(Since it was more or less a tie between the reviewers (thanks for the input) I decided to go ahead and do the final battle scene, including Will's gulp death. I wanted to post this the same day as the honeymoon, but I unfortunately do not have the time to do both today. Tomorrow looks promising though :D. I worked rather hard on this one to try to get that hazy emotion in the end. I hope I accomplished it to the best of my ability. If you really want to know what I believed were Elizabeth and Jack's thoughts during the whole parachute-farewell scene, check out, yes I'm advertising (haha) my fanfic No Doubts. It covers that in a one shot, switching from Jack and Elizabeth's P.O.Vs

I left it... Strangely concluding, but I promise, IT'S NOT OVER. Haha, but you know that. Probably two more chapters and the next lovely one will be nice, romantic, long, and a little erotic. Next one, yes, changing to rating of M. Ah, of course, then there will be a breifish ten years chapter and that will be the end. Enjoy this one... As much as you can a gulp again death scene.)

William had lost view of her long ago, preoccupied with his own fervid duels and now dwelling on his father's predicament. Only a moment before, when he had happened to glance to the Flying Dutchman, he had seen Bootstrap mercilessly fighting his fellow pirates, and it burned Will's heart to know that his father had been entirely suctioned into Davy Jones' crew. His station was clear; he hoped to board the battling ship, but then he cursed. The vessels were careening at the wrong angles, and if he grasped a rope now, it would spell disaster.

An East India Trading Company's soldier was suddenly charging him with a cutlass in each hand, his yell mighty but his ability shallow. Will merely stepped aside with a grunt, gripped the nap of the navy-coated soldier's neck, thrust him backward, and twisted his sword into the man's torso. As blood gushed into the loyal man's mouth and dribbled onto his wardrobe, Will released his grip and pulled himself against the Pearl's railing, his eyebrows furrowing as he spotted a battle between two men among the masts.

Jack dangled precariously above the Flying Dutchman's swarming deck, his legs thrashing wildly and his hands writhing as he sought to maintain his grip on... What was that? Will squeezed the side as he squinted and then shook his head. It was the chest. And if Jack lost his grip... It would be all over. Davy would take complete control, and they would descend into the depths of the sea. He had to get on that ship. Leaning forward, William scrambled onto the railing with a rope in hand, kicked his black boots and propelled himself across the whirlpool, feeling the stinging rain slather his face.

The man quickly found his footing, glanced to the menacing gray and blue sky for Jack's suspended figure, and then scanned the slippery deck. His eyebrows arched eagerly; the chest, lying sideways on the floor, was his for the taking. He swept up the engraved container with both hands and then Will started running across the narrow algae-encrusted bridge. All he had to do was find a sturdy place to command Jones and then... And then... He hadn't decided. He could barely ponder the thought of stabbing the heart with so much to lose and so much to gain. He couldn't. At this point, he just had to keep moving.

The floor was abruptly shuddering as cannons fired on either side, and Will slammed into the slimy corner, a cannon's poisonous and gritty debris catapulting into his face. As his vision cleared, he drew back, his countenance draining of the thrill of possessing the chest.

"Turner!" Maccus screeched, chucking his rusty ax toward the young man.

Will managed to thwart the blow, the blade bouncing off the small chest. He stooped down as Maccus swung the blunt weapon again, and as he rose with his hand on the metal hilt of his sword, the flaming undead monkey soared past his nose and latched onto the crew member's confused expression. Maccus stumbled backward, and the man tumbled over the flimsy railing just as the monkey finally loosened his grip.

"Thank you, Jack," Will remarked with a sleight smile, for once cherishing that deviant monkey's presence. He stormed forward, noting a gaping door. Perhaps the door led to empty quarters. Suddenly, his decrepit, scaly father punched William twice, flipping the man over and sending the chest clattering a few feet away. Will shook his head. His father? His father was attacking him! Bootstrap lumbered forward with is glinting weapon drawn, and Will rapidly removed his own as he clambered to his feet. He ducked and veered away, but the large coral body knocked him backward with remarkable speed.

"It's me!" William bellowed, their swords clanging before being yanked into Bootstrap's insane expression. "It's Will, your son!" He could not allow his father to lose his last link, and Will did not desire to lose his life. He tried to maintain eye contact, wanting his father, now more than ever, to make the connection.

Bootstrap paused, raising his free hand in what Will thought to be a sort of embrace, but then that feral, untamed look appeared, his eyes widened, and Bootstrap Bill's knuckles cracked loudly. His slimy, ash-white hand wrapped around Will's clammy neck, grasping his chocolate brown ponytail. Bill shoved his boy to the ground. A meager yelp emerged, the ridged floor re-opening the nearly healed lashes across his back, and the horrid image of murdering his own father bloating forward. Will slid and scrambled to his feet. It was all so unbelievable. His dream of marriage, a family, a father couldn't just crumble. He thrust his energy into the estranged father and son duel.

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Elizabeth slashed a soldier in half and trotted up the steps, her knees giving out with the quake of the Black Pearl before reaching Cotton, the latest captain, and fresh mayhem. She thought her husband was amongst them... She had to let him know... Elizabeth had to tell him that she loved him but that he needed to do what he could for Bootstrap. As she blocked an attack on the mute man at the helm, she squeaked, "Barbossa!"

"If ye be wanting another wedding, I'm not really in a find mood at the moment, Mrs. Turner!" he returned almost light-heartedly as he cackled at a tortured soul's death.

"No," she screamed, shoving a member of Jones' crew overboard. She aided in hacking into Barbossa's opponent as she asked breathlessly, "Where is Will?"

"The Dutchman," Barbossa replied as he gestured to Cotton and smacked a soldier to the floor.

"Will," she hoarsely whispered. Elizabeth could not stay here and not say farewell, even if it was brief and unfeeling. He was going to stab the heart. If Jack didn't... He would. The woman's eyes skimmed over the Black Pearl's clouded deck until she spied Mr. Gibbs catching spare ropes and waging his own war. Mrs. Turner galloped to his side and croaked over the moaning squall, "Gibbs! Get me over there!"

"Take a rope," the elderly man commanded as he swiped raindrops from his eyes.

With the rough braided rope in one hand, Elizabeth climbed onto the railing, her feet unsteady as she glanced over her shoulder in anticipation. This was it. Her moment to fly.

"Go!" Gibbs shouted.

Elizabeth leaned her weight into the cable, her heavy embroidered clothing dragging her down and her stomach launching into her throat. She released a slight squeal of fright as she swung above the whirling current, and then her elfish-toed booties were scraping against the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The pirate king gasped in and out air as she lifted her eyes to her first adversary. There he was. Towering and glaring and marking her first encounter with Davy Jones. She irately stared at him. Of course, only she would locate him a second after arriving. She had scarcely seen the terrifying squid-face but not a bone ached from fear. Elizabeth hoped to slash off his writhing tentacles within this battle.

"Harridan!" he roared.

First, he whips her husband and tortures his father, and now he dared to call her such a revolting and derogatory name.

Bloody Bastard.

"You will see no mercy from me!"

"That's why I brought this!" Elizabeth screamed, her drenched locks draped over her brown blazing eyes and her mouth gaping open in exhaustion. As she removed her sabre from its sheath, she set a goal. To chop off anything on that wretched man that her sword could touch.

They circled like mad dogs, his nonexistent lips curling in malice and Elizabeth growling sinisterly. The isolated pair switched sides, their swords slashing and clinking, matching in their movements. Elizabeth heaved out her breaths, the world beginning to swirl in a blur. He wasn't even better, but he was stronger. He could maintain longer than she. He could endure, and she was losing ground. As Mrs. Turner moaned with the switch of her blade, Davy's sword barely missed her stomach, and Elizabeth fell backward, scooting along the floor as she continued fighting. Damn. Somehow, he was keeping his strength. And his feet were like cement blocks, planted to the deck. As Elizabeth's free hand clenched and found the side, she leapt to her feet and curved her arm, lacerating Jones' shoulder. He barely flinched, and her limbs started to ache as she hurled herself forward, flinging out any energy as her muscles tensed with dread.

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Will slung his sword, clashing with Bootstrap and pinning his barnacled arm to the railing, managing to knock his razor-sharp blade from his hand. He hoisted his father's dagger to Bootstrap's throat. The man's eyes were wild, still desiring to kill his own son. But Will couldn't do it. He couldn't do that. Perhaps though... If Bootstrap was just injured. It was his only option, wasn't it? Then, her voice. No, he thought, it was her pained groan. He swiveled his head to see his wife struggling in the battle against Davy Jones. Why had she taken him on? His fingers twitched against the dagger.

"I'm not going to kill you," Will growled. "I made you a promise." He jabbed the grimy dagger into the coral on Bootstrap's arm, pinning the man for the moment. Will spun on his heels, poising his sword as Elizabeth weakly released a wail.

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With his tentacled hand, Davy clobbered Elizabeth, knocking her personalized sabre a few feet away and thrusting the woman to the ground. Her blonde head banged against the vacant stairs, and she attempted to lift her head with one arm bent by her head and the other crumpled at her side. The blackness was gripping her, pulling her down, telling her it would be... No, it wouldn't be. But it was so tempting...

Davy Jones leaned over the disarrayed Elizabeth, his eyes flaring. She had come close. Closer than Jack Sparrow that is. The tortured man poised the inherited sword, the tassel adhering to his flesh, but before he could carry through with the attack, he groaned, and his back arched as William Turner's sword sliced through his upper body. It was hardly a sound of pain. More of... Frustration.

"Mister," he rumbled. "Did you forget? I'm a heartless wretch." His grotesque hand twisted the sword against his chest.

Will tugged on the wedged sword, his eyes widening, now alarmed by this unfortunate fact. No weapon. Davy abruptly swung around, and Will managed to duck, his mind racing. What now? The man rose and like an uncoordinated dance, the pair spun hastily as Will sought to locate a weapon. As he impudently glanced to Elizabeth's still body and stray sword, Davy slung his deformed claw foot against Will's wavering moist figure, hurling him across the deck.

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, and as she wiped her moist hair from her face, her surrounding quickly came into focus. Her eyes caught Will, who was several feet away and shaking his head anxiously. Something was wrong. And then she heard the labored breathing of Davy Jones. She looked back to Will, and he stared at her as fear flooded into his eyes. Get out, his brown eyes commanded. Move.

"Ahhh," Davy released, laughing at their anguish. "Love. A dreadful bond. And yet... So easily severed." He stalked toward William and hoisted his weapon to the man's gullet.

This could be the end. This could be the horrid end to everything. Will tilted his chin, avoiding the sharp blade and keeping his eyes on that wretched man.

"Tell me, William Turner, do you fear death?"

Yes, he could admit. Will didn't so much as a fear death as he did the consequences of his death. The death of Elizabeth and Will's marriage, the death of his father's mind, and the death of everything right in his world.

"Do you?" a harsh, grinding voice hollered.

Elizabeth's head swiveled to Captain Jack whose hand gripped his broken sword and whose expression was so satisfied as the pulsing heart of Davy Jones' leaked blood and quivered. Yes, her lips turned in a little smile. Yes, yes. Control him. Will smiled slightly as well as the couple turned to one another for a moment, before returning their gaze to Jack.

"You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow," Davy Jones harshly uttered, taking a few steps toward the kneeling man.

Jack replied smugly. He had leverage and he could taunt and command and do whatever he pleased with the power. "Cruel is a matter of perspective," he countered placidly, droplets of rain pattering against his jacket.

No, Elizabeth thought, he is waiting too long. Do it now. Do it now.

"Is it?" Davy asked mockingly, and then, with a potent roar, the man spun around and thrust his sword into Will's chest.

William's mouth gaped open as he heard his beloved gasp and whimper, his teeth gleaming in the dim light as Davy twisted the sword through his beating heart. He felt the blood gush out of his vessels and seep into his lungs, draining him of speech, of strength, of everything he held dear. He groaned as Elizabeth lurched forward, her eyes bulging as she realized that Will was dying before her eyes. On her hands and knees, she crawled forward as Davy drew back laughing ruthlessly, and tears began to dribble, mixing with the rain. She cautiously edged along the side, her hands running over the side of the green vessel and her petite body quivering as the erect sword glinted in her eyes. Her husband was paling, and as her knees gave out, her hands wrapped gently around the lodged sword.

"Oh," she sighed helplessly, the tears not yet flowing profusely. "Will," she whispered as his eyes slowly opened and closed, releasing a small whine. Then, the emotions of the day, of the months, of the year churned up her stomach and into her face. Everything built, everything that was recovered... Was now falling into rubble. And his eyes were closing. No, no. "Look at me!" she screamed, her hands slid up to his cheeks, arousing the muscles. "Stay with me," she pleaded, leaning over his insipid figure. He couldn't die. He couldn't leave her... No! She calmed her voice. "You're all right!" There was a commotion around her, but she didn't care. Her hands continued to massage his moist, soft face. She loved him. She loved him. They had to have a family, live by the sea, and avoid Jack. Together. Together!

"Will, Will!" Her fingers worked, shifting his head in her hands. He couldn't leave her! No, it was too soon. They deserved more time. They deserved so much more than this. "Look at me," she commanded, but his eyelids were now resting longer. "Look at me!" she screamed, rubbing his face harder, wanting him to wake and rise. She heard the shuffle of a body, and Jack was staring at her, his eyes full of apologies and sorrow.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, displaying the heart and the sword. It was the only way. There was no option as before. Death or bondage was the choice.

She nodded as her lips pouted and tears dribbled down her cheeks and onto Will's vest. Elizabeth hadn't wanted it to come to this. To this indecisive action. She knew what a risk it was. His eyes opened a last time, "Will, I love you," she whispered into his ear, her slender hands still holding his face. She lifted her eyes to Jack. "Yes," she cried, her voice quavering as she leaned against her beloved. "Yes."

Jack settled the pulsing heart on the ground, dropping his eyes from Elizabeth's tear-streaked face. This would heal their love and hurt it as well. Such torture was horrid. He rapidly lifted Will's calloused hand and wrapped it about the hilt of the sword, gripping the man's knuckles awkwardly as the weapon rose and then fell with a deafening blow. The silence was now so numbing. The sirens of Calypso still whirled above, and Davy Jones was spinning around as they stared at the twitching captain. He hissed the goddess' name and then, passing by Bootstrap, tumbled backward over the railing and into the sea.

"I...I..." Will tried to tell her again how he felt. The things he wanted to say to her when this battle was over, but his lungs were filling and the taste of sticky blood sloshed against his tongue.

Elizabeth waited, staring into Will's face as his eyes closed a final time. His entire body relaxed beneath her; every ache and pain subsiding with Jones' death. "No," she whispered as her head shook uncontrollably. He was supposed to rise. He was supposed to heal immediately... Why wasn't it working? Why wasn't he rising and waking and holding her? Elizabeth continued to massage his face. "No!" she screamed as his jaw relaxed and his resistance dropped off. "NO, NO!" she wailed to him as her husband, her beloved, her lover, her one and only perished. "No!" she shrieked hysterically, her hands shivering. "Don't leave me!"

Hands. A man's hands were wrapping around her waist and tugging on her back. Her own arms were sliding across Will's limp chest. "I won't leave you!" she screeched and twisted and writhed as Jack's arms lugged her backward. He was murmuring something in Elizabeth's ear. Something comforting. Something that she never thought he would say. But she couldn't absorb it. She couldn't really hear it as he hauled her to the side, and with one hand around Elizabeth and the other unfastening ropes, he constructed their escape. His hand slid to his pistol, the very same pistol that had saved him and later saved Elizabeth from Barbossa. Now, it would rescue them. He tugged the still struggling Elizabeth into his arms,and she he stared at his face and he stared right back. She felt the confidence in him. He wouldn't say it, but he believed it would be ok. Her hands glided past his baldric and up to his waist and she swathed herself in his grip.

"Hold on!" he hollered, and the zinging bullet propelled the tattered parachute into the air, flapping open in the clearing sky. Tears trickled down her cheeks and onto Jack's navy coat. She was alone. She had contributed to every death. Her father, James, Jack, her husband... What a terror her heart was. Memories of her marriage lingered in her mind, and as her eyes breezed past the frightened monkey, she gazed at the twirling Flying Dutchman that was being suctioned into oblivion. With a quavering sob, Elizabeth dove into the pirate's salty chest and squeezed him tightly. He was salvaging her life. He was here... But Will was not and never would be again.

She felt his eyes drift to her face and then back into the green-blue material, clearly wondering why she had embraced him so tautly. He was the last person that really mattered. And he was a friend who had saved her life and had done his best to save Will's. Good man. Her eyes squeezed shut, memories of her time and adventures with Will swirling with the beat of her heart. She didn't know how she would go on, and she wanted to turn back time. She had wished that on her wedding day, hadn't she? When she was crouching in a fine dress with similar tears streaming down her face. She had asked herself why it was happening. Why hadn't he shown up, but now it all seemed so...So hazy and confusing. But then again, did she not say to herself that she could not turn back? As her locks swayed in the wind, she glanced into Jack's face and then leaned into him again. She couldn't wish that anymore. Time passed. Things changed.

It was a woeful adieu from Will that didn't exist. But she could feel what he had wanted to say those final moments. He would not want her to drown in her sorrow... But to feel the warmth of the sun, know that he will never stop loving her... That he would desire as much as he desired life.