-1"Something," Jack said, twisting the ends of his beard. "Something, is not quite right here." He surveyed the crew standing in front of him, water still dripping from his coat. The Pearl was out of the bay and into open waters. He'd called the crew together to decide what they should do next, and - and what? He didn't know. It just felt wrong, like something was missing. "I reckon you scurvy lot know what it is better than old Jack does, so spit it out."

Anamaria shrugged. "Everything's in working order, Cap'n. Everyone's here."

Jack twirled around on the spot and steepled his hands. "That's it! They ain't, my dear, not everyone. Jakey, we'll go and pick 'im up from Tortuga. Always room on the Pearl for Jakey," he finished, grinning and clapping his hands together. He was already anticipating a game of cards with the best sharp in the Caribbean, and a nice drop of rum. Gibbs coughed, and the others looked sheepish.

"Er, that might be a little difficult, Cap'n," Gibbs ventured, scratching the back of his neck.

"Why, has he moved on? We've got a ship, Gibbs, we can find him," Jack reassured him absent-mindedly, trying to scratch a particularly horrible itch beneath his dreadlocks.

"Well, he has moved on, in a manner of speaking," Gibbs concurred, pulling his cap off his head. The other members of the crew did the same. "To Davy's locker."

"What?" Jack spat, his face falling. "Dead?"

"You sent him there!" Ana shouted. "Captain," she added, sulkily.

"Hang about a bit, I don't see how I had much to do with that," responded Jack, angry. "He was ill, I know he was, but I sent him off the ship to rest, told him to lay off the tobacco and look after his…his girl." He could remember now, it was all coming back. At the time it had seemed to him that the best place for them was onshore - had he really been so, so, so negligent? Was that the word? Or was it negligee? Nah, that was posh lady's underwear, and lord knows he'd seen enough of those in his lifetime - the owner usually screaming at the time and attempting to kill him with an antique candlestick, but still -

"Cap'n?"

"What? Oh, sorry, I er - reminiscing. About negligees."

"Jake wore negligees?" muttered Gibbs, and Anamaria elbowed him in the ribs.

"Negligees aside," Jack said loudly, shooting them a look. "I can't bring him back from the dead, but I can give his girl some help. Give her some, some jewels and things. So she can have a nice life," he trailed off. "That's all I ever wanted to do. Let her have a nice life."

"What did happen to little Snaps?" Jenks spoke up from the back, in dirty galley clothes, raising his ladle in the air to get Jack's attention. "Haven't seen her round Tortuga way."

"She's not working in Tortuga," Anamaria said disapprovingly. "Not any more, at least," she added, giving Jack what he thought was an unduly nasty look. "And not so little now, she'd be about -"

"Twenty six," Jack cut in, turning away and striding to the wheel of the Pearl. "We start in Tortuga," he said grandly. "Get her sorted out, then we can get on with, er, piratey things. Like stealing, and treasure hunting, and -"

"Filling out the ship tax forms," suggested Donnely. To a man, the crew turned and stared at him. He gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, I was an accountant for a while. In the absence of our cap'n, o' course." He scrunched up his face and leered at Jack. "Ar?" he tried.

"Ar!" The crew roared approvingly. Captain Jack Sparrow smiled, and set a course for Tortuga. He'd find the girl, and then maybe he'd lose this nagging pain in his gut that he'd had for so long and couldn't put a name to. He could put a face to it, though. Dirty little urchin with rough hands, matted red curls and huge eyes in a skinny face. He'd show them. He'd buy her a doll. He'd always seen her playing with the wooden pegs lying around where they stowed the spare sails, drawing faces on them with charcoal, then making them walk the plank. She kept one with her all the time, the pirate captain. Called it Jack. Yes, he'd buy her a real dolly, and then maybe the damn pain would stop and he could fill out his tax form - wait, burn his tax form. Yes. More like it. Pleased with the plan, Jack sauntered over to the hatch and yelled down to Jenks.

"Jenksie, my darlin', we're starving up here. Cook me up something that doesn't resemble Commodore Norrington's lily liver and you! Get this ship turned round. We're going to Tortuga. There's a doll I need to buy."

It was a day like any other. Elizabeth smiled as Will put his arms around her waist. Maybe not quite like any other. In fact, she mused, as Mr Turner kissed her neck, it was possibly one of the best days she'd ever had. Knowing that they were to be together forever - and that Will loved her. She'd always dreamed of it, although the dreams hadn't included help from the unlikely source of a rogue with a good heart - who had also made his escape. She and Will watched as the Pearl pulled away, now with its rightful Captain at the wheel, then looked at each other.

"What now?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips. "A little swordplay? Some light slaying of undead pirates perhaps?"

"Actually," she replied, leaning in for another kiss. "I wouldn't mind a little swordplay. It could come in very useful if that sort of thing happens to us again."

"I rather hope that it doesn't," Will said, grinning. "But I don't mind teaching you. We could go back to the Governor's and start - only if you're serious though.

"Deadly serious. I do hope Jack's alright," she added turning to look out to sea once more.

"Jack Sparrow has more lives than a cat," Will observed.

"You'll miss him," she said lightly, starting the walk home. "Don't deny it."

"I wasn't about to."

When they reached the house, Elizabeth decided to change. Trousers were inappropriate for a lady of the house, but she knew one of the maids kept some to wear when she was doing particularly dirty cleaning jobs. "Wait for me, I need to get changed. I can't learn to fence in a dress."

Taking the stairs two at a time, she cast about for the maid.

"Suzanna! Suzanna! Suzy!"

"Yes miss?" asked Suzanna, bobbing in a curtsey. She had been dusting the picture frames in the corridor, the usual vacant look in her eyes. Elizabeth thought she must spend half the day dreaming and all the night too. Although sometimes she noticed a certain resentment in those same green eyes, the face losing its docility and getting sharper. She wasn't altogether convinced that Suzanna was as dumb as she seemed to be, but if she wasn't then she was an excellent actress.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some trousers? I'm going to attempt some fencing -"

There. Just then, she'd seen a flicker of something in her maid's pale face.

"Yes, miss," Suzanna responded flatly, and turned to go. "They're stowed in servants quarters, miss, so I can bring 'em out to you and put them on your bed, if you like."

"It's quite alright, I'll come with you," Elizabeth said brightly, her interest sparked. She noticed Suzanna's dress with long sleeves, and frowned. "Aren't you warm in that?" she asked, following the other girl down to servants' quarters. "The other maids have shorter sleeves for summer, don't they? Although it always seems to be summer here," she smiled, looking out of a window. It was really beautiful, living here.

"I'm just fine, miss," Suzanna said in her usual monotone, and Elizabeth noticed her scratch at her left wrist. "Don't feel the heat."

"Oh. Well, lucky you then. Are we here?"

"This is my room. You can come in, miss," the girl added, and Elizabeth warmed to her slightly. The room was small and cramped, as one would expect for a maid, and cluttered with personal items. There was a pile of letters tied together, an old piece of rope, a box full of shells and even a heavy looking silver locket. The silver was tarnished, but the locket was open and propped up. It had a picture of an older man in it and a very pretty woman. They were both smiling, and the man's bright red hair matched Suzanna's. They were maybe her parents? As Suzanna bent down to look through her clothes chest, Elizabeth found herself drawn to an object on the dresser. It was an old wooden peg, and someone had crudely coloured it with red paint. A face had been drawn with charcoal, and wool glued on as hair. For some reason it looked very familiar, and very well loved. She supposed it had been Suzanna's toy. It was a strange thing for a little girl to play with. Elizabeth thought it was the ugliest doll she'd ever seen, but it was at the same time better than all the pretty ones she'd had as a child. This doll looked like it meant business.

"Here, miss," Suzanna piped up, suddenly at her shoulder.

Elizabeth turned round, embarrassed at being caught snooping. "Thanks so much," she said, taking the proffered trousers. "I'll have them cleaned and returned to you."

"No trouble miss," the maid replied, bobbing another curtsey. "And good luck with your sword fighting!"

Elizabeth stopped in the door, surprised, and the two shared a smile. "Thank you."

"Tortuga ahoy!" yelled the boy from the crow's nest. This cabin boy was new and very tricksy, Jack surmised. He was known for his pick pocketing skills and hadn't begged to be let aboard, a quality Jack liked. Name of Daryl or something similar, he was a thin wiry scrap with mad black hair and hungry eyes. Perfect for the nest.

Used to be her job, didn't it? Jack recalled hearing the same words, Tortuga ahoy, shouted loud as she could. Little Snapdragon, ship's pet. When old Marvin had tried to drag her down she'd bitten him hard on the hand, then swung down to deck and run for her life. There were lots of places to hide on a ship, which was what she had to do.

Marvin, cursing the little red haired brat, had come lumbering after her, and never guessed where she went. Where she always went when she was in trouble. Jack heard the door to his room squeak open, and the defiant bottom lip stuck right out. He'd sighed, jerked his head to say she should come in, and she'd shut the door behind her.

"What's up, peach?" he'd asked, patting his knee. The girl raised an eyebrow.

"I'm too big to sit with you, Cap'n, I'm a whole nine years and I'm crew now!"

"Ah, so you are. Said when you were nine you'd be crew. So what've you done now you swashbuckling rascal?"

She'd told him, and he'd laughed. Ruffled her hair and then given her some hardtack to chew on. Putting his boots back on the desk, Jack resumed staring at his maps. Snaps had sat down on the floor, and resumed staring at him, ever thoughtful. They'd passed a lot of long hours like this, both in comfortable silence. When did that small comfort disappear? That he couldn't remember. Probably when it all began to disappear, right down to the bottom of the bottle. The rum and the damned compass.

"Ri-ight then, children, let's get her anchored! Let's get out there and be quick with it, don't want the Commodore on our backs pulling at our hair if we can possibly help it."

"What're we looking for?" one of the men asked, bemused.

"Suzanna Watley," Jack muttered. "Find her. Then find me a sandwich. One that isn't burnt," he added, glaring at Jenks.

"How do you burn a sandwich?" Gibbs asked, amazed.

"With great difficulty and years of practice," Jack said over his shoulder as he jumped ashore.

Elizabeth wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as she folded up the trousers. It had been a productive day, and she wanted to return the clothes to her maid before dinner was served. Will was a good teacher and she felt she'd picked up the basics quickly. It would be something to show Jack if he ever came to call. She smiled at that thought, imagining the bawdy Captain Sparrow twitching away at the dinner table with her father watching, not sure what to say.

She thought she'd seen Suzanna outside earlier, and she found her leaning against the wall of the house, round by the kitchens, smoking a small pipe. When the maid saw her, she went to put it out, but Elizabeth raised her hand.

"Please don't on my account. It's quite alright."

Suzanna dipped her head and continued to smoke, eyes fixed on Elizabeth's own. "Sorry, miss, I picked up the 'abit in Tor - in the town, miss," she corrected herself. But Elizabeth had noticed the slip, and filed it away in her head. So the maid had been one of Tortuga's self-styled ladies? She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of having to work in somewhere like The Broken Barrel, and handed over the trousers.

"Here you are. Thankyou very much, Suzanna, they came in very useful."

She turned to go, then stopped at Suzanna's voice.

"How did you find the blade, miss?"

Elizabeth turned back, surprised, and smiled at the maid. "I found it quite well. The footwork seems to be escaping me at the moment, but I'm sure if I keep working at it, it will come."

Suzanna nodded, thoughtfully. "If you don't mind me bein' so bold, miss, it don't seem like something you ladies usually learn."

"Well," Elizabeth replied brightly. "I thought it may come in handy. With the Black Pearl back on the high seas, we're sure to see more pirates in Port Royal."

"The Black Pearl?" asked her maid, taking another toke from her pipe. "Ain't that the one ransacked us last time? Thought the commodore killed their captain, miss?"

"No, no. He - he escaped." In a manner of speaking, she supposed. It had been strange that the commodore had let Jack go. She hadn't been quite sure how she felt about his actions. Sometimes, Elizabeth reflected, men were a puzzle to her. A good man, and not a pirate, perhaps. Suzanna shrugged, and curtsied again.

"That's a real shame, miss. I hope they catch him soon."

"Yes. Well, I should go back inside. Thankyou again."

As Elizabeth walked away, Suzanna watched her go. The lady of the house was more than just a lady, so it seemed. Sword-fighting? She put away her smoking things and went back through to the kitchen. It was a busy day, and she had laundry to do. Stowing the trousers in one of the cupboards, she grabbed a basket and went over to one of the sinks.

So he wasn't dead.

Rolling up her sleeves, Suzanna quickly checked to make sure no-one was watching, and undid the heavy bracelet she wore round one wrist. It was made of silver, and simply wrought. Had been her mother's, once. Now it covered her past well, and she ran a bitten nail over the scar, recalling the day she'd been branded.