"What? Jones is going to look for Jack?" he asked himself aloud in bewilderment. He staggered over to a chair at the main dinner table, feeling a huge weight overpower him. "But…why? Can we really trust him to help? He wanted to kill Jack not too long ago…"

Elizabeth frowned to herself as well. She had heard about the pirate, and seen him once or twice, but she didn't really know Jones; could he be trusted?

The young woman bit her lower lip, and addressed her husband slowly. "Maybe he means well…he seemed pretty upset about what he had done when I saw him,"

Will looked up at his wife, and let out a slow breath. "You don't know what he was like before, Elizabeth," he explained, "He was…twisted, sadistic, willing to kill Jack by any means. Even if he doesn't hold a grudge against Jack now…" The blacksmith shook his head. "He hasn't earned my trust, I can't take any chances. I have to go out and find Jack before Jones does."

The young man got up from his seat, and made his way towards the door. Elizabeth suddenly grabbed his husband by the wrist firmly. Will looked back at her, startled.

"I'm not letting you go out alone again," she stated with defiance, "If you're going, you have to take me with you."

Will frowned deeper at his wife. "'Lizbeth, I can't. You're pregnant, and--"

"So what?" she shot back, fire in her eyes, "A little ship life won't hurt me. Remember, we lived on The Black Pearl for a long time, and I was fine!"

"But it's different now!"

"No, it isn't, Will! I was pregnant on there for a while, too! I can take care of myself and my child just fine!" A glint appeared in her eyes. "Or do you not trust me?"

The blacksmith's features suddenly softened. "Of course I trust you," he answered soothingly, "More than anyone else in the world,"

"If you trust me so much, then take me with you." Her face had become dangerously calm, like a tiger about to pounce at a moment's notice. Will knew that if he didn't agree, he would become the prey of that tiger.

Will's shoulder's sagged, dropped his head and heaved a weary sigh. "I would never forgive myself if you got hurt, Elizabeth,"

"I won't get hurt, I promise."

The young man looked up into the pregnant woman's eyes. The deep chocolate eyes held a great sincerity and care in them, as well as intelligence and defiance. In a strange way, they reminded him of Jack's eyes. Besides the two of them having the same eye hue, both of them held a great depth to their eyes in many ways. The two were worlds apart from each other, but Jack and Elizabeth both shared this trait.

Will's brow furrowed in worry, but his words suggested otherwise. "I trust you. You can come."

His wife's eyes brightened and a smile spread across her lips. She kissed Will briefly and said softly, "Thank you."

Just then, there was a rapping at the door. Startled, the couple's gaze shot towards the entrance to their home. They looked at each other in confusion; who could that be?

Will left his wife momentarily, and strode towards the door. He opened it quickly, and answered with a, "Yes?"

Seeing who was at the door, the blacksmith's eyes widened to the size of two ships' helms; his blood froze. The letter from Jones, which was still clutched in his hand, fluttered to the ground unceremoniously. His mouth became a desert of dryness and he was sure he would pass out.

"Who is it, Will?" Elizabeth's voice rang out from behind.

Will barely found the strength or courage to reply; He couldn't believe it. Was he dreaming, or had he finally gone mad? "Jack," he breathed.

---

4 months earlier…

One month had passed since the lost man had woken up on the foreign island. In that time he had been able to construct a make-shift shelter of sticks and leaves on a palm tree branch, almost like a very fragile miniature hut, barely able to cover him at all. He was beginning to doubt his 'survival skills'; he could only hope there wouldn't be a storm anytime soon or he would have to rebuild it.

By then he had walked around the entire island so many times he had lost count, and had the whole place memorized, from where he made camp to a strange area which looked like a bunch of palm trees were fried on spot to a crisp. He knew exactly were to get all of his supplies, from coconuts to fire wood.

But even with all of these preparations made, he still couldn't remember anything that had happened before waking up in this damn island he was quickly growing tired of.

He tried not to think about it, but it was hard not to during the nights in which he stared into the cindering bonfire he had lit. He would stare into the blazing topaz fire night after endless night and try to keep his mind blank or to think about what he had to do tomorrow, but the more he tried not to, to more he did.

Eventually he grew frustrated with himself one late night under the glimmering starlight. He grabbed a spare stick from beside where he sat, and started poking the bonfire, a frown spread across his grimy face. He continuously thrusted the twig into the fire, venting out his anger.

He had done this many time before, poking at the dangerous heater, but this time something different happened than just tiring himself out and falling asleep. He didn't realize it until it was too late; a spark shot out of the fire and landed on his baggy sleeve, setting it ablaze.

He yelled out in shock and pain of the sudden burning sensation. The stick jerked from his hand and into the fire, his hand possessed with agony, and shot up. He dashed towards the prison of the sea, which he had made camp nearby at the edge of the forest of palm trees. He stumbled and tripped frantically, flailing his arms about. He resembled a chicken with its head cut off. If it weren't for the present situation, the sight would have been funny.

His feet met water; he waded farther into the sea, splashing about, until he was waist high in salty water. He submerged his arm in it, the icy water immediately dousing the flame. The lost man sighed in relief. But then he saw his white baggy sleeve had been burned off completely almost to his elbow, leaving chars at the end. He growled to himself in frustration.

"Bloody terrific," he mumbled to himself.

Then he noticed; he almost didn't. Two markings crawled up the lower part of the inside of his arm. The letter 'P' was scarred in it, and a picture of a bird flying across the horizon was engraved as well.

He frowned, and brought his face closer to the tattoos, examining them closely. He hadn't noticed them until now. He traced them with his index finger, staring intently at them, trying to decipher their meanings.

"P," he muttered to himself, "What does it mean? Panda? Pineapple? Parsley? What?" He rubbed his head and chin with his index finger and thumb thoughtfully. When he felt the fabric on his forehead and beard on his chin, his eyes widened.

He moved his slightly burned arm away from his eyes' view and gazed into the ocean, desperate to make out a reflection.

When the water had finally stopped rippling, the lost man could see a fairly clear image of what must have been his face.

The face was foreign to him, yet somewhere deep inside him it hit a cord. He had a handsome face with very high cheekbones, creating a sunken look, and his chin was covered with a beard, which was braided into two strands at the end and beaded. He had a round red scar on the right side of his chin, which no hair grew from. A moustache covered the area over his slightly large nose, and his hair was a dark mess, beads and other trinkets tangled into it, along with a red head sash. But the part that struck him most were his eyes- a dark chocolate brown, confusion and fear mired in them, a black substance smeared around them and around the whole part of his face from the nose up as if he had cried a river or three. He absentmindedly wet his fingers more with saliva and tried to clean the dark mess from everywhere on his face except for directly under his optics and his eyelids.

When he was done 'cleaning himself up', he started fingering his head sash gently, when he suddenly felt pain from poking his temple. He unwrapped the cloth from his head and examined it; his bird nest hair fell unruly into his face without his sash supporting it. He dug his way through it and saw a goose egg roughly the size of a newborn baby's fist, and it hurt like hell whenever he touched it.

"So yer the culprit of m' memory loss," he muttered with a frown.

With that mystery partially solved, he looked down at his scarlet head sash once more, then back at the 'P' scar. He stared hard in concentration at the two clues to his past, trying to make a connection.

P…pirate? He thought. His eyes snapped open, realizing for the first time his had clamped them shut. The thought made his stomach dance. "I'm…" he

whispered, his tongue dry from barely speaking for the past month, "I…I can't. I'm not."

Are you sure about that?

The voice that echoed in his ears made him jump. This caused a splash in the still ocean, his reflection rippling away. In haste, he soggily stumbled out and onto dry land. It tickled as the dry sand stuck to his damp feet. He trudged with sway to camp and plopped down in front of his demonic fire, ignoring the rough feeling of sand sticking to his butt.

"I can't be a pirate," he said softly, "If I was, what am I doin' on this bloody island?"

There could be many reasons for that, mate.

The lost man jumped again, startled, and flashed his head back and forth. "Who's there?!" he shrieked.

There's no reason to be afraid. I'm simply a part of you. Your Doubt, to be exact.

"Yer my doubt?" he asked, bewildered.

Indeed. I'm all of your dark thoughts you have ever conjured, all of your fears.

The lost man felt his stomach leap into a tango. But then his nerves melted into immense anger. "I don't need ye, I'm in a bit of a jam as it is, so bugger off," he snarled, lying down on the cool night sand.

What am I going to do? He thought wearily.

Don't ask me.

He narrowed his eyes in frustration. "I wasn't, so piss off, mate," he spat venomously.

Now, now, there's no need to be rude. Since I'm the one who knows why you're here, knows your past.

His eyes widened in shock and almost hope. "Y-ye know who I am?" he sputtered.

Of course I do; I've been with you since you were a small child.

"Well, what's the bloody hold-up? Tell me!"

Are you sure you want to know?

"'Course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Think about it. There must be a reason that you don't remember anything.

"'Course there is, I got conked on me head, in case ye didn't notice, son,"

No, that was the trigger. Don't you think you would be surpressing them for some reason? Say, that in the back of your head you know they're so horrible that you wouldn't be able to bare them? Why else do you think you haven't remembered a thing in over a month?

"They can't be that bad, I'd rather have 'em than none at all," he growled, his patience thinning.

Oh, but you don't know that for sure.

"How the blazes do ye expect me to? Yer not tellin' me anythin'!"

You're right; I'm not telling you anything. I'm simply warning you.

"Oh just shut the hell up," he grumbled, crossing his arms and rolling onto his other side, away from the blaze.

Very well, but think about it. Then all was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire and the lost man's harsh breathing.

He remained still for a while, alert and waiting to see if the voice of Doubt would return. Time stopped for him as he held his breath.

When he knew Doubt was gone for now, he exhaled. The dark abyss of night around him reminded him of the emptiness inside himself. His closed his eyes, blocking the fear and sight with his own eyelids.

As he drifted off into a restless sleep, all of his dreams were of pirates and a ship with black sails- though he had no idea what it meant, it hit him hard in his stomach and twisted, much like his reflection, telling him it meant something. Even when he woke up the next day and had no memory of his visions, the feeling refused to leave him.

To Be Continued…

A/N: Much appreciation towards Jackfan2, October Sky, pendragginink, and TrappedandAnnoyed for the awesome reviews, and to anyone else who will once they finish reading this, hint hint.