This is the beginning of an epic; eighth part.

No rum tonight, but I drank iced coffee all day; it was a hundred freaking degrees out. Does the hyper show in the writing? That's the real question...

Still own nothing. -huggles Jack- But he can come with me, if he wants.

Captain Jack will get you high tonight
And take you to your special island
Captain Jack will get you by tonight
Just a little push, and you'll be smilin'

- Billy Joel

Elizabeth could remember their first kiss. So well. She could remember the way the warm air she felt on her skin; the way the sun was pooling around them, as if they were the only things on earth, warming and golden-bright. She could remember the way he smelled: like fire and brimstone. Like the ocean. Like a man. The first man she'd ever been so close to. The first man she'd ever tasted. She could remember how it felt to have her body against his; how they fit together so perfectly, so unbelievably perfectly. How she thought they would be together always. How she thought she loved him. Always and forever.

But she'd been wrong. So wrong.

She let him kiss her in the yellow light of Tia's house. Gone were the sparks, the incredible explosion of excitement. Gone was the warm tingling through her entire body; gone were the thrills of pleasure. All of them, gone. His lips felt cold and dead against hers; his skin stoney, his touch limp. Nothing felt right about it anymore. Nothing.

The voice was gone. The bloody voice, the moralistic screaming voice inside her head, was gone. And she almost wished it wasn't. She almost wished it was still there, still screaming, still forcing itself upon her. Still burning the belief into her mind; the belief that she loved Will. As much as she'd tried to push it away, as much as she'd known it was a horrible lie, it was the only thing she'd had. The only thing that would have made what she was doing seem right. Seem sane. But it was gone. Disappeared, with the romance. Everything that had once been so beautiful about him, about them, seemed awkward. Awkward and unsettled.

William wanted to turn back time. He wanted to go back, back when he and Elizabeth were wrapped in the comfortable blanket of peaceful bliss that only lovers knew. When she loved him. When she was going to marry him. When they had their entire future of blessed togetherness in front of them. But he couldn't.

He felt her give in to his kiss; but there was nothing there. No return. It was only half of what it used to be. He and her diminished to simply him. Two sweet lovers reduced to one, desperate for a love no longer returned. But he didn't care anymore. He didn't bloody care. He had her, didn't he? Why should it matter why he had her, if she was in his arms? Why should it matter that her heart was so clearly in the fist of another? It shouldn't, that was damn sure. He had what he wanted. He had Elizabeth. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

Jack Sparrow knew she'd seen. He knew she'd bloody seen him with Tia. On top of Tia. His heart had plummeted into the depths of his gut when he'd heard her voice. Anyone else he would have ignored. Would have continued with the fulfillment of his desire. But it was bloody Elizabeth. He'd seen her in the doorway; he'd seen the blush creeping over her cheeks, the pained expression on her face as she averted her eyes. He'd seen her turn and run, and he'd felt something tug violently on his heart. It was so wrong, so wrong. It should have been her beneath him. Or above him. Or beside him; it didn't bloody matter. She was the woman he loved. But she was so hopelessly engaged. So hopelessly in love with that whelp.

He felt something click into place deep inside him. Something that felt bloody aweful; dirty and guilty and so very sorry. Something he'd never experienced before. Something he didn't entirely despise, despite the terrible feeling it shot through his body. He couldn't do it. He couldn't make love to Tia Dalma. Not now. Not anymore.

He grunted as he lifted himself up. Off. He heaved himself off the bed and bent, snagging the thick leather belt with his fingertips and pulling it into place with a smooth, practiced motion. Then he saw her face. Tia's face. She knew. Well of course she knew. She was a bloody witch lady. He grimaced, wrapping a oil-stained hand around the bedpost. She was Tia Dalma, just like he was Captain Jack Sparrow. No. Jack, you fool. She knows because you just rolled off her. Oh, yeah.

"Nothing personal, m'lady." He grinned, fingering the golden filigree on his pistol.

Tia Dalma knew she'd seen something in his eyes. She knew it. And she'd been right. Of course and as usual. What surprised her was not the what, but the who. Jack Sparrow, in love with Elizabeth Swann? Suddenly she could see it; his entire heart opened up before her eyes. And aye, true it was. The idea still seemed absurd. She knew how many woman he'd loved and left. No, not loved. Shagged.

But it was definitely there. His love was definitely there. She chuckled softly to herself.

"Jack Sparrow does know what he wants," she spoke softly through her gentle laughter. "You love her."

Jack blinked. He locked eyes with her, staring deep into the darkness he knew so well.

"Not true," he lied. Badly. All he could think of was Elizabeth. Elizabeth downstairs. Elizabeth with William. Elizabeth's kiss. Elizabeth's shocked expression. Elizabeth bloody Swann. Soon-to-be Elizabeth Turner. He folded his arms across his chest, pouting heavily.

"Jack Sparrow, your heart is singin' for that girl." She pointed a crooked finger at the empty doorway.

"I need rum."

"You need to talk to her. You need to tell her."

"And what, exactly, would that achieve? The man she's engaged to, the man she loves, is right down those stairs," he hissed through clenched teeth. But he knew she was right. Unfortunately.

They must not have heard him as he creaked down the stairs. They must not have, because when he found them they were locked in a tender embrace.