A/N Someone mentioned to me that I seem to be turning this into an epic. It seems to be true, although it was not intended at first. The more I write, the more I think of TO write, and in the end I just pray it doesn't turn into a sprawling directionless piece of crap. I'm trying to stay true to the theme, but I'm finding myself adding plotlines that weren't anticipated. Perhaps I will have to turn this into a series just so that each can be a story unto itself. Who knows? I'll figure it out as I go along.

I also recently discovered an error I made in a previous chapter. Yes, I know there are more than one, but this one is pretty glaring. Or maybe not so much. I'll throw it out to you guys and see if any of you caught it. I don't have anything to offer… wait…. I have a few OC characters coming up that will need names. If you are the first to tell me the error I made, you will get a character named after you. Think of it … immortality in a fanfic … that in the end, few will read. You just can't go wrong.

Chapter 13: To Discuss, or ... Maybe Not

As he brought the ship about to get underway, he chewed the inside of his cheek in frustration. He very carefully avoided watching Elizabeth unload the animals and take them below decks to the pens and cages where they would reside on their voyage prior to being used as dinner. He knew he probably should have offered to do so, especially after she had so kindly procured them, but after her little display, he was leery of even standing in her presence. He scowled in confusion at the recently created memory, reliving it in his mind bit by bit to try to discern what he had done wrong.

He had just thanked her for bringing the animals aboard, when suddenly she shoved him brusquely away, looking quite incensed. "I do wish you would stop calling me that," she renounced huffily. He had blinked, frozen in place, not too eager to move lest she find fault with that, as well. She had never reacted so vehemently against his using the nickname previously, so he wondered what caused her to change her mind.

"Luv," he ventured cautiously, stepping slowly forward as if he was approaching a wild beast. As it was, he never knew her next move, so a wild beast she may as well have been for all he knew. "It was not my intention to irk Your Highness…" Oh, that was brilliant, he thought, as her hand connected with his cheek. He paused a moment before nodding curtly towards her, and stalked off looking for lanterns to illuminate the deck, still wondering what had brought on the initial retort.

He gently gripped the wheel as he swung the rudder about, unconsciously caressing the knobs that were worn silky smooth from years of handling. He continued to stare out beyond the bow of his vessel, scanning the darkened horizon. He had not planned on setting sail at quite so late an hour, but the wind had picked up. Add that to a full day's rest, and he was raring to go. He did not imagine they would go very far. He did not expect that Elizabeth had much more in her to keep her going after the work she had done, so he decided to just pull away from the island a little further. Sometimes he thought he could still hear the low moans of the cursed sailors, so the more distance he could put between them and himself, the better.

He heard a step to his right, as Elizabeth ascended to the top of the stairs to the quarterdeck. He had a brief flash of memory, of himself standing at the top of those steps, one foot clamping down a dropped musket, as he watched young Turner struggle to free himself from the net holding the casks of gunpowder and what he now understood to be the rum. The look of relief and joy on her face upon seeing him stand there had almost distracted him from the task at hand. Feeling her wrap herself around his leg had almost made him drop the musket in surprise, except that he knew that doing so would have spoiled the whole tableau he knew it must have presented: the image of the young bedraggled Governor's daughter, clutching the legs of a mangy pirate as he rescued her love. Of course, the mangy pirate had designs on her himself, although he knew in his heart he probably would never be able to bring himself to follow through. He had blown too many opportunities to do so, and he did not think that anything would change. He just could not do that to Bootstrap's boy, no matter what he felt for the whelp.

Her voice brought him back to the present. He realized he had been gazing steadily at the stairs, and drew his eyes back to center, staring forward, lips tightened in a grimace. He knew she had caught the look, but there was no point in encouraging any comment. Despite his attempt to avoid the conversation, she spoke.

"Perhaps it is time for a talk," she declared, firmly. He grimaced, recognizing such words as those that often presaged a change in a relationship … or the foreshadowing of something equally as dramatic … and a little frightening. He really wanted neither at this point. So he did the most sensible thing he could think to do.

"Miss Swann, I …" he began.

"Jack, please. We really need to do this. I shall be waiting in your cabin." With that she promptly spun and descended the steps, leading the way.

Jack, of course, decided he would be better off staying where he was: however, the idea of Lizzie being in his cabin … alone … intrigued him. Maybe if he could manipulate the situation, he might … just might …

He hurriedly tied the wheel off.

As he entered the cabin, he noticed two bottles of rum waiting on the table. Elizabeth had made herself useful, lighting the lanterns and lamps scattered about.

"Mind you don't light too many, luv," he muttered. "No need to waste the oil for just a talk." She shot him a sour look and extinguished the one she had just lit. She wandered over to where she had placed the bottles, took one, then made herself comfortable in one of the chairs at the table. He grabbed the other bottle and sat at the end where his charts and books were laid out. He had not been able to plot their progress, but he was determined to keep his Captain's Log up to date. He carefully pushed them to the side, propped his feet up on the table, making himself comfortable, and waited.

"We really are a pair," she began. "You and I. I and you. We've been together, seen it all, and yet we cannot cease being at each other's throats." She pushed her bottle away and supported her chin on her interlaced fingers. As he watched and listened, he became focused on her bottom lip, which seemed to be poking out a bit in a pout. Idly, he wondered how she would react if he tried to taste it. Considering her somber mood, he did not think his attempt would fare well. He felt his breeches tighten at the thought, though, and knew he should usher her out of his cabin before…

Suddenly, he took in a sharp inaudible breath as he realized she was watching him pursing his lips and smoothing his moustache. He immediately dropped his hand to the bottle and lifted it for another swig. His gaze never left her face, as she suddenly crimsoned and dropped her own eyes, blinking rapidly, as if trying to erase a thought from her mind.

Feeling strangely awkward, he rose again from the table, but brushed against his charts, causing them to slip dangerously close to the edge. He grabbed at them, then tried to seize his bottle of rum as he bumped it while rescuing his papers. The rum sloshed out soaking some of the charts and in the chaos, suddenly all his navigational tools and compass slid to the floor, clattering and bouncing as they fell. The only thing, ironically, that he managed to save with any finesse, was his bottle of rum.

He heard a stifled snort issue from his companion. He raised his eyes from the mess on the floor around the table to her face, but her mouth was buried in her hands. She noticed his glare and began to shake in paroxysms of laughter. He quietly set his rum onto the table and began to gather his ruined charts. He supposed he was going to have to fix them later when his hand was steadier and he was not so distracted. Elizabeth, upon calming her glee, dove under the table to retrieve the dropped articles. He watched her as she gathered them, her round, firm derriere thrust out from under the table. He felt himself twitch and decided that enough was enough. He grabbed her hips, hauling her out from under the table and stood her up. He then seized her wrist, and started marching her unceremoniously towards his door, his earlier intentions, strangely, flying out the windows and gaps in the walls as he did so.

"Miss Swann … I may call you Miss Swann … mayn't I?" he huffed. "I believe our little visit is at an end." She stumbled as he dragged her behind him, bumping into the table and chairs.

"Jack! Jack!" she protested. "It was just an accident!" She tried unsuccessfully to swallow her laughter, but he could see it playing at the edges of her eyes.

"I do not have 'accidents,'" he said peevishly, turning on her at the door of the cabin. He held the handle of the door in one hand as he attempted to guide her through. "Especially accidents that involve the destruction of my charts and tools. That compass is our only way out of here, and if it has been broken…"

"Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with the destruction of your compass?" she queried. "As I recall, it was not working that well for you in the first place."

Without warning, he had her pinned against the door frame, both hands trapping her waist as he leaned in dangerously close. He had hoped to give her a bit of a scare, being face to face with him in such close quarters, but the gaze he met was not one of a meek maiden. Her glare was challenging in return, and he was not absolutely sure, but it certainly seemed like she was inviting him to do his worst.

"And as I recall, I told you that it works just fine," he growled, suddenly realizing to himself how true that was. Every single time, since about three months after sailing from Port Royal following his near miss with the hanging, he had discovered it pointing resolutely back, and then away, repeatedly, from where she resided. At first he had thought that it was merely reminding him of his desire to plow the last virgin soil he had encountered, but as time grew on, he realized it was more than that. Here she stood, chin up, stoically staring back at him, daring him to follow through with his implied threats.

"Prove it," she snarled back softly.