Author's Notes: Alrighty, here we are! A few things before we start: 1) Las Vegas is an exhausting city for an introvert, and I must be a special kind of masochist because I went to a western-themed bar on the strip during a karaoke night (don't wanna talk about it); 2) Also on a Vegas note, boobs. Boobs everywhere.; 3) I still had fun; 4) This chapter is where I really play with canon from a POTC POV, don't shoot me; 5) I like it, so it stays.
6) I honesty got excited about this numbered list and want to keep going . . .
7) Time for a disclaimer.
8) (Disclaimer) I don't own it. No money is made. Pity. I lost enough in Vegas.
P.S.
9) WHY ARE THERE PENNY SLOT MACHINES. DO YOU WANT ALL MY MONEY.
Chapter 18
Elizabeth Swann had been in the Locker for one year, three months, and twenty-eight days.
When she had first arrived in the Locker, she'd thought it was a trick. One second she'd on the Pearl with Jack and Davy Jones, making a deal, and then in the next, she was once again on the Pearl but alone, sailing an endless sea. Gorgeous weather. Bright sun. Good wind. Excellent for a sail.
For the first two hundred and eighty-three days, she sailed. She sailed and sailed and sailed and yet it never changed. She woke up to the same sun, the same sky, the same wind. Every day, over and over and over.
When she had finally spotted land, she'd cried in relief and laughed with glee.
Only the Pearl didn't stop. Even when she dropped anchor, the ship continued to sail. It sailed right onto the sand, and only then did it stop. Elizabeth had spent the next one hundred and eight days trying to dig herself out, to create a small slip to let the Pearl drift back into the sea. She dug with nothing but her hands until her skin was raw and bleeding from the hot sand.
When she would wake the next day, all her work would be washed away, and she would start over once again.
Dig, dig, dig, dig . . . got to get out, got to get out . . . get out, get out, get out . . . out, out, out, out . . .
For the last ninety-two days, Elizabeth Swann had sat in the rum cellar of the Pearl, an empty bottle in her hand (all the bottles were empty, she'd checked) and thought of only one thing: Jack Sparrow.
Captain, she corrected. Captain Jack Sparrow.
She giggled.
Some days she was sad when she thought of him. She wondered where he was without the Pearl. She hoped that he was alright. She wanted him to be alright. This was all for him, after all.
Some days she was angry. Some days she broke every empty bottle of rum and screamed at him. It was his fault she was here. His damn fault, his choice, his ship, his bloody rotten soul.
Other days she felt nothing, and those were her favorite days.
She would lay on deck and stare at the sky, that cloudless, seamless, blameless blue sky, and she would remember without feeling. Pictures played in her mind's eye. Jack was there a lot. She saw him in his cell in Port Royal, smirking and flirting with her as though he had no fear of death. She saw him the night before he was meant to hang as she unlocked his cell and led him past the guard she had knocked out with a candlestick. She saw him in the days afterward, in stolen moments when he would suddenly be at her side as she strolled through town after weeks of being gone. She saw him the day that she'd blackmailed him to sail away with her on the Pearl.
She'd never forget the way he'd laughed.
She saw the many days after that first sail, the days full of adventure to faraway places, forgotten places. Days full of the spray of the sea on her face, the rain in her eyes as she clung to the wheel in the middle of a storm. Days where she looked out at the sea and saw endless possibilities.
She saw freedom.
An angry day would always follow a nothing day.
She hated him.
She loved him.
Elizabeth thought that today would be a nothing day as she slowly climbed the stairs to the deck. The sun greeted her, as bright and blue as usual, and within the first few minutes as she lay against the familiar wooden planks, she felt the beginnings of a sunburn on the tip of her nose. She didn't move. Her skin had peeled and blistered so many times that she rarely gave it a thought anymore.
She licked her chapped lips absently as she stared and thought. The pictures began soon enough. She saw Jack at the helm on an ordinary day. She couldn't remember where they'd been sailing to, what treasure they'd been after—if they'd been searching for a treasure at all. Elizabeth. She just remembered looking at him, both hands on the wheel, hair blowing over his shoulders, the trinkets entangled in the strands clinking gently in the breeze. 'Lizabeth! She remembered that specifically, that soft chink like wind chimes. He'd caught her staring, of course, and he'd playfully turned around to look behind him. 'Lizabeth!
The memory faded at the edges after that. She thought that she might have gone to the helm to make him look at her. She thought that she remembered laughing.
"Lizzie!"
Elizabeth frowned.
"You infernal, infuriating, incredible wench, answer me!"
People. Footsteps. Shifting sand. A grunt.
Elizabeth sat up and blinked at the starboard rail. There were . . . people. Faces. Faces with arms and legs and torsos. Just like real people. But they couldn't be. She was alone here. She was always alone here.
One of the faces looked like Jack.
He took a step toward her, and she scrambled to her feet. She drew a pistol from her belt and cocked the hammer. "Don't come closer," she warned. "I'll shoot."
"I deserve that," Jack allowed. "But let's put the gun down, ay?"
He talked like Jack. He had the same clever, mischievous look in his eyes, the same little twitch in his lips that so easily lifted into a smirk. He took another step toward her, and the trinkets in his hair clinked just as she remembered. Oh, this was a cunning trick.
She shoved the gun forward as she took a step toward him. "I know what you're trying to do," she said smartly. "It won't work. I won't fall for your tricks, Jones."
Jack's eyes widened as he pointed to a man near the rail. "What? No, that's him. Shoot him."
"Sparrow!"
Elizabeth's eyes shifted to the other man as she swung her pistol toward him. Jones. Jones. He looked like Jones. Same dark hair, same blue eyes. Even held himself the same way. Confident. Cocky. He shot a half-annoyed glare at Jack and made no move toward a weapon.
What he did do, however, made Elizabeth pause.
She watched, curious and confused, as instead of drawing a weapon he stepped in front of the woman next to him, his hand reaching out to curl around her hip to gently nudge her behind him. The woman with him—blonde, green-eyed, and annoyed—placed her hand on his arm, as if to tug it down and resume her place at his side, only to scowl when she was kept firmly behind him.
"Dammit, Killian," the woman growled. "Move."
"Forgive me, Swan, but I don't fancy a bullet in you."
Elizabeth frowned.
Killian, not Davy.
And just who was this woman with her name? Swan.
Something wasn't . . . this wasn't right.
"Elizabeth," she turned to Jack, pistol still cocked, only to jump in surprise when he was closer than before. The barrel was nestled right over his heart. "Love, look at me. It's not a trick. This is my dashing rescue to save your ungrateful, unhinged, beautiful face, savvy?"
Elizabeth shuddered. Her hand holding her pistol began to tremble. "What did you say?"
"Lizzie, put the gun down," he slowly placed his hand on the barrel, "savvy?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "Jack?"
He grinned. "Aye, love."
"How did you . . . how did you find me? How are you here?"
"Don't you know, Lizzie, love? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
And that was when Elizabeth pulled the trigger.
Jack had just enough of a warning to leap to the side. The bullet connected with deck near the stern, sending up a spray of splinters that was ignored by Elizabeth as she fired yet again, the shot hitting the deck just inches from Jack's feet. He pointed an angry finger at her. "Stop blowing holes in my ship!" he shouted.
"Our ship!"
"She was mine first!"
Elizabeth fired again.
"Dammit, Lizzie! I'm real!"
"I know!"
Jack paused to gape at her. "Then why are you bloody shooting at me?!"
"Because I'm angry with you!" Elizabeth raised her pistol but did not fire again. It shook in her hand. "I've been here for over a year, you wretch! Because of you!"
Jack flinched, but instead of looking hurt, he seemed incredulous and then angry. "What do you think I was doing for that year? Taking a bloody holiday?!"
Elizabeth threw away her pistol, which fired as soon as it hit the deck, once again causing everyone on board to jump. "How should I know?" Her voice was nearly a screech as she advanced on him. "I've been here!"
"You didn't have to save me!"
"How can you say that?"
"Bloody hell, woman, what do you want me to say?"
"I hate you!"
"Aye, I love you, too."
Jack reached for her, catching her hand that was raised to slap him, and tugged her to him. Then his lips were on hers. Elizabeth fought back as much as she could. She bit his bottom lip and hit his chest with her free hand, only to have him hold her tighter. It's not real. It can't be real. He can't be real.
Honestly, giving in was inevitable.
He was real.
"You're really here," she whispered when she pulled away, her hands cupping his face. "It's been so long."
Jack smiled. "Apologies, love."
"Not that this isn't all very charming, but perhaps we could get a move on?"
Elizabeth and Jack turned to look at Killian, who had his arms folded over his chest in mild impatience, despite the warmth in his eyes that made Elizabeth suspect he wasn't quite as annoyed as he'd like them to believe. A romantic, then. She smirked. "And you are?" she demanded lightly.
"Captain Killian Jones."
"Well, then, Captain Jones, I suppose I have you to thank for rescuing me," she said as she slipped deftly out of Jack's arms, ignoring his pout, to stride across the deck and offer her hand to Killian. "Thank you."
Killian took her hand with a smirk, kissing her knuckles, and ignored the way Emma huffed next him. "You're most welcome, milady," he said cordially.
"Oi, he did very little, tragically little," Jack said as he hurried over, childishly snatching Elizabeth's hand from Killian's. "He just had a ship. Besides, he's just here to save his own bonnie lass."
Elizabeth's eyes settled on Emma with an assessing stare and the subtlest twitch of her lips. Emma nearly glared back, though she tried to remain indifferent and unaffected as she stood next to Killian, close enough so that her arm brushed his. The urge to grab his hand was strong, but she refused to seem so . . . threatened? Possessive?
But Elizabeth smiled widely as she glanced from Emma to Killian before offering her hand once more and saying, "Lovely to meet you. Miss Swan, was it? Interesting coincidence."
Emma smiled, mildly amused. "Yeah," she agreed. "But it's just Emma."
"Emma," Elizabeth repeated. "I'm sorry to have dragged you into this," she said, directing her gaze to Killian to address them both. "Davy Jones learned long ago the way to apply the proper leverage."
"We have leverage of our own," Killian returned evenly before glancing around. "Now that we have you, your Majesty, perhaps we could find a way out of here?"
"Not without the Pearl," Jack insisted.
"And how do you propose we move a beached ship a mile inland?"
The words had hardly left his mouth before the ship suddenly lurched forward. "Bloody hell," Killian muttered. "What the devil is this?"
Elizabeth, along with everyone else—she'd just now acknowledged that there were a handful of sailors, likely part of Killian's crew, that were also present—went to the rail. The sand seemed to shift, and it took Emma a second to process what she was seeing. "Are those crabs?" she asked in disbelief.
Mountains of crabs lifted the Black Pearl, carrying her forward over the sand at a pace that reminded Emma of downtown traffic. Slow, by all standards, except for the fact that these were crabs. "This is impossible," she breathed as she watched the crabs scramble over each other, faster and faster, and holy shit, were they gaining speed?
Jack just grinned as he watched. "Not probable," he corrected.
It was hilarious, actually, how quickly they coasted over the sand. All too soon the Black Pearl was slipping into the water to Elizabeth's cheers. Jack immediately went to the helm, taking a moment to caress the wheel, feeling the smooth grain beneath his fingertips with a smile as a sense of completeness washed over him. He had his girls back.
They dropped anchor near the Jolly Roger with plans to escape the Locker the next day. A gangplank was placed between the two ships, and Killian lent Jack and Elizabeth a handful of men to get the Pearl ready to make way. As evening fell, they all gathered on the Jolly to enjoy a feast cooked up by Wallace, who was too happy to provide thanks to the emerald the size of a walnut that he had found on of the wrecked ships.
Elizabeth sat next to Jack at the head of the table with Killian and Emma. They had all gathered on the deck, bringing out tables and chairs so that it felt like an open air tavern. A handful of instruments had been pulled out for the occasion, and loud, raucous singing echoed over the waves led by a tattooed, mountain of a man with a wide smile and booming voice. She thought his name was Bee.
Rum was passed around like water, and next to her, Jack was well on his way to plastered. His arm was heavy around her shoulders, though it was a comfortable weight, and she happily leaned into his side as she listened with amusement as he argued with Killian over a pointless subject that she had long-since given up on understanding.
A man and his ship.
"I'm tellin' you, Jones," Jack insisted. "The Pearl is the fastest ship on the seas."
Killian laughed. "We'll see about that."
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, as if it explained everything.
Killian arched an impressively arrogant eyebrow and replied dryly, "Good for you, mate."
Elizabeth snorted at the bewildered expression on Jack's face, as if he couldn't understand how anyone could treat his name so carelessly, and caught Emma's eye roll across the table. The two locked eyes and shared a strangely commiserating glance that to Elizabeth's surprise, and curiosity, made Emma blush as she glanced quickly at Killian and away in the next moment.
Although, she wasn't quite subtle enough to hide the way her hand dove under the table.
Elizabeth smirked into her rum.
As the night went on and the rum continued to pour, Elizabeth found herself growing weary of the sound; the laughter, the hoots, the howls, even the clink of a mug on the table. She was so used to silence. The company slowly became less welcoming and more exhausting. She was used to being alone.
Jack's arm around her shoulders had steadily slipped as the night went on. Despite that she knew for certain that there was more rum than blood in his veins, his attentions became gentler and softer, his fingers trailing up and down her arm before sliding down to her waist, where he would occasionally sweep his thumb across her belly or under her breast. The more she leaned into him, the more he cradled her, and when she thought that she couldn't stand the noise and the people anymore, he grandly swept her up and in his own grandiose way excused them to the Pearl.
Jack led them to the Captain's quarters, and she anticipated the moment when the door was shut, and her back was suddenly pressed against it. Contrary to the tight, rough way that he held her—fingertips digging in, thigh firmly pressed against her—his lips on hers were tender and apologetic. "I'm sorry, 'Lizabeth," he said.
She tangled her fingers in his hair. "I know."
"It's my fault."
"And mine," she assured him quietly, kissing him softly. "I knew what I was doing, Jack. And why." She kissed him again. "Now," she said imperiously. "Are you going to take me to bed or not?"
Jack grinned as he began to trail kisses down her neck. "Is that an order, your Majesty?"
"I am the King."
"I know. I voted for you."
"Jack."
"Aye, love."
Elizabeth found herself on the deck of the Pearl later in the night. She'd left Jack thoroughly asleep in their quarters. Between the rum and their lovemaking, he wouldn't wake for hours yet. She wished that the same sense of peace could fall over her for more than a few spare hours at a time.
She suspected it was the Locker and the fact that she was still, for all intents and purposes, dead.
And the dead did not need sleep.
She went to the port rail and eyed the gangplank that still connected the Pearl to the Jolly Roger. It was quite the ship, the Jolly. She admired its fine lines and bright colors that reminded her of the naval ships she'd watched sail in and out of port as a girl. Given what she knew of its Captain, she thought the comparison was appropriately apt.
For all his cocky self-assurance, Killian Jones still held himself like an officer.
Movement on the Jolly's deck caught her eye. A blonde head appeared from below, dressed in plain breeches and a too-big black coat. Emma.
She watched and waited, raising a surprised eyebrow when Emma cautiously crossed the gangplank, purposefully not looking down at the water below, until she was safely aboard the Pearl. "Hey," she said simply, slightly awkward.
Elizabeth smiled, amused. "Hello. I suppose you cannot sleep, as well?"
Emma tucked her hair behind her ear. "Something like that," she said.
Silence fell between the two women as both became lost in their own thoughts. Emma rubbed the wood beneath her hands, feeling the difference between the Jolly and the Pearl. The Pearl had a more weathered feel to it, the wood almost too smooth beneath her fingertips. She preferred the Jolly. It felt more stable beneath her hands.
Funny how she still felt the need to run.
"How long have you been with him?" Elizabeth asked, breaking the silence. "Captain Jones."
Emma huffed a weary laugh as she looked briefly at her feet. "Not long enough," she muttered, more to herself than in answer.
Elizabeth took it in stride. "I see," she said. "Perhaps I asked the wrong question. How long have you been in love with him?"
Emma choked on her own spit. "W-what?"
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth frowned, though Emma thought that the woman wanted to smile instead. "Have I overstepped? I thought it was obvious."
Emma could hardly breathe. "Obvious?"
Now Elizabeth did smile. "First love?"
"No."
"But it's the first one that scares you, yes?"
"I don't . . ." She could barely think the word love, let alone say it. "I'm just . . ."
"Running." Elizabeth nodded, as if she understood. "I ran once."
"Why?"
"It's a long story."
Emma looked up at the sky. "There's still time."
"I suppose," Elizabeth agreed as she looked up at the sky as well. "It has been some time since I had a girlfriend to confide in. I confess I was always terrible at making friends with the girls my age. I was far too outspoken for them. They thought I had 'dangerous' ideas."
Emma smiled a little. "Like the fact that they were your own?"
"Indeed." Smoothing a hand over the rail, Elizabeth sighed to herself as she watched the waves lap at the side of the ship. "I'm not actually from this realm," she admitted. "I fell through a portal when I was a young girl. Landed right in the middle of the ocean." She turned to smile briefly at Emma. "It just so happened that the ship carrying the Governor was passing by and saw me in the water. They fished me out, and the Governor became very fond of me. By the time we reached land, he had decided to adopt me, as he had no children of his own and his wife had died the previous year."
Emma stared incredulously for a moment before she snorted. "You're kidding me," she said, momentarily overcome by a flash of jealousy. That just . . . that didn't happen. No one was that lucky. No, maybe it was just her. She wasn't that lucky.
Elizabeth frowned. "I'm sorry," she said. "Have I said something?"
"No," Emma looked down. "It's just . . . I'm an orphan."
"Oh."
"No one ever grew fond of me. I mean, I tried to be . . . good. I tried, it just . . . it wasn't ever enough."
"I'm sure it was never anything to do with you, Emma. It was they who were not good enough."
Emma smiled half-heartedly. "That's what Killian said."
"He's certainly fond of you," Elizabeth teased with a slight smirk that made Emma blush. "No man let's a woman on his ship otherwise."
"You said you were from another realm," Emma said to change the subject. The whole reason she had come aboard was to not think about Killian. "Which one?"
"One not so different from this one," she said. "Well, with one exception. Magic."
Emma gaped. "You're from the Land Without Magic?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes."
"So am I."
"Really? How odd." She smiled brightly. "But lovely. I was just walking to fetch some water when all of a sudden, a hole tears itself into the ground, pulling me into it, and then I'm landing in the ocean."
"Must have been scary."
"Oh, yes, but I was thrilled more than anything. I came from a poor village. My parents did what they could to keep me comfortable, but my mother was already planning to use my beauty to catch a rich husband. It was not something that I wanted. I wanted to be free, to do what I wished, marry who I wished . . . if I even wished it."
Emma glanced at Elizabeth's hands, which while adorned with a few pretty rings—some simple bands, while others held rubies or diamonds—her ring finger of her left hand was noticeably bare. "What about Jack?" she asked. "You ran away with him, after all."
Elizabeth laughed. "Is that the story, now? I suppose I did, in a way, but it was hardly romantic. I broke him out of that cell on the condition that he take me with him," she said.
"You blackmailed him?"
She smirked. "Pirate," she said, though her smirk softened into a genuine smile. "He couldn't take me with him immediately," she admitted. "But he gave me his word that he would come back for me once he had a ship, and not a fortnight later, he grabbed my hand while I was in the market, and we commandeered the fastest vessel in the Royal Navy, the Interceptor, and we were off."
"But you love him."
"I do," Elizabeth said. "But that wasn't why I ran away with him. I was trapped in an aristocratic society that I loathed, no matter how fond I'd grown to be of the Governor. He'd arranged a marriage for me to Commodore Norrington, who while a good man, would only trap me further in a life that I didn't want." She turned to Emma with a faint smile. "It had nothing to do with Jack. He was a means to an end. I wanted freedom."
"That's why we'll never marry," she said. "He's the same way. He understands."
You and I, we understand each other.
Emma smiled slightly as she gazed at the Jolly Roger. "Yeah," she agreed.
Elizabeth smiled as she followed Emma's stare. "Why are you awake, Emma?"
"I ran away with him," she said quietly, haltingly. She wasn't sure what drove her to confide in Elizabeth. Perhaps it was merely because she hadn't had a decent conversation with another woman in months. Maybe it was because she felt oddly connected with the woman, regardless of their shared last name. Elizabeth was someone, she felt, would understand. Truly understand. "Killian," she felt the need to clarify. "I was sent to this realm, but also back in time. Three hundred years in the past. So this world is very different from mine."
Elizabeth's eyes brightened. "You're from the future in my realm?"
"Yeah. Crazy, right?"
"It's brilliant. How did you meet the good Captain?"
Emma smirked. "I sort of demanded that he help me find my way back home," she said before she suddenly smiled sheepishly. "Well, that's what I'd thought I'd done. But something tells me it was all him. I think he would've helped me no matter what."
She shook her head, trying to shake away the image of that salacious smirk from her mind. "He took me to this sorcerer who explained what had happened to me, that I'd fallen through time. He offered me a way to get back to my realm, but not my time, and I just . . . I didn't think that it would be any better there than here."
"So you stayed."
"Killian asked me to sail away with him. I said no. Twice."
"He asked you twice?"
"Three times, actually," Emma admitted with a blush. "I just . . . no one had ever . . . I've never met anyone like him."
Elizabeth smiled. "He scares you."
"He terrifies me." The answer left her in a whisper. "Every time I think I'm strong enough to not be afraid anymore, he'll do something, or say something, and I'll just . . ."
"Run," Elizabeth finished before she added, with a slow, sly smile. "But perhaps your problem isn't running, Emma. Perhaps it's your direction that's the problem."
Emma frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean to say that, well, when you're afraid, when you're faced with danger, and everything in you is screaming for you to run, it is certainly safer to run away." Elizabeth's brown eyes glinted in the moonlight, shining with what Emma could really only describe as freedom. It was a wild look, a bright look. "But," she said, "running toward what scares you is infinitely more fun."
Emma didn't know what to say, but it didn't matter when she spotted Killian climbing onto the deck in his loose linen pants and no shirt. No coat, either, as it was currently around her own shoulders. She watched him for a precious few seconds before his head turned to look over at the Pearl and then at her.
"Someone's found you," Elizabeth teased.
Emma's smile was tremulous. "I think he might always find me," she admitted softly.
"So make it easier for him. Go. Something tells me he'll wait for you until you do."
"I know."
Elizabeth smirked to herself as she watched Emma take a deep breath before crossing the gangplank to the Jolly Roger. She waited, her smirk only growing, as Emma slowly walked up to Killian, who only offered her his hand. There was the prevailing sense that she was witnessing something monumental, and she didn't want to miss a second of it. And so when Emma, after a few long seconds, placed her hand in his, Elizabeth laughed lowly to herself, particularly when Killian placed a loving kiss on Emma's hand that he cradled in both of his.
She watched the couple disappear below with a pleased smile.
If those two weren't married within the year, she was holding them both at gunpoint and performing the ceremony herself.
Well, there it is. I anticipate a few questions-or I just feel the need to defend myself-so here it goes. Where's Will, you ask? Well, he's not here. I thought about including him, but to be honest, his character is too close to Killian's in a way, and the more I thought about it, the less sense it made for Will to be present. Between how I've worked Killian into the POTC universe with the relation to Davy Jones and what's to come from that relationship later, Will just didn't have anything to do. And, I freely admit, that while I'll happily ship Will/Elizabeth, I always thought that Jack/Elizabeth made a bit more sense. I never liked that Elizabeth-this tough, independent, girl who blackmailed, cheated, and lied to get what she wanted-ends up waiting patiently for her man on some island.
So I put her in the Locker instead.
And that's that for an explanation.
But how about our Swan Squared? I think that's what I'll call Emma and Elizabeth. I thought that Emma could really do with some girl talk, however much she sucks at it, and Elizabeth seemed perfect.
Next time you'll find out just what made her run! Remember how this story is rated M? Yup. It gets earned next chapter. Hard.
*giggles*
Now for a quote from Chapter 19 . . . "If I'm topless, you're topless." - Emma
See you Friday!
-AC
