Elizabeth had woke to the sound of cheer above deck, and as she'd opened her eyes she found an empty cabin—and most of all, an empty spot on the cot beside her where Will should have been—and it struck her. She'd thought she'd shed all of her tears, but swiftly they'd stung her eyes once more. Alone on the lumpy mattress she wept until her eyes hurt. She dabbed them with a handkerchief, remembering the strange suffocation she'd suffered only hours ago. She remembered the chaos in her ears and the terror that clawed her throat. Sniffling, she remembered Will's accusations. And when the door swung open she hurled a piece of Jack Sparrow's finest china at her husband's head.

The plate smacked the hard frame of the door and shattered red and white porcelain pieces to the floor.

Elizabeth gasped, hands to her mouth, when she saw Little Lucy, in Will's arms, staring with wide eyes at her. Her daughter's lip wavered and she shot forward, grabbing her from Will and pressing reassuring kisses to her hair. Little Lucy buried her face in her neck and Elizabeth's heart sank when she felt the little girl's tears on her skin.

"Elizabeth—"

"Shut up," she hissed at Will, smoothing her daughter's silky hair with gentle fingertips. "Look what you've done!"

Both of them looked down at the remnants of Jack's china—that she'd thrown. Her face flushed. Will's brows knit in confusion, and when he looked up at her, Elizabeth forced an accusatory look on her face. She lifted her chin and hmphed for good measure.

"Elizabeth—"

"I don't want to hear it," she said, robe snapping as she turned her back on him, "so just leave."

"But I—"

"Go!" She closed her eyes, hoping with all her heart that he would not. Blindly, she wished for his strong hands on her shoulders, turning her around, gripping her while he looked into her eyes to tell her that he would not. Aching for him to deny her request, she waited. And when she heard the door shut behind her, Little Lucy's sobs were not the only ones quaking the silence of the room.

Will sighed, shutting the door behind him. Seeing that Jack had carelessly tossed their friendship to the wind was bad enough, but Elizabeth's refusal to acknowledge his presence, despite his apologies, was worse. Gathering his strength, he stood there, until he found the determination to move. His wife had told him to leave, and he would.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"Wot's it?" Cook took off his spectacles and rubbed them clean with his shirt. He sighed, putting them back on and eyeing the list of preparations Jack had quickly transcribed for him. He shook his head. "I've not enough hands to make wot all you're askin for, Captain."

"Mate, I'm not asking for much."

The thin scroll of paper unrolled itself, the bottom stopping just short of touching the deck, and Cook blinked.

Jack winced.

"I've hands to help."

Both men turned to the woman who was walking towards them. They froze upon seeing it was Anamaria who'd offered, the two of them paling at the thought. "No!"

"Fine!" The woman glared at Jack. "I'll be leavin now."

Jack sighed, watching her turn on her heel and storm toward the steps, walking into Gibbs and wrestling the man aside. The stumbling sailor righted himself and stomped the rest of the way over to them. Muttering curses under his breath, he took out his flask and slugged a good deal of what smelled like—Jack frowned at it. The smell was gone as quick as the cap was back on and it was tucked back in the man's vest.

"She offer to cook again?"

Jack and Cook nodded mournfully. Gibbs winced, and Cook began to cant warnings at Jack, but the pirate captain was already on Anamaria's heels. "But you can't leave, love. Not yet!"

"I can leave whenever I want to leave and whenever's now."

Jack frowned, watching the woman huff down the steps. He'd not been prepared for such a reaction to his refusal of her offer, and he'd most certainly not been prepared to see the woman off before the party. Anamaria had spat at him, spat on him, yanked him across the deck of his own ship by his ear, slapped him—a lot—and called him by a variety of uncomplimentary names. One of his dearest friends, she was, and having vexed her—though, he figured, they were even for the stunt involving a vat of molasses and a bag of feathers that she'd tried to pull on the way to Port Royal—with what he knew was quite enough, he wished she would stay to enjoy the eve at the very least.

"Please stay?"

"No! It ain't my business!"

"What?" On her heels, he pushed her gently into the first level corridor and shook his head. "What are you talking about?" When she pushed past him, he followed her down the hall and into the cabin that had always been hers—even when she wasn't aboard. It looked the same as it always had. Save for the young pirate—tan shoulders peeking out over the sheet draped around him—sitting on the bed, that is. Jack arched a brow at him. "Roth."

A flush rose into the young man's cheeks. "Cap'n Sparrow."

"Roth's comin with me," Anamaria snapped, shoving a bound journal in her pack. "To my ship."

"What?" Jack glared at her. "Since when?"

"Since I had to steer this ship back to Tortuga to pick up yer Ice Princess."

"Ice Queen," he amended. "And mine she's not."

Anamaria snorted.

"She's not!"

"Fine, she ain't yers. Point is, I didn't agree to this nonsense, I didn't agree to snaggin yer nag—"

"—my nag?!"

"Ya prefer hag?"

"Hag, nag." Jack shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, love. Might matter to the old bag though so I wouldn't let her hear you callin her either, or, and even as well."

Anamaria's brow furrowed. "As I was sayin—Isaac has never much liked me." Her dark eyes met his. "Ya know it, Jack Sparrow. It's why ya had Celamar built, remember?" She had him, there, of course. As a young man Isaac hadn't taken well to the idea of his captain's friendship with a woman other than Alice Witter. "Aye, ya do."

"Anamaria, I—"

"It ain't nothin, Sparrow," she said, punching him lightly in the arm. "Ya know I love that ship—and planned on soon takin my own when it was ya took me to her. But I gotta get her back out there, ya fool. I gotta get me crew back fore I lose 'em to another ship, Jack! They're good men. I don't wanna lose 'em."

"Oh but you'll take two of my best!"

"One—"

"Two as it includes you, love."

"Jack."

"Anamaria," he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "Stay."

"Can I help Cook?"

From somewhere in the ship came the sound of smashing china.

"Shhh…not too loud," he warned, wincing. "I'm not looking for another mutiny…" Finding Anamaria glaring at him, he cleared his throat and nodded resolutely. "Which is why we mustn't deprive the men of your epicurean expertise. Off to the galley you go," he said, pushing her out the door. Fretting for the fate of their feast, he made a quick sign of the cross and shook his head at a wide-eyed Roth. "May the heavens help us."

"An' our bellies," Roth agreed with a grimace.

After ensuring Roth knew by way of no uncertain terms—as he'd growled certain terms quite clearly—that clothing was necessary upon his ship, Jack remembered his missing sword. He'd had it when Alice led he and the wee Turner from his quarters. Or had he? Jack frowned, as the unpleasant thought occurred to him that perhaps he had not. Had it. The sword. In fact, thinking about it led him to believe that he had not even touched the sword since slamming it down—and effectively away from himself—the eve of the worst trouble. It had been a move that's memory caused him to cringe for its melodrama.

"Bloody sword," he growled into his pillow.

Jack Turner's appearance had shaken him from his resolve to stick his face in a pillow and refuse to breathe. Not only that, but now everything that had felt numb before had turned right sensitive. The sword that hadn't mattered was jabbing hard into his hip and suddenly it mattered again.

Jumping up, he yanked the thing from its scabbard—Will Turner knew just the right make, didn't he?—and glared at it. "You're no consolation," he told it. "Bloody bribe, is it? 'Consider it consolation, Jack. Consider it consolation.' For what? For losing sight of our friendship? Well I'm a pirate, aye, yes, yes, yes Will Turner, yes I am a bloody 'Pirate'. But I'm sorry, son. This bribe, this one, no non nee nein." Then he had slammed it down. "I don't accept!"

In his defense, he'd been accused of one of the most heinous—and that was saying something, really honestly saying something for the list of his crimes was long and some were, admittedly, heinously heinous—crimes he had not committed by someone he'd thought was his friend—best friend no less, but then he was rather accustomed to strange, ironic twists of that nature—at the time. It wasn't as if he'd been able to think clearly. He'd been too miserable thinking about all of the things he didn't like to think about, before Little Lucy showed up. And then, the dreams came even after she'd made him feel better, and…

Jack was standing at the door to the Turner cabin. Like Anamaria's, it was the one that the family he'd hoped he was a part of shared each time they stayed aboard the Pearl. But he had followed her, and finding himself standing outside Will's door he did not know how exactly he had managed to get himself there. Well, he'd walked—obviously—but he hadn't thought about it first. His feet must have simply… carried him. Not that they didn't do that on a consistent basis. Just not without his guided purpose, really. Not without…

He scowled.

Captain Jack Sparrow, he remembered, did not stall and stammer. Not even in his head. If Will Turner wanted to talk, they would talk. Their moment, he decided as he flung open the door, was now.

An unidentifiable flying object whizzed past his ear over his shoulder. When it smashed, he knew from the tinkling sound that it had been glass, and lots of it. And whatever it was had been hurled at his head. Curious, he glanced over his shoulder. Eyeing the flowers no one was supposed to know about, he deduced that the object was the flower vase—well, what had once been the flower vase, more likely. Pity. The thing was slivers and shards now.

"That was my favorite vase," he said sadly. Then he raised his brows at the wide-eyed Elizabeth, who save for her sleeping daughter was alone, and parked a hand on his hip. "Expecting dear William, were you?"

"You're just as well," she grit, recovering from what had been apparent shock to see him. "Both of you deserving the same what with the way you've been acting."

He frowned. "Well unless I'm mistaken, I am not the one who accused the two of us of things I consider dastardly, depraved, and dissolute—unequivocably so, in fact, I might add—even for me."

Elizabeth's brown eyes wavered.

When she rushed at him, he fell backwards, half into the hallway. Relieved to see not a single soul bearing witness, he pushed her gently back into the room and shut the door behind them. "Oh, Elizabeth. You're crying," he realized, rolling his eyes heavenward with a silent prayer asking that she stop. Soon, if not now. "There there dear, it's alright. No need to give Captain Jack a bath, now. Really, love. Just had one. Last week?" He frowned. "No, not last week. Week before perhaps, but… Stop… sobbing, please. Elizabeth? Please stop?" She wasn't stopping, he thought, rubbing her back. "Alright, woman," he surrendered with a sigh. "Soak my shirt if ye please."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Climbing the rigging had been easy, Jack Turner decided. He'd scurried right up. Isaac hadn't had to boost him. Well, Isaac had been quite upset at first, shouting at him to slow down and eventually shooting up the mast after him with Miss Witter shouting after him to slow down. But that was soon to be forgotten when the two who'd been shouted at were looking out over the lagoon—and beyond it to the Caribbean Sea whose blue green water trapped the high sun's golden light and splendor to her. So magnificent it looked that Jack could not look away.

When he was finally able, he saw that Isaac had the same trouble. "I've missed it," the man said softly, hand tightening around a rope. His blue eyes filled with the sight and he smiled at Jack. Jack smiled too, and let Isaac ruffle his hair. "Now. I'll teach you a trick Jack once taught me." He turned serious. "But you must never do it."

"What?" Jack squinted up at him. "Then why show me if I must not do it?"

"Because." Isaac sighed. "You may have to some day."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"What is wrong with him, Jack?"

Jack sighed, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to the woman who'd indeed soaked his shirt in tears. Elizabeth blew her nose, honking into the scrap, and handed it back to him. The wad of linen was warm in his hand and Jack winced, shoving it quickly back to his pocket. Thinking about its sudden soiling wrinkled his nose and he yanked it back out and tossed it, with a grimace, over his shoulder.

Elizabeth clung to him with clammy hands, her face pressed to his sopping chest as she sniffled. "We've not had much time for each other in the recent past, but…" She turned sad eyes up at him. "Why would he think such things, Jack?"

"You've got me, love." He shrugged. "I mean, I know I'm rather charming. Handsomely so, if I may say so meself. And of course there's that I'm dashing. Daring. And—" Jack broke off with a wide grin, "well, blindingly brilliant!"

"Oh yes," she agreed, pulling away at long last and folding her arms. "But you've forgotten 'humble'."

"No I haven't." He winked at her. "I was only just getting there."

She arched a brow. "I don't think you will ever get to that point."

"Let's hope not, Elizabeth."

Mrs. Turner opened her mouth, but she didn't say anything. Jack frowned, and they looked up at the beamed ceiling together. Above them boots stampeded over planks, and Jack was nearly sure he'd heard someone—with a distinct proper clip to their voice—holler an all too enthusiastic "woohoo".

Woohoo, Jack had found out in the past, was really not a good word to hear. Ever. Especially aboard his ship. Nodding politely to Elizabeth, he kissed her hand and exited the cabin, shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as his heel struck the hall, however, he hurtled down it and up the steps, pushing a sheet-clad Roth out of his way. Material clutched in his fist, he glanced over his shoulder and winced, tossing the sheet back at the man. "Sorry." On second thought, he stopped, glared, and pointed a finger at the scrambling man. "What did I say?"

Roth flushed. "No bare bottoms."

Jack nodded. A second and much more enthusiastic "woohoo" followed by an all too familiar screech, however, cut short the speech he was about to make about the importance of not being caught out of your stitches. He winced and shot up the rest of the stairs.

The first thing he saw was Alice Witter, face pale, opening her mouth to scream again. "Why are you screeching?" He grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him, between the men who ran back and forth between the masts of his ship. "What's the trouble?"

"Sail-sliding!"

Jack sighed and looked up at the rigging. "I was afraid of that." He watched as Isaac grabbed hold of the top of a sail, flipped himself over, and dove face-first down the rippling thing to grab onto the yard below and right himself, barely pausing before sliding fast down the next sail to land next to a jumpy Jack Turner. He cupped his hands 'round his mouth, ready to shout, when Alice shrieked. He jumped and whirled to glare at her. "Will you stop screeching, woman?"

"Then get up there!" Frantic, she grabbed his shoulders and whirled him toward the mast. "Stop them!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

With all the commotion on deck, it was surprisingly easy to lower the longboat into the lagoon unnoticed, Will realized. Not one pirate was looking his way, and he hoped, as he sat in the thing and it went slowly over the side of the ship, that they would continue to be as enthralled as they seemed in whatever was going on in the rigging. Frowning up at it himself, the boat was in the water when he recognized Isaac Faust sliding on one of the Black Pearl's huge sails.

"Well you've made Jack proud," he muttered, turning his back on the scene above. He picked up the oars, hopeful that Isaac Faust kept showing off. If he kept the attention of the crew, Will would not attract it with his departure.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac landed on the yard next to Jack with a thump and Jack, startled by the other's sudden appearance, jumped. He was grateful for the strong hands that steadied him so that he would not fall and he laughed breathlessly, thrilled that he'd picked up Isaac's trick with the greatest of ease. He had always thought that the big sails of a ship looked most useful for sliding on, but he had never dreamed of attempting it. As it turned out, there was next to nothing to it.

From the yard above, one of the two of them would jump, bum sliding against the sail, to the next yard down. Then the other would jump, sliding down the other side, until both of them were standing braced on the yard breathless and bright-eyed. When Isaac had been certain that Jack had the hang of it, they had slid from sail to sail, leapt from yard to yard, and swung on two ropes from the front mast to the rear.

"Uncle Jack taught you to slide on sails?" Jack watched Isaac slide down another sail and quickly followed suit, feet touching down lightly. He grinned. "So he does this?"

"When he has to," Isaac shrugged. "He is getting old though…"

"Getting old?" The pirate on the next yard over glared at them. Captain Jack Sparrow had snuck up the rigging after them, and stood there with his hands on his hips. "Now. That's rather insulting. And hardly true. You see," he said, tapping air with a fingertip, "If I was getting old I imagine I'd not be able to do this."

Grabbing a rope, the pirate captain swung over and up, landing easily two yards above the boys. Not missing a beat, he slid backwards down the topsail, grabbed the yard below it, and flipped to his feet. Like a cat he sprang up and like a swan he dove against the next sail, snatching Jack, who flushed for his sudden surprised squeak, around the waist before grabbing another rope and swinging wide to the yard he'd started on.

There was a smattering of applause and whooping below and the pirate looked pleased. "So it seems, Isaac, that there's a spring in my step yet, dear boy. These knees are good for quite a few more knocks." His grin grew. "Not to mention I'd wager hat-tippingly high bets on the sprightly swerve of my hips."

"Sprightly is it?"

"So I've been told. But don't take a woman's word for it," the pirate shouted back, hurling the rope at Isaac as he grabbed another. "Why don't you try to keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"No," he called over his shoulder, putting a foot forward off the yard, "it's a dare!"

"Uncle Jack, what are you do—" Jack broke off, screaming as the two of them hurtled through the air. Vaguely, he heard outraged shrieks below. "Ice Queen's screamin," he shouted. They landed with a soft thud against a sail. His eyes grew wide when he felt the pirate's grip on his ankle yank him into a slide down the next. When his feet settled on the wood, he looked up to find his Uncle's scowl, and he paled.

"Who's screaming?"

"Miss Witter."

"Aye, that's what I thought you said." The captain frowned and looked between their feet to the deck below where the woman turned frantic circles around the masts. He shrugged. "She'll get over it."

"I will not!"

Captain Jack Sparrow ducked as a heeled shoe hurtled at his head. He grabbed it and dropped it below. "Are you trying to knock our blocks off?"

"No," shouted a breathless Isaac Faust, hauling himself up to the yard below the one they stood on, "she is trying to stall you so that I might catch up."

The pirate cussed and, before he knew what was happening, Jack found himself being flipped through the air to the topsail of the mizzenmast, stomach curdling at the sight of the sparkling water far below past the stern of the Black Pearl. Bum sliding halfway down the sail, his fear turned to sheer panic when he felt his Uncle leap off of the yard below. With his hand firm in the pirate's, he went flying head over heels as well. They slid fast down the black sail together, landing on their feet at the same time.

"Hold on," Captain Jack Sparrow said, wrapping an arm around Jack's waist and grabbing hold of a rope. "This'll be quite a dive."

They dove, and a scream ripped from Jack's throat. The deck of the ship loomed below them, gleaming bright under the hot sun. Jack was sure that at any moment they would plummet right through the wood. But they didn't. The rope went taut and they swung neatly over to the bottom of the mainmast where his Uncle easily dropped them to their feet. Grinning, they both turned to look up at a stunned Isaac braced above the crow's nest.

"You cheated!"

"Pirate," the captain called up to him, much to the delight of the crewmen.

"Jack Sparrow!" Miss Witter's screech carried over the booming laughter. "I'll knock your block off!"

"Lad?"

"Uncle Jack?"

"Don't ever climb that rigging again," he barked, brows together. Then he glanced over his shoulder and winced, patting him on the shoulder. "That's all. Got to run!"

Jack watched as the pirate took off, arms flailing, across the deck of the ship with the Ice Queen—Miss Witter—on his tail. Feeling quite at home, he laughed with the rest of the crew and wished that his father were standing there with him. Not for the first time he wondered where the man could have gotten to. Evidently he had not heard the commotion that was his son's first bit of sail-sliding.

Although that was probably a good thing, Jack mused, grinning up at Isaac Faust who'd patted his head.

"Jack Turner!"

His grin faded. Eyes wide, he tore across the deck, passing his Uncle, and the Ice Queen chasing him, on the way. Jack's father may have missed the occasion, but apparently his mother had witnessed the entire thing.