A/N: So here it is, another chapter, and I believe a slightly longer one at that. I decided to rewrite the handwritten chapter 8 I had in my notebook from camping, because I felt it would make the story feel rushed. And so, this is the product of a few days' time, and hopefully it will satisfy those who were annoyed by my lack of updates. Oh, and what was so suspicious about Gibbs in the previous chapter? I had a few inquiries about him, and I intended nothing in making him go off to search for Will. Anywho, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I'm really getting sick of this.

Elizabeth sat at her desk, a newly presented gift from Gibbs, which had been placed in one corner of her stateroom. An oil lamp had also been given to her, its globe clear and smoothly curved, its wick showing signs of only recently having been used for the first time. Presents for bringing luck to the ship, Gibbs had told her, but he had smiled only faintly. At her inquiring expression he had explained that after so many incidents with near-sinking, she appeared to have done just the opposite of his once fierce superstition. Although shocked at his sudden conversion of faith, Elizabeth had been pleased with the gifts. She had much missed her desk at her home back in Port Royal, and had been missing the solidity of it beneath any paper she might have wished to write upon.

She was now diligently working on a painting of Will, which was done so entirely by memory. She was grateful now that she had taken so much time in the past to observe his face and figure, and his sheer masculinity. Focus was laid particularly on the honey-colored eyes of the portrait. Try as she might, however, she could not seem to get the expression they had always held to the right extreme. Swirling, golden-flecked orbs, into which she could have once lost herself. But no more.

It had been two days since the sinking of the Lochinvar, and the young blacksmith's death. She still had trouble believing that he was truly gone. Yet she hadn't cried, as she had when her mother had been murdered. A part of her felt an intense buildup of guilt at that fact. She owed Will her tears, at the very least. But then another part of her reminded her that his death was not the same. He had not been murdered, as her mother had. Will had been a victim of circumstance, unpredictable, unrelenting circumstance, and there was nothing that may have been done to prevent it. And yet another part of her disagreed, screaming that it was Jack's fault, and that he was to blame.

Jack.

'Regrettable,' he had said, but in a tone suggesting he was not at all bothered by the loss of the boy and his crew. But in his eyes, Elizabeth had observed something that could not be taken for anything but what he had stated. Regret. Plain and simple and horribly genuine. Perhaps he had only been trying to steel himself against emotional breakdown for her sake. It was doubtful, she reasoned, but entirely possible. Pirate or not, he knew where certain actions were necessary, and where they were not.

She sighed deeply, and put her paintbrush aside. Her forehead rested in one hand, and her eyes closed. She hated not having anyone to blame for what had happened, but she really could not blame Jack. He wasn't a god, she reminded herself.

She stood up a few minutes later, and slid the wet painting ever so carefully into the largest drawer of the desk, and rinsed the paintbrush before placing it alongside the portrait. The air in the hall as she stepped out of her room was stale and stifling, but was soon replaced by the scented air of a night at sea. The deck was calm, as most of the crew were sleeping; only a few remained out and about, going about the night duties of sailing the vessel.

There was no moon, she observed from her place at the rail, but the brightness of the stars made up for its absence. They reflected in the water, and Elizabeth was enveloped by the feeling of being between two worlds, between earth and sky, and the semblance of being completely, utterly free. But she was not. She was trapped in another place, a place existing on the delicate line betwixt what was real and what was not. Leaning heavily on the wooden railing of the faithful Balinor, she breathed deeply, hoping to clear her mind of some of its troubles.

She sensed another body suddenly near to her, and a hand befell her shoulder, but she did not turn around. The faint smell of rum mingled with the salty air, making her snort in realization. She had neither seen nor spoken to the Captain since the day of William's death, and in all sincerity, she hadn't been bothered by it. But now, knowing he was there behind her, and knowing he would comfort her if need be, Elizabeth was overcome by an immense wave of relief.

"I got to thinkin' you were going to be staying in that cabin forever," he whispered gently into her ear, and she finally turned to look at him. "An' I couldn't have that, you know."

She allowed his other hand to stray to her face and rest there, and his eyes to capture her own and search them silently.

"I know what you're thinking, love," the Captain voiced, and Elizabeth moved to stare at the deck, but a finger lifted her chin until she was once again trapped under his dark gaze.

"You couldn't possibly have the slightest idea what it is I'm thinking, Captain Sparrow," she spat bitterly, through lightly clenched teeth. "I'm feeling things right now that you would never dream of feeling. Strictly due to upbringing," she added as an explanation, and the man's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Releasing her, Jack stepped up to the rail beside her, and sighed.

"You've never heard the story, 'ave you love?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"What story are we talking about?"

The captain sighed again, and removed his hat, taking a long moment to scrutinize and reshape it, before placing it once again upon his head.

"When I was a few years younger, there was a lass I met in Tortuga. Bright girl, quite intelligent, she was, and entirely good to look at. I'd met her while searchin' for me first crew—not the one ol' Gibbs there told you about—but a different one. Anyhow, she was younger, a lot younger than I, so we never would have been romantically interested in one another, but we became close anyway." He paused, staring at the glittering waters for a moment before continuing. "Her mother had died when she was born, and her father was an outright bastard. Sold 'er into prostitution, he did, so he could buy his own pleasurable company. Now, I didn't find this out from her, but from my soon to be first mate."

Elizabeth's eyes swung in either direction in thought.

"Barbossa," she declared an instant later, and Jack nodded.

"Once he told me this, o' course, I went back to the pub where I'd seen her the first time, hopin' I would see her yet again. I guess you could say I pitied the girl, only a young teen at the time, and already forced to act like a woman. Maybe I was hoping she'd agree to come with me on my ship. Well, I didn' find her at the pub, and asked around a bit t' see if anyone knew where she mighta been. A gentlemen told me her father had come to retrieve her, claiming she'd run off years ago and he'd been worried sick, and the like. No one knew where he'd taken her, so I merely wandered the streets for a few days, till I eventually found her curled up next to an old wooden bench."

Elizabeth remained silent as the captain continued on.

"She was dyin', I knew," he said, his voice low. "I'd no doubt in me mind what that excuse for a father had done to her, and I was ready to kill him for it. But I couldn't. I'd needed to keep my profile low if I wanted to find me a crew to sail with. The poor girl could barely lift her head to look at me. Wouldn'ta made the night, and it woulda been a death drawn out much longer than need be. So I took out me pistol and loaded it, and put it right up next to her temple and pulled the bloody trigger."

Jack clenched his teeth, and Elizabeth stood, transfixed by what he had just told her. She'd never thought the captain would do such a thing—she'd expected him to tell of how he had saved the girl and brought her on his ship, or at the very least that he had left her there with a few comforting words. But not that. Blinking, she spoke.

"Like an animal, Jack," she whispered gravely, not looking at him.

"Aye," he replied, removing his pistol from the holster and examining it, lost in thought. "Put her out like a stallion with a broken leg, I did. Couldn't stand to see her like she was." His eyes settled on Elizabeth's, and he slipped the gun back into its casing. "So don't you ever think I woulda killed young Will on purpose. What I did to that girl that night troubles me even today, and I would never do it again, no matter what the circumstances. I never kill unless I have to."

"Seems similar to what happened on the Pearl," Elizabeth breathed, wrenching her eyes away from his piercing gaze. "It was all I could think about until we found you again."

"You did what's right by you," the man said quietly, stepping closer to her and lifting her chin for the second time that night. "And besides—I didn't entirely mind it." His face split into a toothy grin, and she glared at him in annoyance.

"You're bold, Captain Sparrow," the woman said darkly, moving her head so that he was no longer supporting her chin.

"Am I, now?" he smirked knowingly, taking another step closer to her and cautiously letting one hand rest on her waist. The other moved up to her face once more, and he brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek, and then settled them with a firm grip on the back of her neck. A stray lock of Jack's dark, coarse hair blew in his face, and Elizabeth found herself compelled to brush it away, and she did. The pirate's eyes gleamed mischievously under her touch, knowing that soon she would be so engaged in what was occurring that she wouldn't protest to him sweeping her off to his quarters. "You're quite bold yourself, love," he whispered into her ear, his hot breath bringing goose bumps to the surface of her flesh.

Every word he said was spoken with the obvious intent of seduction, Elizabeth realized. Guilt would not allow her to become a victim of Jack's manipulative, cunning nature, however. She was not about to kiss any man so soon after Will's death, let alone Jack Sparrow. She started to pull away, telling herself she needed to get away, but the pirate who held her quite obviously had other plans.

"Why so anxious, Miss Elizabeth? Or are you merely excited at the prospect of what might occur this moonless night?" Jack asked, gesturing to the sky as his velvety voice washed over her in waves. He smiled inwardly at her flabbergasted expression.

"What on earth are you talking about?" she spat stupidly, trying to pull away, but succeeding only in tripping herself, and causing them both to go tumbling to the hard wooden deck of the ship. Jack was atop her, grinning down as he planted a strong arm on either side of her head, effectively keeping her trapped beneath him. "I am in no way anxious to be here, nor am I excited at any prospects you may have to offer! You're a mangy, grimy, dishonest pirate and I demand you free me this instant!" she cried, trying to push him off, but to no avail.

"You're not really in a position to be 'demanding' me to do anything, love," the man informed her, his grin never fading as her face became flushed. "Unless of course you were demanding—"

"Jack Sparrow! I'm appalled at you!" the woman squawked, offended. "After all that's happened, you still seem to convince yourself that you are what I want, and you're entirely incorrect about that! And I can't breathe!" She stopped struggling, exhaling heavily, and stared him long and hard in the face.

"I don't need to convince myself, darling," he cooed comically. "The compass did that for me a long time ago. And as for not being able to breathe…how is it you're speaking to me then?" He shifted so as not to let her escape as his hand produced the very compass of which he spoke. Elizabeth cringed, knowing that if it showed him as her deepest desire, she would never live it down. "Come, come, deary. Just take a peek in and see what it shows." He placed it before her, and craned his head around to see it also. The needle did just as it had done before, spinning for a moment, before coming to rest on the man above her. A smile split his expression nearly in two.

Elizabeth averted her eyes angrily, and with a final great shove, relinquished hold on her plan of not allowing anything to happen that night. Jack's superior strength was apparent, for although Elizabeth was female, she was uncharacteristically strong, but the pirate barely moved at her attempts to push him off. "I told you that compass is broken," she muttered weakly, but Jack only chuckled.

"Are you certain of that? Because it seems to me that it's been working properly for longer than either of us have ever wanted it to."

"And by 'either of us' you mean me," Elizabeth grumbled, refusing to look at him.

The pirate's eyes widened thoughtfully.

"No, actually. Longer than I've wanted it to as well. The first time it swung toward a male I nearly threw it overboard."

There was a dead silence, followed by a very abrupt and definite, "I shouldn't have told you that," and an immediate change of subject.

"In the meantime, however, I do believe we should both get back to bed, as I can see you're going to be testy tonight, and I'd rather stay out of your way at such a time," the captain said with a smile, standing up, and pulling the woman to her feet also. She gave him another hard glare, before stomping off to her stateroom once again.