(This chapter was originally written as a one-shot, dialogue-only scene - mostly for comedic purposes. I think it retains the comedic aspects nicely, but I decided to give it some more substance... and viola, three additional scenes! Consider it my gift to you, on my birthday. Do be warned... things get a bit more serious after the first bit.)

A rather sarcastic remark made by one William Turner the Second earned the little island the dubious honor of being called Will's Bloody Isle.

It had no inhabitants, though a pair of rain-drenched birds watched from their nest in the treeline as three sodden and thoroughly disgruntled-looking individuals staggered out of the water and onto the beach, each carrying an armload of something. The taller of the two men turned around to face the plunging vessel that had heaved-to just outside the cove, shielding his eyes from the lashing wind. Seeing no discernable motion aboard, he turned to the other man, who had taken to dumping water off his hat.

"Why couldn't we have taken the bloody boat?"

The man set the hat back on his head and smiled patiently. "Because, Mr. Turner, if we had taken the bloody boat, they'd know all the sooner of our little indiscretion, and they'd be after us disturbingly quickly."

"You could have told us we had to jump," the first man said.

"And spoil the surprise? Pfft."

"Some of us prefer leaping to being shoved, Captain."

"I feel like a drowned rat!" The woman stared down at her dress, which had taken more of a beating than it had ever been designed for.

The captain swept off his hat and bowed to her. "You make a very fetching drowned rat, m'lady."

"Sod off."

"Such language!" Fingers fluttered against a sopping shirt.

The first man saw an opportunity. "He enjoyed it, too, I saw him smiling."

"Captain?" The woman straightened, gazed at him thoughtfully as he turned around.

"Aye?" Eyebrows lifted, prepared to answer any question.

SWISH.

"Ha! You missed!" One would have thought the captain had just stumbled upon a horde of swag by the note of triumph in his voice.

CRACK.

The pile of swag vanished, and he rubbed his cheek most thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I deserved that..."

The first man sighed as though he'd heard this all before. "If you two will stop fighting for a--"

A ring-clad finger pointed at the woman as they trudged along. "She started it."

Not to be outdone, the woman pointed right back at the captain. "He pushed me off the ship!"

"--what are we going to do when they inevitably discover we're not there?" The first man asked, perhaps hoping to steer them back to useful conversation.

The captain nodded importantly. "The treeline is safest. We'll find a place to hide. They won't be coming ashore for awhile, any boats will be smashed to bits against the ship. Aye, lad and lady, I was thinking of your bloody welfare."

"Wonder of wonders," the first man growled.

"I heard that."

"Good."

The captain looked to the woman beseechingly. "Miss Swann, if you please, cuff him?"

"Don't be begging favors from me, Captain."

He drew back, pressing his hands to his mouth. "Why, I don't believe I merit such a look of distaste. What might I do to appease the lady's distress?"

"Let me push you off a bloody ship!" Certainly, for all purposes, it was not an unreasonable request.

"There'll be none of that. After all, I'm Captain--"

"Stop, you're making my head hurt." The three were right beneath the nest now, looking about with wary eyes. The tree offered some protection from the rain and wind, though surely not what they were hoping for. The birds peered down with interest.

"Deepest apologies, Mr. Turner." The captain surveyed the area, cupping his hands about his ears for no apparent reason. After a moment he clapped his hands together, pointing at a dark hole not far away. "Aha, see? Shelter!"

The woman looked at it, unimpressed. "It's a cave."

"As I said: shelter! Bootstrap Whelp, go investigate."

"Why do I have to investigate?"

"Because I'm the Captain." This declaration made with squared shoulders and hands upon hips, accented with an imperious stare.

The first man peered dubiously into the void. "It's quite dark in there."

"Pfft! Nothing to worry about. Scoot along now." The captain dropped his voice. "Impress the lady."

The lady in question gave them a cool look. "What are you whispering about?

"Nothing, Miss Swann, nothing. Step lively, Turner."

"All right..." The first man procured a pistol from the armful of munitions he carried, dumped the rest on the ground, and ventured inside. The woman took the lull in motion to lean over again, examining the wreckage that currently encased her feet.

"My shoes are disintegrating."

"Nothing to be done about it now, lass."

"Says the gentleman at fault."

The captain sent her a confused look. "How the devil am I responsible for the poor construction of ladies' footwear?"

"You are." Her answer allowed no wriggle room.

"Well I--" The captain was saved a protest as the first man returned from the cave, shrugging.

"It is a cave. Rather dark. But empty."

The captain waggled a finger at his nose before depositing the weapons he carried into the man's hands. "Don't be grudging with me, lad. If it keeps the rain off our heads, it's a castle to me. In we go! But first--" He swooped in, gathering the woman up in his arms and lifting her easily off the ground.

"Eeek! What are you doing?"

"Can't have the lady's feet hurting, now can we?" The captain began walking toward the cave, and the birds cocked their heads as the voices began to fade.

"Put me down, you bloody pirate!" She kicked her legs, slapping at him.

"Pipe down, love, they'll hear you. We pillage and plunder, and don't give a hoot--" None of her struggles seemed to faze the captain; indeed, he almost smiled.

"Do you want me to carry her?" The first man looked on the budding brawl with more trepidation than interest.

"I don't want to be carried!"

"No, I think being hauled about like plunder will keep her happy for a time, don't you?" The captain hefted her to carry her more easily, ducking into the cave.

"Put me down, you scalawag, or I'll have your head!"

"Aye, that's the spirit!"

The first man's voice held a note of quiet wonder as he followed them into the cave. "How did you two survive each other on the island?"

The birds looked at each other. Certainly, life was about to get more interesting.

Captain Ephraim Gerrarrd studied the empty brig with something close to amusement as his rather banged-up first mate and cook were roused with buckets of convenient seawater. Wickedry continued to lurch and dip as the waves and wind pounded her, but her anchors held fast to the bottom, and he had permitted the crew to use their time as they liked so long as the situation did not worsen. Currently, using that time entailed holding knives to the throats of the would-be jail guards.

"Anything to say for yeselves?" He asked, half-expecting a lively escape tale.

Dugald, at least, remained too thick to come up with a story. "Dunnae, sir, just came and hit us wi'somefin..."

"Took pistol and cutlass as well, I see. And gave ye a lovely new fragrance." Apparently the merry trio had doused the mate and cook with the contents of the pisspot before beating them with it. Irritated as he was by their escape, Gerrarrd found he had to give them credit for creativity. "It suits ye. An' may I ask how 'tis they gained access to the keys?" Here, a story would not have been unexpected; Jack Sparrow was famed for his... intriguing methods of escape.

"Sparrow had a fit," the cook said, just as Dugald muttered "the girl were disrobin'."

So they'd pulled a double, had they? "I see..."

The band of them looked up as Iagan returned with his search party, waterlogged boots squishing noisily against the deck. "There's no sign o'em sir, not one. We e'en checked the bilges."

Gerrarrd bit back a growl. Sparrow's effects and a number of smaller weapons had been gone as well - gone from his cabin - bloody hell. They'd taken some of his clothing, to, though what they wanted with that was beyond him. "Wot 'bout the rigging, lads? They weren't clinging to the rigging?"

"Nay."

The boats were all present. That left only one rather dim option... the merry trio had gone overboard in hopes of reaching the island. Gerrarrd stomped out of the hold and up onto the main deck, leaning over the pitching rail to investigate the lay of the waves. If one timed it just right, he supposed one might be able to miss being smashed against Wickedry - but luck would need to be with them.

Ah, and who be a captain to question the great Captain Jack Sparrow's luck? Gerrarrd tried to see through the murk and mettle of the storm and pick them out on the beachfront, but gave that up shortly. He went back below, where one of the men had already put a nick in Dugald's throat. "Alright, lads, here be the plan. We'll wait out the storm here as we thought to. Once it blows i'self out, we'll be going to the island and see if Sparrow's luck held through the swim."

"An' wot if it didna?"

"Then we'll be findin' bodies, won't we? A scrap o'clothing, aye? It changes none of our plans, mind yer tongues. E'en if they did reach the island, there's nowhere for 'em to go. No ship'll be makin' headway in this tussle." Gerrarrd's gaze settled on the mate and cook, who regarded him as stoically as men destined for death could. "Now, as fer yerselves, I'll be thankin' ye to be stayin' the night in the brig... while I..." Word, what's a good word... "...ruminate on yer fates."

He waited until the crew had locked the pair away before ushering them out. "There's to be no deaths either, not before my word! Be ye clear on those terms, dogs?"

"Aye, sir," a chorus of voices answered. Sometimes it was best to speak to the men on their own terms, with a voice they would not recognize as being superior - merely authoritative. Gerrarrd waited until nearly all had gone back to their positions before tugging Iagan aside. "Dugald botched th'job o'first mate handily, did 'e not, Iagan? Will ye be doin' the same?"

"No, sir," Iagan said.

"Good. Mind the crew and see my orders carried out." Gerrarrd looked scornfully at Dugald and the cook before heading to his quarters. "Rouse me if anythin' comes to pass."

The cave would have been very nice if it had contained some sort of natural light source, or been conductive to an artificial one.

Making a campfire had been attempted the instant they got inside, but it had quickly been deemed a failure. The smoke had nowhere to go and before anyone could consider the ramifications of their act, they had stumbled out choking and cursing whoever invented fire.

That would be the Spanish, Jack had said with his typical conviction.

The cave had at last aired out, and now Will Turner found himself sitting cross-legged and leaning back against a rock wall that was infinitely harder than the smooth wood of Wickedry's brig - and without the lantern that had given them a dim way to see one another. The only light here came from the crack in the great wall that led to a hallway of sorts, and the outdoors. Aside from that diffused bit of light from the front of the cave, he couldn't see his hand when it was right in front of his face - so how could he expect to see anything if it leaped out at him? Much to his unease, he had found a few bones in the mad scramble from the cave - old and dried, but bones nonetheless. Jack had examined them and tossed them aside with a yawn, declaring them to be animals of some sort.

A quiet snore from the other side of the cave alerted him to Elizabeth's not-so-graceful presence; upon returning to the cave she'd presumably curled into a ball and finally dozed off. Will sighed, leaning his head back and twisting his neck about until he heard the vertebrae crack. "So she sleeps."

"About bloody time." Jack still sounded like he'd just won a great sum of money. "Not much for adventure these days, is she?"

If he squinted, he could just make out the gleam of the pirate's eyes. "She's had a... difficult few months."

"Haven't we all?"

Will closed his eyes. If sleep was the only thing to be permitted to him in this dank little cave, surely he'd take it. He had nearly drifted off into a semi-peaceful slumber when...

Click.

His eyes opened into darkness.

Click, click.

"Jack."

"Hmm?"

Click click.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh." Click. "I've got a hangnail." Click click. "William Turner... are you grinding your teeth?"

"Of course not," Will said through teeth that were indeed grinding.

"Yes, you are! Goodness, boy, if something's troubling you then do talk about it, when you leave such things inside, terrible things happen to your soul, terrible, awful, horrible types of--"

"We're trapped in a cave, in a hurricane, with Ephraim Gerrarrd docked just offshore, and you're still..." He waved a hand until he realized he'd been mimicking Jack in the pitch. "...you!"

"What do you expect, lad?" The chuckle was dry, rasping. "I'm... wait for it... look lively... Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"Ah, didn't see that one coming. No, certainly not. So tell me, Captain Sparrow, have you titles to go along with that name?" Will asked, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, certainly. Savior to some, downfall to others, lovable scoundrel, chief of the--"

Across from him, Elizabeth groaned. "I should slap you. Both of you."

Will glanced up at Elizabeth's latest proclamation, which came in the middle of darkness. He judged her to be not more than eight feet away, not far from where Jack had settled himself upon staking his claim. "Why would you slap me?"

"Because... it sounded good at the time."

"If you two do not stop your loving bickering, I'll have to box your ears," Jack said. No, he was not far from Elizabeth at all; he'd have to watch out for a roving slap. Will stretched out and poked about with his foot, but could not quite reach either of them. That at least meant he was out of the way when it came to appendages lashing out at him - but what about hurled objects? Hmmm. Jack had ceremoniously dumped all of their pilfered weapons into a pile when they'd first arrived, on the grounds of letting them dry off - but Will couldn't seem to find them, no matter how hard he stretched.

"I wish I could see..."

"Damn my eyes," the pirate said absently.

A rumbling in his belly alerted him to a new problem. "I'm rather hungry, as well."

Elizabeth shifted. "Let's go hunting!"

Jack snickered. "And what do you know about hunting, young miss?"

Will braced himself for the onslaught, but Elizabeth only sounded slightly irritated. "I'll have you know I accompanied my father on hunts."

He couldn't resist. "In England."

"Stop it, Mr. Turner, I'm trying to tell a story," she said to him in her sing-song voice, the one she had used when they were fourteen and she was chasing him around Port Royal with a rusty sword she'd found under the dock. I'm a pirate and I'm going to get you! she had hollered, slicing and dicing as well as any girl could - which was, in hindsight, sadly lamentable. Will had played along, pretending not to remember the attack on the Cassandra a scarce two years before. He'd even managed to console her when the lovely blade - rusted straight through - had shattered against a support. It had been for the best, of course. Her father would have killed him if he'd found out his precious daughter was playing I'm a Pirate with the blacksmith's apprentice.

Will smiled at the memory.

Further away, Jack seemed to find it all quite amusing. "Oh, my, whelp, you've been Mr. Turner-ed."

Elizabeth chuckled along with him. "If you two... fine gentlemen... will excuse me, I'm going to take in some fresh air."

"There's a rather bad storm raging out there," Will objected.

"No, Will, I need some... air."

"What the lady is trying to inform us, dear William, is that as we are no longer locked in a cage, she has no need to ask us to turn our backs... savvy?"

"Oh." Will was glad no one could see him turning red in the darkness. Elizabeth laughed quietly before gathering her skirts and moving toward the entry of the cave. He saw her face briefly as she entered the sliver of light that connected the entryway to their little room, but then she was gone.

Will spent several dry-mouthed moments racking his brain for something to say. They had been in the cave for hours as far as he could tell - hours, and nothing to show of it save drier clothes and rumbling bellies. At least aboard Wickedry they'd been fed.

He did voice this thought to Jack, who snorted as politely as one can. "Look at that, you can find some good in a brig of a ship, can you? Will, you are most certainly your father's son... to a most irritating degree."

It felt strange to hear Jack's voice and not see the motions that always accompanied it. It felt stranger still to hear the captain speak of his father so casually... hadn't Bootstrap Bill left him to die on that island with the rest of them? Yet his voice had been amiable, as though he were discussing the weather. "Jack?"

"Aye."

"Will you tell me about my father?"

The question stilled him for a moment. "That depends, William, on whether or not you intend to skewer me if you hear something you don't like." He sounded as though he'd been expecting the question.

"I can't see in the dark. Besides, you have your... things." Indeed, Jack had flatly refused to leave Wickedry without his bloody effects. "Though I suppose I could smother you with my vest."

"Right then. Well. Your father. Yes. Good man. Good pirate..." Jack trailed off briefly. "Good friend. Taught me everything I know."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

Will found he couldn't resist: "Did he say savvy often?"

Jack tsked him. "Now, lad, if you're not polite I simply won't tell the story, will I?"

Will composed himself and attempted to sound pious. "Forgive me. Please go on."

Jack did not tell him any one story, per se; instead he spoke of Bootstrap's thoughtfulness, his ability to turn a wrong situation into a right one. To be honest, Will preferred the straight facts to a story woven from memory and time. He did not want to learn of his father the pirate... he wanted to learn of his father, and Jack was happy to oblige. "A charmer, he was... much like meself, mind you. He talked often of you, y'know."

"Did he?" Will's memories of his father were fleeting, though he recalled warm dark eyes and a coarse hand ruffling his hair. Papa Papa watch me swim! Father had fished him out of the water once - no, not the ocean, a lake? - yes, a lake. Mother had laughed about it. He had left soon afterward, never to be seen again.

"I think he tried t'instill some form of chivalry in me, seeing that you were not on hand to properly learn." Will imagined the captain making a face. "It haunts me to this day."

"Being chivalrous?" Will would never have connected that word with Captain Sparrow; it just didn't seem... decent.

"You know. Leaping from ships. Saving beautiful maidens. Breaking curses. Captaining the mightiest ship in the world. Def--"

"Roping sea turtles?"

He heard Jack fumbling around, and a pebble abruptly bounced off his nose. "I tire of your interruptions, young sir, and in case you hadn't noticed, your beloved has yet to return from her... visit to the stables."

That's right... Elizabeth, where are you? "I'll go get her, I guess..."

"Nah, boy, you'll end up being eaten by a sea serpent. I'll fetch the maid. I've an idea of what she's up to. When we get back - we need t'determine just what to do when this opportune storm decides it's helped us enough. And maybe while I'm at it I can find us all a bit of rum..."

The actual taking air had only lasted a few minutes, and Elizabeth had stood under the rain afterwards, making a vague effort to let the water wash away her tears, her sleepiness, her sins.

The hand landed on her shoulder with far too much assurance to be Will, though she held out a slim hope until Jack's voice rang into her ears. "It's rather wet out here, miss, if you'll come back inside. Your swain fears you'll fall ill. Did you happen upon any rum?"

She didn't even dignify his question with a response. "Then let the swain come get me himself, if he cares so much."

"Death by rain is hardly a way to prove a point, now is it Miss Swann?"

She spun around, water cascading from her poor soaked hair. "You imply that I do this to prove a point?"

"You imply that you do not? Clearly our darling Will, gentle soul that he is, fears speaking to you at all, and you believe it will take a drastic act to bring him out of his shell, so to speak..." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Now, it all started for us when you fell off that tower, aye? So once Gerrarrd and his Winifred or whatever her name may be sail off into the big blue, may I gently suggest falling off the nearest cliff whilst I am not available to rescue your bonny self?"

The really disgusting thing about all of this was that Captain I'm-So-Wonderful Sparrow was quite right about her intentions. Not that she would ever admit it. "You think you're so clever."

"You are incorrect, madam. I know I'm so clever." Jack leaned away from her, bright smile still firmly carved into his features. "Intending to slap me again?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to her, but now that he mentioned it - well, it was quite a viable option. Tempting, too... but then, she'd already given him two when she first saw him, plus the third on the beach. Elizabeth stayed her hand and settled for glaring at him. "Do you know what it's like to have the one that claims undying love for you to be afraid to touch you?"

She cursed herself for speaking the words almost as soon as they were out in the open. Why was it that she ended up spilling her heart at the most inopportune moments? Jack blinked at her, and water dripped from his hat onto his boots. Clearly, affairs of a serious nature were rather out of his realm of thought. And damn it all, once Elizabeth Swann started something, she couldn't stop.

"There have been times, Captain Sparrow, when all I wanted was his hands on me, and no matter how hard I tried - no matter - he would chuckle, turn away. Before, I could do without, but now..."

Dark eyes grew wide. "I knew it! The boy's a bloody eunuch!"

This time she did slap him, and she slapped him hard. When Jack turned back to her, he put a finger directly in her face. "That's the fourth time you've struck me, young missy, and if you keep this up you'll soon be competing for the record. If you want to slap someone, slap your bloody Turner whelp, as he's the one fool enough not to take what's offered."

The rise of anger gave way to nothing more than dull resignation. "I care for him. But he... he doesn't..."

"Stir your passions, love? Awaken things inside you that you wish would stay asleep?" Jack waved his hands about for additional dramatic flair, but looked at her with eyes that abruptly became a bit too knowing for comfort.

She hardened her stare. "He doesn't wish to harm my honor."

Jack laughed so hard she was afraid he'd keel over. "Well, not bloody much to worry about on that end, is there?" He leaped out of the way when her hand approached, and he caught her wrist tightly. "No more of that, missy. I meant only that... he needn't worry about such things anymore."

She stared at him. "You've spoken to him." The words quivered.

He barely inclined his head. "So I have."

"Why?"

"He asked me."

You bastard, you pirate, you fool, of course you speak of your conquests, don't you? Don't you? How I could trust you, how I could believe you, silly, stupid girl, Elizabeth... "He asked you so you - told him?" She could not keep the horror from her face or her voice, nor could she stop herself from imagining what must have gone through Will's head. I must go to him, I must tell him it was the rum, always the rum, the bloody rum...

Jack smiled at her. "He asked me about his father." When she stared at him incredulously, he shook his head and sent water flying. "Your mind moves too quickly, Miss Swann, and I daresay you've got a bit of a guilty conscious. I said nothing of what you're doubtlessly contemplating at this very moment... you swore me to silence, did you not?" When she continued to stare at him, he sighed. "Elizabeth, dear, you've refined your dark stare to a rare art. Certainly you can practice it on someone else."

She had to get away from him. Now. "I'm going back inside." She picked up her sodden skirt and began trudging back to the cave, but Jack's hand on her wrist did not go away. "Let me go."

"Don't be telling the lad anything you'll come to regret, love." He had possessed that look on his face before. Not long before. Not long at all...

This must stop.

She looked at him through dripping hair and clammy skin, and realized he still had not released her wrist. "I regret nothing." When still he did not release her, she gazed right into his eyes, her words sharpening. "Nothing."

He let her go.

(Re: use of the word 'scalawag' - I have seen it used as both scalawag and scallywag, and both terms pop up at dictionary.com. And yes... this fic is going along under the pretense that something happened during the Infamous Island Vacation... just in case you couldn't tell. =D)