A/N: Oh, jeez, I shouldn't post this so soon after posting the last chapter, but I just couldn't help myself. I don't own this series, but consider this a treat anyway, lol!

Why would James do such a thing? Elizabeth tightened her grip on the spokes of the helm until her knuckles whitened. Didn't he know by now what Beckett was like? But he practically signed all their death warrants anyway when he delivered the heart in the first place, she thought, arguing with herself, rolling her tongue inside her mouth. But this was James. Yes, James sending everyone to their death.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Father, do you think James does mean to betray us?"

"My dear, I have probably more faith in him than anyone else. Until it actually unfolds before my eyes, I can't see him doing it at all."

"That's how I feel and yet…I wish I knew what he was up to," she said. "Why else would he have gone?"

"I have no idea."

She turned back to the helm, that very statement distressing her more than actually knowing any dastardly plan could have. To not know, to be utterly in the dark—terrifying.

"I do believe we all have other matters to worry ourselves with."

"I do suppose that's true. Who knows? You'll probably have to take another shift at the helm before we arrive at Shipwreck Cove," she laughed, nudging him.

"There's been something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, clearing his throat. Elizabeth recognized the voice he used, her face falling. It wasn't one he used often, mainly at times when he felt the need to correct her rudeness towards a guest or talk her into leaving for England while he was springing her from jail. All that considered, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know what was on his mind.

"What is it?"

"Have you given up on any possibility of reconciling with Will?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. What was this? He wanted her to marry James and had been disappointed when she chose Will and now that she had un-chose Will as it were he was disappointed again?

"No, no there is no possibility of that."

"May I ask why not?"

"It just…" She bent her head down. "We both decided it would be better for both of us if we didn't. This isn't really the best time to discuss... You want me to justify it to you?"

"No. That's not what I meant. I meant to ask, if…" Why did he look as avoidant of the conversation as she did? He began it, after all. "Is there someone else?"

"What?"

"Don't make me repeat it, Elizabeth."

"You shan't have to. Heng!" Heng ran towards her, his eyes eager. "Take the helm. I'll be below decks if anyone needs me."

"Elizabeth, don't get angry…"

It stopped her dead in her tracks. Don't get angry. Why was she angry? Because I want to be, she answered herself, her hands flying to sweep a stray hair from her face. She jerked back around to face her father, giving out a great exhale. Just what was he getting at? If this was another quandary-inspiring "right decision, wrong reasons" speech, Elizabeth felt she would burst, thrashing her sword at whatever was in the main cabin, her cabin now, that could stand to be used for a scapegoat. Bubbling up within her was a deep fire of something she could not name, and her father's words only provided more kindling.

"What am I to say to that? If there wasn't you would tell me how foolish I was being and if there was you would talk me out of it! You were never attached to Will anyway and now you are? You wanted me to leave him to hang!"

"I want you to be happy, my dear, and this is something you need to ask yourself if you are to be so," he said, his heart filling his eyes.

"I can't talk right now," she whispered and disappeared below decks, her hand on her sword the entire time.

"No, no, no, Father. It's 'drink up, me hearties, yo ho!'" Elizabeth pouted.

"Ah, yes. My mistake."

That was enough to appease eleven-year-old Elizabeth, and she interlocked her fingers with those of her father and continued to walk along the surf, white foamy water washing up over their feet. When her father would simply hold her hand and listen to her sing her sea shanties, it could almost take away the pain of last autumn. Mother had conducted these walks with her even before Elizabeth could walk herself, setting her down to where the diminishing waves would cover only her knees.

"Elizabeth, I'd like to talk to you about something. It seems I'm faced with a rather important decision."

They paused their walk and he took a knee down in the sand to meet her eyes. She liked him best this way—his short dark hair only lightly salted with gray taking the place of a wig, a vest taking the place of a brocaded coat, and a true man-to-man talk the two of them pretended they didn't have when they were out and about in society.

"An opportunity has come up for me to be a governor…in Port Royal."

"Where is that?"

"Well, that is the very thing, Elizabeth. If I were to take this position, we would leave England for the Caribbean. That's a long voyage, you know. Now, on the one hand, there would be fewer children for you to play with, especially other girls."

Elizabeth kept her eyes cool and focused while inside she ran through the images of every girl she knew in her mind and could think of none she would particularly miss.

"It's going to be hotter than we're used to, it would be very difficult to ever come back to England, and you would have certain responsibilities."

"Like sailing the ship that would take us there?"

"Well, no. You would have to be the lady of the house. There would be more functions we would have to host as well as attend. Would you be able to manage that? But, on the other hand, the New World is a most exciting place to be. We would have a much larger house right on the water where you could go out and swim and we could take walks like this every night if you wished. And Elizabeth, I would make sure someone taught you to sail. If we were to live in Port Royal, swimming and sailing could be the difference between life and…" He stood back up and took her arm, clearing his throat. Elizabeth was used to this. They always spoke frankly to each other, but there would be times when her father would forget a child was his companion and would speak to her as she remembered the way he spoke to her mother. "You see it would affect you a great deal more than it would me, so it is truly up to you. But as I said, you wouldn't have to decide right away."

"When would we leave?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be for a few more months so we would have time to prepare. I daresay you'll already be twelve."

Twilight settled upon the coastline, a pink sunset casting their elongated shadows on the ground. She spotted a little bird, a runt, really, hopping along next to them before letting out a small peep and taking flight. She followed its path, lost in an exotic location of pounding cannons and scraping swords in an atmosphere that smelled of smoke and sugar.

"Let's go."

"Really?"

"I want to go, Father."

"You know, I think this will be quite the experience for us," he laughed, swinging their attached arms between them. "It's time we sought something together, start anew."

"I quite agree," she said.

"I shall make the necessary arrangements then." Memorizing the content lines around his mouth and eyes, Elizabeth saw another opportunity.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me a story?"

"Let me see…I suppose I know what sort of story you would like." He said it with narrowed eyes, but they soon softened. "One day I'm going to run out of stories about pirates, you see. But not now. There was once a pirate who was so skilled in the piratical arts that the Queen even knighted him. Do you know who this is?" She shook her head with bated breath. "Sir Francis Drake, so hated among the Spanish he was known as the Dragon."

The words washed over her much like the waves, the story of how he procured a fortune in gold in the very region in which the Swanns would soon be living.

It was the first happy memory she could think of, lying in one of the hammocks deep within the Empress, about to make berth in Shipwreck Cove within the hour. The ship lurched along, all the while her eyes strictly on the wooden planks above her providing something of a ceiling. A few men lied sleeping nearby, but due to size and silence, they might as well not have existed at all for the moment, providing her a privacy she relished and at the same time loathed. She should have just made use of her cabin, but she was not worth it yet. Closing her eyes, she recalled the illustrations from her books in her room at Port Royal—Lancelot and Tristan next to Henry Morgan and Grace O'Malley. Untouched for God knew how long, they rested on her bedside table, above her drawer. No one but her knew what all filled that drawer, not even her father or her maids. Upon opening it, one would find a few sentimental possessions, but it was the compartment underneath that horded her treasures. Bootstrap Bill's cursed medallion used to collect dust in it, but if she were to go back there today, the first thing she would do would be to rifle through that compartment and dig up her mother's pearls, a saved invitation to her parents' wedding, a few spiral seashells, an abandoned key she found on a trip to London, and the pressed petals of orchids delivered to her on her last birthday.

She didn't know how he had done it, just that he had, that he had thought of her often enough and highly enough to do it. She'd dashed off with them up to her room, the petals and greenery brushing up against her skin, and set the vase just right so the moonlight shone in on the flowers. Elizabeth had collapsed into bed, staring at them until she could no longer keep her eyes open, dreams of where they came from and who gave them to her lingering on her cold-sweated lips in the morning. That morning was the first time she had wondered it, but far from the last, and now it was the answer to that night's wonderings that kept her from returning to the upper decks.

She loved Jack.

All that energy spent in keeping herself from touching him when he was near that she had blamed on trifling lust, all that anguish she had thought was guilt and shame, all that concern for him she thought stemmed solely from the fact that she owed him her life a few times over—all of it had been love, even the…even that blighted day when she had not been sorry, convincing herself it had been for the greater good.

And here she was, just grateful Jack was finally speaking to her. Forgiveness still hung over their every conversation like a rain cloud, just out of her reach, along with uncertainty. Maybe at one time Jack loved her. She had almost been sure when he came back, standing on the deck with that rifle, the clouds opening for him, the rustling wind heralding his entrance. There were times even after not being sorry. She'd woken up with his arms around her! She knew from the corner of her eye when he was watching her, and she knew that knowledge meant she was watching him with just as keen an eye.

"Not sleeping, are ye, love?"

She cocked her head just to make sure it wasn't a figment of her imagination, him down here without his hat and coat…coming down to her level. She knew him well enough to know a coy answer would be more befitting for the moment than a heartfelt one.

"No, just dreaming."

"Can't imagine all you'd have to dream would be that pleasant as of late." He folded his arms and let his elbows rest on the ropes attaching the hammock to the bulkhead, forcing her to gaze up at him. Many a woman's had this view, she thought, blushing at her own tastelessness.

"I would think you of all people would know having one's very own ship can be very consoling."

"Aye, that it can," he sighed. "Have you felt her, darling, learned her creaks and quirks, her tolerances? She's quite the ship. There's a certain way they all move and once you find that, your ship will do anything for you. Or perhaps that was what I was interrupting?"

"Do as you please, Jack. We'll be docking soon and the Brethren Court can decide if I keep her."

"There won't be any debating that. Won't even be brought up. The Piece of Eight is in your possession and such a possession does tend to entitle one to a plethora of other possessions, namely one's own ship which is a means to acquire even more possessions." He shot her a smile. "Not a plan of yours, eh?"

"I don't make plans," she groaned. Her own future hadn't filled her mind since the days when she thought she would still be Mrs. William Turner, trying to cook a decent meal all on her own. Dreams and goals simply hurt too much and hope was about unbearable. Even now, in a moment she should be relishing, no pleasure could come. If she said she loved him, he wouldn't believe her. If she didn't say she loved him, it would be another day he wouldn't know.

"That seems a might out of character for ye then, seein' as how I remember a plan you thought up and executed all on your own that was most effective, nigh failsafe."

Elizabeth propelled herself out of the hammock and drew out her sword, her wrist shaking at the sudden weight and the confused expression staring at her.

"That's it! Have at it!"

"Have at waking the men?"

"Have at me! Come at me! I'd rather fall upon your sword than listen to one more reminder about what I did!"

"You want me to hit you?"

"Hit me, fight me. I can't stand to hear another word about that day. Here, I'll even improve your odds for you." She hung her sword on one of the pegs near her, still within reach, but that wouldn't matter when he cut off her arm. Her feet together, she lowered her arms down at an angle and exposed her throat, damning Jack for almost making her laugh at his half-bemused, half-horrified face. It would be her last moment of delight, rendering Captain Jack Sparrow speechless.

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have wasted time with a sword," he whispered, his eyes gesturing at his pistol.

"I said anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything that will make you forgive me." Yes, she knew it was an absurd scene, challenging him with a hushed voice so as not to wake the handful of men scattered throughout the massive room. But not absurd enough to keep her from trembling. She closed her eyes.

They snapped open at the realization his lips were on hers, his hands scaling up the back of her head to cradle it, fingers sifting through her hair. All she could do was close her eyes and open her mouth, lost in the moment, lost in him. Shuffling backward, she stumbled back into the hammock, their legs still planted on the floor. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist at the same time she let out a moan. His kiss dropped down to her neck, a soft trail of unhurried love from her lips to her collarbone.

"I didn't think this kind of anything," she croaked out, feeling almost faint just from lifting her head up.

"Pirate." He shrugged, returning to her lips. It took no thinking at all for her fingers to curl into his shirt and pull it up over his head. He stood for just a moment and lifted her legs onto the hammock so she lay straight on it, pulling her boots off of her at the same time. Leaping up onto the hammock, he balanced himself and then went straight for her belt. Helping him slide her trousers off of her, Elizabeth pulled him back to her and kissed him, each little turning of their heads giving her confidence.

"Jack," she gulped, fighting for breath. He snapped his head up, his full attention on her. "I…I love you. I know I don't deserve for you…"

"Look at me," Jack said, cupping her face, his eyes lightening a fraction. "I love you. You do deserve it, and it ain't going anywhere."

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but he bent down and kissed them off of her, somehow at the same time managing to wriggle out of his trousers. She heard them flop to the floor and could not help but grin at the sound. Brushing her hair off of her neck, Jack leaned his forehead into it, grinding against her, waiting for her to allow him to enter her. It felt like years had been wasted between them and they were making up for lost time.

"Wait." Up on his knees, he tugged on a blanket that had been flung over one of the beams and threw it over them. "In case they sleep lightly."

"You think I'll actually scream?" she teased, the backs of her fingers grazing the side of his face. How stupid she had been, to deny herself, to deny both of them this.

"Lizzie, darling, I have every intention of making you scream."

A/N: Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes is from The Song of Solomon in the Bible. I used this same quote in another one of my fics, but since I was on a quest to find the most romantic (and short) quote of all time, I turned to the Good Book once more.