Chapter 3

Isla Del Aburrimiento, Caribbean – 8 years earlier

The little cottage was, for lack of a better word, disgusting.

She could hardly be blamed for it, as she would so staunchly defend herself. How fine a house could a pregnant woman, or for that matter a woman with a small son, be expected to build on her own? At first it had been only a lean-to, a place to sleep until she found a better situation on her dear private island. There were people who would pay thousands of pounds to have what she had just now, and she would have traded all her pirate gold for a single solitary hot bath.

She sometimes thought, rather bitterly, that it might have occurred to her husband to send one of the ships back for her before he sailed off to the netherworld.

She hated the people who lived on the closest island. She had only her longboat, but it was not too long a venture to make, when she desperately needed supplies. But she hated them. She hated the smug way in which they lived their lives, not hating themselves or each other as she did. She hated when they looked at her with sympathy or pity – though she rather enjoyed when they looked at her with fear. She had earned ever ounce of fear and respect these pathetic people could give her.

Sometimes she felt rather guilty about these thoughts, as if she was being unreasonably cruel, even if only in her mind. She tended to disregard those emotions, she thought that perhaps she had gone a bit mad in her months alone. She thought, with some amusement, that now she was truly a match for Jack Sparrow.

The real reason she didn't allow herself guilt about her cruel thoughts – because she had heaped upon herself enough guilt to last a lifetime. 'Jack,' just his name was enough to make her want to cry. She was undeserving of forgiveness or friendship, but oh how she longed to see black sails on the horizon. She loved the Pearl and everyone aboard, they were the crew she felt loyal to in her heart – regardless of time spent as Captain of the Empress.

The Captain of the Empress, King of the Pirate Court, would be disgusted by the woman she had become. She could not say it was all bad of course...there was light. There was a bright, shining light in a dirty, grinning face. William Turner III, who could make her smile with the slightest gurgle or movement, and paralyze her with fear if she didn't hear him for even a moment. Liam, she called him. Her little boy, too small to do much more than babble wordlessly or wave his arms, but she loved him.

The fear she felt when she imagined losing him on the island was distinctly outweighed by the fear she had of losing him to the sea. She could so easily imagine him, growing up on this island, turning into a boy that looked too much like one she had fished out of the ocean so many years before – and then turning into a man, in whose eyes she would see a longing for freedom...and then who would be gone, lost to a life of sailing or, which she had to admit was far more likely, piracy.

She had spent many hours lashing her soul with her own guilt and fear in the months before she decided to do something about it. She knew would never be able to rest until it was finished – until she could make it right. Letters were written and received, plans were formed and began to be executed. She had made many enemies during her time at sea, but few stories had reached England, and she had by no means been friendless before. She would meet a ship sailing for England, captained by a man she loved dearly, accompanied by his wife. They would meet her, and assist her in every way they could. She was determined that her son would have more opportunities – something to look forward to in life beyond sailing the seas. She packed up the few things she had gathered on this godforsaken island, buried a softly thumping chest in an unmarked bit of sand under an unmarked dune on the wasteland that was her island, and set off for the port in her longboat.

Tortuga, Four Months Later

She clenched and unclenched her fists nervously. She hated this island, hated it with everything she had. It stank of rum and smoke and filth, all mixed with the salty air of the sea and sweat of unwashed men. It smelled like a pirate ship amplified, and she didn't need reminders of what she missed.

Elizabeth stared at her reflection in a window as she passed. She was darkly tanned and her hair was ragged in a long braid down her back. She could have passed for a cabin boy again, without even trying. She didn't like it, but made no move to correct it. Better, she thought, to let people see what they wished.

It was her third week in Tortuga, and she realized with some reluctance that it was entirely likely that she could be there some time longer. She wasn't simply looking for a crew to join up with – she could have left the day after her arrival is that was all she wanted. No, she needed her absolution. Forgiveness could only come from one man, and she could not accept it without earning it. Once again her eyes glued to the horizon, watching for a ship with black sails that once again she did not see.

Perhaps had she looked a little closer to home – such as, to the port itself, she would have noticed a ship very much meeting the description she searched for. Sadly, she did not look, and continued with a heavy heart into town to barter one of the glossy treasures Will had left her for another night's meal and lodging – and to once again argue against her needs for company in said lodgings.

She was oblivious as she stepped into the lodge that a man had noted her, a man who paused with a bottle of rum at his lips. She didn't notice the sudden quirk of his mouth and brow, nor the intrigued glint in his eyes. A coin flipped in the air, and the merchant behind him grabbed for it as Jack Sparrow followed Elizabeth Turner into a whorehouse.

He quickly arranged himself casually in a corner, unobtrusive and feigning absolute disinterest in everything the pub and brothel could offer. He watched her, amazed – and relieved – that none of the pirates responded to her as they would if they'd known her to be a woman. He couldn't believe they didn't see it, when every move seemed to give her away as Elizabeth Swann – no, scratch that, Turner. Well, he enjoyed not having to pick fights with brutes so much larger than himself, so he would simply be glad of the ignorance his peers seemed to enjoy wallowing in, and enjoy his ability to watch her argue with the mistress of the house.

He was further glad when he realized that if he had, in fact, been forced to approach Mrs. Turner – he winced at this name, even only in his thoughts – he would also have to approach the madame. This would be unpleasant because he happened to recognize said madame...he was rather surprised, Giselle had certainly gone up in life. Yes, that way almost certainly led to being slapped, and Jack did so dislike being slapped.

He grinned as Elizabeth was led up the back stairs, and took a long drink of rum. "Drink up me hearties, yo ho," he sang softly to himself, propping a boot up on the chair in front of him.

Elizabeth of course, was unaware of being observed. She was further unaware of it some time later as she returned from the room she'd been given to argue with the mistress about the presence – or more accurately, the lack thereof – of the hot bathwater for which she had previously paid.

Once a week she allowed herself this indulgence, and she was getting rather irate at this overblown brothel-mistress who was trying to weasel her way out actually providing heated water. After a few minutes of successfully intimating what exactly the woman could expect if her end of the bargain was not met, Elizabeth was satisfied that she would soon have the heat she wished. The woman scurried off to arrange it, and Elizabeth ordered a bottle of rum to entertain herself until it was prepared.

Nearly an hour later, and with a smile of self-satisfaction, she locked the door to her small bedchamber and began unbuttoning her blouse. She could already feel the steam coming off the bath just inside the door.

"Need help love?"

Elizabeth felt her blood run cold, then hot again. She turned slowly, pursing her lips – whether in amusement or irritation she wasn't yet sure. She took in the sight of him lazing about on her bed, his coat tossed on her chair and his shirt lying open across his chest and decided it was something else entirely. "Jack," she said his name, a smile breaking out on her face. "You didn't let me undress, how gentlemanly of you."

"Don't go accusing me of that now darling," he pushed himself off her bed and approached her with a smile. "Now I find I must beg the question of why Elizabeth the Pirate King is pretending, once again, to be naught but a young sailor wasting his coin in Tortuga."

Elizabeth's plan had somehow not gone past getting here and finding Jack. She found herself quite unable to explain her plan – or even to come up with a reasonable sounding lie that would excuse her presence. "I knew you'd come through here," the words slipped out finally.

That brought him up short, he stared at her. "Need help again I take it?" He asked slowly, looking her up and down. "Got yourself in some trouble?" His voice had lost its jovial tones, sounding dark and threatening, coming from Jack Sparrow. Captain, she corrected her thoughts.

She stepped back, shaking her head. "No, I don't – well, not like that. I have to -" she swallowed hard. "I never told you Jack. I need to, before I can do anything, go on with my life or even just go through this fight for survival. I need to tell you – how sorry I am."

This time it was he who stepped away. "Ahh, then it's guilt." He picked up his coat and began to pull it on. "Needn't worry Mrs. Turner," she winced at the sound of her own name, and then wondered why. "You did right by yourself, I couldn't have asked for a better pirate."

She moved forward now, shaking her head. "No Jack," he stopped and looked at her, his eyes cold. "I'm not sorry I chained you. I can't be. I saved everyone's life then, and you know it."

"Aye, so you did lass," his shoulder dropped, and he slowly pulled his jacket on. The spark had left him as suddenly as it appeared. "So you did."

"What I'm sorry for," Elizabeth reached out and touched his arm, her eyes meeting his steadily for the first time since his arrival. "Is tricking you. I took advantage of your trust, and I can never escape that."

He patted her on the head, abruptly becoming more cheerful, almost as if he were amused at her. "Well you're not the first one love."

"Jack would you stop!" Elizabeth held tight to his arm. "I want your forgiveness, but I know I have to earn it. And – I have to deserve it. That's what I want Jack, a chance to redeem myself, to earn it. I want to sail aboard the Pearl until I earn it."

Jack leaned in a bit, twisting his mustache in his free hand. "And how would you propose going about earning it darling?" He leered at her, showing his gold teeth in a grin.

He was more than a bit surprised when she leaned in as well and pressed her lips to his, allowing herself for a moment to release the passion that had been building since she saw him on her bed. "Was that a good start?" She asked breathlessly, a moment later. She looked up into his eyes, waiting for a response.

He held her by the shoulders, staring at her intently. "I don't want a taste of you," he said quietly. "If you want to wait your life for William on that island tell me now. I'll not have a taste and then give up." He waited for an answer, but saw only confusion in her eyes. "It's all or nothing Lizzy."

Realization dawned and she nodded slowly. "I have to come back for him," she said softly. "In eight more years I have to be there, with him and you can't be. But after the day he'll be gone again, and so will I Jack. I won't spend eternity waiting for him."

"Where will you spend it?" Jack asked softly, pulling her closer.

She disentangled herself and stepped away, smiling. "Well," she said coyly, beginning again to unbutton her shirt. "I'd like to start in this bath."