Disclaimer: I claim no responsibility for the behavior of these characters.

Author's Note: Hmm, I hope I've stayed within my rating here. Also, going by the initial reviews I've received, some of you may be upset by our beloved Captain Sparrow's behavior in this chapter. On further reading of the scene in question I can understand why this is, and while I wish that I could figure out a better, less distressing way for it to go, I find that I cannot. So I can only say that much as I'd like him to be, Jack is not a man who is used to being tender with his lovers, nor is he accustomed to sleeping with women who have any reservations about their sexuality...that Elizabeth must come to terms with the consequences of translating her fantasy into harsh reality...and that I offer my sincere apologies to anyone who is offended by any of the material herein. That disclaimer aside, flames are welcome, I want to know exactly what you think.


XV.
Sea Change

Must I be bound, O and she go free!
Must I love one thing that does not love me!
Why should I act such a childish part,
And love a girl that will break my heart.

--"The Water Is Wide"


Commodore Norrington frowns at Will Turner, dismayed.

"It seems that you have some explaining to do, Master Turner."

"I am no murderer, by any law but his." Turner steps forward out of the shadows, his hand inching toward his sword, eyes fixed on Francisco Morena, who meets his gaze coldly, unmoving. "What," he grates out, "have you done with my wife, you scheming son of a--" He bites off the expletive at Norrington's quelling glance.

"Ah." Morena's mouth curls in a sneer of unholy satisfaction. "So there is one you care for, after all. Que sorpresa, mi amigo...que sorpresa."

The sound of Will's sword leaving its sheath reverberates across the deck of the Dauntless as the blade halts a few inches from the Spaniard's throat; the man doesn't even flinch, though Norrington makes a strangled noise. Behind Morena, his silent men shift uneasily, but are stilled by a quick gesture from their Captain

"If you've touched her--"

"I understand." Morena reaches behind him in one swift motion, and Will, the barest shadow of alarm crossing his face, is suddenly staring down the barrel of an ornate but obviously highly functional silver pistol now aimed directly at his forehead.

"You will kill me," Morena says evenly. "Si. But understand this, my friend--" the soft click of the gun as he cocks it echoes in the watchful hush that has fallen around the two men-- "I will take you with me to hell, so it matters not. Although," he adds with a thoughtful air, "it would be a far swifter death for you than I would favor."

Will holds his sword steady; the two stand, eyes locked, at impasse.

"So you would die for her," Morena says, conversationally. "Muy interesante. The whelp would give his life for su puta..." he spits out the word, and Will moves fractionally, snarling. The edge of his blade now rests lightly against the man's sinewy neck, but still Morena shows no fear, continuing to speak as if nothing has happened. "Much as I would have died for my son."

"Gentlemen," Norrington interjects. "Perhaps we could--"

"I did not murder him," Will hisses. "He betrayed me. He showed the true caliber of the much-famed Morena honor...and he would have run my first mate through from behind, were I not the quicker with my blade."

"You bested him, a lad barely seventeen." The Captain's voice drips with disdain. "And he was just another feather in your hat, William Turner. You have taken my child from me, you have burned more than a few peaceful Spanish vessels, you have fired on enough cities in Hispaniola...and you claim to be a man of honor? You may have a Writ of Immunity from the British Crown," and here he glares at Norrington, "but after all, you are no more than a common criminal...a pirate."

The Commodore clears his throat. "If you would lower your weapons, gentlemen, we can discuss our differences in a more civilized fashion..."

The two men look at him, then back at one another. A long moment stretches near to its breaking point. Then both sword and pistol are warily withdrawn, their owners still watching one another narrowly. Norrington sighs with great relief.

"Thank you," he says, sincerely. "Captain Morena, allow me to say that I am deeply sorry for your loss, and we shall address your grievance, and your claim, as the law requires. But let us first attend to the matter of Captain Turner's crew, who I understand were taken into custody during your attack on his vessel...is that correct?"

"They await their trial now, as enemies of the King of Spain."

Will looks distressed. "My crew should not be held accountable for my crimes," he says urgently. "They followed my orders as was their duty..."

Norrington holds up a hand, and Turner subsides, biting his lip. "There was also a passenger among those aboard," he tells Morena. "A lady, in fact, the daughter of the Governor of British Jamaica. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"Si." Morena's smile is slow and dangerous. "Now I understand more clearly, Senor Commodore. There is more at stake here, then."

Will twitches.

"The Governor has charged me with ensuring that she is safely returned to him." Norrington silently wills Turner to control himself, for Elizabeth's sake. "Perhaps we can negotiate a fair price for her protection...and her freedom."

"Ah, but she is not only the daughter of a Governor, Senor." Morena's smile widens, and he turns to Will. "I am so sorry, I did not know," he murmurs. "She is very dear to you, is she not?"

A series of emotions pass over Will Turner's features: mingled realization, rage, and fear. Norrington feels a similar jolt of alarm. He had assumed from the Spaniard's answer to Turner's original accusation that the man was at least partially aware of Elizabeth's identity.

"I might even go so far as to say most dear," Morena continues. "And I have had her in my grasp all this time...a great oversight on my part..."

"You bastard," Turner says, voice cracking. "You wouldn't...you can't..."

But Morena overrides him ruthlessly. "It is perfect, more perfect than I had hoped. No, Commodore, I fear there is no price that could replace this opportunity. No gold will buy me the pleasure it will bring me to see the murderer of my only son watch his own beloved bleed to death before his eyes..."

"No..." Will chokes out.

"...Without even a chance to bid her farewell."

Norrington stares at him, aghast. "You wouldn't," he says, echoing Will.

"Ah, but you do not know me, Senor," Morena says. "William Turner does, however, and you can see as well as I that he believes me with all his heart."

Indeed, Will's bloodless face and anguished eyes reveal only too plainly that he does not doubt Morena's threat in the slightest.

Norrington crooks his finger behind his back.

"You will die first," he says calmly, hearing the simultaneous movement behind him that indicates the aiming of fifteen Navy-issue firearms in the direction of the small group of Spanish soldiers.

"Yet she will die all the same." The man has no fear, Norrington thinks. "The crew's execution has likely already been set, Senor Commodore, and if it is not, it will be."

"Surely your governor would not allow the execution of a lady..."

"Would you wager her life on that assumption, Senor?"

The Commodore hesitates. Something in Morena's tone has changed, striking a warning bell in Norrington's mind, telling him that he's missing something important. That somehow the Spaniard, even with half of the Dauntless's best officers' pistols trained on his little company, has gained the upper hand in this "negotiation."

"Take me."

The words are spoken somewhat indistinctly. Both Commodore and Captain turn to look at Will, who has finally stirred himself out of his frozen horror, though his eyes are still wide and wild like those of a man who has been given a glimpse of hell.

"What?" But Norrington feels almost sure that he knows what young Turner means. The man hasn't changed so much, after all.

"Take me instead of her," Will says, more steadily this time, though the strain in his voice is still unmistakable. "Hand the prisoners over unharmed into Commodore Norrington's charge, and I'll go without a fight, Morena."

A tense silence follows.

Morena smiles again, triumph gleaming in his black eyes.

"Now that, mi amigo, is an exchange to which I may be persuaded to agree..."


Elizabeth Turner wakes reluctantly, pulled from unconsciousness by a pervasive sense of dread. The angle of the sunlight streaming through the window indicates that is already mid to late morning. Squinting against the brightness assaulting her eyes, her thoughts fogged and slow, she notices the dull ache in her head and an inexplicable soreness plaguing her muscles with some consternation.

She must have drunk far more rum than she had meant to. She shifts uneasily, remembering what has to have been an extraordinarily vivid dream from last night...a series of disconnected images and sense-memories flit through her mind, and her cheeks flush hotly as she recalls a few of the more prurient details.

The weight of his body on hers.

Her own voice, high and trembling with desire, calling out his name, and his breathless answer.

His intense focus on her suddenly broken by the wave of pleasure shaking them both, his face transformed and eyes distant until those long lashes drop to cover them...

She realizes then that she can still feel him, deep in the core of her. That under the light cotton coverlet, she's clothed in nothing but her thin blouse, and that it's unbuttoned. That the white fabric crumpled on the floor is the cloth she's been using to bind her breasts.

That there's someone lying beside her in the bed.

Pulling the linens up to her chin, she turns her head sharply to her right and is confronted with the magnificent sight of a very naked Captain Jack Sparrow. The sheet barely covers his slender hips, and it's all too clear that the only thing he's wearing is her makeshift bandage...

He blinks at her sleepily.

"Morning, love."

Oh, dear God...

The previous evening's events rush back into her consciousness in their entirety, and she hurriedly tears her horrified gaze away from the clean line of muscle that delineates his lower abdomen, looking fixedly at the ceiling instead. Her traitorous brain informs her that not only has she already seen that line, but that she is now intimately familiar with its coordinates.

Long, lazy fingers tangle themselves in her hair before trailing casually down her bare arm. She slaps him away, but cannot stop the sensation from lingering on her skin; all sense of modesty forgotten for the moment, she glares at him. He has propped himself up on his arm, the sheet slipping precariously lower, and his glance moves idly down the length of her and then back up to meet her eyes. "Something wrong, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, there's something wrong!"

He frowns at her, appearing greatly perplexed. "We're not having regrets, are we? At this late hour?"

"My God..." She struggles to keep her voice from breaking. "What have we done? What have I done--?"

"Nothing more than what we both wanted, love."

His hand insinuates itself under the coverlet, and slides deliberately and possessively up her thigh.

She closes her eyes, drawing an uneven breath. "Don't."

He stops, but lets the hand remain where it is, and it seems that every nerve in her body has gathered beneath it, her entire awareness concentrated in that one small area. Heat surges in her blood, and she knows that even now, in the harsh light of sober day, she still desperately wants him to continue touching her.

"Please, Jack..." She swallows, marshaling her willpower. "It was one night. It was a mistake. One I don't intend to repeat."

His fingers flex, just a little; she bites down hard on her lower lip.

"Aye...but there's no denying you enjoyed this particular little mistake, m'dear, and what's more--" he moves again, and this time she cannot keep from crying out softly-- "I daresay it's one you want to repeat. Don't you."

"You don't understand," she whispers. "That makes it all the worse. I love Will--"

"Of course you do," he murmurs. "No worries, darling. That you, like numerous other females of high intelligence and great refinement, find it impossible to resist my good looks and roguish charm has naught to do with your devotion to your husband. There is no need for dear William to ever be told of it, and you may trust that he will never think to suspect you. It changes nothing."

"No," she says, shakily. "It changes everything."

"Ah." His lips brush her ear, and she gasps as his touch becomes more insistent; he is now lying half over her. "Perhaps that is because your husband has not given you such pleasure as I have done, eh? Perhaps he does not make you tremble...thus..."

And in her body's response to him, she knows that he is right.

She pushes him off her violently and puts the width of the room between them, clutching the sheet around herself to preserve the last remaining shreds of her dignity.

"I was only guessing," he says in a mild tone.

"You don't have an ounce of morality in you, do you, Jack Sparrow," she says fiercely. "Will is your friend, too. Shouldn't you have some tiny qualm about cuckolding him?"

He spreads his hands. "Pirate..." he says, grinning at her. Then his expression grows abruptly serious. "Honestly, love, what's done is done. And the only rule that really matters to me is this: what one can do, and what one cannot do. I can't change what we did, Elizabeth, even if I wanted to...and neither can you. I can choose to not waste any time brooding over it."

Surprised by this bit of Sparrowish philosophy, she stares at him; and belatedly realizes that taking the linens with her was a huge miscalculation on her part.

Grabbing his breeches from the floor, she hurls them at him. "For God's sake, clothe yourself--!"

"I'm afraid I'm rather comfortable as I am, thank you. And it's not as if you're looking at anything you haven't already seen, love."

"Turn around then. I, at least, intend to make myself decent."

He sighs, turning obligingly towards the wall, but she hears his words only too clearly.

"After last night, darling, I hardly think I would choose that term to describe you."

"I hate you," she hisses in his general direction, trying to avoid catching a glimpse of his naked backside.

"Aye, and that would make it all very much more simple, would it not, love--if indeed it were the case..."