"I can't believe you didn't even write to me!" Antoinette yelled at James, trying to keep her balance as the Black Pearl swayed. "At least to let your son and I know you were okay!" She crossed her arm, and turned her back to him.

He had to admit, she made a good point. "I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner, Antoinette. I tried to write, but everything was just happening so fast!"

Antoinette turned to face him, and lost herself uncontrollably in his deep green eyes. He continued, "Either that, or I was just too drunk to see the paper."

Antoinette giggled, and kissed him, not caring about what had been in his mouth. "You have a son," She whispered to him. "Alexander James Norrington. He's happy, healthy, and looks just like you."

James grinned, seeming to be proud of himself. Then, he picked her up, took her into a small room, and sat her down in a corner. He sat down beside her, and said with his velvet voice, "Tell me everything."

I lay in my bed, a hot shiver running down my spine. Instead of getting better, I had become worse. My fever had rose to 102 degrees, my head ached, my vision and hearing blurred, and I felt nausious. I was barely aware to what was happening around me; all I knew was servants were dabbing my forehead with ice water and tending to my needs.

I lay under thin covers, trying to sweat the fever out of me. Oh, how I wished for a bath! I welcomed a cool breeze of wind flow through the open window. I saw little shapes within the room, one moving closer to me.

"Heather," It said. "It's Mrs. Keybirth. Can you hear me?"

"A little," I said, my voice scratchier than I had thought.

"Good. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

I thought. "My stomach, head, throat, I can't really hear or see well, and I have a fever."

 "I'm going to give you a shot, and the medicine should help you fight this off until you can do it on your own, o.k?"

I nodded. She pulled the top of my gown down just so she could see my shoulder, and stuck the needle through my skin while I flinched. After she had cleaned me up, she said, "I'll go give Lord Beckett an update on you. He must be worrying himself sick!"

I smiled slightly, not wanting to hear sick jokes at that second. As she left, I nestled into a deep sleep.

Mrs. Keybirth was lead into Lord Becketts office by a navy man called Groves. As Beckett shooed Groves off, Keybirth stood there, wringing her hands. Beckett motioned for her to sit down, and she obeyed slowly. He poured them some brandy, but she declined.

"I trust my wife is feeling better," He said cooley. "Do give me her updates."

Beckett stood in the doorway of our bed room that night, watching me intensly as I slept restlessly.

"Lord Beckett," Helen said, making him jump.

"Yes Helen, what do you need?" Beckett said, regaining his previous position.

"I need nothing sir. I want to know why you're so worried."

Beckett looked down and bit his tongue, trying to swallow back tears. "I can't tell. It hurts too much."

Helen, welcoming him into a hug, said, "Lord Beckett, I've been your maid since your mother was expecting you. You always told me everything before you even told your parents. You can tell me anything."

Beckett looked back to me, and led her out into a dark hallway. Only highlights of their bodies were visible in the moonlight let in by a window. He was thankful for the darkness, for now tears were falling freely. "You have to swear not to tell anyone else; I don't want to scare them," He whispered, not wanting me to hear."

"I swear," she whispered back.

Beckett looked toward the moon, his jaw trembling slightly. "When the doctor visited me today," he started, his whisper shaking more with every word, "she told me that the medicine she gave Heather won't do much, but it's our last hope. If it fails, we loose her."