7.

"Tell me more, Esmeralda," Jack insisted, his boots tapping together, excited and impatient. Esmeralda took Jack by the wrist, flicking her dark gaze up to meet his before lowering her eyes back to his palm.

"Your heart line—Well, imagine that," she breathed out, causing Jack to lean forward. "It says you're in love with me," she whispered into his ear, quick and teasing as she wrapped a manicured hand around the back of Jack's neck.

"No! Well, yes, but…" Jack cleared his throat, leaning back, his eyes shifting from his palm to Esmeralda. "Yes," he repeated, living in the silence of agreeing with her words, feeling their weight. After a moment, Jack drew in to kiss Esmeralda, a hand in her raven hair.

"I knew it." Esmeralda's lips drew up in a smile, her eyes hooded from tiredness paired with the drink and herb they shared earlier that night.

Esmeralda lifted Jack's arm so she could press her back to his chest then returned to studying his palm. Esmeralda ran her index and middle fingers along the highest horizontal line on Jack's palm, beginning below his middle finger. Her long fingernails tickled his skin. "The truth?" She lowered his hand into her lap, threading her fingers with his. "Your heart line is broken."

Jack frowned. "Broken?"

"Possibility for transformative bonds, multiple lovers—"

"Well that's a given." Jack turned Esmeralda, grinning. He brushed her dark hair away from her eyes, his own lighting up at a sudden thought. "Speaking of, do you think we could call upon Giselle soon?"

"I call upon you, Jack Sparrow,"—Esmeralda took the gold ring with the deep purple stone from Jack's finger then placed it on her own—"to take me away from this place," she finished, lacing her naturally low and rich voice with additional seduction. Esmeralda laid down on the beach, gazing up at the stars.

Jack propped himself up on an elbow, taking in the sight of Esmeralda for a moment—her ankle-length golden skirt having slipped just above her knees. Jack turned up the corners of his mustache before placing a palm on either side of Esmeralda to lean in close to her ear, his palms sinking into the sand.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, Esmeralda," he corrected, teasing, smoothing his hand along the back of her calf.

"The Great Esmeralda, Captain," she countered, hooking her leg around his, her eyes darkening.

Esmeralda wore an absentminded smile as she reached up to toy with a talisman fashioned in Jack's hair then, thinking better of it, framed his face with both of her hands instead. Jack's hands fumbled at his belt until Esmeralda leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw and deftly replaced Jack's fingers with her own. Her touch brought him back down to earth and out of his head. Kissing Esmeralda slow and focused, Jack tried to bridge the gap between the three years of life she had on him, now at the forefront of his mind after she eased his ungraceful eagerness, his belt now undone.

"And does is it matter where I be taking you, as long as I be taking you?"

"You'll be taking me, alright."

Esmeralda's painted lips drew up into a smile that could only be described as wicked and she didn't get another word out. Instead, one hand grasped a handful of sand, the other a handful of Jack's hair, and she gasped at the feeling of him inside of her.

"Sea, skies, and stars," she whispered—a chant she often used when closing out a spell.

.

"Port!"

Jack started from sleep, blinking up at Elizabeth and wearing a look of indignation.

Elizabeth stopped shaking his shoulder. "We have to port, Jack."

Jack allowed himself a moment to tightly shut his eyes again, his eyebrows drawn together at the shrillness of Elizabeth's voice, before standing from the desk. He pocketed charts marked for spots where they might find Esmeralda then strode up the stairs. Upon witnessing the light and steady rain, Jack faced Elizabeth, unimpressed. His fingers caressed the air in a quick, flourishing movement.

"A little fall of rain is a threat?"

"No, an impending storm is a threat."

Jack passed by Elizabeth, leaning on the edge of the sloop, eyeing the progressively greying sky. "I've made it through worse weather on smaller crafts."

Elizabeth followed him. "Alone and not valuing your life."

"You value my life for me now, is that it?" Jack closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "Oh, thank you, seas, skies, and stars—Elizabeth does care! Take notice, everyone—The previously unfeeling woman feels once again!"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, feeling the rain pick up. She schooled her expression then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, missing Jack checking his compass, making to throw it, then thinking better of such to return it to his pocket.

"Jack Sparrow, what is with you today?" Elizabeth asked, nearing Jack who kept his eyes on the horizon. "Last night you were fine, sharing your palm stories, and now… Were you dreaming again? Something unpleasant?"

"Back to mothering, are we?" he muttered, then registering— "Again?" Jack looked over his shoulder. "When was I dreaming of—? Around you?"

Elizabeth stepped in closer to Jack, resting her hands against the sloop as well. She wrapped her arms around herself when she noticed Jack shift slightly away from her.

"Your first night's stay at the countryside," she supplied, recalling Jack's furrowed brow during sleep and his flustered and rushed greeting that morning.

"I assure you, that dream wasn't about Esmeralda," Jack said, his voice low.

"But this one was—I knew it! Missing her?" she asked in the same manner he had posed the question about Will the night before.

"I would never miss that woman," Jack said, his voice clipped. He turned his head to Elizabeth, looking her over, and with her hands behind her back and a knowing smile painted on her lips, she looked girlish. "Any woman," he corrected pointedly to get a rise out of her.

The wind whipped Elizabeth's hair into her eyes and for that she was grateful—a guise for her sudden rapid blinking. Jack turned away from her, and she would rather see him wear a smug look, pleased with himself, instead of his current look. There was no emotion behind his dark eyes—cold and unfeeling, so unlike the previous night. Elizabeth's palm ached to press against Jack's once more, but she hid her hand against her back as she had so many years ago standing before her maid, hiding her pirate sword fashioned out of parchment.

Elizabeth drew her lip into her mouth as the weather intensified. She turned, leaving Jack without a word to make the sail full canvas again as Jack adjusted it to half sail following the palm reading. Her hands slipped on the rope from the rain at first, then out of frustration. Elizabeth willed herself not to cry from the confusion weighing on her. She had herself to blame, she realized. She never should have tried to understand a man who did not wish to be understood.

After chancing a glance at Elizabeth, Jack took in her defeated form—looking all the more tragic in the rain-soaked oversized jacket. Jack's squared shoulders softened and, sighing, he crossed over to Elizabeth, his steps heavy against the deck.

"It's like you've forgotten. You have to make love to the sail, Elizabeth," Jack explained patiently, reaching around her to guide her hands back to the rope. He helped her pull, strong and steady against the rain and winds.

With Jack's arms on either side of her, Elizabeth felt as if she fit perfectly and relaxed into the rhythm of the pulls. Cradled under his frame, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, followed by that familiar confusion at how easily she could dance between irritation and admiration for this man, this pirate.

Jack returned to the helm to steer the sloop, pulling the charts from his pocket, studying how to change their course. Elizabeth watched Jack, his fingers tracing the map methodically while preparing their new heading, waiting a moment before following after him.

"I'm sorry for, in a way, mentioning Esmeralda. I'm interested is all," she said loud enough to hear over the rain, although with the nature of an apology, she wished she could be soft-spoken.

"Always poking your nose in places you don't belong," Jack said, matter-of-fact, his words not condescending, simply honest. Elizabeth swore there was almost a fondness in the statement. His eyes fell to the pendant around her neck. "And now, wearing another necklace you don't know much about. History repeats itself."

"Then tell me the origin."

"The origin? Not quite my story to tell. I was there, but not exactly my story." Jack turned his focus from the sea to Elizabeth. "But there is something you should know about…" Jack pulled a face.

"Esmeralda," she supplied.

"Yes." Jack cleared his throat. "I never told you the full tale. Esmeralda ratted me out to Beckett in exchange for a staff he acquired from a ransacked pirate ship. Beckett wasn't privy to its powers, only activated by an ultimate betrayal. So, you should know Esmeralda dabbles in witchcraft. Tia Dalma—Calypso and I struck a deal to keep her witchiness at bay from me, but now that Calypso is out of human form, she has no care for human deals and debts."

Elizabeth stared at Jack, processing the new information. He divulged the details so rapidly that she was still piecing it all together.

Jack leaned against the wheel of the sloop. "All rather complicated, isn't it? Don't you miss those skellies back on the Isla De Muerta? Lot easier to follow."

"Ultimate betrayal," Elizabeth echoed. "Jack, what did she do to you?" she asked him as she did when they danced together in the drawing room back on land, but she was sure to not let him evade her with another question this time around.

"She made me believe she loved me," he answered, and between his expression and the rain, Elizabeth couldn't help but want to hold him. "And we already covered the ratting out to Beckett, getting my mother killed—the whole rest of the bit." He waved off the experiences with nonchalance as if recalling what he ate for breakfast, had they the chance. "She used the pendant to get close to me for power, not love, and with the staff, well, she must be quite pleased with herself."

"We have the pendant and the ring. We could go to Will now and have you trade places. Captaining the Dutchman as you wish, you'd be rid of her. Why wait?"

"You forget, to summon Will, we'll need bait." Jack's eyes darkened.

Elizabeth touched Jack's shoulder, understanding. "You plan to kill her."

"Two birds, one stone, love," he murmured.

Elizabeth realized she never witnessed Jack kill someone firsthand, save for Barbossa, who returned to the land of the living with the help of Calypso, and Davy Jones. She wondered how many others after had died by Jack's hand, if any, or if he typically reserved such a grim resolution solely for a vengeance quest or to best repaying a debt. She reasoned that the latter was probably true as Jack usually talked his way out of most confrontations or opted for escape.

"And you're sure you can't share the origin?"

"Still fishing for the provenance of the pendant," Jack sighed, shaking his head at her, tutting. "Not quite my story to tell," he repeated, his eyes distant. "Tell you the truth, even I don't know the full story. Anyway,"—Jack faced Elizabeth—"I've played your bard the past few days, sharing stories at your demand. Shall I have a go at it?" he asked himself, not waiting a moment before answering. "Ah, yes, I think I shall. A Swann song, if you will? Yes, one Swann song, please."

"A swan song? But Jack, I'm not going anywhere."

"We all do eventually," Jack said. Elizabeth was taken aback by his acknowledgement of mortality. "Furthermore, after saving William, you will. Go somewhere. Off out… there." Jack's hand waved in no particular direction. "Settle down with a family and all that. So, go on, love," he said quieter, barely heard over the downpour. "If you had to tell a last tale, what would it be?"

"I…" Elizabeth swallowed. "Is that a port?"

Jack turned away from Elizabeth, the shadow of a smile pulling at his lips, forced.

"Saved, this time." Jack's eyes washed over Elizabeth once again. He left one hand on the helm and the other reached out, smoothing away damp hair from her eyes. "But I'll be waiting on that story, Swann." He leaned in close, pausing momentarily, his lips so near her own, only to pass by to whisper in her ear, "Don't think I'll forget."

There it finally was—that smug look on his face, aware of his teasing. His free hand fluttered over her neck for a moment then grasped the necklace, thumbing over the stone.

"I'll be waiting."

Jack dropped his hand just like that, turning his focus to steering the sloop to port. Elizabeth left him, gripping the edge of the sloop, and if her legs were slightly trembling, it was from the cold air whipping against her soaking wet clothing and the cold air alone.

.

Jack worked on tying the sloop to port. As Elizabeth passed him, she swore she noticed Jack almost offer his hand. She ignored the near-chivalry, for both of their sakes.

Elizabeth lead the way, feigning confidence although she didn't know this shore, the land they unexpectedly ended up on. Jack traipsed behind and she could hear the click of his compass opening and shutting as they neared signs of civilization—stands and storefronts. However, due to the weather, the area was barren.

At the sight of a tavern, Jack took the lead, entering. The tavern was rather empty, no reveling or fighting guests, just a few lonely men nursing a drink, peering out the window to the grey sky, a few stealing glances at Elizabeth. Jack defensively wrapped and arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and responded to the glances with glares. Elizabeth's fingertips rose to the pendant, and she swore she felt the jewelry grow hot for a moment. She discreetly looked over a few drunken guests, searching for a reason why she might have felt the jewelry scald her skin, an affirmation she hadn't imagined the enchanted object's sign.

"Jack, how did you manage to get the pendant from the governor's wife anyway?"

"The truth?" Elizabeth looked over at Jack who was still clicking his compass open and shut. "I just asked." His lips turned up in a smile. "Funny, the things you can get from a woman, simply by asking. Most men forget."

"And just like that, she relented?"

"You know I have a way with words, Elizabeth." Jack turned away from her, his mouth set in that pleased grin again. "Women, they just can't—"

The rhythmic sound of his compass opening and closing stopped along with Jack's heavy footsteps. Elizabeth stilled a beat after Jack.

"Resist," he finished. "No way," he said, low and disbelieving.

Elizabeth's eyes followed Jack's, taking in the sight of a fortune stand in a dark corner of the tavern. Behind the stand was a man shuffling a deck of cards. The pendant felt hot around her neck once more, so she drew her hand to her neck and, after a moment, Elizabeth came to understand Jack's surprise. The man was no other than Captain Teague. Jack straightened his shirtfront and belt—the clothes he wore to the ball looking as if they belonged more on him now, wrinkled and wet—then sauntered towards his father.

"What are you doing?"

Teague raised only his eyes, still hunched over in his chair, barely acknowledging the interjection.

"Looking at a fool behind my clearly labeled stand asking me what I'm doing." Teague pointed up at the wooden board overhead with "HERE BE FORCHUNS" scrawled in black paint.

Jack bristled, opening his mouth to speak when Teague cut him off.

"What happened to your…?" Teague trailed off, gesturing to his own beard.

Jack's eyes slid to the side where Elizabeth stood behind him. "Besides the point," Jack replied, removing his hat and smoothing a hand over his damp hair. "Years of protecting The Code and you give it up in a wink? To parade around as someone you aren't? Fortune Red of all people—"

"Red died. Broke the Code." Teague glanced at the pistol sitting on the corner of the table, the look weighted, before sliding the weapon out of sight. Jack's mouth turned down knowingly. "There was an open spot. I filled it. As for giving things up, awful popular trend lately, isn't it?" Teague looked over Jack's shoulder, pointedly making eye contact with Elizabeth before digging in his jacket for a clay pipe. Teague studied the craftsmanship, then filled the pipe with tobacco. "A Pirate King leaves a dying people for a box."

"For love. Something you know nothing about," Jack said, laying his hands flat against the table to punctuate his words. Teague reached behind the table then threw a knife into it. The blade landed right where one of Jack's hands previously rested, however, he drew both up defensively in front of his chest on cue. Teague truly looked up at his son for the first time during the exchange. He leaned in, a humorless smile on his mouth as he pointed from his own palm to Jack's.

"As I thought." Teague smoked out of the pipe, blowing the smoke into his son's face. "Ought to do something about that life line, Jack."

Jack froze, stopping his fanning at the smoke to cradle his palms. Jack's eyes filled with worry then narrowed.

"You ought to stop pretending you know of fortunes," Jack muttered.

"And you ought to stop speaking on others' behalf."

Elizabeth glanced from father to son, taking in the pair talking at each other instead of to each other.

"This one, your girl this time around, she still got a voice, right? Unless someone went and cut her tongue out?" Captain Teague's gaze slid back over to Elizabeth, ignoring Jack sputtering at the referral of Elizabeth as 'his girl.' "Does the widow care for a fortune? Or did you two come here simply to pester a man nearing the end of his line?"

"I'll take one," Elizabeth answered, looking first to the deck of tarot cards on the table then Teague's eyes.

"Elizabeth." Jack sounded nearly betrayed.

With the wave of a hand and a sharp look, Teague dismissed his son. Jack made an affronted sound, accepting the dismissal begrudgingly for a moment only to turn right back around for the last word.

"By the way, it's spelled F-O-R-T-U… you know what, forget it. Not worth my time. Just as I was never worth yours." Jack made to leave again, then turned back again. "And I'll never forgive you for stealing my..." Jack gestured to his dreadlocks before tossing them over his shoulder as he left, muttering about The Code and imitating his father's low, guttural voice before letting out a final loud, exasperated sigh on his way to the bar.

Elizabeth watched Jack pay for a bottle then swiftly kick the tavern door open before facing Teague once more. She pulled the jacket Jack gave her after the ball tighter around herself which, she realized, wasn't too far off from Teague's own red coat.

"I look like someone I'd kill," Jack had said. Surely Jack hadn't meant his own father. Then again, there was clearly some kind of unresolved rift between the two, she considered.

"Take a seat,"—Teague took off his hat and placed it on the table, all the while still smoking from his pipe—"Pirate King."

Elizabeth sat before Teague, preparing herself for an altogether different kind of fortune from an altogether different kind of Captain.