The dream is always the same.

He is standing on a beach, watching two people dance around a bonfire. He knows this part of the dream, and always smiles. Elizabeth told him about this, told him about singing and dancing and rum and fire. His mind recreates it down to the droplets of sweat that coat his beloved's skin, the way the fire reflects from her eyes as she dances and spins and revels in the beauty of the night. He loves to look at her, and for awhile, it seems the dream is tailored simply to let him admire and worship the creature that is Elizabeth Swann.

As of late, the dream has taken on a cast he does not like. Eyes that have seen more than his own look upon Elizabeth dancing in the light, and they see her as Will does. The bright gleam in them grows brighter still, and he sees the glimmer of intention. "This is my dream," he says aloud, but his voice is carried away on the wind.

The eyes close as their owner slumps back, taken by the rum. Elizabeth gazes out to sea. She told him this, as well, and he relaxes now that the threat is gone. He acts as observer in the scene that has been recreated in his mind; she does not seem to see him, or hear him, and that suits him fine. He has spent nearly half a lifetime just watching her from a distance, and this is nothing new. He loves to watch her look at the sea and the stars, as she turns the bottle of rum over in her hands.

This is where the dream starts to go bad.

The eyes open again. A hand drifts down Elizabeth's arm. It is a hand well-used to ships, the sea, women... and its touch is something Elizabeth is not entirely willing to forego. She leans down. The dance begins.

"Why?"

The question is not answered, or even acknowledged.

He has prided himself on maintaining a sense of propriety throughout his life, always looking away when couples began the dance of lust. He knows what it entails, he's relatively certain he'll one day be happy to revel in it. Here, however, the rules have been broken. He tries to look away and cannot. He watches in silent horror and abject wonder as a man places hands upon what he always silently wished to be his - his alone. There is nothing save the sweat and the cries and all that he cannot bear to watch.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it to be a dream - nay, a nightmare - a falsehood, a poisonous mixture of his anxieties and emotions brought on by the sudden change in scenery and company. Barbossa and his monkey waltz in the background and Norrington duels with a spoon overhead, but the couple on the sand take no heed in the surroundings. They are intent on only each other, and how much they can take before the night gives way to sunshine. Try as he might, he cannot get their attention.

So he watches, and waits, and remembers.

The dream is always the same.

Castaways - Day Four

"Are you all right, Will?" Elizabeth ran her fingers over the bags beneath his eyes, and William tore himself away from the previous night's... recollections. Five times he had awakened that night, and five times the dream had started over again - ever since landing on the island. He forced a smile.

"I'm fine." Her light touch continued, but she would likely not rest until he gave her a plausible answer. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Hmm." She felt his forehead, shrugged. "Maybe I should take over cooking duties. I'm relatively certain Mr. Sparrow is putting something into our suppers to make us toss and turn."

She was really quite fortunate the aforementioned Sparrow wasn't there to correct her about his title. In the three days since the storm had broken, he had kept them moving constantly - no point in making it easy for Gerrarrd, mates. Will had found out - rather to his chagrin - that the island was quite a bit larger than he'd initially imagined, and he judged them to be nearing the far west side of it. It might have all seemed like an overblown exploration mission if the good captain hadn't wandered off every so often to check the bearings, as he called it. Will secretly thought he was going off to tease the animals that they had seen loitering about.

He reclined against a tree, massaging the new bruise that had begun developing on his hand. One of the blasted birds that seemed to have been tailing them had nearly landed on his head earlier that morning, and in his attempt to swat it off he'd nailed the hand quite nicely against a rock outcropping. Really, his luck this past week and a half had been amongst the worst of his life.

Still, it's not quite as bad as being held over that chest of gold with Barbossa and the knife. Nothing will equal that. He took some comfort in the fact that things hadn't descended to the level of the all-time low.

Elizabeth crouched, rolling up the pants of her trousers once again. She'd changed into the clothing they'd stolen from Gerrarrd's cabin as soon as the items had been reasonably dry, but the entire getup proved to be far too large for her. She slogged along as best she could, striking poses when she thought he was looking - but Will thought she resembled one of the homeless, crippled old sailors that he'd often run into while carrying Mr. Brown's works out to their new owners.

She caught him looking at her, lips twitching as the amused glint in his eye. "What?"

"That's a lovely hairstyle on you."

Elizabeth made a face at him. "I know it's a rat's nest. I don't have a brush." Much to his surprise, she ambled over to him, stepping carefully in her nearly-destroyed shoes. She leaned lightly against his chest, lacing her right hand through his left. "As soon as we're back home, I'm going to take a long, hot bath..."

"Hmm... that sounds good..." Will licked his cracked lips and tried to smile at her. There had been a time when he had longed for a moment like this: just his lady and himself and nothing else in the world... she had never made a move toward him. Not once in the eight years he had known her had she done such things. Only after Barbossa's demise, only after the return to Port Royal and all that he held dear... only after those things had she sought to touch him, to do things he had always assumed would be reserved for the marriage bed.

Her smile became slightly wicked, and Will ran his free hand against her cheek (running it through her hair would have been his first option, but he'd seen the knots and didn't wish to press his luck). Not that I'm really complaining...

"You looked a little bored, William," she whispered. "Fancy a wee--"

Will put a stop to her words with his lips, the hand that had been on her face dropping to her waist to pull her closer. Tarnished though her beauty may have been at the moment, she still felt lovely pressed against him; lovely and wonderful and right. This was the woman he had chased the undead after for; this was the woman he would give up his life for. Elizabeth Swann...

It was an odd moment for him to realize he still knew so very little about her.

He had no idea how she managed to switch their positions; he only pulled away from her briefly when he no longer felt the tree at his back. She looked at him quizzically when he raised an eyebrow. "What? I saw it once... it looked like fun."

"Where'd you see anything like this?"

"At the docks, of course."

She had used those over-wide eyes before, convincing her father that it hadn't been Will who had set the dining room table on fire when they were fifteen. Governor Swann had not only believed he hadn't done it, he'd also put a warrant out for the tongueless, scruffy old pirate with the bird that apparently had. God help Cotton if he ever went ashore in Port Royal.

"You're a strange girl, Elizabeth."

She smiled.

The quite obvious thing to do was kiss her, and of course he did so.

Shortly thereafter he was doing quite a bit more than that, and with Elizabeth's help, his hands were visiting areas they had never even dreamed of going near. His day had just gotten quite a bit better...

"Oh, bloody hell, mates, not in front of the pirate!"

Until just that moment.

Will spun away from Elizabeth, gaping at Jack. The captain perched jauntily on a rock and looked as though he'd just sprung up - but who knew how long he'd been watching? Will hurriedly re-buttoned his shirt and attempted to stare most indignantly - though it turned into nothing more than a horrified grimace. "Don't you usually make some noise?"

"I made plenty of noise. You two were simply far too involved in your... conversation? to notice me." Jack grinned at him and winked, then looked beyond to Elizabeth. "You might want to do up that last button on the trousers, love."

"Why would I want to do that?" Elizabeth asked. She leaned against Will's arm, and he awkwardly set it around her shoulders. "Did you find your purpose this time, Captain Sparrow?"

"Oh, I learned a few things." He hopped down from the rock, swaggering over. "Captain Gerrarrd is feeling very unhappy," he said, adjusting his hat. Will and Elizabeth exchanged glances.

"Did you see him?" Elizabeth asked. "How close were you?"

Jack tugged one of his pistols loose from his belt and admired it. "I could hear him feeling very unhappy from quite a distance away. I might suggest moving along, so that we can continue hearing his unhappiness from a safe distance."

"Is it interesting?" Will released Elizabeth and began gathering up his allotted stash: a pair of pistols, a sword, the remains of the four-legged beast they'd been gnawing on for the last day. Elizabeth picked up her share of the goods and joined him in following Jack through the underbrush, muttering obscene words under her breath as her oversized trousers caught on bushes and logs and sometimes her own feet.

"Well, lad, that depends on what you believe is 'interesting.' If ordering half his crew to scour the island and follow every trail and track they come across, then certainly it's interesting."

"They'll be on us in no time," Will mumbled. Jack swung around, eyebrows artfully arched.

"Come come! They'll not be catching us! After all, I'm--"

"Don't even say it."

"--an expert escape artist!" Jack grinned at him.

"Rather loud for an expert escape artist," Elizabeth said. Jack blinked at her, turned around, and began leading the way again in relative silence.

Will hid a smile.

There would be no fire that night. They huddled together in a patch of shrubs, attempting to eat what remained of the meat. At least someone had thought to cook it before setting out. It had probably been Jack. He was always an obnoxious pair of steps ahead of them.

Elizabeth curled into a ball and wished for arms around her. Will's arms would be preferable, of course; blacksmith hands did mean blacksmith strength. Still, her father's arms would suffice - he had always been comforting. Corwin, maybe, if he could keep his mouth shut about sappy dreams and the newest ship of the line. Perhaps even Jack.

The pirate caught her looking at him and smiled crookedly.

Perhaps not.

Jack did have strong arms, though.

Yes.

Very strong.

They made no sound. Every crunch of leaves, every animal that made its way through the night sent her heart pounding, certain that Gerrarrd would peer over their little nest and smile broadly. Ahh, what've we here, mates? Back they would go to the brig, or to Davey Jones' Locker, or worse - to beds.

Not far away, Will sighed and cut loose with a long, rattling snore. Her head whipped around in alarm, and she could see Jack leap at him from the corner of her eye and pinch the man's nose shut. Will made a grunting sound, smacked his lips a few times, then settled back into quiet sleep. Elizabeth felt a mild twinge of jealousy; he slept so bloody easily. She banished the thought instantly - he deserved it more than any of them, what with the way he'd been staggering about. He kept silent vigil at night so the others might sleep, and now he had earned his respite.

Her warm feelings settled uneasily as Jack plunked down right next to her. She pushed herself up onto her elbow to look at him, then jerked her head toward Will. What if he does it again? She mouthed, hoping he could see her face in the starlight better than she could see his.

He shrugged.

Oh. That helped.

Jack poked her side.

She stared at the finger. Certainly he had not had a reason to poke her.

She poked him back.

He caught her hand in his and shook a finger at her, nyah nyah nyah! Pouting, she tried to pull free but found that the captain was not quite through with his fun. She could feel his calloused palm against her knuckles and felt her lips turning up when she saw his triumphant grin.

"Why?" Will asked aloud. He sounded troubled. What dreams plague him?

She blinked. Why, indeed? She tugged harder, but Jack's grip only tightened. So he wasn't through with his little game. Fine. It made no difference to her. It made no difference at all. She sighed, and heard him chuckle faintly as he released her. There, that would be it. He'd gotten bored...

A finger ran down her cheek... then a hand.

Elizabeth was not entirely certain why she reacted the way she did, but her hand came up to cover his. The hand paused in its gentle stroking of her face, and she remembered - yes, remembered - her body had taught itself to do this, to enjoy this...

To want more.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!

The bastard. Will slept not three feet away!

"No," she whispered, unwilling to awaken Will. She dared not say more.

The pirate smiled again. Trying to have a bit of fun with her, was he? He wanted a reaction, no doubt. Just to see if he could get one. She would have to be careful not to give him that satisfaction.

There were two of him, she decided. There was Jack: captain of the Black Pearl, fairly decent pirate, lover of rum and would-be playmate for herself and Will. He could make her laugh or make her scratch her head, and he could often convince her to down more liquor than was good for her.

Then there was the pirate. She supposed in theory she should have been pleased by this revelation; after all, hadn't she loved pirates since her sixth birthday? She had wanted nothing more than to be swept away on an adventure by a roguishly handsome pirate, and certainly she'd gotten that. But... this pirate? The pirate side of him did not particularly care if he made her uncomfortable, the pirate side saw her as money, as prestige, as means to an end. As a whore on a beach, drunk on rum and self-pity and emotions that would never be allowed to surface again.

Castaways - Day Five

Will had not known that boars had it in for humanity.

It hadn't been his bloody fault. One moment he'd been poking about looking for a spring, and the next this great tusked... thing came barreling out of the underbrush at him, emitting a sound somewhere between a squeal and a roar. His sword had gotten stuck in his belt, and in the split second he had before it reached him, he decided that running very fast would be a prudent thing to do.

It had chased him all the way back to the impromptu campsite, sent Jack up a tree and Elizabeth onto a rock, and continued zipping along at entirely too merry a pace while he scrambled around trying to evade its tusks.

"This is terribly inconvenient," Jack called to him as the boar snagged his trouser leg. Will yanked free and attempted to get up the tree after him. "I think not, it's not going to hold two of us."

"Then get down here and help me!" Will yelped as the tusk grazed his exposed calf and abandoned the tree, aiming instead for Elizabeth's rock. She held out her hand to pull him aboard, and all would have been well if the boar hadn't decided his leg looked particularly tasty at that very moment. "AAAUUUUGH!"

He crashed to the ground a few feet from the rock and wheeled onto his back, hands groping for the sword tangled in his belt. "I... hate..."

BANG.

The boar collapsed, and Will looked up into the eyes of a very amused Jack Sparrow. He blew lightly on the muzzle of his pistol, toeing the boar. "Pigs," he finished. "Big pig."

"It tried to eat me."

"But now we will be eating it..." Jack looked over his shoulder.

"...unless Gerrarrd and his cutthroats hear that and come running for us," Elizabeth said. She had knelt beside Will, carefully pulling his torn pant leg away and examining the bite mark. He winced when she touched it, and the wince turned into an outright grimace when he saw the blood running down the side. "Unless that's what you wanted, Captain." She grasped one of the knives she'd managed to stuff into her bodice and began cutting a strip of her too-long trousers away.

Jack reloaded his pistol and stuffed it into his belt, then planted his hands on his hips. "Now why would you think that, darling?"

"Captain Sparrow works for himself, does he not? How are we to know you aren't leading us right to Gerrarrd? Will, lift your leg."

"You don't want to be doing that, love."

Elizabeth glared at him. "And why not?"

"You'll need to disinfect it, before it rots and turns green and falls off."

"I see. Do you have anything to disinfect it with?" When Jack didn't move, she scoffed. "I see." She began binding the wound, and Will gritted his teeth.

"Elizabeth... you don't really think... Jack would do that, do you?"

"I don't know what Jack would do, William. Nor do I at this point care to get into a debate about it--" She moved to help him to his feet, only to find herself staring down the tip of a blade.

Jack's blade.

"Jack," Will gasped.

"Captain Sparrow. You see this nice, sharp sword, Elizabeth? Move too quickly and it will be part of you, all right? Now let's get a few things into the clear, Miss Swann, shall we? For starters, I am not leading you directly to Captain Gerrarrd, because he is that way--" he pointed in the direction they had come "--and we are most certainly not headed there. Secondly, do you really think I am so crude as to strike a bargain with the likes of him?"

Will and Elizabeth glanced at each other uncertainly.

"And thirdly, I know you've been putting on a brave front, which is really quite fetching on you, m'lady, but allow me to assuage your fears: I will get us off this island no worse for wear, aside from poor William's little love nip, and no one shall ever be the wiser as to our activities while stranded. Until we find ourselves rescued, however, your life is in my hands... so let's be polite, shall we?"

The two of them stared at each other for so long, Will began to wonder if he'd been forgotten. "Ah, bleeding?"

"Your sword, Captain."

Jack smiled cheerfully at her, sheathed his sword, and knelt on the ground beside them. "Hold the bandage open. Ah, William, lad, sorry to have to do this..." From one of his many pockets he pulled out a small flask, opening it and taking a sip. Will gaped at it.

"You didn't tell us you had any."

The captain clamped a hand over Will's mouth, then flashed a winning smile. "You didn't ask." He then promptly dumped about half the contents onto Will's leg.

It was a good thing he'd covered his mouth.

They holed up on a clifftop that night, lying down underneath a lone tree. Jack wandered off early with a slice of the boar to roast in some secret location, leaving William to stare blankly at his bandaged leg while Elizabeth fretted over the dressing. She was always in motion now, adjusting the bandage, tapping her feet, wringing her hands. Every now and then she would lay her hand against his forehead, presumably to check for a fever.

Will closed his eyes when her constant fluttering made him dizzy. "I suppose when we get back I can always boast about my narrow escape from a raging pig." When he heard her start with the hand-wringing again, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Elizabeth, what is it? Why are you so angry with Jack?"

"He... he makes me nervous," she mumbled.

"Well, he makes me nervous, too... but he's a good man, Elizabeth. I trust him."

"I know."

"Then why don't you?"

He opened his eyes and found her staring out beyond the cliff, at the sea he knew to be below it. "Because he's a pirate."

"But you've always adored pirates. You wanted to be one... you wanted me to be one. Or do you still?"

His light joke didn't touch her. "When one is faced with the reality of piracy, William, one can... change their mind. I loved the pirates of stories, the gallant men who would do the right thing but at the same time break every law ever written. There are not pirates like that."

"Jack is--"

"Jack is a good man, yes, but Jack is not a storybook pirate."

Will closed his eyes again, and sleep came easier than he expected. With his hand secure in Elizabeth's, he had thought dreams would be soft and pleasant... dreams of fields, of shining swords, of a calm sea and maybe a ship gliding across it. He would not dream of a bonfire or unspeakable things. He would not. Would not...

Did.

Damn. I really can't win.

"William." Elizabeth gently shook him awake, and the sky had faded from red to dull blue-gray. "You were whimpering."

That damned dream again. He remembered every aspect of it. "Jack back?"

"No." The mention of the pirate's name sent her features to tightening again. Will squeezed her hand tightly.

"Elizabeth, I must ask you something."

"Yes?"

"I... I do not want you to become angry at me."

Her expression became guarded. "What is it, Will?"

"I've had these dreams... this one dream, really... about you on the island..." He formed the words slowly, forcing each one out of his mouth. The more he said, the more she would doubt his trust - and their precarious new bond would slide toward the brink. "...with Jack... and... I... couldn't help but notice your... actions toward each other have been less than... friendly, and... I wondered... I thought... I don't know..."

She stared at him with unblinking eyes. What was behind those eyes? Rage? Fury? Disgust? Horror? "What is it you're trying to ask me, Mr. Turner?"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"William."

Still not Will. That would be as much of a concession as she would make for him after the question he'd just asked. "I wonder if... if you... lay with him," he finished lamely.

Elizabeth continued to look at him, though she did not cast his hand aside as she feared he might. "You have this dream often?"

"Since we washed ashore. It... repeats."

"You should have told me earlier," she said, looking down. "You worry so much, Will. About everything."

"It's not true, then?"

Her shoulders quivered for an instant, then she laughed. At least, he thought she laughed. "Of course not. He's a pirate! He's also dirty, smelly, rum-addled, and he wears more eye makeup than most tavern harlots."

"I look better in it, too," Jack's voice announced, and they looked over to spot him atop the rise. He sauntered over, dropping the newly-cooked boar slice into their laps. "Eat up, my children. Oh, and Miss Swann... it's charcoal, darling. For the sun. You should try it sometime, though. It would give you lovely definition."

"Look, William, he also dispenses bad fashion advice."

Will decided to be thankful they were still bickering. If they were confident enough about their escape from Gerrarrd to fight, their luck was likely holding.

Their luck ran out when the sky turned from indigo to gray.

Elizabeth awoke to the clicking of a gun, and she reached for Will's arm. Jack was nowhere to be seen, but she did find herself looking right into the charming smile of Ephraim Gerrarrd of the Wickedry. "Good morning, Miss Swann."

"Jack," Will grunted, and the gun was suddenly pointed directly at him.

"Your dear friend Pigeon really should cover your tracks better... Iagan learned from the best, you know. Now, let's get up and move, shall we? There's a number of things that need to be discussed, and I'd much rather be on Wickedry than sitting here in the cold." Her head was swimming as she tried to wake up, but something... something was not quite right. Hadn't Gerrarrd said ye rather than you?

We must all learn to play parts from time to time, if we are to survive in this world...

Elizabeth shifted as quietly as she could, pinpointing the location of the knife she'd stuffed into her bodice. "I knew it. I knew... I knew he'd betray us."

Gerrarrd nodded. "Can't trust a pirate, can you? Up, dear girl, before you catch chill. You like rather nice in my clothing, I might add... almost good enough to... eat..." He ran his tongue exaggeratedly over his lips, and Elizabeth blanched, grasping Will's shoulder as she helped him to his feet. The man studied them as they got up. "You've hurt yourself, lad. What happened? Parting gift from Sparrow?"

"Jack wouldn't betray us," Will assured her. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Then where is he, lad?" Gerrarrd gestured broadly with his gun at the deserted campsite. Even Jack's effects were gone. "Here? There? Nowhere! You can't trust a pirate. You can't trust me, or Jack Sparrow, or any of the other scalawags that roam these seas... ever. You, miss, please stand away from him. I'll not have any well-coordinated attacks, thank ye very much."

"He can't walk." Elizabeth pointed at Will's leg as she formulated a plan. "I think it's infected."

"Aha. Step back, if you please... thank you... Iagan, help the lad move. No silly plans here, hmm? I've got guns and you've got... my pants."

Iagan, a tall redhead, pushed his blade against Will's belly as he roughly grasped his upper arm. Gerrarrd turned around to survey the path behind him, and in doing so Elizabeth could only scream one thing: "OPPORTUNE MOMENT!"

The knife slid from her bodice, tearing Gerrarrd's shirt as it did so. Elizabeth lunged at Iagan, blade outstretched and eyes wide. The man tried to turn with her blow, but the blade slid against his neck nonetheless, and she knew by the warmth over her hand that he bled.

It gave Will the time he needed to fling the man aside and take his blade, lunging for the nearest individual. Elizabeth ducked the heavy fist headed her way and jammed the knife into something reasonably solid, and nearly wept with relief when she heard a pained grunt. There were too many of them, too many by far, and she heard pistols as they cocked. By God I will go down fighting! Gerrarrd would not have her. He would not.

A hand clamped around her neck.

He did.

"Bring Turner to the boat," the captain ordered. No, it was not Gerrarrd who grabbed her - it was another man, nearly holding her off the ground as she choked. Is this what it's like to hang? Lucky Jack, you escaped it. "Miss Swann, you delight me with your spirit, but disappoint me with your foolhardiness. I'm afraid you're a bit too much trouble to keep on what with everything else we've got on our plate at the moment."

The man grinned at her, began walking. He hadn't closed off her airway entirely, but his other fist clenched around her wrist. She did not let go of the knife. No. It's mine, damn you! WILL! But Will was being dragged away, fighting - always fighting, brave, sweet Will - but too late, too late for her...

"Sorry to see you go, poppet," the man confided. "We could have had a lot o'fun, you and I."

"Poppet?" She bared her teeth at him. "You... called... me... poppet!"

And up came her foot, right into his groin.

He doubled over, releasing her knife hand.

She brought the blade down into his back. Freeing it, she twisted the hilt into his neck, feeling warm blood spill out onto her hands. The man gagged and staggered, and this time the knife did fall from her hand as he released her... into thin air.

Her life had never flashed before her eyes before, and it didn't now. She reached up instinctively, reaching to grasp something, anything to slow the fall, stop the inevitable. Will, so sorry, for Jack... I'm not ready to die!

A rough, sea-worn hand caught hers, and she opened her eyes to stare into the dark ones she had seen so often in her dreams.

"M'lady, I'm pleased you listened to my advice, but even dear William would not jump off this to save you," Jack Sparrow informed her.