A/N I got my first review within 15 minutes of posting the first chapter of this story! Boy was I shocked. Thank you Cloudburst2000 for responding so quickly! And thank you also to all the others who have responded on- and off-list. It's certainly encouraging to know you are looking forward to my updates.

I hate to be a party-pooper, but my posting of this story will be sporadic at best. I do have a life off the computer, which includes long workweeks as well as putting myself through school and trying to be a good mother to my two boys. Hence the rather infrequent stories. However, this particular story wouldn't just go away like the others did. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Battle

Elizabeth glanced around distractedly. She seemed confused with what seemed to be happening around her. When her gaze returned to Jack's face, he noted that she did indeed recognize him, but her vague manner baffled him. He had expected a retort from her, even wanted it from her, having enjoyed their verbal battles from before their apparent deaths. He waited petulantly, lips pursed, brow furrowed, as she approached him.

"Is that where we are?" she murmured. "How … interesting." His head jerked back as his eyes grew wider, peering around incredulously.

"Interesting?" He looked closer to see if her eyes were bloodshot. If she had been drinking, he wanted some.

"I had thought it would be more … fiery," she said. "That would have been far more uncomfortable than this. This is fairly tame."

"Fiery. No my dear Lizzie, there is nothing here for you to burn. I do recall your predilection for fires, but as you can see there are no trees, hence no wood. And since there is no wood, and no reason to ignite said wood, there are no fires. After all, the rum is gone. There is none of that here, along with the aforesaid wood." With that he stomped past her, intending to continue his trek. He was not about to spend his eternity in Hell arguing with the wench.

"Well, if it's rum you want …," she began, turning as he strode past. He growled in his throat as she hurried to catch up with him. He deliberately lengthened his strides, hoping to make it clear to her that her company was not really wanted. This was indeed Hell.

"Captain, please, slow down," she said breathlessly when the both of them were virtually running. "I … have … rum." He came to such a sudden stop that she plowed into him, knocking him off balance.

"Well, why didn't you say so, luv," he replied silkily, straightening himself up and turning to her, hoping she wasn't lying. He wondered at her sudden change of heart about the "vile drink", but a thirsty man was willing to take any advantage offered willingly. Well … he wasn't exactly thirsty, but he certainly could use a drink to start dulling those damned sensations.

She stood there, holding a bottle full of an amber liquid out to him, her own version of a smirk written on her face. He was almost afraid to take it from her hand, so he snatched it quickly, as if he might get shackled again to something if he lingered too long near her. He uncorked the bottle and tentatively took a whiff, halfway expecting it to be as odorless and tasteless as the water. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at her, wondering what she was up to. It was definitely rum, but what were her intentions in giving it to him?

"It's the last bottle," she told him. "The rest of the rum was used against the Kraken, remember?" She cocked her eyebrow and grinned.

"You used rum against the Kraken?" he asked incredulously.

"You shot it, remember? It was in with the gunpowder," she answered. He winced, recalling that he also was not there to hear the order to gather it. He might have countermanded it, had he known what they were doing. Instead he had been rowing towards the island to get the heart back from Norrington, until he thought about looking at his compass to try to see where the former Commodore had gone. Instead, the compass had told him something completely different, where his true desires were.

"Well, in that case, we had better make this last, then," he muttered irritably. He corked the bottle and started to shove it into his sash for safekeeping when it was plucked from his hands. Elizabeth took a swig for herself, and winced, shuddering as the sweet liquid went down her throat. "Oi, that is mine, you know," he snapped. She looked at him coolly and corked the bottle, shoving past him, heading the same direction he had been marching.

Jack stood stock still in shock at her audacity. She had offered him his own rum, and then took it away. Was she toying with him? He whipped around and chased after her. She had his rum and he'd be damned if she was going to get to keep it. Not that he wasn't already damned. He knew he was in Hell if this was the torture he was going to have to endure. If he had been a praying man he knew now would have been a good time to start.

When he caught up to her, wondering how she had gotten such a head start on him, he peered around her, plucking at her sleeves, looking for the rum. He could not figure out where she had stashed it. He licked his lips, and noticed her glaring out from the corner of her eye at his antics.

"Do you realize what a sot you are?" she asked, annoyed. "You really need to start worrying about how to get us out of here, instead of who is carrying your rum."

"Wench, you gave it back to me," he grumbled petulantly. "It was the least you could have done after leaving me to die! What have you got against me? We're already in Hell. Must you insist on making it worse?"

"Leaving you to die?" she shouted back at him. "How about that little trip you took while all those on board were battling the Kraken? You left."

"Oh, and I suppose you managed to get away all by yourself. Need I remind you who fired that shot that destroyed my rum supply?" he ground out through gritted teeth. He shuddered at the thought. Somehow, she was always around when large amounts of rum went up in flames. Feeling a little bit of déjà vu, he whined at her, "Where's the rum gone?"

"If we are here for any length of time, Captain, you will need to ration that little bit of rum," she reasoned. "You cannot be trusted to keep it on your person. It would end up completely gone by the end of the day."

Jack rolled his eyes. Bugger, the woman was insufferable. He saw her logic, but it was his rum after all. And she left him to die. She owed him.

"Captain," she broke through his thoughts. "It's getting dark." He looked around and realized that, once again, she was right. The sky had darkened somewhat, but since he could see no sun, he didn't know where it was setting. He didn't like this feeling of having no direction. It was almost as bad if not worse than watching the waveless sea. Jack was nonplussed, turned around, out of kilter. He really needed that rum.

He sank onto the sand, dejected. Here he was, in Hell, with this idiot woman. Could she not see how he was suffering? He peered up at her looking for pity, and was startled to see a little compassion form on her face. He hadn't expected it, even if he was looking for it. He heard her sigh as she sat down next to him.

"I'm not sorry for keeping the rum away from you," she said, "but don't you see? It's for your own good." He felt his jaw drop. She just couldn't stay away from the non-apologies. He glared at her out the corner of his eye and shook his head.

They sat there silent for a while, with him seething, her just waiting, and both just staring out at the motionless water.

"Did you notice the water, Captain?" she began, and Jack erupted.

"For God's sake, Lizzie, you've never called me that before without being prompted! Why start now? Are you trying to make this Hell more like … well … Hell, or am I going to have to throttle you to get my rum back?" Instead, he pushed himself up and turned to stalk away.

"I don't really see what that has to do with the fact I won't give you your rum back, unless of course both are irritating to you, but I would have thought that you of all people would have preferred to hear me call you Captain rather than Jack!" She stood up to follow him.

"Well, of course. We're in Hell, where there is no ship, no rum, except for the one bottle you won't let me have, a rather annoying chatterbox of a woman that also happens to be my murderer after tricking me into a rather passionate kiss, which I must say doesn't astonish me at all in view of the way she's been mooning after me for weeks, so why shouldn't she be here to exasperate me in Hell, probably for all of eternity?" He stopped looking bleakly back at her, eyes wide with the realization that, yes, this was truly Hell. Then his brow furrowed.

"I just thought of something. You can't be her." He leaned forward scanning her face, noting that it definitely looked like Elizabeth's face. "You, I mean, she rowed away with the others before the Kraken got back. Who the blazes are you, anyway?"