This is the beginning of an epic; third part.

So short. My apologies. Still own nothing.

She grimaced inwardly as she heard it. "You killed me." It was painfully true. Stinging pain that she couldn't place; it rang through her entire body. But there was something in his voice, something that told her he wasn't furious with her, as she'd assumed he would be. Something almost playful. Sarcastic and playful. Something very Jack. She felt the pain edge away as his eyes met hers. They were sparkling. She felt herself swoon. But only slightly; he was right in front of her, after all. Jack, the man she wasn't supposed to love. Oh, but she did.

Oh, but she shouldn't.

"You look quite alive to me," she quipped, her best attempt to cover any detectable emotion. But she couldn't hide that grin.

She could have sat there all night, swimming in his hazel eyes. But that wasn't possible. Not with an entire house-full of depressed and nearly-drunken pirates who were sure to be wondering where she'd disappeared to. She stood, kicking her legs absentmindedly to rid them of clinging sand, and offered her hand to the Captain. Her Captain. He wrapped his grimy fingers around her palm, pulling hard on her arm as he heaved himself to his feet.

"You killed me," he stated, quite factually. Quite happilly. What could he say? He was back. With Elizabeth. He was alive, and so was she. He was so happy he couldn't even be bothered to care that she was still betrothed, still in love with William.

She felt a laugh bubble in her chest. He was insane. Insane and gorgeous and ... wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong. The voice in her mind, the shrill and painfully jabbing moral voice, protested. Again. She shook her head, two tiny motions left and right. Why was it so hard for her? Why was it so bloody difficult to admit that she was in love. With someone who wasn't her fiance. Damn principles. Damn bloody upstanding lady-of-court principles nearly everyone in her life had been boring into her head since she was barely able to walk. Hell.

She didn't say another word as she led him towards the woods, towards the short and overgrown path to the river. She was too afraid to speak, not sure what could snake it's way between her lips. Not with her head in such a conflict with her heart. Not with that terrible nagging voice locked in battle with her desire. Her very heavy desire. Her very heavy conscience.

But Jack was perfectly happy with the silence; he wasn't a conversationalist by any stretch of the imagination.