Disclaimer: I claim no ownership whatsoever of Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters/places contained therein.

Author's Note: Well, that was only a little more than a month. Sorry about that!

Chapter 2

The incoming tide pushed splintered wooden planks further up onto the beach and almost let them settle before dragging them back out into the darkness for the next wave to interact with. It was like a game for the sea, albeit a very monotonous and repetitive one, Jack thought. At least something was taking joy in his misfortune.

It was a stupid miscalculation on his part. He had judged the tide and skies wrong, had pushed his luck a smidge too far. The storm had risen with an unrivaled fury (or so it had seemed to him sitting in a dinghy instead of aboard the Pearl)and forced an angry hand down upon his vessel, running it aground and crushing it. It was not the worst shipwreck he'd ever experienced, but he did feel quite pathetic as he clambered up onto the dark beach, spitting salt water and sand as he went. At least he was alone.

Thunder rumbled high above like a deity's shunning laughter.

Jack looked around. In the dark night it was impossible to get a bearing for the size of his new prison, but he could tell from the lack of illumination that the area around him was uninhabited. Desperate, he turned back to the sea, searching fruitlessly for a light bobbing on the raging tide.

Seeing nothing but unyielding blackness everywhere he looked, Jack shrugged to himself. There was nothing for it; with a resigned sigh he sank to the sand and let his exhaustion overwhelm him.

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The morning was bright and beautiful with nary a cloud in the sky. Young Tobin Paxton inhaled the salty breeze before scampering down the decaying front steps of the lodging house where he and his mother lived. It was not much, but it was all they could afford. Yet with his mother taken ill and unable to work much, their days in the lodging house were numbered. Pushing such melancholy thoughts to the back of his mind, Tobin trotted down the unpaved road toward the town's western edge.

"Oy! Toby!" At the sound of his name Tobin skidded to a halt and swung around to face the voice. When his gaze lighted on Widow Honeycutt, a smile broke across his face. He walked back toward her at a more leisurely pace.

"Mornin' Mistress Honeycutt," he greeted with a polite tug on the brim of his hat. Though his tattered clothes and grime-smeared person marked him for the beggarly child he was, he was known throughout the town for his unusually good manners.

"'ow's yer mother?"

Tobin lowered his gaze. As the Widow watched the youthful sparkle in his eyes fade she regretted her question. "Don't fret lad, s'just a lil' cold. She'll be over it sooner'n you know." She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, which the boy did not return.

"Tell you wot, take this," she held out a small brick of butter wrapped in oiled cloth, "to that shack just outside of town. I'd do it meself, but yer a bit faster'n me. She owes a shillin' fer it, make sure to collect that. When you come back there'll be some bread and milk waitin' fer ye. Got it?" Without hesitation, Tobin nodded and took the small package. He turned back the way he had been going and the Widow gave him a small shove. She placed her hands on her hips and sighed with a small shake of her head as the boy sped off down the road.

As he reached the edge of the small town Tobin slowed his pace. He followed the lesser-worn trail toward the cliffs overlooking the sea and there he paused. Standing there, atop the ledge, he felt his worries lift; here and here alone he felt completely free. The breeze came off the sea with a gentle fury all its own and crashed into him, whipping his hair about and bringing tears to his pale blue eyes. The boy cast his gaze downward, watching the surf break upon the shore. His brow furrowed when he saw several planks of wood scattered upon the beach and, more troubling, a body.

His chore forgotten, Tobin dropped the butter and skittered down a seldom-used trail carved into the cliff side. In his haste he lost his footing and plummeted the last few feet. His landing raised a cloud of sand and he coughed, uselessly rubbing at his eyes. He levered himself up onto his forearms and squinted through the settling dust and tears at the other form occupying the beach. In his seven years of life Tobin had seen at least one dead man that he could remember and that encounter left him ill-prepared to judge this situation. While the man he'd seen in the past was rotting from the plague, the one lying before him seemed uninjured save for a few scratches on his face and a larger sore on his jaw line.

Suddenly uncertain, Tobin dragged himself up onto his hands and knees and slowly began crawling toward the man. "Sir," he whispered hoarsely. Since he could scarcely hear his own voice, Tobin licked his parched lips and tried again. "Sir?"

"I 'eard you the first time lad," the man mumbled, waving one hand dismissively. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. However, the boy had other plans. Timidly he inched across the sand until he was sitting a mere foot away from the man. With a halting movement he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against the other's arm. With a small growl of agitation the man levered himself up onto his elbows and glared at the boy, who shrank away from the look. "What?"

Belatedly realizing that his purpose for descending to the beach was no longer valid, Tobin worked his mouth noiselessly, searching frantically for some explanation. Before he could come up with one the man had pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying, taking inventory of his surroundings.

"There a town 'round here?"

"Yes'ir, 'bout a mile down that way." Tobin pointed in the direction he had come. He suddenly felt quite foolish sitting in the sand and so he stood and did his best to ignore the shaking of his legs.

"'ow big?"

"Not very large, sir."

"Any respectables? Grand houses, carriages an' all that?"

"Just the plantation, sir." It was then that the man's appearance registered in the youth's mind: a pirate. With a start the boy stumbled backward, almost fell, and found his escape blocked by the sheer cliff he'd descended earlier. Looking up at its heights now, he felt his heart sink.

"Somethin' wrong lad?"

Tobin spun around and pressed his back against the stone. His hands groped for a loose rock to use as a weapon, if need be. He froze when the pirate began chuckling.

"'ow old are you, boy?"

"Nigh on seven years sir," Tobin replied, casting his gaze downward. Though he tried to hide it, his whole body was trembling.

"And what do you think of me?" Tobin looked up at the man in surprise, having never anticipated the question. "Well?" the man pressed, settling into an uneven stance. His piercing kohl-rimmed gaze was both frightening and intriguing, as if there were some important secret he would kill to keep. When no response was forthcoming the man turned to face the sea. "Speak up, boy!"

"Forgive me for saying so, but you have the look of a pirate, sir," Tobin stated without thinking. He clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he realized his folly.

The man grinned and rocked back on his heels ever so slightly. Tobin caught the glint of sunlight off a golden tooth. "And what think you of that?"

Tobin pressed himself closer to the cliff, afraid to answer. Seemingly driven by the boy's silence, the man turned and sauntered toward him, the hint of a lopsided grin on his face though his eyes retained their intensity. He stopped within a few inches of the child, offering no space for escape. "Learn this boy: fear is both a dangerous weapon and a useful tool. Never let it manifest in yerself or your friends, but always instill it in your enemy. You are not my enemy." Having said his peace the man spun and began swaggering in the direction of the town. Tobin watched him guardedly, wondering how such a gait could possibly be practical.

The man raised his right hand and Tobin's attention fixed on the item pinched between his fingers: a piece of eight. "Lend me yer knowledge and it's yours," the man's drawling voice drifted back.

Thinking of his mother and their current financial troubles, Tobin pushed his wariness to the back of his mind and sprinted after the man.

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The crisp breeze followed the shape of the cliffs up from the sea and washed over a vast field of wild grass, curling playfully through the intricate mazes between the stalks. The silvery tips of the grasses waved in response to the wind's gentle caress, becoming a mirror image of the water rolling in below.

A small sigh of contentment rose from within the shroud of grass as Elizabeth stretched and sat up, bracing her weight back on her hands. She inclined her head to gaze down at Will, still fast asleep. The blunted breeze pulled gently at his shirt and breeches and dragged his hair slowly away from his slackened features. Elizabeth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before shifting her position so she could rest her head on his chest and toy with his hair.

Will's eyes cracked open at the contact and after a moment he smiled groggily. He reached up and ran one hand through Elizabeth's unruly hair. As he savored her presence his eyes drifted shut, his smile deepened and he exhaled heavily. In response Elizabeth snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes, content on falling back into a blissful sleep. Will's hand trailed down Elizabeth's neck and shoulder to rest on her upper arm, his strong fingers massaging gently.

"Will," Elizabeth mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. His response was a light squeeze on her arm. "Promise me...you'll never leave."

Her words and the uncertainty in her voice drove Will into full wakefulness and he sat up, pulling Elizabeth closer to him as he did so. He held her face in both his hands and was troubled by the single tear that slunk down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. "You know you don't need to ask that; I could never leave you." Elizabeth smiled and placed a light kiss on his lips.

As quickly as it had come the serious moment vanished and Elizabeth's eyes danced mischievously. "Did you bring your sword?"