[[Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

A/N: A week 'til school starts. ::sob::]]

1

Governor Swann had never been lucky when it came to women. He was not a heroic man by any means. Nor was he very handsome, though his family's fortune more than made up for that. When he had been living in England, he had been invited to all the very finest balls and parties, high up among nobles and the like. Women liked him, or rather, the gold that his clothes were embroidered with, from collar to bootstraps. Men of lower Houses seemed to want to try to get on his good side, often by offering their sisters or even daughters as prizes. If Governor Swann had been a better man, this would have disgusted him. But while living in England he was young and rash and liked to make sport of women - from barmaids to baronesses, showing no favorites to either.

He should have known how much it would have caught up with him.

Upon meeting Belynda St. Paul, Governor Swann's view of women was quite changed. Belynda was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he had seen a good many women in his time. True, she was just barely of age to marry and he was a good few years older than her, but it didn't change a thing. He wanted to marry Belynda St. Paul, he had called her Belle, for her beauty, and he would marry her, one way or another.

His friends had never let him live down his ardor for Belynda - Franklin Wolfred Henry Swann, the third, whom his friends called 'wolf', to his dismay and chagrin; the amount Governor Swann's similarities with the animal would find it difficult to fill a teaspoon - wanting to marry? The same Franklin who had known nearly every woman in England old enough for a bodice? The Franklin who was on first name basis with every wench in England? He might not have been handsome, and he might not have been brave, but it was amazing just how much a glint of gold could make up for.

He ignored them of course. He hardly cared for what the bunch of louts who called themselves lords thought. He loved Belynda with his whole heart, the way her skin always seemed to rebel against the powder she was forced to wear - he hated the powder, however much he would not admit it, it always seemed to mute her beauty the way a layer dust mutes the shine of finely carved marble. He loved the way her walked about with her chin held up, glaring at the other men who would seek to engage her in conversation. He loved the thin silver chain she wore around her neck, whatever charm on it was hidden in the front of her dress - another part the lecher in him loved. He loved the way sunlight would glint off her dark plaited hair, and how she refused to carry a parasol with her, and how she showed somewhat of a disdain to the disapproving glances of the other ladies - her mother included.

But what fascinated him the most was the sad look in her eyes - they were hazel, the Governor recalled now. It had been nearly ten years since he'd allowed himself to think of the color of her eyes. He loved her right down to the peculiar way she spelled her name.

Of course, it was a good many years later that he knew how much he truly did love her. Not just for her beauty, that at one point that had been enough. Even a longer while after that would he come to terms with how unattainable she had been, and always would have been, even after their vows were exchanged. Governor Swann had not thought of that in a long while, either. It was never pleasant knowing that the woman you had been married to for ten years had never loved you, and never would.

He had courted her slowly, but had never found out the source of her sadness that always laced her features, try as she might to disguise it. He approached her differently than he would other women - the difference being that he was actually approaching her, this time. Most women were handed to him by sniveling lesser lords, or else were barmaids after the money in his purse. But Belynda he took care for. He presented himself as a shy man, something he was not and never had been. He brought her books instead of flowers, seeing clearly her lack of interest in the latter displayed in her false small smile and the barely hidden roll of her eyes as other men gifted her with bouquets. She began to smile when he came to her, a small smile, but more genuine to the quirk of her lips she showed other men. It was a triumph that he would flaunt to his friends - a good many of them fancied Belynda as well, but none of them were ever very successful.

He remembered that she had not wanted to marry. Within a few months of his courting - not more than two, surely - her parents had given him permission to marry her, and when he asked, she accepted meekly. He took her timidity for a quiet joy - many women were like that, after all. A few months after that and he had become aware of why her parents were so hasty for her to be married. Belynda was pregnant, and far to quickly for the father to be him.

Governor Swann rubbed his hands over his face tiredly as he eased himself into the chair in his study, for once not able to stop this tirade of memories before they began. He had been a great many things to Belynda, but he was not sure that a good husband was among them. Once she was married, her parents too little interest in her, having saved their own reputation. Never mind the reputation he would get, as the husband to a woman who was beginning to show signs - visible signs - of pregnancy three months into her marriage. He realized what a fool he had been to marry Belynda without knowing her past first; he had not even bothered to ask. And he didn't bother to ask after finding her suddenly with a heavy belly and weeping, clutching her silver necklace in her hand. He stared at her stonily and had walked from the room; it stung how she barely seemed to notice.

By then, the hum of whispers concerning himself and Belynda built up to a dull roar, and he had no choice but to move him and his wife to another place. He moved them to a place where there were relatively few people and fewer of the nobles, and bought a hefty amount of land with his inheritance, and enough servants to support them easily enough. Belynda barely spoke a word to him, her shadowed eyes watching him as he walked from room to room. He felt her eyes on his back and stiffened whenever he met her gaze, glaring at her as if it was she who cheated him. But he could not quell the nagging voice that maintained it was he who was at fault for not pressing her or her parents for Belynda's history of suitors.

Belynda gave birth to two girls, much to Governor Swann's relief. He would have hated his first son and heir to be fathered by someone other than himself - he was tender enough towards Belynda to know that he would not disown her son, even if it was not his child. But the shame of a son who would inherit all he owned and not even be of his blood - Governor Swann was very relieved to have two daughters instead. He began speaking to Belynda again, letting her name the eldest daughter, and suggesting a name for the younger. Belynda readily agreed, even if she did not love him, she loved silence even less.

Belynda began to smile again, but never at him, and the only happiness that entered her eyes came when she sat feeding her daughters. She had adamantly refused a wet nurse, saying she would never give her children to some other woman to care for. He pointed out that he would have rather not had his children fathered by some other man, but it seemed he had no choice in that. She stared at him gravely with her sad eyes and murmured that he had had no part in that, and if he would flog her as a woman guilty of infidelity, she'd appreciate it if he made it quick. He nearly did hit her then, for thinking that he'd ever strike her.

He had apologized and assured her that they would have many children of their own one day, and even so he would not put any of his children above her two daughters. She nodded submissively but did not seem overjoyed; she fulfilled her duties as her wife without a grimace, but not with a smile either. And it seemed that he was being punished for all his years as a womanizer, for never once did she get with child by him before she left. And she left, left him the two daughters that were not his had come into their tenth year within a minute of each other.

That was his luck with women, but it had not ended with Belynda leaving. He had notice, years before, the ring she wore on her necklace, the silver claddagh ring. He knew that whoever owned the other would be the father of her two daughters, and he masked his jealousy with difficulty - the damnable necklace never came off. He had had a claddagh ring of his own made but she hardly took any notice of that, and had walked away from him when he offered to make a newer pair, for them both, in gold.

Left with two daughters whom he had come to love, Governor Swann had run away once again, his empty house haunting him with memories of Belynda. She had never loved him, but he believed he had loved enough for the both of them, however he may have mistreated her, even towards the end when he forced her into that wig and the powder and had the painting made of her. He could not stand the thought of another man in the world who had known Belynda as he had, with her ravens' wing hair and honey skin.

He was left with two daughters, and he did not know which daughter hurt him more. Christina, the eldest, who was the spitting image of her mother. Or Elizabeth, the youngest, who look nothing like her mother and therefore must have looked like the only man Belynda had loved. Christina acted as he imagined Belynda would have acted, had she not been taken from her real love. Belynda Swann had had a temper, but it would have taken much to let it show. She kept a tight rein on her temper, seeming to settle more for somber and submissive than the hint of passion that had drawn Governor Swann as surely as her beauty had. The smallest things would set Christina off into a fury that was remnant of her mother, when Belynda was sorely poked and prodded into a rage.

Elizabeth was quite different, and Governor Swann was sure that Elizabeth, at least, did not act at all like the man who had fathered her. She was meek, seemingly, and lazy, if truth be told, and sneaky, though Governor Swann always overlooked that. Elizabeth was prim and proper, which made the Governor proud, but he'd be damned if Belynda had found characteristics like that admirable in a man; whereas Christina was fanciful, and took her mother's bed time stories too seriously. Both girls shared of love of anything having to do with pirates, however, and that disturbed him. But he found he could be around Elizabeth more without thinking about Belynda, and so he supposed that he had shown favoritism, which only strengthened Christina's ill-fated independence. If she had not been so foolhardy and stubborn - not helped by the fact that she felt she had to be as different from Elizabeth as possible, which the Governor thought was strange; if Christina wanted his praise, surely she would have acted more like her sister, since that was what he seemed to find praiseworthy - perhaps she would not have run away. And while Governor Swann was not one to hesitate in blaming young Turner - the lad would be a good man, if still a yuppie who couldn't seem to make up his mind - he knew that if he, the Governor, had shown less bias towards Elizabeth, perhaps Christina would not have run away, as much as she protested that it was in no way his fault, or anyone else's.

Belynda had not left a letter when she ran away. Instead, she left him to blame himself; he supposed he deserved that and a good deal more. However, it did not stop him from being glad that Christina was not entirely like her mother. It did not alleviate his feelings of guilt, either.

Governor Swann sighed again, coming to himself with a start. Elizabeth stood outside the door to his study with her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a look of sadness so remnant of Belynda's that Governor Swann found himself frowning at her. Elizabeth looked pained.

"Father, you can't still be angry at me! Everyone is angry with me, and I don't see why you shouldn't be, but please! Will shall never speak to me again - though I can't blame him, after what I d-did - and Christina will most likely strangle me when she gets back. The Commodore doesn't care, though I've given him little reason to - but you are my father!" She trembled as she finished and tried valiantly to keep tears from filling her eyes, but they did and she put her face in her hands, weeping again. It seemed she did that more often than not these days. Governor Swann eased himself from his chair and hurried over to her, wrapping her in a hug that father's have of making tears cry themselves out. He had not told her or her sister the truth about their mother, or their father, for that matter. For twenty years, he had kept it a secret. He wondered how angry Elizabeth would get when he told her. He wondered if Christina would ever come back to find out. Feeling abruptly even more ashamed of himself - had all the years Belynda had gone taught him nothing about women? - he stroked his youngest daughters hair comfortingly. His daughter, regardless of who had lain with Belynda first. He had raised Elizabeth, and Christina, and damn any other man who thought he, Governor Fredrick Wolfred Henry Swann the Third, was not their father.

Belynda should have stayed. If not for me than for her daughters. Nothing can excuse her for that, Governor Swann thought, only vaguely aware that he had surprised himself. Never before had he held Belynda accountable for anything, it had always been his fault. But, as Elizabeth's shoulders stopped shaking forlornly, he realized that whether or not he had been the best husband, he had been there for the daughters - cringing, he amended that he had been there for Elizabeth, mostly, as he was unsure if Christina had ever really needed him at all, though she was sure to protest - as best he could.

"I am not angry with you, sweeting, you are my daughter and I will always love you. But there is something I must tell you."

1

Will looked surprised, but I didn't give him long enough to ponder out what I had said or suggested before closing the gap between us and pressing my lips to his. Kissing Will was not quite like kissing anybody, and though my experiences with men were few and far between, I'm not so much of a ninny as to never have kissed a man before Will. The stable boys, the more daring of them, which in truth was only about one or two, had made for good practice, and so had Jeremy. Once.

But Will? As silly as it was, he was the man I had been practicing for. He kissed me back after a moment, and pulled me closer to him after another. One of his hands came up to cup the side of my face, and I felt his thumb stroke gently over my cheek. Our food and wine swayed forgotten on the table as the coherent part of my mind was cursing the armrests on the chairs.

This was not the first time I was in a position to kiss him, but the first I had actually acted on it. The crew would be so pleased - after all their schemes, one finally had managed to work. They had been plotting for days, I'm sure, and had started a few weeks ago with a snide remark here and a crude joke there, but their tricks becoming more and more frequent. On a particularly windless day, one crewmember with a scraggly gray beard and one eye - known affectionately as "Uno" - had shoved me right when I stood, mopping sweat from my brow after swabbing the deck for yet another day. Will, who had been assigned to the same task by an infuriatingly smug Jack Sparrow, had caught me as I fell face first into his chest. It took me a good few minutes to regain the ability of speech, another good few minutes to untangle myself from Will - I was as reluctant as he to let go, I'll grudgingly admit - and another few minutes to regain at least a scrap of dignity so I could demand who had pushed me and why.

All Uno had to say was that perhaps I needed a few more days to fully gain my sea-legs, and that wasn't the lurching of a ship as sea treacherous? I raised my chin and refrained from throwing something at the man - there was absolutely no wind that day! - and walked away. Lurching of the bloody sea my boot!

There had also been another incident that nearly resulted in my demise. I was climbing the rigging innocently one day to clean the crows' nest because it was ever so filthy, and not aware of who was behind me. Anamaria must have volunteered for the position that would have knocked my grip clean off the rigging, sending me sprawling a good thirty feet. Thankfully, Will was positioned right below me, and caught me before I was smashed on the deck, pinning me to the rigging and leaving me to stare up at him with no choice but to cling to his shoulders. Jack thanked Will for saving a crew from the nasty job that cleaning up would have been, had I made impact with the deck.

I would have accused Will of being involved, but he was white and very nearly shaking, and insisted on taking me below to make sure I wasn't injured. His exact words were to 'look me over', and unfortunately, that was exactly what he did. He also took time to prod my stomach, as if he were a doctor, and he actually proposed I rid myself of my shirt so he could check if my scar had opened.

"William Turner, if that is your pathetic excuse to try and bed me, you had better think again!" I snarled, shoving his hands off my hips and stalking away. I was beginning to regret the confined space on the Pearl more and more everyday.

The crew's tricks ranged from sending Will down into the cabins while I was changing - or, even worse, 'washing', which consisted of a small rag and a basin of stale water; extremely humiliating in both cases because I had my shirt unbuttoned and I had chased him out topside while brandishing a spoon; it was the nearest thing I could grab - to knocking me completely off the ship for Will to dive in and save me. And dive in he did. I had to spend a quarter of an hour screaming myself hoarse about how I bloody knew who to swim and would he please get his hands off me!

However both of those incidents were impossible to blame Will for. Before for the first, when he walked in on me changing, he had blushed so furiously that he couldn't meet my eyes for two days after that - mind you, that did not stop him from looking at me when he thought I was unaware. And as for when I 'nearly drowned', his words, not mine, he was as pale as for when I slipped - 'slipped!' - from the rigging. And Will is not a very good actor, or a very good liar, so I had to believe him. In both occasions, the fall and the 'drowning', I was not as scared at I might have been, or should have been, mostly because I was about to chase the crew around with my sword and throw them into a stew.

Jack mildly suggested that they don't threaten my life anymore with their charming practical jokes. I will throttle Jack Sparrow one day.

Now, however, I was quite intent on kissing the man I loved senseless - going quite senseless myself in the process. I don't know if the crew noticed the absence of my screaming at them from below, but if they did, they certainly did not need much to ponder out what had happened.

I don't know how long Will and I sat there kissing but I certainly hope it wasn't too long. I broke away rather abruptly, earning a puzzled glance from Will as I wrapped my hand around his wrist and practically flung his hand away from wherever it was wandering.

"Oh no," I choked out, standing up hastily and brushing past him. Or trying to. He grabbed my hand and wouldn't let me walk away, jerking me back to him so quickly that I almost fell into his lap. Lord knows where that would have led us, with him being so free with his hands - and me being so free with my lips - as of late.

"Will, let go of me…please let go!" I yelped, tugging helplessly and trying to free my hand. I may be able to beat him when we spar - grimly, I noted that I hadn't even been able to do much of that recently - but otherwise I am no stronger than any other woman, and Will Turner is a blacksmith. Hours upon hours of pounding away at white hot metal would have of course built some considerable muscle, but I doubt very much that I would have been able to get out of a grip on my arm set by my father. Bloody men.

He didn't let go; instead he stood up and walked toward me. Evidently if you give an inch, men will take the rest of the world from you, as Will proved by drawing me closer to him. He put his arms around my waist and I had no choice but to crane my neck to meet his eyes, his nose was brushing lightly against mine. I bit my lip and put my hands up to his chest to try to push away, but it was like trying to push away a wall of rock that had decided it wanted to hug you. Which of course did strange things to my innards and I let out a tiny whimper.

Part of me was extremely disgusted with myself. The rest was wishing for flowers to thread into my hair, wishing the butterflies in my stomach would be flying around Will and I instead, and rejoicing in the fact that he was holding me again.

Will, however, didn't seem to think that me writhing around in his arms was a sign of struggle. My head just barely brushed his lips, and yet he was placing kisses on whatever skin was available to him. And no, by that I do not mean the skin exposed by the low cut neckline of my dress. Even I have more self-control than to let this befuddling situation go that far.

At least, I hope I have enough self-control for that…

"Will, stop! Please! I was just fulfilling the bet -" He pressed his lips over mine and I mumbled against them for a moment, finally stopping and clamping my teeth shut, because every time I opened my mouth to say something, he took full advantage of it. Conniving little git.

When he finally paused, and I took a breath to attempt - vainly - to get my heart rate back to normal; somewhere along the line, my knees rebelled against me, so if he hadn't been holding me up, I'd have been sprawled out on the floor, and only the Virgin bloody Mary could have protected my honor then, I'm willing to wager. Stupid dress. I gently unwound his arms from my waist, moving slowly so perhaps he'd not realize that I was attempting escape. No such luck. After a moment he had me back in his arms, kissing me thoroughly again.

This time I hit him to try to get him off me, keeping my mouth shut determinedly. He said nothing, of course, only gathered both my hands in one of his and held them up against his heart. Completely powerless, I decided to wait until he realized that I wasn't kissing him back.

Of course, it took me a while to stop kissing him back. But I managed it, in the end. And it worked. It could have been helped along by the fact that both of us were running out of air, but I'm willing to overlook that tiny little insignificant fact.

"Are you quite done, William?" I asked, aiming for cold formality and achieving only breathlessness. His lips quirked in a smile and he looked happier than I'd seen him in days; I realized that I probably had very much the same look on my face and pressed a hand to my mouth as he took a step toward me.

"Christina, I -"

"Don't say anything, Will. Don't! It doesn't change anything. You still can't ask me to marry you - you promised you wouldn't. And you got your prize…granted, it was a great deal more than I expected to have to give, but you still got it. We're even, now," I said in a rush, my voice muffled from behind my hand. I felt the need to protect my lips, though I knew that if flailing my fists against him did not deter him, small chance that pressing a hand to my mouth would.

"I don't understand." The smile faded from his lips and he looked at me helplessly. I felt my heart breaking all over again, but this time it only solidified my reservation. "I know you don't. But you named your prize and it has been given to you, and I can't give you any more than that -"

"But -"

"I'm sorry, Will, I really am but I can't…" I trailed off, my eyes drifting around the room sadly; I stared at the ill-fated romantic dinner that the crew had provided, and refrained from crossing my arms awkwardly across my dress. I could feel Will's eyes on me, searching, confused, and I felt that maybe I shouldn't have given in to give him his prize. Hell, I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway. I don't know what I was expecting to happen, but not this; of course Will would think that I'd be willing to marry him again. Maybe I was. But I was afraid, too. Saying yes to Will would mean going back to Port Royal. Where my father was, probably worrying for me and feeling guilty. Where Elizabeth was, waiting for him. I couldn't go back there with Will, not yet. Maybe not ever. Because if I saw her again, and if he saw her again…what would I do if I saw them together again? What would I do even if in front of me they barely looked at each other - what would I do living with the memory of what they could be doing when I wasn't there.

"I can't be in love with you again, Will," I said softly. His eyes widened and I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth.

"What do you mean? Don't you -"

"I love you, and I always will. But I can't marry you, and I can't go back to Port Royal with you - do you know why I left?"

"Because I kissed Elizabeth," he said bluntly, his lips curling downwards as if mentioning it to me was like betraying me again. I shook my head. "You loved her for eight years, Will -"

"No! I didn't! I thought I did but I didn't, you have to believe me, Christina!"

I glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest without thinking. "Wont you let me speak, William? Or would you rather just stand there all day?" I snapped. He looked shocked for a moment, then smiled. "There's something I'd rather do that standing here all day…" he told me, stepping closer. I brushed his hands away impatiently.

"No, Will! Listen to me! If I married you - if I did, and we went back to Port Royal, where you'll have to go eventually, now that Mr. Brown is gone -"

"Damn ruddy Brown! I don't give a flaming -" I scowled at him and he closed his mouth, glaring right back at me.

"I'd be married to you and constantly wondering if you still loved Elizabeth, Will. I'd be wondering if you and my sister were having cozy walks in the garden whenever I'd be tending to the children or what have you! Do you want that for me?" I demanded, feeling my face head when his eyes widened even further at the sound of 'children'.

"Christina, you have to know that I love you. I made a mistake - one mistake - but that doesn't change the fact. And I would never do anything like that, I'd never to anything to hurt you -"

"You already did, Will. And eight years is a long time to be loving someone, you can't just stop…"

Will seemed to be getting as frustrated as me, on one of my bad days. "Which is why I said I never loved Elizabeth! I love you - we'll never return to Port Royal, Christina, if that's what it takes to have you as my wife! We'll stay with Jack, or we'll move to a new town or something, anything! Please -"

"You promised not to ask," I cut him off, smiling gently. "And we couldn't stay with Jack, a pirates life is no life to raise a family in. And we have no money, Will - as sweet as your ideas of sweeping me off my feet to a new town and a new life are, they wouldn't work. And then there's Mary, she'll be going back to Port Royal eventually, I mean to see her back there. And my father, I can't leave him the way my mother did, it might well kill him. I can't marry you, because one day I will return to Port Royal." It was hard, towards the end of my little speech, and I was surprised at what I had said - logic had never been one of my strong points, but cool logic is what came into play here.

Will closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he opened them, his gaze was hard resignation. I nearly breathed a sigh of relief, even as I felt like weeping. "When I left your father's mansion to come looking for you, I told him, and Elizabeth, that I would marry no one if you would not have me." His face did not change, but I could swear a satisfied smile was tugging at his lips as I felt my eyes widen.

"Will, don't be stupid -"

He pulled something out of his pocket and walked toward me so quickly that I flinched. "Perhaps you should remember your words," he said softly, pressing a thin slip of parchment into my hand; he turned without another word and walked away. I heard him bang hard on the door leading out of the cabins, but I didn't hear them open it. He didn't come back to me, though.

I opened my hand and unfolded the rough parchment. Always, it read.

1

[[A/N: Cheesy, I know. But I'm brain-dead…I can't believe I added another cliché parental plot. ::scowls:: Damn writer's block.]]