Hi!

Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys cheer me up no end when I see my inbox. Here is the third installment. Sorry for the wait - I was on me hols.

Disclaimer: Characters and places so far belong to the mouse.

Somehow, things were different.

She was no longer Elizabeth Swann. She was someone else, mysterious and powerful. Her consciousness seemed to float just above herself, watching the men step round her. She sat still and straight, calm and serene. A peaceful rock in a stream filled with frenzy and high emotion.

She noted with amusement how some of them crossed themselves. Others cast fearful glances.

She was no longer the little girl that had sailed from England. That had survived skeletal pirates and Aztec Curses. She was the woman who had faced the Kraken. Who had murdered the charmed Captain.

Wary respect surrounded her. The men feared her, and in a strange detached way she revelled in it.

"Ah, a fellow mutineer, eh?"

Her calm broke. It was a façade she could hold up well, but not under such an insult.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Barbossa?"

"Captain." He smiled a rotten, mocking smile. Elizabeth found herself half tempted to ask the whereabouts of his ship. But the only reply to that she could envisage was Jack's easy: "I'm in the market, as it were." To hear anything else would ruin her memory. So she stayed quiet.

"I hear you've been… less than faithful, recently. To more'n one man, by all accounts. Seems odd to me."

He began to circle her, and with some amusement she noted his trademark apple, held delicately between grubby fingers.

"Seems odd, tha' a noble lady of standin' decides to take up with a rabble like this. But I could accept that, Miss Swann. There's others like you, done the same. Few o' them betrayed quite so many though. If you're not careful, lass, we'll be callin' you 'Jezebel'."

That insult did her less damage. She felt strangely attracted to the idea that she could gain a reputation. A feared reputation, not one for the most fainting accomplished in a corset. Or a reputation for being pretty. No, one that had value, from the lowest peasant to the wigs in the Navy. That all could know her, many fear her, some idolise her, while others sought to bring her down.

They would have heard of her.

"Maybe you will, Mr Barbossa."

She was not afraid of him. Not anymore. He should be dead, and that at least was reason to view him with something akin to awe. But she let it wash over her instead. She accepted it, and saw that there was little else to fear. Yes, he could handle a sword, but so could she. Yes, he could Captain a ship, but she felt sure that, given a fair crew she could too. If not equal yet, they were no longer at opposite ends of the scale.

She stood to face him. The calm was transforming into burning ambition and a glowing feeling of power. She had been in a strange transition for the last few hours, maybe the whole day. Now she emerged, like a butterfly crawling from its cocoon to spread its wings.

"An' you'd like that, would ye lass?"

"I think I could survive it."

"Aye. I think ye could." He regarded her thoughtfully. She'd been proud and confident when he first met her. Now there was substance. The pride gave way, not to weak, frail bones and lace, but honed steel and a leather pistol holster. The arrogantly posed chin and the flashing eyes were no longer a brave front to confuse her kidnappers. They were fuelled from inside.

"So, lass. Tell me. How does it feel to know ye'll be languishing in the deepest circle of Hell?"

Elizabeth stared at him.

"'Hell is reserved for mutineers'. Jack's own words, so one o' my men told me. Lookin' forward to it lass?"

"I didn't commit mutiny."

"Well… same outcome. Though I must say lass, I bow to you for sheer, untainted style."

Elizabeth shot him a look.

"How do you know?"

"That Gibbs talks enough for a boat full o' housewives. An' young Mr Turner let some of it slip. The only survin' victim o' yours' account let me think Gibbs wasn't lyin'. Ye be quite the Jezebel, hurtin' two men at once."

"I didn't betray Will."

Barbossa chuckled dryly, and looked at her with an odd look on his face. It took seconds for the blush to rise slightly in her cheeks. Strange how she'd almost forgotten her conversation with Will. How she'd forgotten her feelings that morning upon waking and finding the cell of her dream, and its occupant, only mist and fantasy. But she could not be weak now.

"I don't love him."

"No, that's what the lad seems to think."

"No! Captain Sparrow. I don't love him."

"You're a master of your art, Miss Swann. You've got betrayal to perfection, and I always thought I was good. Even your own cheeks have learnt the trick. It's a fine skill to have. Come in handy in ye new career, I'll wager."

She could feel the burn in her cheeks beginning to be matched by the burn of anger in her stomach.

"And what career is that may I ask?"

As if she didn't know. As if she hadn't known before Jack rowed away. Before she kissed him.

Before he named her for what she was, and would become.

"Your grand career as a pirate, lass. Ye makin' a fine job o' it so far."