A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Please, if you like what you've been reading, tell me. If you don't, give me some constructive criticism.

The day lingered, accompanied by a harsher sun beating down on the bare necks and ears of the crew. After relieving Cotton, Jack busied himself below decks carrying the meat up to the galley. Splashing his shirt with a bucket of seawater, he paced the deck, still watching Elizabeth. She worked with a group of men, hoisting a net of fish out of the water and onto the deck. A lone woman on a ship with both her arms busy, chest heaving, he expected to have to dig up the old cat and hand out a few lashings to the crewmen for accosting her. But so far, they explained how to tell which fish to keep and which to throw back and Elizabeth threw her hands into the slimy, flopping mess with a nervous enthusiasm. The men patted her back and laughed with her, carrying the full nets below decks. She even thanked them before she collapsed onto the steps, staring at everything and nothing in front of her.

"Thought some work might have cheered the lass up," he heard one of the men say.

"Didn't last long enough. Too fast a learner," the other one said.

Jack backtracked to his cabin and produced a honey-colored bottle filled with rum. Swaggering out, he found her still on the step, not even hearing him approach.

"My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled," he said, holding the bottle out to her.

"I just thought I'd be married by now," she whispered. "I'm so ready to be married." He widened his eyes when she actually took a swig. Eyeing the bottle, he remembered her sleight of hand on the island last year, but this time, part of the rum was actually gone. Indeed she was troubled. Jack thought about the endless responses he could make, eliminating the one that inquired as to whether or not being married to William in particular made a difference or not…well, why not hint at it? Her mind's already nearing the proverbial gutter.

"You know, Lizzie," he said, clearing his throat. What a laugh she would have. "I am captain of a ship. And being captain of a ship, I could in fact perform a marriage. Right here, right on this deck. Right now."

Instead of a laugh, a sharp look of distaste answered him with a clear "no, thank you." Now what vexed the other half of his peapod to the point where she could no longer laugh with him? She marched past him and held part of the Pearl's rigging. For a split second, he considered what his reaction might have been had she taken him seriously, but pushed the thought out of his mind.

"Why not?" he continued. "We are very much alike, you and I. I and you. Us." No rise out of her at all? She…she wasn't thinking about it, was she?

"Except for a sense of honor and decency and a moral center," she rambled. "And personal hygiene."

Well, he could have explained that smell comes from handling all that meat from deck to deck, but something was amiss. Last year, standing at the railing of another ship alone with her, her expressions told him she fully agreed with him that they were two of a kind, and now, after practically confessing to him she had womanly needs that were not as of yet being met, she denied it all? You're on my ship, Lizzie. Best be acting how you want to act.

"Trifles. You will come over to my side. I know it."

"You seem very certain."

"One word, love: curiosity. You long for freedom." She wasn't telling him she wanted bedding. Well, she was, but that was only the surface of her problem. She felt confined. Now here, out in open water in trousers and a gulp of rum in her stomach, all the lack of confinement frightened her. "You long to do what you want to do because you want it. To act on selfish impulse—you want to see what it's like. One day, you won't be able to resist."

"Why doesn't your compass work?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"My compass works fine," he said with a fallen face, too busy dissecting her question to come up with a smarter answer. It was only natural she would wonder why he couldn't find the chest himself. She wasn't stupid.

"Because you and I are alike," she said when he failed to produce a true answer. "And there will come a time when you have the chance to show it, to do the right thing."

Oh, Lizzie, how wrong you are, he smirked. At least she hadn't concluded…she was looking at him. Better respond.

"I love those moments. I love to wave at them as they pass by." So you think I can't find the chest because I'm concerned with more altruistic matters. Sun must be getting to her. Starting for the bulkhead, he paused when he heard her footsteps catching up to him. Her hands merged with the railing, her hair toppling over her shoulder and hiding the lapels of her stolen coat.

"You'll have a chance to do something, something courageous," she said, tapping the railing. "And when you do you'll discover something-- that you're a good man."

Those duelist eyes stared right into him again and Jack shivered at the sight of them. He forced a smile to cover just how, how, unsettling they were, especially when accompanied by such confidence in him. It was as fierce a belief in him as his own mother had had in him, and he knew just how much of a disappointment that had been.

"All evidence to the contrary," he said with a softer tone, glancing out to sea.

"No, I have faith in you." Jack inhaled at the statement, heart racing at the knowledge Elizabeth depended on him to be good. She had to know by now he was a mistake, a spot that stained John Teague's life and just a member of a list the navy and Beckett had of men whom society preferred to be executed in a public setting rather than simply forgotten about. But his eyes softened at the realization she was looking out to sea, too, with him. It was highly stupid to be so frustrated when he should be enjoying her presence, just grateful she was on his ship, peering out at the horizon line.

"Want to know why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Do tell, dearie." Since you're willing to harp on this and ruin a little slice of peace.

"Curiosity." She edged closer to him and craned her long neck to make eye contact with him. "You're going to want it, a chance to be admired and gain the rewards that follow." Her eyelids dropped a fraction while a carefree grin framed by those lips held his attention. "You won't be able to resist." The volume of her voice dropped, forcing the two of them closer. Don't tempt me, Lizzie, he thought. No, do tempt me. "You're going to want to know what it tastes like."

About to burst and throw her over his shoulder to his cabin, he managed to grunt out, "I do want to know what it tastes like."

They both turned towards each other at the same time, paying no mind to the fact their bodies seemed to know what to do while they didn't. Jack let the back of his hand caress that hair, his other one starting to wrap around her narrow waist. He couldn't hear what she was saying, probably because it was anything but, "I'm engaged, Jack." She wouldn't kiss him then, but damn it all, he was going to kiss her now and wipe away any thoughts of ever setting foot off this ship from her mind. Black Spot.

What?

Black Spot.

As if slapped awake from a dream, Jack saw the Black Spot spread out over his palm and, by instinct, he jerked at the sight of it.

"I'm proud of you, Jack," Elizabeth said in a broken tone.

No, it's not that…Black Spot…so tired of running…Will…kraken…want you…find that chest for me. Jack's thoughts swam around in a head that felt empty, the lavish library of knowledge scorched and reduced to a pile of ashes. She ran off with her cheeks flushed at the announcement of land sighted based on the heading she gave, and just for the moment, Jack was grateful she left his side.

XXX

"You," he said, pointing to Norrington, not even bothering to inspect the other members of the crew. He walked past all of them, Elizabeth behind him with a longboat already selected. "And you two," he said, pointing to Pintel and Ragetti.

"You sure I shouldn't be goin' with ye?" Gibbs asked, Cotton and Marty wringing their hands beside him. "I mean, those two?" He bobbed his head in the direction of Pintel and Ragetti, taking turns poking the jar of dirt Tia Dalma gave him, prodding it like children prod a dead bird, fascinated by the morbidity of it, hoping it will resurrect itself from the dead and pop up for the sheer enjoyment of scaring them.

"Just stroll a ways with me, Gibbs," Jack said, sliding his arm around Gibbs and guiding him over towards the longboat. "Oy, you two! Can't I even have a jar of dirt that's me own?" He lowered his voice and turned back to Gibbs. "As long as large, tentacle-y things are after me, you should consider yourself lucky you are in the presence of a captain with so strong a presence of mind that he still is tranquil enough to determine that if members of the crew must be risked, then they must be the members of the least significance…or the ones who piss me off the most."

"Aye." Gibbs nodded. "Why ye taking Miss Elizabeth then?"

"Because I have to. Now, mind the Pearl, make sure she knows not to talk to strangers." They piled into the longboat, a few shovels stacked across their laps. Norrington pushed the oars towards Pintel and Ragetti. Uncharacteristically complacent, in Jack's opinion, the two took the oars and began rowing them towards Isla Cruces. Strange, Jack thought. If Jones wanted to be sure no one would find his chest, he should have buried it somewhere with a pleasant name. Isola di piacere, for example, or since the Spanish named everything first, Isla de placer. Something told him this place wouldn't be so pleasurable. Blocking out the two idiots' blather, his ears honed in on a more intellectual conversation.

"Sparrow must be daft, dragging us all out here, unless of course, he means to maroon us."

"You know this place?" Elizabeth asked Norrington.

"Stories. Isla Cruces. The Church came to the island and brought salvation, and disease, and death. They say the priest had to bury everybody, one after the other. It drove him mad and he hanged himself," Norrington whispered.

"Better mad with the rest of the world than sane alone," Elizabeth said. "It makes sense Davy Jones would leave something here."

"Because of the pain associated with it?"

"Well, I was thinking more practically," she said. "With everyone dead and gone, no one would go looking for a chest now, would they?"

"When those pirates kidnapped you, did they take your heart, too?" Norrington snapped at her, prompting Jack to contemplate turning around and striking him. She didn't want you. Get over it.

"No." He could visualize the cold sneer on her face. "No, I simply learned how to survive among them without having to swab decks."

That's my girl, Jack thought when the boat hit the thin layer of sand. Oh, how fun, a sinking island. Jones had every detail all planned out. Breathing a sigh of relief when his feet hit the grainy white sand, he threw his shovel to Norrington.

"Deckhand digs."

"What? You mean for me to dig up the whole island on my own?" Norrington scoffed. "You brought two other men with you!"

"And they're minding the boat. Didn't the navy teach you that captains make the decisions?"

"Hold on, James," Elizabeth said, touching his arm. "We'll know where to dig in just a moment." She flipped up the lid to the compass and started following the arrow, pacing to and fro in what could have been a perfect triangle had Jack really cared to watch what she wanted most shift from wherever the hell bloody stupid Will was and the chest. He looked back to see her still marching around like a madwoman.

"It doesn't work!" she cried out, slumping to the ground with folded arms. "It certainly doesn't show you what you want most."

Jack ran over to it, ready to hurl it into the ocean if not one of them could use it to find one little chest. All right, old boy, he told it. You don't like me and I don't like you. But I need this chest. He imagined how the chest would look, training his mind to focus on one thing, just one dead man's chest. If he had that heart in his hands, he could be free. He could climb back aboard the Pearl and never be apart from her again.

"Yes, it does," he said, watching the arrow finally rest. "You're sitting on it."

"Beg pardon?"

"Move." He gestured for her to stand. About to stick his own fingers into the sand, he jumped back and stared at Norrington. "Here. Dig here. Not you," he said to Elizabeth when she began to hold out her hand and pick up a shovel.

"Jack, I must insist on pulling my weight here. We all have something at stake."

"True enough, Lizzie, but you're the one what found it. Let the Commodore show us his feats of strength."

XXX

He could even block out the sun's penetrating rays, staying in this position. Legs crossed, he breathed in and out, waiting for the thud of the end of the shovel hitting wood. It hurt, trying to drop every memory of her from his mind, desperate to achieve in a matter of minutes what a year already failed to do. Wanting her, thinking of her, wondering to what extent he wanted her all detained him from saving his own soul. One has to be alive and free before anything else, and you're just going to have to forget her when this is all over.

Keeping one eye on Norrington the whole time, Jack leapt up at the sound of a dull thud under the sand. The three brushed off the sand resting on top of a small, deep chest. Inside laid a much smaller chest, designed in crab-like hearts and snaky tentacles entwining and twisting around each other. Smothered in necklaces and letters in a foreign hand, Elizabeth picked one of them up, mouthing the words, "I still love you. Remember all those nights we cried? All the dreams we held so close seemed to all go up in smoke."

She let it flutter back into the larger chest at the sight of the small one, looming over it like Jack and Norrington, listening for the steady thumping of a human heart.

"It's real," she gasped.

"You actually were telling the truth," Norrington said.

"I do that quite a lot. Yet people are always surprised."

Isla del placer means "pleasure island" in Spanish. The foreign writing right before it is the same thing in Italian. The letter Elizabeth reads in this chapter is lyrics from the Rolling Stone's song "Angie." According to DMC commentary, someone actually translated the song into Dutch and included it in the chest, making it a love letter from Davy Jones to Calypso he decided to bury away along with his heart. So that wasn't my idea, but I thought that was too cool to omit.