Chapter 7
"High Tide Hits"

"No! Will!"

With a shriek, a violent jerk, a squeal of surprise and a heavy thud, Elizabeth's shoulder connected with the ground, as her hips and legs hugged tightly by the twisted clutches of her bed sheets refusing to completely release her. The burst of a delighted cackle of amusement followed and with a toss of her honey-blond head and a blow at the wisp of hair snagging her face, she attempted to take a glance at her laugher.

She scowled through the dark of her cabin, attempting to pierce the shadow that was her cabin mate with her glare as she began her attempt to wriggle out of the stubborn blankets. And although she wouldn't admit it– not to her cabin mate, leastways– Elizabeth's cheeks burnt bright with the frustrating sensation of embarrassment. In all respects, she felt she must've been quite the show. What, with an outburst like that, she could already hear the merciless chides she was sure could come very, very soon.

Anamaria continued to snigger to herself as she lighted the only lamp in the cabin and held it out for Elizabeth to better perceive her snare. It was clear she was trying her best to cease her giggles of entertainment, but in this case her best was not enough and it wasn't helping Elizabeth. The rich, proper, attractive and no less intelligent young woman was having much difficulty untangling herself from her trammel, cursing silently to herself with violent but futile yanks at the bed sheets and frustration written clearly on her face.

Anamaria forced herself to diminish her laughter in volume. But a single titter would escape her hard-pressed lips every so often as she knelt beside Elizabeth and began assisting her with her escape.

They toyed with the sheets in silence for a long while, fumbling with the folds without a word or a glance at each other, Elizabeth's cheek still aflame with color. Then a snort of laughter broke through Anamaria's barricade of seriousness and, with a futile apology, she began to laugh again. Elizabeth rolled her eyes with frustration as the pirate lass' laugh picked up in heartiness and she began to rock back and forth, gripping the girl's shoulder as if in an attempt to stop herself from the action. But her cackle continued.

"I-I'm sorry!" She croaked as Elizabeth sat back in bed with an indignant tuh. In fact, the 'croak' barely managed to be a 'croak,' as Anamaria's laughter had grown to become so hefty that she found it difficult to breathe.

"It was just that –" she broke off with another wave of laughter, now gripping her sides and falling to the floor. Elizabeth was beginning to wonder whether or not Ana was in pain, as the young black woman's face was beginning to redden, her gasps of air more definite and large and tears were beginning to prick at the tips of her pretty eyes. But the laughter was so genuine and the amusement so thick and tangible that Elizabeth couldn't help but have a giggle come to her lips as well, conquering her humiliation. Ana's tee hee's were, evidently, contagious.

"You-you were mumbling in your sleep," Ana gasped between busting guffaws. "And I was watching to-to see what you would do."

Elizabeth felt a grin widen and her tiny giggles to begin to pick up into snickers of amusement.

"And you were rollin' and-and mumblin' and then you just suddenly screamed and at first it was kinda frightenin' but then you just- you just threw yourself off of the berth! And now I can't stop laughing!"

By now Elizabeth, too, was tittering at the same magnitude of Ana, who had tears sparkling in her eyes and was clutching her sides, which– along with a hoarse throat– was aching from the work that the cackles were giving them. The sight alone was enough to get Elizabeth to roar in a most unladylike manner– the sight that Ana was presenting simply unbefitting to who Elizabeth thought she was. Such a fierce and normally feral (concerning Jack and enemy pirates) girl who was characterized more clearly in Elizabeth's memory with scowls and glares, to have her face split wide with such mirth and recreation was funny, if not strange.

"I-I guess it is p-pretty funny!"

And so they laughed, and for a long duration of time, too. But laughter is like a squall in the sea. It picks up intensity until it's blowing all other things of importance out of the path of one's psyche; tearing sadness and worries temporarily away from the mind's harbor and winding the lungs in a ticklish manner. Then, alas, eventually that storm must lose its power and strength. And as it dies as gradually as the earth curves, the ships called Distress, Despondency and Dread, must come and take their places in the harbor– sometimes bumping Hope, Happiness or Love from the dock.

Elizabeth's giggles faded along with her smile, as she wrapped herself in her blankets once again as a little child would on a winter's eve or during summer's thunder storm.

Anamaria let her grin disperse as well.

"What's wrong?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot high with surprise as she glanced quickly at Ana, fussily rearranging her sheets as she did so. "It's… it's nothing."

She pressed a smile upon her face. A smile she had used many times before. It was the smile she used to lie to people about herself– a smile used when she put others before herself or found herself hearkening and yet sacrificing the yearnings of her heart. She had used it before on the Commodore. Telling him that she would gladly marry him, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their engagement. She had told him that it didn't matter if he refused to save Will Turner from death, that she would marry him, happily all the same. And in some respects it was a true thought and in others it was a lie.

Elizabeth Swann had never imagined that she would marry any man other than James Norrington. It wasn't really a bad thing– she didn't mind much. He was, in honest to goodness truth, a very fine man. Her father had been excited about such an engagement ever since the second his daughter had made her debut, and no other option had ever crossed her mind as neither probable nor possible. In her mind she knew that she would, under any and all circumstances, become the wife to James Norrington or no man at all.

But at night, after her maid tucked her into bed, it was not the popular military figure's face that swam about her thoughts. When bored over lessons of proper etiquette and fashion it was not the popular military figure's name that she secretly thought of. The popular military figure's smile did not make her face hot. His eyes did not make her knees weak. His voice did not take her breath away. And his words did not make her heart decidedly pound, flutter, jump to her throat or drop to her toes. The popular military man could affect many women in this manner, young and old alike…but not Elizabeth. For her, there was someone else. Someone who all of society still thought a boy. A poor, inexperienced, dirty, orphaned boy. He wasn't worth the time of a girl like her…to everyone else.

But Elizabeth Swann did not see what the world of her time saw in people. One man could have mountains of gold; acres of green land; hundreds of pearl, marble and diamond mansions; dozens of the world's finest thoroughbred horses; endless yards of silks and satins; spices; rubies; emeralds; exotic foods; he could have the world to offer. Then on the other had, another man could only have a scant shillings per week to the mountains of gold, he could have a muddy corner in a filthy city's alley to the mansion, he could have shredded rags and bloodied shoeless feet, he could have nothing; and Elizabeth could pronounce the two men 'equal' or the poorer man the better. To Elizabeth, it was not the clothes on the man that determined who he was. It was not the quality of his property or how much he had, if he had any at all. It was the man himself. If the whole world were taken in the palm of one person's hand and the equalized, so that every man had a perfectly equal share in absolutely everything as his neighbor, then what kind of man would he be? For that was who Elizabeth could see.

She didn't care that often there were smudges of dirt on his face. She didn't care that his hair was often tussled or obviously hastily done. She did not care that his clothes were old, worn, crude and inexpensive. She did not care that he was a person of lower breeding, that he was an orphan, that his hands were rough from daily labor and his skin tanned from heat and sunlight, that he hardly made in a year a percentage of what her father made in a month. She didn't care. Those things didn't matter, because she saw past that.

Will Turner was just as much a person as the King of England was. He laughed and smiled, he winced and groaned. He saw, he smelt, he heard, he tasted, he felt.… She knew that and was unashamed of her love. But it was a love that was difficult. 'Vulgar,' others called it, that a girl of such high class should even glance at such a dirty street rat. But she did. And she fell in love. To the point that she would give herself to the man she was sure she was destined to marry to save his life, when once she was something more than hesitant.

'It was not a condition, it was a request,' she had said. 'You're answer would not change mine…." And then she had smiled. That one smile meant for nothing but a guise. The same smile she had used now.

But, what Elizabeth had unfortunately overlooked, was that Anamaria knew better than that. She, as you probably can recall, had to live with Jack Sparrow every single day of her life for the past year at least and he was a much more crafty and careful liar than Elizabeth could even begin to be. That smile did not fool her.

She looked at Elizabeth with one very analytical regard before crossing over the room with two long strides and seating herself beside the girl on her bed. "Don' give me that piece o' flotsam an' jetsam. I know there's something wrong jus' by lookin' atchya."

Elizabeth tried her very best not to look surprised, raising a coy eyebrow instead. But it wasn't good enough.

Anamaria shook her head with a subtle roll of her dark eyes. "You know, if you plan on tryin' to fool somebody who's had to deal with Jack Sparrow for the last fourteen months of her life, then you're goin' to have to come up with somethin' a lot more convincin' than that.… Now what's wrong? What was it you dreamed?"

The young woman scowled back at Ana and held her gaze for only a moment before letting her eyes drop to the blanket, the bright pink shade in her cheeks returning to burn luminously once again. She frowned inwardly at herself at her childish behavior. Anamaria was only trying to offer kindness, why did she have to be so stubborn? She bit her lip.

'It really is unnecessary.' She decided it was time to suck up her pride.

"Well, to be honest…I don't really know what I dreamed."

The black woman gave her a skeptical look, clearly thinking there was some flaw to that. "What?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth repeated and she gave a sigh before blushing and rolling her eyes habitually. "It was a peculiar sort of dream. Everything happened and changed so fast and capriciously that I can't quite remember exactly what it was that I dreamed. Just random flashes of images before my eyes, really."

"Well, that doesn't explain that stray outburst over your young gentleman." Anamaria gave her a scolding look, frowning a bit detachedly as she crossed slender arms across her chest. She sighed, shaking her head before letting a subtle, suppressed smirk creep into her countenance. "Of course, with a lad like that, I suppose such a reaction is reasonable."

Elizabeth snorted before taking off into a whispery giggle, taking Anamaria by surprise with her lack of decorum. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ana shrugged as she leaned herself against the bulkhead, beginning to relax a bit with Elizabeth's change of mood. "Jus' that he's a good lad. I wouldn't ever have to worry 'bout him, if I was you. That boy can take care of himself well enough for one thing– has got a lot of bite in 'im, that one– and for another thing… he loves ya. A lot. Enough that, like I said, I wouldn't ever have to worry 'bout him, if I was you. 'Cause I'd know he'd be thinkin' of me always.… Now, I don't know 'bout you, lass, but if I was you, I'd also say he's a keeper. S'a rare thing to find a boy like that one. I can tell you that."

Elizabeth's blush deepened, but her face softened considerably from its stiff appearance. She opened her mouth to speak as her delicate eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. "W– … well, there are plenty of gentlemen that I can think of that–"

"Uh-uh." Ana shook her head with a frown. "Don't even go there, lass. I'd guess a good pair or two of those men only give you that impression because they're good at hidin' what they really are like from the rest of the world. But let's not go there. The point is that your lad is a genuine diamond amongst the dross, an' you shouldn' take that for granted."

Elizabeth was silent. Suddenly she appeared thoughtful, as if considering the words that Anamaria had placed before her with careful and slow precision before she looked back at Ana with a subtle smile gracing her pretty lips. "You're right," she said simply. "He's lot less worse than Jack, anyway."

Anamaria grinned widely. "You have no idea."

Elizabeth giggled. And they probably would have continued to talk (as women tend to let their mouths run away more often they choose to believe), had it not been for the commotion just outside their cabin door.

Ba-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum.

"Get outta my way, Cotton!"

"Awk! Walk the plank!"

"Ow! Move yer elbow!"

"Shaddup!"

There was sudden babel of stampeding men's feet and clamourous voices as they seemed bustle up above decks, where something obviously was amiss. The girls were silent as what sounded like a brief, childish scuffle took place at the stairwell before the last few scuffling men finally cleared out and made it on their way to their destination. The two young woman, eyebrows cocked and lips pressed into thin lines as if to suppress girly giggles, glanced at each other before simultaneously and without words agreed to go and check it out for themselves, jumping out of bed and for the door.

Elizabeth was surprised to find a weighty breeze catch hold of large tendrils of her hair, toying with it as if there were little invisible fairies in the air, repeatedly picking up and dropping her honey curls in the weather's prance. As Anamaria stepped out from the doorway, a similar surprise, though not quite as bold, took hold of her as she caught sight of the sea about the Pearl. Things had certainly changed and very, very quickly.

The air had become preeminently heavy, speaking clearly of what lied ahead. The sea had transformed from a crystalline blue to saucy grey, with the waves no longer desiring to be smooth and amiable but choppy and snappish.

The crew had come above and stood, all staring aft off the ship's rail and waiting for Jack's command to be given. The ship itself was beginning to rise and fall a bit more dramatically with swelling of the waves– how Elizabeth hadn't noticed it before was beyond her. The girls quickly and silently wound round about from their position and made their way to the poop deck, Elizabeth taking a sharp gasp as she reached the top of the stairs. As she had expected it to be, Jack was there with his ever-prominent presence . Compass in one hand and a ready spyglass in the other, Jack was ready to pounce into any action necessary for the pending event. But that was not what surprised Elizabeth. It was the event itself.

She knew a storm was coming. It was evident the moment she stepped on deck. But what had so successfully taken her breath away was the sight that lie before her. Not far behind the Black Pearl, so close that it had Elizabeth gobsmacked, really. And she had experienced many a storm during her dwelling in Port Royal. But it wasn't the storm itself that surprised her as much as its magnitude.

The clouds were so dark that they struck a deep dread in heart. Appearing like a devil's work, being a literal charcoal black and approaching the ship like a torrential darkly cloaked phantom with a knife of the whitest of lightning jumping out as a severe contrast to it's obscurity. Around the edges of the storm's front, Elizabeth could see the evidence of rain, the storm looking as if the clouds were slowly falling apart at the edges, and a horrendously thick curtain of falling water lie in wait underneath the low legion. The delayed roar of thunder reached her ears and the wind picked up, causing her hair and the ropes of the rigging to whip about, the ship itself to shudder. Still an ample distance away, the storm reeked of strength and power, the Pearl and her crew members beginning to feel it in their bones. Elizabeth turned and she cast her eyes on Jack and Gibbs, who had joined the captain at his ship's stern, hoping that this was something she was just ignorant about and that the storm really wasn't as awful as it appeared to be.

Passing his spyglass on to Gibbs and taking a good look at his compass, Jack grinned widely, gold, silver, and excited anticipation shining forth from the depth of his broad smile. "There she is, Gibbs. Ain' she a monster?"

"Aye," Gibbs replied, peering through the glass with a slight smirk on his weathered face. "That's a titan, if I ever did see one." He collapsed the spyglass and handed it back to Jack, taking a quick glance over his shoulder before whispering to Jack, smile no longer in sight, "I told you them lasses are bad luck, Jack."

Jack smirked as he shut his compass with a snap. He turned pierced Gibbs with an odd look in his eye. "Bad luck? Ha!" he barked with a seeming defiant tone as he marched straight for the helm. He took a firm grip on it and gave a wiggle of the fingers as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cocking his head to an angle as he studied the ship's rigging with a squint to his dark eyes. Then he grinned. And suddenly Elizabeth felt startled and nervous as she caught a glimpse of the look that gleamed in Jack's dark, kohl-rimmed eyes. It was a look that was more than courageous, more than wild– it was positively mad(…er than usual).

Now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Jack. He was just being himself and if you talked to any of members of the crew they'd probably tell you exactly that. But, if you know her story well enough, you will know that Elizabeth had never been at sea with Jack Sparrow before. She didn't realize that he changed when a time like that came. Jack lived for his ship and the sea– putting the Pearl up to an adventurous challenge, even when the sea turned murderous. It was exciting. Thrilling. Magnificent. And whenever a storm rolled around and other men were ducking for cover, Jack would be at his ship's helm, waltzing on cloud nine.

"I'll show you 'bad luck' Joshamee! All hands on deck, you barbaric cads!" his familiar call rang out, springing his men (and woman) into a sudden action that distinctly reminded Elizabeth of a beehive. In fact, his barks were so sharp and swift and his orders so quickly followed that Elizabeth, despite her hefty knowledge and savvy about seafaring and the workings of pirate ships, lost herself in the whirlwind of words and the tidal wave of action. By the time she had been able to get a hold of the words comin' out of Jack's mouth, it was the last command: to bring the ship about. "We're goin' in!"

Her heart jumped into her throat and she quickly looked back at the goliath tempest that sought after the Black Pearl like a wild cat of the jungle stalking a rodent. The thought seemed mad. But if the crew was at all surprised or opposed the captain's decision at all, it was not evident in the faces, speech or actions of anyone … except Mr. Gibbs, who had no hesitation in stating his opinion on the matter.

"What, are you daft, Cap'n?!" he bellowed, his usually tan face fallen white with shock. "The wind will tear the sails off the masts before we even reach the 'er! That storm ain't natural! Wha's in yer 'ead, Cap'n?!"

Jack merely spun around with a jingle of beads and coins and hair, one hand clasped firmly on the helm, the othergoing to fumble about his waist before dangling his compassloosely at chest height and a genial grin spread wide as he rocked lightly back and forth, as if off-balance: "Thar she blows," he slurred with a rough feigned dialect and he pointed one lone finger towards the heart of the storm.

"An' what be that, Cap'n? We can' see nothin' in that storm." Gibbs demanded a bit hotly, crossing his stocky arms over his chest.

"I can."

"How?"

Jack gave his compass a slight jerk to give Gibbs its attention before turning back to the wheel. "Keep yer eyes open, Gibbs- the Abyss is as dark as the Pearl and we're gonna need as many as we can to spot 'er."

The conversation actually continued, Gibbs batting excuses and Jack finded ways around all of them. But none of it reached Elizabeth's ears- for itwas then thatshe suddenly understood the meaning of their turning around and her heart began to beat miles a minute with excitements of many different kinds.

'Will…'

Will was slightly confused, to say the least, and even a little nauseous. He thought he had closed his eyes a few seconds ago only to open them and find that he had closed them several hours ago and slept through the night and most of the next day. The shining moonbeams leaking through the closed hatch near his hammock were now gone, substituted with the familiar silvery beams of the sun just before it disappears entirely behind the horizon. He let a low smile creep into his countenance. Never sure why, but no matter how many times such a forgotten sleep would take him, Will always found it just as amusing as the first time. It was like blinking lethargically, with time speeding by at a phenomenal rate while his lids cloaked his curious pupils.

A bell tolled from on deck. The shuffling and creaking of many feet was heard. Voices calling to and fro every so often. The roar of a ship cutting through the vast see before it, and Will suddenly seem to notice the sudden violent lurch of the ship under the strain of the wind. Yes, another day had definitely arrived, and Will remembered, with a discomforting stir of his belly, that he was hungry. He had not eaten in several hours. His grin faded as he swung his legs over the edge of the hammock, bringing himself to a sitting position.

He had not forgotten his situation, but he had forgotten the frustration that had come with it. He was stuck and could do nothing of it. Stuck in a crack that he most indefinitely did not desire to be in. And somewhere, something inside of him could not be caught in a crack. He had to escape.

His stomach rumbled impatiently now.

He rolled his eyes with a bit of annoyance. Why did his belly have to be so… so loud? Well, there was no use fighting, Will decided– might as well silence it in the usual manner. He swung off of his hammock and stretched his arms out… only to be violently tossed aside by a mammoth and completely unforeseen pitch of the ship.

Stopping his fall by catching a hammock with a frantic grasp, he managed not to bump his head as he was brought to his knees, however he did manage to get a minuscule but nasty whiplash instead. Rubbing the back of his neck he cursed silently and scowled at the deck above as if accusing the people atop it for his surprise attack…which he was.

The shipped heaved itself in the other direction, leaving Will to find himself gripping the hammock as well as he could so as not to slide and collide with the opposite bulkhead before the ship re-leveled off. And, eventually, she did, to the young blacksmith's relief, but his anger didn't fade away quite so quickly. What the devil was going on up there?!

Determined to find out and eager to actually feel the breeze on his cheeks, as the dim stuffiness of the dank barracks was beginning to get to him, Will stood and, gripping onto a plank of wood that made up the bulkhead, he began to walk towards the hatch. But this was only to result in being catapulted towards his destination by a sudden wild jump of the ship.

This time he did bang his head, cuffing it quite harshly with the edge of the steep staircase. And it did not help his already warm temper.

'Can I not simply stand without receiving a bruise?! By the time I get off this wretched batch of kindling I'm going to be beaten to a pulp.…' He closed his eyes, taking a good grip of the stair rail beforehand, and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as a teapot releasing built up steam.

'It's okay,' he told himself, soothingly as he reopened his eyes. 'You just need to relax. You've been strung tighter than a fiddler's string, Will. You just need to think: what would Jack do…mate?'

The thought wasn't that hard to answer. In fact, he smirked to himself as he thought about it. Jack would waltz above decks, his usual land swagger transformed into sturdy, graceful sea legs as he made his bold way across the deck to confront the captain with some strange plan having already been conjured in mind. Then he'd take them for a dance of words.…

He could almost entirely visualize and hear him right at that moment, waltzing up to him and plopping down heavily beside Will, with a sigh. 'Well, whelp,' he'd say, 'Who's gonna tell you otherwise if you give it a shot?' Will could easily see a cocky grin with hints of gold and a twinkle in his merry eye– a silent picture of laughter.

'You know very well that is impossible,' Will found himself shooting back, surprisingly unaffected by his Imaginary Jack's optimism.

'Improbable, Will,' the not-present Jack Sparrow corrected, slapping his young friend on the back, heartily. 'Nothin's impossible.'

But the thought was not encouraging to Will. He found it hard to believe. It was an easy thing to say, especially for the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, but to Will and most unlike Jack, there actually were times when things were very much impossible to accomplish. 'Maybe for you,' he stated in thought, bitterly, 'but it's not like that for me, Jack.'

Jack's eyebrows shot-up, a look of genuine surprise upon his façade. 'An' why not?!' he demanded in a high and expectant tone.

Will was silent, who, in his mind's eye, had a stubborn look of determined silence and shielded thoughts cloaking over his deep eyes as he rested his forearms on his knees and turned his head away from Jack, angrily.

But Jack, ever to the point, only allowed the silence to remain for no more than a second, continuing with a gusto, confidence, drawl and set of gestures that was all his own. 'Oh, I know what t'is. S'because I swagger when I walk, innit?'

Again Will didn't respond, allowing his eyebrows to slip lower as Jack began poking at the thin patience he had for him.

'S'because I drawl a bit when I talk an' because I have teeth made of gold; knots, beads and dread locks in me hair; and kohl linin' me eyes.… An' if not tha' …s'because I'm dashingly handsome and remarkably brilliant, innit?'

'No, that's not it,' Will replied indignantly, turning and piercing Jack with eyes that were alight with a small but passionate candle of flickering frustration, impatience and anger. 'It's something else, Jack, and you know it very well. A very important aspect and you're forgetting it, when it's a main part of who you are.'

But Jack only grinned a wide, toothy and presumptuous grin one time more, as if he did, in fact, know what it was, but just wanted to hear it out of the mouth of another. And yet, at the same time, the all-knowing aspect wasn't quite so cheeky as it was sarcastically wise. As if he was attempting at teaching his little pupil a lesson in a clever manner and was on brink of succeeding.

'And what would that be, me lad?' he asked quietly and yet with some impertinence with the gentility of his tone.

Will looked at him, his fiery candles of fervor quickly doused and replaced by a watery shiver of earnest; eyebrows furrowed and eager, and face set in a kind of a near-grimace of subtle wanting– quiet envy.

'You're Jack Sparrow,' he spoke softly, his almost-pained voice just enough above a whisper to still have the low tenor tone of his voice evident, bringing Jack to a silent state of listening. 'You're Captain Jack Sparrow, and you can do anything just because of that. You want something, then you get it– even if it takes ten years of searching and runnin' full on into the arms Commodore Norrington. Simple as that.'

'Well, that may be, mate,' Jack replied slinging a lazy but comforting arm around his young companion's broad shoulders, 'But, with all due respects, might I say tha' s'the little things beneath me skin that makes up the great Captain you know to be me. I mean, yeah, when people think of me they think of braids, beads, beards and booze; but that ain't who I am, really, is it?'

But Will only sat pensive and passive, listening to Jack with a quiet and submitting humility that had tranquilly put away his pride.

'In fact, for all of its usefulness, my appearance has its downsides. It stands out so much tha', oftentimes, people only remember the Jack Sparrow they see, usually turning a blind eye to the Jack Sparrow that's inside because it isn't as epic and extravagant as the one without. They don't really remember me. Just what I looked like and what I did. But that ain't so with you. With you, Will, to be honest, there isn't nothin' enormously outstandin' about you on the outside nor what you do for a livin'. You wear your dress and style yourself after the manner of the rest of society. You carry yourself in a manner that is viewed as 'normal' and 'proper.' You speak with an elegance that almost doesn't suit you an' your class, but not quite. You make money by smithing swords, nails and horseshoes just like a handful of other respectable people across the globe.… In fact, the only thing that has ever looked at all outwardly striking, may have been that hat and cape you decided to don on the day you helped save me from the noose. Quite debonair in my opinion, really.…'

Will scoffed. And Jack simply continued.

'But if I were to tell you anythin' about tha' day and the adventure tha' came before it, lad, it'd be this: whether you like it or not, tales of the young blacksmith William Turner are goin' to keep on bein' told for many years to come. Eventually they may die. Probably will, in fact. You'd be surprised how many legends do. But for as long as he is remembered, Will Turner won't be remembered for the fancy attire he wore that day, or for the way he looked any day, for that matter. Will Turner will be remembered for who his choices, his actions and his character determined him to be. An' whether you're willin' to admit it or not, those are the things that are important when it comes to success.'

Sitting acquiescently beside him, Jack couldn't help but grin at Will and give his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. He looked a pretty picture of his da', he did, his quiet but strong determination beginning to return as the clock work in his mind began to turn.

'Yeh've already got it all, yeh know,' Jack whispered in his ear, encouragingly. 'I've seen it in yeh. Ambition, confidence, courage, strength and– regardless of what I've said in the past– brains. I expect yeh to put those qualities to work. Surprise me. Impress me. Look at me, mate.'

And he did, pulling himself out of his thoughts for the moment.

'Once upon a time we was talkin' 'bout your father, you an' I. An' after putting a jib boom to yer ribs and haulin' yeh out over the open water, I said somethin' to yeh. I said that yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will, an' tha' you'd hafta square with tha' some day. That day came and went, dawning and setting the way the sun does as she sails her own sea. And night fell on that part of your life.… For a while. Well, I said it once an' I'll say it again: yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will. An' guess what? Your sun has risen again, as suns tend to do, and she's burning bigger and brighter than ever before. The time for you to square with it is back an' s'here an' now. But here yeh sit an' you say that you haven't got the makin's of a real pirate.' He shook his head, disapprovingly with an appropriate frown.'Son, you've had it!… In here…' and he took a tanned, grimy, ring-adorned hand and brushed Will's temple with the tips of coarse fingers,'an' here,' and then he placed a firm single fingerupon the plane of his left breast, his eyes radiating with an intense seriousness was uncharacteristic to the outside Jack. He spoke again, softly and sincerely. 'You jus' got realize it an' then take those traits, recognize 'em, use 'em.… make the man who gave 'em to you proud,' Will's attention became fully caught, and his eyes, which had wandered in Jack's sincerity, returned to Jack's with a surprised look. The sobriety fizzled as the pirate's old twinkle returned to his gaze and he cocked a crooked grin, flashing familiar gold and silver.'…an' make the lass that fell in love with 'em proud. Savvy?'

And then Will couldn't help but let a small grin slowly shadow into his face, confidence and determination returning to his mind and heart.'Yeah,' he determined. 'Savvy.'

Jack tipped his hat and disappeared with twinkling grin, and Will blinked with slight surprise.

'I think I'm going mad.…' His stomach grumbled and he growled with annoyance. 'Oh yes, that's it. I'm so hungry I'm delusional!'

The ship took a big dip suddenly, making Will's stomach jump up in a very uncomfortable manner. And he frowned as he began to get nauseated again. Maybe it wasn't the crew sailing the ship poorly…maybe it they were having rough weather?

A sudden kiss of ice made rush of ice run up his back as a drop of water made its way down his spine. He slapped the spot where the water had hit his neck with his hand and turned around in his seat, looking for the source of the water. Although dimly lit, Will could see the hatch quite clearly and found, to his amusement, that large drops of water were clumping about the corners of the door and leaking through its crack.

He smirked as he carefully brought himself to his feet and steadily made his way up the old, wooden stairs. He was awake…might as well make himself useful.

When he pushed the hatch open an enormous blast of icy air slapped his face, causing him to immediately feel need to shiver and want to pull back below. The raindrops were so large and wickedly fast that his hands and face felt as if they were being pelted with thousands of tiny needles repeatedly until his skin actually began to numb– after only seconds of withstanding it. He opened his previously tightly-shut eyes and cast them about the ship's deck.

It was dark now. The storm must have caught them in full when he had been sitting on the steps below. The sky was a deep, dark and rich blue and the sea a torrential and moving reflection in hue. But in nature, they were too different devils as odds. The sky flashed on the port side of the ship as a massive pillar of lightning met with the crashing waves of the sea with an almighty crack that caused Will to wince from its volume. Spitting rushes of almighty winds and firing its bolts of lightning, the sky was a great power.

Then there was the sea herself, tossing the pathetic excuse for a ship about in the massive embrace of her waves. Lifting and dropping, pitching left and right, throwing its weight onto the ships shabby deck and attempting rip the canvas off of its masts with angry fingers.

With shaky limbs, Will brought himself onto the deck, teetering as he suddenly realized exactly how great the rolling of the vessel was and ventured to gain his sea legs. The wind wailed and screeched shrilly and the lightning gave another almighty snap as a bolt tore through the air. The ship dipped and rose again and the rain cut into Will's frigid, desensitized skin.

And then he heard a shout.

"Look out!"

Just as he looked up a giant wave of water came rushing towards him, swiftly overpowering him in his state of surprise and sweeping him up against the ship's cabin door. When he recovered Will felt a sudden sense of urgency and duty running through him. The ship was falling apart as it was– with a storm like that one, nothing but bad could come out of it. He had to help.

As if in response to his prodding mood, someone, quick as the lightning in the sky in being a flash there and then gone, rushed past Will and disappeared up, up, up into the rigging with such swiftness and precession one would have thought him a born sailor (which he probably was).

And Will saw the rigging. He saw the ropes and the canvas and the spars and the masts, he saw the way they swayed and rocked dangerously, bringing the men that were clinging with their very lives above the un-mastered merciless depths of the Caribbean waters and then he saw one figure. Solo and on the topmast, a figure was busy, working feverishly to tie down the last wild wing of sail that remained.

Flash!

And Will's vision, for only an instant, was given the opportunity to sharpen and identify: it was Briggot. He watched with frozen fascination at the shadow of the little man, barely able to believe that his shaky limbs could manage to get him up there, let alone hold on. But hold on he did. Through all the dips, tips and turns he held on tight. Until…

Flash!

ROOM!

A bolt of lightning, sudden and terrifying, ripped through the sky with a horrendous blast and met with the sea just off the ship's port side– so close that Will could feel the temporary rise in temperature melt with its warmth upon his boreal, benumbed skin. And then he heard the cry of panic and looked up.

Another flash, this time distant and amongst the clouds, but enough for Will's mark to be seen. And he felt his insides suddenly rush with cold, as if a hole had opened up inside him and admitted the cold outside to flow in. There was Briggot, hands still clutching tightly to the incompletely tied sail for all his worth as the rest of his body hung dangerously over the sea and deck below, the ship rocking and jerking violent as if to shake him off alone.

For a moment, all Will could do was stare. Sit and stare at the sparse, poor old man, clinging the wet, cruel fabric for his very life as his legs flailed about in helpless desperation for safety. He couldn't do anything, Briggot. Pray maybe. But that was it. He had not strength enough left in his timeworn lanky limbs to pull himself up to safety. He was too tired, too old.

And apparently Charlie had spotted him.

"Briggot!" his shrill voice cried out above the din, his eyes wide with fear and his face twisted in worry and fretfulness.

Will felt pity for him. He turned a calculating eye back up towards the unfortunate figure flailing in the wind, blinking the rain, salt and sea spray out of his eyes as the wind batted the ship about. His dark brows pressed down significantly in a deeply pensive furrow as he thought. Would it be wise to get involved?…Did he dare?

Flash!

The lightning struck and the old man's face was made visible to Will, pale and white as a ghost and contorted in fear and pain. Then it hit. In the dark of the storm he set his jaw and his determination was evident all of those surrounding him as something long dormant awoke him, vibrant. Something that had only been lightly stroked to stir on the adventure the year before. And a determined fire sprung and shown within his eyes with such an intensity that it was easy to imagine visible flames licking at the pupils of his luminous orbs.

'…yeh've got pirate in yer blood, Will. An' guess what? Your sun has risen again, as suns tend to do, and she's burnin' bigger and brighter than ever before. The time for you to square with it is back– an' s'here an' now.…

Then and there. The beating in his very heart began to pulse to the time of the sailor's soul and before he knew it his feet were carrying him towards the rigging and up some mast; not quite sure where he was going and what he was going to do once he reached his destination, but not shrinking. Refusing to.

Hand over hand, foot over foot he climbed, the wind wild and fierce and rain and lightning blinding. His hands were cold and his fingers numb, the rope slippery and rebellious against him. It creaked and slid beneath his weight and feet. Blacksmiths hands he had, however; used to rough conditions and making unwilling objects bend to his will, finding compromises and solutions in places where there appeared to be none. Up one step and then another, his footing becoming more sure and definite as he went along.

Until, "Oof!"

A sudden slide from under his foot and his legs flew out from under him and the ribbon in his hair released itself and went flying into the wind, striking a sudden ice of panic into him. But his hands remained steadfast and true, and after a moment of shakiness, on he went, not quite sure where his courage or his determination was coming from.

There was this man, Briggot. A good man, in truth, but a man he hardly knew. And yet, there he, Will Turner, was: risking life and limb in the heart of horrendous Carribean squall for this man. He could be thrown into the sea and drowned. He could be struck by lightning. He could fall out of the rigging and severely injure himself on the deck. But he has surprised himself and he was not afraid.

He reached the spar belonging to the ship's topsail, finding the sail tightly secured on his side to keep from whipping and tearing in the wind. But the subtle flapping sound that reached his ears told him that the other side of the spar spoke otherwise. A spark of lightning again. In that flash of an instant, he spied the white glimmer of a sail's unfastened corner, and, just below it, hanging onto the slippery fabric for who knew how much longer: Daniel Briggot.

The ship rolled from one side to the other, surprising and causing Will to freeze and hug onto his part of the ship as a colder sweat broke out upon his already cold forehead, waiting until it moved back to its previous position. Slowly it rocked back to a more upright position. It wasn't until then, that he dared open his eyes and did something that Jack would have cursed him time and time again for being 'stupid.' He glanced below.

Flash!

His heart jumped into his throat, and the cold sweat spread to chill his back and heart. He hadn't realized it was so high! The ground was barely visible through the rainy, rocking darkness and suddenly he felt very frightened and hesitant to move.

SNAP!

The sound broke through the ultimate roar of the storm, causing Will to jump in fright; but it reclaimed his attention and he paled as he came to realize what it was. The next reef in the line of reefing belonging to the canvas that Briggot clung to in desperation had strained and broke, and the stress of the sail was now exerting immensely as Briggot hung useless and dangerously in the wind.

It was then that Briggot looked out of the corner of his eye, pure and dismal trepidation shining through his contorted expression, pleading and making the unheard word that left his trembling lips very easy to understand and make out: "Help." A rush of pity and desire to fulfill his wish and suddenly, Will began to feel the fire return. That man was as frightened as he was– if not, more. His danger was greater and his fate looked bleak. While Will suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed, for he was safe. He could have clung to that spar until the end of the storm, if he wanted to. But Briggot…he couldn't.

'Now as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention. On a pirate ship, every man has an equal vote. Every man has an equal say in the rules he has to live by. Should, do, don't, shall, shall not- all mere suggestions. The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do.…'

Briggot couldn't save himself. Not anymore. But Will was there and could save Briggot. So he would. Pursing his lips and setting his jaw, Will fortified his courage, swallowed his fear and with a sturdy, alternating grip of hands, feet, and knees, he began to shinny across the spar in an attempt to get to the other side. Like his climb up the rigging, slow and shaky in the beginning, but quickly growing faster and more steadfast as his faith in himself grew and his dark hair winged in the wind.

Eventually he reached Briggot, who, Will discovered with a flash of lightning, somehow had managed to make a shift in his grip so he was closer to the spar, giving Will a rush of bedrock determination. If Briggot could find enough faith and courage to try and make it, he could do it too. He would do it too.

For a moment previously, Briggot had thought that he was helpless and without hope. But then he saw someone coming and he decided to at least try and make it. He had watched the figure the whole time as his arms strained and screamed with pain and agony and his fingers threatening to slip or give up. He didn't know whether or not they would ultimately fail him. He just did something he never did before, praying with all his might that he could have that chance at survival.

The figure made his way up the rigging with a zeal that surprised and began to give hope to Briggot, stopping only once as his feet slipped and shot out from under him. But he quickly recovered and, without pause, went on, climbing up, up, up to meet him. Finally the figure made it to the top of the spar. Lighting flashed but Briggot could not see him properly.

The ship tilted, causing the old man to swing dangerously and his fingers to slide on the canvas, re-striking fear into his heart. The figure was hesitating and Briggot began to panic as loud snap and large jerk as his canvas dropped a foot or two told him the story of the old reefs' strength. He cried out in fear, eyes clenched shut as fire ruptured through his arms, shoulders and fingers, tears beginning prick at his eyes like acid.

He swallowed as he dared to open one eye and look at the man who had come. "Help," he managed croak, though he did not know why– there was no way in which he could have been heard.

A moment and then the man began to move again, crossing towards Briggot in a manner that spoke to him: 'Hold on. Hold on, I'm coming.'

He was coming and maybe he, Briggot, would be able to make it. But how could he reach him down there, with the sail so low and out of reach? Realization struck and Briggot began to groan. He had to help him. Mustering up the little bit of strength and courage that he had, Briggot gave up holding back his tears and let them run, mingled with the bitter rain, as he began to, hand by hand, shift up the sail. It was grueling, hard and painful, his body under a stress that threatened to break him, but he did it, to his own disbelief. And now, he almost grinned as a small ray of hope took hold. He could be saved.

The man appeared a dark and yet refractorily strong shadow set against a black and devilish sky to Briggot, with his hair wild in the wind and eyes burning and gleaming distinctly resolute and dauntless. A stranger in the dark come to save him– a masked and cloaked angel.

A flash of lightning and Briggot felt shock as his masked rescuer became exposed. It was the lad.

"Briggot!" Will cried, his voice drowned out by the wind to sound as if miles of sea and land had been put between them. "Grab my hand!"

Locking his legs around the spar in preparation of the pull up, Will bent down and reached out to grab Briggot's wrist, his hand covered in water and soggy fragments of wood, Briggot's white- knuckled and shaking.

SNAP!

Will jumped from the sound just beneath him, and looked down to see the reef slide away at the pulling weight of the sail as Briggot fell a foot or two further from Will's grip, his eyes wide with panic.

Will swallowed hard.

'It's no matter,'he told himself, sternly. 'You cannot lose faith without taking his away too. You can still reach him– keep trying.'

Wiping away some of the hair that had whipped and stuck itself to his face, Will laid down pressed his body against the sodden wood, stretching forth his right hand as far as it could go as his left hand hugged and held onto the ship's spar. His fingers brushed the man's wrist. He put his hand out further.

"'ey, kid!"

He turned to look behind him at the voice that broke through the silence, calling his name, and he received a surprise. His jaw even fell open for a second. It was Stripes, smiling grimly. He had rope. He was shinnying across the gaff just as Will had been doing before, placing the rope in his teeth so he wouldn't accidently lose it, before getting close enough to hand it off to Will.

"Tie dis 'round yerself!"

Will glanced at the rope and then down at Briggot, who was beginning to sob. It really didn't take much thought. He pursed his lips together and ground his teeth as he leaned down and reached out for Briggot's old and withered hand. He didn't have time to waste with ropes and knots – Briggot was losing his grip.

"Tie it yourself!"

He thought he heard a grunt. Whether it was a grunt of agreement, anger, dissatisfaction or mockery he did not know, but neither did he care. His reaching was a repetition of the time before his was interrupted. Fingers brushing the man's wrist before he reached out with an extra burst of energy and fully grasped Briggot's wrist.

The relief that spread over the man's face was indescribable. Pounds of tension seemed to leave his shoulders and the man visibly relaxed with out letting his fingers go lax. He grinned up at Will, a warm look of appreciation in his eyes.

Will smiled back, and then jumped as someone wrapped a pair of burly arms around him. He quickly peeped over his shoulder just as Stripes pulled back, beginning to tie off the rope that he had apparently wrapped around Will's lithe waste, a smirk on his face.

"Scare ya?!" he bellowed over a clap of thunder.

Will simpered sarcastically back and nodded.

Suddenly the boat lurched upwards, taking Will off-guard and he felt a sudden rise of panic that was too great to let him so much as cry out, as he and Briggot began to tumble; the raging, foamy darkness of the waves swiftly coming to meet them.

Author's Notes: Holy shortness! Another cliffhanger- I know, I know. But this bit of the story has to have a break there if it's going to work- or else go for a lot longer and make you wait longer.... (Speaking of waiting- sorry it took so long! My muse took a vacation... Back now, though). Why is it always convenient to make the cliffhanger by putting in peril? I just bearly noticed that I do that a lot. BUT this cliffhanger wasn't supposed to be there, it just came out. This chapter and the next chapter were actually supposed to be joint chapters, but it got too long and I didn't want to cut things out.... Anyway. To business:

CrAzY Pigwidgeon- Whoa! Hold the blade! Madame la guillotine is beginning to look really forboding... no matter how small.(Where is the Scarlet Pimpernel when you need him?! Lol. j/k) Glad you're paying attention and I'm glad you liked the insomnia... (although having had it more than once, I must say I pity poor William).

Eledhwen- I don't remember where your pen name comes from. (It's Tolkien, I know. Read Silmarillion, The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and am, personally a raging fan of Tolkien... and Peter Jackson's films. (har, har) But I'm having a brain cramp and am too lazy to go look it up.) Heh, heh. Hey, you're good at keeping promises. Am also glad you're enjoying the story. I hope not to disappoint.

ErinRua- Big thanks for finding those little mistakes o' mine. Very, very helpful.

Trinity Day- Great comments. Very helpful. I actually, never noticed the first person thing. Even looked for it and am not sure of exactly... Let's just say if I do it again in a "jarring" manner than, please, don't be afraid to point it out. Glad you liked Ragetti in Pintel. Now I know I'm on the right track....

Williz- You have no idea how much you make me smile. Such enthusiasm for something I think is so shabby. Absolutely great to have you and glad you like where this is going.

Anyway, that's all I can see for now. Keep the reviews comin' and I'll get to work on the next chapters (whilst being horribly sad at Maggie Theis' removal from the site. Could cry like a baby).... The next two or so are action sequences of sorts and kinda crazy, so I might need a beta reader.... Any takers? If interested, just e-mail me and I'll figure out something. Anyway.... See ya!

Jack E.