Elizabeth always woke before he did.

The Lines on his face, she ran a fingertip along them noticing how exhausted he appeared, aging his handsome face more than was fair. She allowed him this rest but for her, with a profession which mainly entailed lying on her back, if she wasn't distracted by her company or sleeping herself, then Elizabeth couldn't stand being confined to the mattress any longer than she had to be, and was quick to spring back up onto her feet and take in the morning beyond her window.

She didn't know why this was a habit of hers.

She had done it since a child, watching the people go about their business below on the streets, knowing that out there they would only revile her as a whore and she them a pirate and criminal, though it would be a hard effort to discover anyone who was anything different.

Nassau stripped a person bare for all their wickedness and sin, and became the proliferous bouquet of people, who truly did not give a shit and would try to top you in admittance to acts that would in lands across the seas secure their death.

In fact, Elizabeth had before heard it referred to as the outlaw's heaven before they were to all endure hell, and that since deeds done were worth no amount of repentance, or else they or fate would never have committed them, they might as well enjoy the days that were their own to do with what they will.

Chuckling, she had thought it an interesting take, but could not put her faith in it.

It seems God, religion and the Kings law always comes into the equation at some point, and it is by turning on what they say, or state, or demand that everyone is therefore made damned.

But who was it that first made their word golden?

To Elizabeth, Nassau was as the whole world should be.

A cluster of people who owed it to each other to be only what and who they are, accountable to no one but themselves and those who they choose to let into their lives.

For her that meant Edward, and there was an honesty in that, since there was no pretense to exist within the lie that everyone should seek spiritual perfection, which they say is achievable, if only through suffering and prey.

Good or ill as nature dictates, we are who we are, and Elizabeth did not fear hellfire, viewing death as merely a darkness where no one possess a conscious mind to be aware of it, or even maneuver within it.

That has always been enough for her; and it is the rest of the world which is the oddity.

And so, perhaps she sits at this window to simply marvel at what little people experience; and that is proof of a belief set out before them.

Spotting her comb on the oak dressing table, Elizabeth tried to run her hand through her mane and got caught half way due to her lover having quite the fondness for it. No matter her constant complaints in the morning over the state it gets in after his rough, although pleasurable, handling, it would seem that the man had no appreciation for how difficult it was for a woman to try and tame curls like hers.

Elizabeth grunted, and was content at her fill of the outside to walk away from it singing as she went.

'I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love
I'd a pluck a red rose blowin…'

The song she sang, it was stamped to her memory, though she knew not the source of it, as her grip of the bed sheet she held dropped to drape around the chair.

'Love's in my heart, i'm tryin' so to prove
what your heart's knowin…'

Her nakedness was of no concern though, as there was no one in the room who she would shy away from, and toyed with the dreaded comb, preparing for battle.

'I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn
I'd a pluck a finger bleedin…'

Cowardly, she started at the ends and worked her way up, feeling her tender scalp protest as the teeth of her brush tore more than its share and in such instances, Elizabeth truly had to bite her tongue to prevent her crude language from spoiling the song, though her singing may have harshened.

'Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn
And your heart needin...'

Eventually, the persistence paid off and she finally gave her locks the finishing touches and pulled the top layer back off of her face to tie in a ribbon, and though the deed her distraction of singing was needed for was done, Elizabeth did not stop until the song was spent.

'I'd a hold a finger to my tongue
I'd a hold a finger waitin'
my heart is sore, until it joins in song
with your heart matin…'

She happened to look up at the mirror and was struck by those piercing blue eyes she knew too well, as their reflection penetrated her. As their sole focus, they stalled her for a minute or so, until she returned their look with a smile and continued the few lyrics she had left.

'My heart is sore, until it joins in song
with your heart matin; I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn.'

…Edward was not a man who could tell Elizabeth that he loved her.

It wasn't that Pride had anything to do with it, just that love was something that was impossible to understand, so to him it should have no name. But what he would say to her in the stead of it; was thank you.

Elizabeth had given to him in the past, and she also gives the promise of tomorrow, no matter how far away that tomorrow may become.

Together they were a gift; for both provided the ability for the other to see them through their eyes.

There was no Blackbeard.

There was no whore.

Edward Teach was just a man.

Elizabeth was but a woman.

And yet, the one thing that made them special; was each other.

"How long have you been staring at me."

"Shhh," Edward hushed at her question, "stay as you are."

Elizabeth did as he requested and carried on watching him do the same with her, until he pulled his back off the bed and retrieved his coat from the floor.

Curious, Elizabeth saw him fish around in his pocket, but didn't happen to catch what he had pulled out of it and as he was too tall, he knelt down beside her and still was level headed with her, as he cradled her cheek for a moment, before slipping something over her head.

"Edward!"

Gasping, the pearls shone brilliantly as they both turned to admire them in the mirror and since they would unlikely wed, and any jewelry she owned was on a loan from the Madam of the brothel, Teach wanted to give Elizabeth something she had very few of, and that was possessions.

They were an unnecessary trinket maybe, but he did not care and cut off all her protests.

Men gave women they held dear in their hearts jewelry, and that was what he had done, simply because he wanted to.

A connection to hold in their hand, of their bond to one another.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

the song which Elizabeth sings I have no claims to and is called 'I'd pluck a fair rose' from the TV series Poldark.