Author's Notes: Strap in, folks!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Chapter 25

Killian gasped as he fell to his knees under the insane pressure on his heart. He could feel Calypso's nails digging into him, crushing him, and just when he felt something inside him begin to crack, to fade, the pressure was gone. He groaned at the pain that lingered, rushing across his chest in sharp tingles. Like a limb that had lost circulation.

"Hello, Calypso."

Killian looked up to see Davy Jones standing between him and the sea witch, though neither seemed to notice nor care that he was there. The two lovers were fixated on each other, staring, memorizing, remembering . . .

"Jones."

"I can't let you do this."

"Do not pretend your plan is any nobler, my love."

"You don't love me."

"No less than you love the sea. My sea."

"I can't let you do this," Jones repeated, his voice softer. "You must be stopped."

"And why is that? Do I not deserve the loyalty of hundreds of sailors? Do I not deserve to exact vengeance on those who wronged me, who have threatened me? All over a petty broken heart."

Jones growled. "You betrayed me. You lied to me."

"I never intended to! You know as well as I that the tides come and go. As did my feelings for you. I warned you when you gave me your heart."

"I thought I was enough."

"That was your mistake."

"Aye," Jones agreed, voice hard with pain and anger. "Aye, it was. One I intend to fix."

"You cannot kill a goddess."

"We shall see, love."

Calypso regarded him for a second more before she jumped over the rail, her body becoming part of the oncoming wave as soon as she touched the water, vanishing completely. Jones did not immediately turn, his eyes still on the water where she had gone, and so Killian used the time to get to his feet. He rubbed his sore chest, eyeing Jones's back warily. "Why save my life if you plan to kill me?" he demanded.

Jones turned. "Whatever gave you that idea, lad?"

"To make her mortal you need my blood. Something tells me it's more than a few drops."

"Aye, you'd be right. How is your Swan?"

"Fine," Killian snapped. "Stay away from her."

Jones raised his hands in mock surrender before he looked away to face the fleet of ships steadily heading toward them. "We're a bit outnumbered. Perhaps I should even the odds," he observed just before he disappeared.

Killian glared at the spot where Jones had stood. "Don't feel the bloody need to share, Pops!" he yelled scathingly just as the wind picked up with force of a punch, nearly sending Killian to the ground. He realized a second later that it hadn't been the wind. It was the sea.

The waves began to churn, and not in the gentle crests and swells that he knew. No, the sea began to spin. Round and round and round the water before him spun and soon the Jolly Roger, the Dutchman, and every other ship was riding the endless circles of a whirlpool. Killian could hear Calypso's laughter in the air as he clutched the wheel and watched a ship across the whirlpool disappear beneath the water.

Gritting his teeth, Killian didn't fight the waves. He dove deeper into the whirlpool, only a few ships daring to follow him. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way that would ensure Emma would survive the battle. Because that was exactly what this was, a naval battle, and for the first time in years he found himself thinking, Come on, lieutenant, think.

Water poured over the rails as the waves pounded the boat. The rain began to come down even harder. It was a bloody typhoon, and even as thunder cracked and lightning flashed, Killian still managed to hear a monstrous roar. He stared at the water and shuddered at the shadowy mass just below the surface. The shadow moved harmlessly past the Jolly, slinking beneath the harsh waves with ease, until it was right beneath Captain Cormack's ship, the Fancy Lady. Then, with a sharp crack, heavy tentacles broke the surface, shooting up like rockets nearly a hundred feet before falling back toward the ship, landing with enough force to crack the ship in half.

Killian grinned dangerously.

It was the Kraken.

Evening the odds, indeed.

"Alright, lads!" he shouted over the waves. "Prepare to fire!"


Jack Sparrow could give Killian Jones a run for his money when it came to surviving the impossible. He had escaped the melee at Shipwreck Cove with a single slice to his arm that was easily ignored with a steady supply of adrenaline. He and Elizabeth both had made it back to their ships and sailed headlong into the whirlpool after Killian.

There was just one more trick to pull.

"Are you ready, mates?!" he called as he pulled up alongside Barbosa's vessel, the Dauntless. "Fire on my command!"

Grinning, Jack made a quick, waving motion with his hand, using what little magic he knew to drop the cloaking spell around the Black Pearl. "Fire!"

There was a lovely spray of wood and water as the shots ripped through the Dauntless. The crew aboard the rival ship hardly had time to recover before Elizabeth's Empress suddenly materialized on their other side and began to fire. Jack smirked dangerously before he shouted, "Mr. Gibbs! Take the wheel!"

Grabbing a rope from the rigging, Jack took a running leap and swung out over the water. He landed in a roll on the cracking deck of the Dauntless and had his sword out in the next second. Barbosa was already waiting for him, his own sword drawn. "I was wonderin' when you'd drop in," he said.

Jack smiled faintly without humor. "What can I say? I love making an entrance."


Elizabeth was so preoccupied with firing on Barbosa's ship that she nearly missed an entirely too familiar vessel entering the whirlpool. Its sails were tall and white, its hull painted a familiar navy blue and trimmed in yellow. The Endeavor.

James.

When the currents of the whirlpool took her past the Dauntless and closer to her former fiancé, Elizabeth was not surprised when James and a handful of sailors from the King's Royal Navy swung aboard despite the raging wind and rain. She gave the helm over to Mr. Cotton to meet her visitors, despite the storm around them and the sick feeling in her gut.

Gods, it had been years since she'd seen him.

His steely blue eyes lightened when he saw her, and though she felt no need to blush, Elizabeth nonetheless felt a strange anxiety at the sight of him looking at her as he did. It wasn't right that he look at her with such fondness, with such relief. With love.

"Elizabeth," he breathed. "You're alive."

"For the moment," she agreed with a pointed look around them. The darkness of the whirlpool was dimly lit with the explosions from the cannons, and the air smelled of gunpowder and anger. "Are you with us or against us?"

"What?"

"This is hardly the time to discuss what needs to be discussed," she said. "I have a fleet of mutinous pirates and an angry sea goddess on my hands and not a bit of a plan how to solve it." She raised her head high and straightened her back, the rain sliding neatly from her armor and her hair. "So are you going to help me, James, or not? I could use another ship."

Norrington stared at her for a long moment, unable to believe she was the same woman he had known and yet still completely enthralled. There had always been a certain allure to Elizabeth Swann that extended beyond beauty and good breeding. It was the way she lifted her chin and spoke with just a hint of a bite. It was the way she stood just as tall as any man. It was the playful zest in her eyes that simply burned.

Elizabeth's eyes were blazing, and the Commodore was just as hopeless to resist now as he was six years ago when she was to be his wife.

"Aye, Elizabeth. You have my ship."

The answering smile on Elizabeth's lips was snake-like and satisfied. "Good. I have a job for you, Commodore."


Calypso stood in the middle of the whirlpool, hovering over the dark cavern that disappeared into the deepest depths of the sea. She watched the battle unfold before her, caring little when the some of the ships sank under her fury or were blown to splinters by cannon fire. Her lips scowled in distaste when she watched the Kraken swallow two more ships and angrily waved her hand, drawing the beast deeper into the depths and locking it away where it belonged.

When the first cannonball hit her, she was thrown into the waves, shocked but unharmed, though she surged to the surface with a vengeance. Her bright ruby eyes burned as she glared at the Dutchman, tossing away another cannonball with a flick of her hand, sending it into another ship. She roared, sending the waves climbing to nearly forty feet, before she whipped around and vanished, appearing with a splash aboard the Dutchman.

"You cannot win, Jones," she said, turning, almost if by some lingering instinct, exactly where her lover stood. "I am a goddess. Your smoking metal has no effect on me."

"No," Jones agreed. "But it did distract you."

Before she could react, Jones whispered a few low, lulling words and waved his hand. Lines from the rigging wrapped around Calypso like chains, glowing gold with power as they tied her to the mast. The goddess roared and struggled to no avail. "You can't do this, Jones!" she screeched. "I cannot be killed! And I will not be trapped again!"

"We didn't have to do this," Jones said, his voice low and calm as he came to stand mere inches from her. "It didn't have to be this way, love."

"You still love me."

"Aye, lass. But not enough."

"Tell me, then. How does it feel?" She smiled. "How does it feel to have your heart back, my love? Do you feel it beatin'? It's a heady feeling, isn't it? All that life, all that emotion. How long did it take before you broke under the weight of your guilt?" She laughed when Jones's eyes flitted briefly to his boots in shame. "See, I may have been bound and tossed away but I still saw you. I saw every horrible thing you've done, murdering, thieving, lying, manipulating scoundrel that you are. It didn't matter who suffered, so long as you made someone feel as miserable as you." She clucked her tongue. "Bad form, as you like to say."

"Aye," Jones agreed. "Aye, it was." He cupped her face, his touch gentler than it had been in centuries, until he roughly grabbed her hair and pulled. "My soul is already black enough, love," he said, his voice hard and dark. "And while I certainly feel guilt for those lives I've ruined, it will all be worth it to watch you die."

Calypso felt a flash of fear that she masked with a contemptuous grin. "You'll do anything to have your revenge, aye?" she said. "Even if it means killin' your own kin?"

Jones didn't blink. "Aye."

"You're forgetting the most important part, my love," she cooed. "True love. It binds us together. It's how you bound me in the first place. I cannot die so long as you love me, and you and I both know that you do."

"I do love you. I always will. But it's no longer True." He took a reluctant, almost regrettable step away from her. "And now you've forced me to do something even I in all my depravity would never do."

"But you'll do it."

"Aye. I'll do it." His cobalt blue eyes shined. "I'll kill Killian a thousand times over if it means ending you."

Calypso smiled and leaned forward against her bonds. "Then, you'll have to try a bit harder, my love."


Emma woke up to the sound of screams.

Her movements were rushed and uncoordinated as she stumbled out of bed, nearly falling flat on her face as the ship lurched sharply. The wind battered the windows and the rain outside sounded like gunfire. How the hell had she slept through this?

It wasn't until she reached for her boots that she felt the pain her shoulder. The tender flesh flared hotly, and she groaned before roughly shaking herself and pulling her boots on. She needed to know what was going on, what she could do about it, and most importantly, find out where in the hell her pirate was.

The ship listed sideways as she climbed the steps, sending her hip slamming into the small rail and a jolt of pain up to her shoulder. Emma gritted her teeth and continued to climb, throwing back the hatch and diving headlong into a monsoon. The wind whipped her hair that was almost immediately soaked to the scalp. Her clothes were quick to follow, and yet feeling completely drenched in mere seconds wasn't what made her pause.

It felt like all those months ago when she'd stepped up during the siege of the navy ship. The deck was absolute chaos. Swords were drawn. Bodies fell. Blood sprayed the deck. She could hear shouts, the whistle of cannon fire. She saw soldiers not unlike the deckhands of the Dutchman. Yet these were not skeleton, fish-like people.

These were monsters.

Some had three heads. Others had eight arms. They looked like monsters out of a mythology book, and Emma had an odd second to consider that they likely were.

Then a sword threatened to take her head off.

Instinct drove her to duck and roll forward. She picked up a discarded sword from the deck, the handle and blade slick with rain and blood, but she only tightened her grip and brought the blade up in time to block the next attack. Her thoughts and movements became entirely rhythmic, a familiar dance of thrusts and parries, so much so that it took falling into the rail and glimpsing the water below to realize that they were in the middle of a giant whirlpool.

Emma didn't let herself linger on the thought—a whirlpool?!—and instead threw herself headlong into fighting her way through the monsters aboard her ship. It took ages. It felt like ages. And yet by the time Emma had fought her way from bow to stern, she hadn't seen Killian anywhere.

She angrily kicked a two-headed hammerhead shark over the rail.

Where are you, Killian?


Killian wasn't quite sure when or how they'd been boarded, but his deck was full of sailors that did not belong on his ship. The battle was complete chaos. The whirlpool simply spun them round and round, some ships circling faster than others, and it seemed that the cycle had spawned a dangerous game of jumping from ship to ship. The cannon fire was spotty now, an occasional echo in the roar of the whirlpool, but Killian had greater concerns than a potential hole in his ship, and if that didn't perfectly sum up the insanity around him, he wasn't sure what possibly could.

A hole in his hull hardly mattered if he was too dead to notice.

His shoulder was killing him, and he'd long ago switched his sword to his right hand, forever grateful that Liam had insisted he be able to expertly wield a blade with his less dominant hand. Yet even his right arm was beginning to burn from strain, and it was pure adrenaline that kept his left leg from buckling. He was sure he had a few newer wounds, but even if he couldn't feel them, he did realize that his movements were not quite as sharp as they should be.

Killian soldiered through it, even when the sea roared and the sailors were replaced by ugly monsters with claws and fangs.

He needed to get to Emma.

How in the hell she'd managed to sleep through this so far was beyond him, and he was simultaneously grateful and worried by it.

What if something was wrong? What if her wound was more severe than he'd thought?

Killian cut down every monster in his path. The number of arms or legs or heads didn't matter. He hacked his way through the horde with a disturbing balance of grace and ferocity until he was right in front of the hatch. Unfortunately, there he stayed.

There was no time for him to go below, no opportunity to turn his back on the battle. He simply became an impregnable wall, a single but solid line of defense. No one would get past him.

Killian was so focused on his defense that he failed to notice the green mist at his feet until it was too late. His eyes widened in horror and anger as he suddenly found himself on the deck of the Dutchman. He glared at his grandfather, who stood completely still on the deck, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, as if he was a retired, war-torn admiral.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Killian snapped. "Send me back to my ship!"

"I'm sorry," Jones said. And he meant it. "I can't do that."

Killian stared at him, eyes slowly narrowing. "You orchestrated this all from the very beginning," he realized slowly. "Coming to me, using Emma against me, sending me after Jack, bringing you the heart, even Shipwreck Cove . . . this was all for her. For revenge." Despite holding no expectations of the man in front of him, Killian still felt the keen sting of betrayal. "You'd kill your own grandson for revenge?!"

"I've come this far, lad," Jones said. "I can't go back now. I'm sorry."

Behind them, still tied to the mast, Calypso laughed.

And that was all Killian could hear, because all he could see was the ancient dagger in Jones's hand.

He gripped his sword. "If you want to kill me, you're going to have to work for it."

Jones smiled humorlessly.

"Such is the way of a Jones."


I just can't seem to keep Killian out of trouble.

Next time in Run Baby, Run . . . "I'm so sorry, Killian, but magic comes with a price." - Davy Jones

Please review!

Lots of love,

AC