9.

Jack decided when his father returned this time, he was not going to care. For days upon end, during the quieter moments of his life—watching sand pass through his fingers, sharpening spears to catch fish, or stoking fires for his mother—the same mantra repeated in the back of his mind.

Next time, I won't care.

The day that his father came ashore, wearing his usual closed-mouth smile that never quite reached his distant eyes, his mother went running as she would to throw her arms around Teague in a tight embrace followed by a trail of kisses across the map of his face, built up from days of longing. Jack stayed behind, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face fashioned into an expression of indifference. When Teague stepped forward, lowered himself to Jack's level, and stared wordlessly, intimidating, Jack didn't shift his weight on his feet or offer a smile. He mirrored his father's stare, challenging, and remembered his promise to himself—

I won't care.

When Teague picked him up and threw him into his arms as he did upon each return, Jack couldn't help but laugh in the way he always did with the common joy and relief of a child being caught in the arms of a parent. With his face buried into his father's arm, Jack thought maybe he could care somewhat.

Jack fell into the usual routine with his father, from picking tobacco to learning a chord or two on guitar to practicing swordsmanship. This time, he asked his father to not let him win and felt only briefly insulted when Teague ruffled his hair into his eyes and laughed in reply. Jack especially settled into caring when it was his favorite time of the days when his father was around, when all three of them just finished dinner and Teague would play guitar and his mother would recite a story known nowhere else but the expanse of her mind, smoothing her hand over Jack's hair all the while until he couldn't help but close his eyes, growing more somnolent with each brush of his mother's hand. In those moments, she almost felt like a true mother. In those moments, he held onto the fleeting feeling of peace. In those moments, Jack was convinced they were the only three people in the entire world.

Near-sleep, but not quite, Jack would recall to memory the feeling of his father's arms carrying him to bed and pulling a blanket over him. He willed himself to stay awake long enough each time. On nights when Jack put himself to sleep, if he felt particularly lonely, his mind would call upon the memory for comfort.

Although falling back into caring served him well for the days Teague was there, he knew it would serve him no good by night of the third day. He counted each day last time to be sure—yes, exactly three days. On the third night, instead of drifting off to sleep, Jack stared at the wall crafted from the earth and willed himself not to sleep.

He stayed quiet as he heard an exchange between his parents. He never could piece together what the exchange was. He used to worry they were hurting each other, but he reasoned with himself that, whatever it was they shared in those overheard moments, it was probably something he would grow into understanding when he was taller. His father said that on many an occasion.

"I'll tell you when you're taller, my boy."

He wondered if there was a reasoning behind the order, if the arguing was supposed to come before or after. Tonight, it happened to fall after. Hearing his father's voice raise above its usual threshold, Jack rose from his pallet and ran to the beach, following his instinct.

He made it just in time to see Teague, facing the ocean, reach for his ring finger. Teague turned and the glaring look intended for his wife fell upon Jack instead who stood before his mother. Jack never forgot the way his father's expression softened just as he spun the ring halfway on his finger and disappeared into thin air.

Jack's mother stepped inside their makeshift home, not even acknowledging him, not leaving one word behind. He pretended to not hear her cry, an effort he grew accustomed to. He had lots of practice from when she used to let herself hold him when Teague wasn't there, when she still felt compelled to convince herself to love him.

One of Jack's earliest memories was staring into the horizon, wishing he could become that endless, open promise. If he couldn't will himself to not care, surely he could will himself to witness the bit of magic where the sea-line kissed the sky. Someday. Somehow.

He heard his mother's voice calling out to him, finally, breaking his reverie.

.

"Jack," Elizabeth exclaimed breathlessly, swinging open the door to the governor's residence. Jack cleared his throat and adjusted his posture in the high chair of the drawing room, placing a book in his lap. His eyebrows rose as Elizabeth stood before him and leaned in, wearing an expression of desperation as her hands fell to each armrest. "I'm tired of waiting. I can no longer ignore this growing thing between us."

"Ah, so you did notice that." Jack shifted slightly in the chair then pulled a face, his eyes lowering to the book resting between his legs. Elizabeth laughed, meeting his eyes with her own.

"I mean my love for you," she corrected in a whisper, framing Jack's face with her hands as she shook her head.

"Right." Jack cleared his throat then returned Elizabeth's hands to her sides. He schooled his expression to appear unfazed. "And what of William?" he challenged. "You're clearly tied up right now."

"No." She shook her head again and pulled her lower lip into her mouth in a thoughtful look before she leaned forward to whisper, "but I could be."

"Elizabeth." Her name fell off his tongue like a word never intended for his use, forbidden and elusive. Jack forced himself to look away from her, or he was sure he would feel called to speak her name again.

"Jack, please." She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Love me."

Elizabeth slid her ribbon from Jack's hair, freeing it. He stood, taking Elizabeth by the shoulders to study her eyes. Satisfied with that he found there, Jack lifted her chin, and the pair kissed, releasing themselves into the shared desire since their reunion.

Elizabeth lead Jack to her bedroom and, once there, she glanced up at him while working to unlace the back of her dress. Jack reached around Elizabeth, stilling her hands with his own. By the look on her face, he swore she was going to beg him to not choose now of all moments to try to prove he could be noble.

"What kind of gentleman would I be," Jack paused, "if I didn't help you with that?"

Elizabeth smiled, letting him turn her by the waist. Jack unpinned her hair from the chignon and kissed at her neck as he undid the laces. Once he had her dress to the floor, he sighed at the sight of a corset.

"Torture devices for women and men and the like," Jack muttered.

He started to work on the second set of laces when Elizabeth faced him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him rushed and messily. Jack shared in quiet laughter with Elizabeth when they knocked teeth or bumped noses like overeager youth. Elizabeth peeled his black vest off, followed by the ruffled dress shirt, pausing to smooth her hands over the tattoos on his chest and arms.

"There's my pirate," she said.

Elizabeth laughed through a gasp, high and unexpecting, when Jack took her in his arms then laid her on the bed in nearly the same instant, sneaking overtop of her soon after.

"If all it took was a shave, that's all you had to say."

He decided that evening he would never tire of hearing all of the different incarnations of his name Elizabeth managed to create, masterfully coloring the one syllable in a new way with each sigh until ultimately growing quiet, resolved, much like the flowers that open for only one day.

.

"Jack. Jack. Jackie."

He peeked one eye open from where he was leaned against the wall of the tavern, met with the sight of his father—a far cry away from the beautiful face he looked upon a moment earlier in his dream. Jack scrambled further back against the wall, drew his hands over his eyes, then looked up once again at his father.

Teague sat next to Jack. "That Elizabeth, she's a good girl. Would be a shame if someone were trying to change that."

"Of course, you think I'll harm her." Jack crossed his arms, glancing sideways at Teague. "Lizzie can make her own choices. She has every say in getting involved or not involved."

"Involved." Teague let the word hang in the air. "Your interest in the girl, is it really about her or the opportunity to play the hero?"

"Get the girl, share a kiss, sail off into the sunset—that whole bit? All sounds like figment to me," Jack muttered, and at Teague's unconvinced look, he waved his father off. "Don't you worry a lick about Elizabeth. Worrying will just cause more lines." He circled a hand before his father's face then held both hands up in a gesture of conciliation at Teague's intimidating expression. "Elizabeth will be fine. Anyhow, we're off to save Will, didn't she tell you? I won't get tied up with her, honest."

His father shook his head, repeating his name as if to chastise him.

.

"Jack. Jack. Jack!"

He pressed his palm to his forehead, slipping out of yet another dream. Jack collected himself for a moment, grounding himself to the present, to reality, by staring at the floor of the abandoned building. He rolled his shoulders one, two, three times to rid himself of the one memory and two dreams then adjusted the crick in his neck with both hands.

"Twice in one day with you, Lizzie. Can a man never rest around you?"

Jack blinked up at her, bleary-eyed, finding Elizabeth holding the half-drank bottle he bought from the tavern.

"You can have some, if you'd like, although I saw you already had a cup of the creature with the creature himself." Jack took the bottle offered in return from Elizabeth, swirling and staring at the liquid for a moment before taking another drink. "What did you and Teague go on about anyway?"

"Nothing of particular interest."

Elizabeth drew the smallsword Teague intended for Jack from the sheath and offered it wordlessly. Jack stood to examine the weapon, the inlaid knuckle guard, wide forte, and double-edge blade. It wasn't a cutlass as Jack preferred, but the blade was still light, probably lighter. She could tell he was impressed by the craftsmanship although his lips were pursed to the side to appear indifferent.

"From Teague?" Jack asked, looking skeptical.

"Yes."

"Then I don't want it."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I know no other way to be, love."

"I ascertained that he's sorry. For being away too much from you and your mother, for not helping her more, to let her be as she was destined to be—"

"Teague should confide vulnerable tidbits of an unhelpful past to my face instead of through a messenger." Jack's eyes fell to the sword at Elizabeth's waist. "Gifted you one as well? Let's see it."

She could tell Jack was once again schooling his expression as not to marvel too much at the weapon. Elizabeth watched him study the initials on the hilt. His face washed over with understanding.

"William?"

Elizabeth nodded, a faint smile curving her lips.

"Fate—ever enduring, ever beautiful," Jack observed, his voice oceans away for a moment. "Will would positively come in ropes just from the romance of it all, I'm sure."

"There you go again in a sour mood. I'm not sure I can stand being around you like this, Jack," Elizabeth sighed. "Good awaits you."

"Like?" Jack drew his hand to his ear to punctuate the silence, looking up at Elizabeth expectantly, but he didn't even allow enough time for her to answer. "As I thought. Nothing is left for me in this life, which is fine. My purpose is made clear once again—sacrifice one for the benefit of many. That I can take, but then leave me to my simple joys."

"Simple joys?" Elizabeth watched Jack drain the bottle of its remnants.

"True captains know about simple joys," Jack started, circling her. "No fated unions or reunions, just partaking in simple joys after a long sail to procure silver and gold. Let the crew gorge themselves on a spread of viands, lose all senses from spirits, then stick and moan and shudder and spill over women, men, whoever. No preamble or false pretenses, just a good old-fashioned shag. Nothing you would know about." Jack straightened his shirtfront and the way he looked Elizabeth over felt condescending. "Simple joys."

"Simple joys or distractions?"

"Escapism, Lizzie," Jack corrected. "It's a beautiful thing once you allow yourself to fall into it."

"You can't escape righting your relationship with your father forever."

Jack turned up his chin at Elizabeth's words. "He'll die soon enough."

"Teague wasn't around as much as you would like so you deny him until his dying day? That's it?"

Jack ran a hand over his face.

"I'm to face the she-beast that is 'the Great Esmeralda,' do tradesies with William to captain the Dutchman, and stomach your nagging all along the way—Is that not enough? Now you expect me to get sentimental with Dear Old Dad? That's it?" Jack echoed Elizabeth's words back to her. "You think I'm nothing more than an irreverent miscreant who doesn't give a lick about anyone else?" The alcohol on Jack's breath was evident as he spoke so near her face. "Well, you're right, but you don't have to think it in that tone."

"Stop putting words in my mouth." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Anyway, were I to be so blunt, I would say something more along the lines of 'You're nothing more than a little boy who grew into a man with a penchant for jewelry and rum.'"

"Is that supposed to be an insult? I actually find it the greatest compliment, love." Jack grinned, showing all of his teeth. "Here I am, able to do whatever I want whenever I want. And your man at sea? Your darling, dashing Will? Cursed. So, I ask you, who won, Elizabeth?" He raised his finger, quieting her. "Actually, no—still bloody Will. I started to get cold feet about taking his fate as my own, I'll admit, but no, William has it made—away from your capricious mood, your shrill voice, and your penchant to pretend like you believe in always doing what's noble and true, even if you so clearly want to give yourself over to absolute escapism on the other side."

"And what would that absolute escapism be?" Elizabeth challenged.

"You know exactly what," Jack countered with narrowed eyes. He drew his voice up high and mocking, "'Oh, Jack.' 'Tell me more, Jack.' And all your other slip-ups." He stepped in close to Elizabeth. "Escapism is a beautiful thing once you allow yourself to fall into it," Jack repeated, tipping her chin up with a hooked index finger. "But of course, you remain resolute, dead set on noble and true." Jack shook his head and showed his gold teeth in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Elizabeth," he whispered, "you're my albatross."

Jack smoothed the back of his hand along the side of her face as the last "s" hung on the air. His voice was lighter than before, and although she was silently stewing from his mocking, Elizabeth still found herself wanting to pick the lock to this side of Jack and delight in all the treasures she may find there. He stared at her wordlessly for a moment then made to walk away.

Elizabeth's face felt hot from his touch and out of frustration at Jack leaving in such a way, making her feel young and, in a way, unwanted. She banished the thought that she wanted Jack to decide for the both of them, for him to just grab her face and kiss her.

She was also unsettled by the comparison. In fact, she loathed it—the likening of if Jack were to pursue her to the killing of an albatross, the maritime superstition that it was bad luck to kill the particular bird believed to hold the souls of sailors lost at sea.

"I bet right about now you wish you hadn't lost our duel," Elizabeth called out to Jack who stopped at the door. "You wouldn't be tied up with me otherwise."

Jack turned to face her, rested a hand on his hip and, after a calculated pause, threw his head back with a crowing laugh.

"Elizabeth, I'm cut to the quick," Jack feigned insult, his hand drawing to his chest. "You actually thought my skills poor enough that you truly won? I was sure you knew. I let you win."

"I disarmed you."

"Let you disarm me."

"Likely story." Elizabeth threw the sword Teague gifted to Jack which he caught effortlessly. "Your refusal to accept defeat calls for a rematch."

Jack shook his head at her. "How many mistakes are you willing to make, Swann?"

Using the sword Will crafted, Elizabeth felt balanced and at ease as she made her first few attacks. As they fell into a familiar cadence of clashing swords, she was caught off-guard by Jack playing the defensive role much less than usual. He was making quick, successive attacks, expending a lot of energy from the start, so unlike him. Elizabeth's arm was already growing tired, shielding against each strike. Eventually, Jack cast aside the jabbing technique, trading it out instead for heaves of the blade that seemed to have all of his weight in it, using the smallsword more like one would use a hanger. Jack's eyes were dark and distant. He didn't seem all there. She wondered what memory he was attacking in her place.

Elizabeth's focus shifted to Jack's recounted past from just moments earlier with Teague. In the next instant, Jack had her disarmed and cornered against the wall in one swift movement. She tried to calm her racing heart, but she couldn't seem to gain control over it. Elizabeth exhaled anxious breaths, so close to Jack's mouth, just a word away—but then again, so was his blade.

"Again," Jack whispered, his eyes drawing along the sword before meeting Elizabeth's, "how many mistakes are you willing to make?"

Jack lowered the smallsword but didn't move outside of the unspoken truce. His palm rested against the wall beside Elizabeth's face and the pair lived in the shared opportunity of a simple joy. She ached to press her palm against his once more, touching her life line to his.

Elizabeth gasped when the pendant grew hot around her neck. Her hand reached for the necklace in the same moment that Jack turned away from her, hissing and shaking his hand near-comically.

"Again," he muttered.

"Again?" Elizabeth echoed. "Your ring grew hot to touch in the tavern as well?"

"Well, yes."

"Jack! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm kind of indifferent to strangeness at this point." Jack adjusted the ring on his finger. "Must be the magic stirring." As he spun the ring, a forlorn expression washed over his features, an expression Elizabeth wished she didn't know, having caused it on a few occasions. "It must remember, the magic. Recalled Teague… The pendant and ring respectively can join those who wish to reunite but, as with every matter, there's also the other side of the coin, the dark reality, the less popular to discuss. They can offer a swift exit as well, if needed."

"I understand why the magic would stir in the tavern, remembering Teague, but why"—Elizabeth looked to Jack—"now?" As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted it, feeling as if she outed a secret.

Jack tipped her chin up once again, studying her eyes as if searching for permission there.

The familiar clatter of swords striking one another jarred both Jack and Elizabeth, and he drew his sword once again and made for the exit. Elizabeth followed closed behind, her own weapon also at the ready.

"There's your answer," Jack said.

At the sight of Teague fighting off three different men—pirates by the looks of it—Jack instantly inserted himself into the fray. Elizabeth took on the man Jack didn't, and after being disarmed so easily, she decided to reject any thoughts from her mind beyond the calculating thoughts of combat. For this reason, she didn't process the pirate Teague fought accosting him about "Red" and calling Teague a "charlatan of fortunes." She didn't process Jack stabbing his opponent, following this with a swift turn to off Teague's opponent as well. She didn't process the weight of what Jack must feel, nearly witnessing his father's murder.

In the moment, Elizabeth only fought, swallowing down fear and feeling pure adrenaline until Jack stepped in, killing the last of the offenders. Looking at the three bodies on the ground, having taken their last breaths or nearly there, all by Jack's hand—Elizabeth had another answer to a different question, her unspoken one from earlier that day. Jack was no stranger to killing beyond vengeance and evaded debts. After all, albeit an unintentional one, he was a pirate.

Wordlessly, Jack helped Teague to his feet. Teague clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder spoke low enough that Elizabeth couldn't hear. Jack nodded and fished his charts out of his pocket. Teague mapped out a path with his finger along the page and then Jack pocket the charts and shifted his weight between his feet. Elizabeth's eyebrows rose when Teague wrapped his son up in a hug. He then cleared his throat and picked up and dusted off his hat. Jack gave his father a solute before turning and meeting Elizabeth.

"The winds are favoring. We should be on our way."

Elizabeth looked to Teague who just tipped his hat to her then turned, returning to the tavern.

She let Jack live in silence on the way back to the sloop. She let him live in silence as they left port. She let him live in silence as he adjusted the sails and looked over his charts. When Jack initiated a glance at her, she took this as a sign he had his fill of silence.

"Will you tell me the heading this time?" Elizabeth started with lighter conversation, genuinely curious as Jack changed the subject the last time she asked.

"The Cove that holds the Code. At least, it used to. Hard to say if she kept it."

"She," Elizabeth murmured. "Esmeralda made the Cove her own?"

"When Teague took a brief leave, he returned to find she took it over. By how he described the woman, it had to be her. Had to be." Jack looked up into the sky. He let both of their minds wander before returning to the subject of his father. "For a moment there, I thought the old git was done for," he said, his voice quiet, nearly in the tone of his boyhood.

Elizabeth looked into Jack's deep brown eyes, wide and shining with contrition, like she was sure her own did after she struck him for taking Will's heart or, an even further memory, chaining him to the Black Pearl. She certainly wasn't the first woman to strike Jack but perhaps the first due to reason outside of Jack's unfaithfulness in terms of debauchery—for her own interest, for another man—which was sure to make for a stronger sting. Having chained Jack to the Pearl, she was one of the few people to best Jack. Afterwards, she felt forever changed, overcome by an overwhelming emptiness she never knew. Had Teague died at the hands of the attackers, she was sure Jack would feel a similar weight of guilt for his father, as if he willed the death with his hatred.

Elizabeth stepped forward, hesitating for a moment, but she opted for touch over words. She took Jack by the hand and guided them to the floor of the deck. She cradled Jack close to her chest as she did after striking him. She felt him shift and his shoulders grow rigid under her hold, but he eventually relented.

"I saw it on his face. Undeniable. He nearly gave up, accepted it even. Death." Jack let the word hang in the air for a moment. "He gave up so easy. Why give up so easy? Not only just now but give up the Cove?"

"It was harsh, but he was right. What he said about me," Elizabeth started in a hushed voice. "'Leaving a dying people...' He lived to protect the Code and with how quickly pirates are taken out recently, well, the ones he owed his debt to must have died out. He must be free."

Jack slipped out of Elizabeth's arms. "Free?"

"He didn't want to leave you and your mother for the Code all that time. He did so out of necessity."

"Necessity," Jack huffed, casting his gaze aside. "What necessity?"

"Not quite my story to tell," Elizabeth echoed Jack's words from earlier that day.

Jack's mouth pulled into a weak smile. He leaned his back against the helm, looking up at the clear sky. He lived in another long stretch of silence and once he spoke, Elizabeth could tell the thought was prompted from a string of unspoken memories.

"I just don't want to be on my deathbed asking for another go at it."

His eyes found hers and for the first time since meeting him, Elizabeth saw something residing there she never witnessed before, save maybe for when Davy Jones stabbed Will—true fear. Elizabeth laid her hand over Jack's, understanding. He was likely grappling with the realization he would, essentially, die soon. Even as the Captain of the Dutchman, he would leave behind this loose end with his father untied and perhaps other loose ends.

"You don't have to forgive Teague yet, or ever even, but you did right by him. You wouldn't have defended him if you weren't on track to make things right. It's clear he wanted the same." Elizabeth paused. "Come to think of it, it's as if he knew we'd cross his path."

"Magic has to tie up loose ends too. He knows that." Jack spun the ring around his finger. "Lucky we did or we wouldn't have a heading."

"I thought you were using your compass this whole time. You were sailing aimlessly? Why not use your compass?" Elizabeth turned to face him. "Jack?" she prompted when he didn't answer.

He flipped the instrument open and shut it soon after. "Good question, wrong time."

Elizabeth didn't press the matter, feeling her face flush under his gaze. She refused to indulge in the possibility in his reply as well as the possibility that the second time the pendant grew hot to touch was for more than one reason. Instead, she returned to discussing Teague.

"If you had more time, you would grow to understand your father. You're so like him, you know that?"

"Oh, I know. That's why I can't stand him."

"And although you couldn't fully right matters with Teague, you saved him. Doesn't that count for something?"

Jack nodded, palming his chin thoughtfully. He stilled, studying Elizabeth for too long, long enough that she couldn't help but push her hair back, trying to make it look more presentable.

"And what of you, Lizzie? What is left for you to right?"

Her hand fell to her waist, the sword Will crafted resting near the heart of its maker.

Jack shook his head. "No, that's a matter for me to atone. What would you make right if you had more time?"

Elizabeth toyed with the pendant around her neck then locked eyes with Jack.

"I'll tell you when you tell me where your compass points."

"Fair trade." Jack flashed her a smile before relenting. "For another day."