Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Disney.

A/N: No heinous wait this time. A bit of a shorter chapter, but what it lacks in length it makes up for in content, I hope. Thanks to all who reviewed, and who hadn't given up on this story. Hopefully I've addressed the concerns of those who said Jack was a bit out of character. He still is, but within the parameters of the events of this chapter. Huge thanks for the constructive criticism - it's almost as nice as the glowing praise :)

Summary: As Jack ferries Elizabeth Turner between her island and her husband, their relationship grows into something no one could have ever foreseen. J/E.

Between Dark and Light: A Decade of Love
By: Sinnamon Spider

Year Seven

A knock sounded on the door and Elizabeth leapt to her feet, dropping her knitting on the table as she passed by. Jack was due again in a few days, and after his early arrival last year, she had been packed and ready for a week now.

It was not Jack, however, who stood on her dirt path. Jeremiah Able, now fourteen and as tall as his father, grinned at her with the same buoyancy he had for the past seven years. "'Lo, Mrs Turner."

"Jeremiah!" Elizabeth exclaimed. She hadn't seen much of the boy lately, but she knew he had been accompanying William to the village school and back. She motioned him inside. "Where've you been hiding lately?" she asked, handing him a fresh roll from the basket on the table.

He swallowed the mouthful of warm bread. "I been working for Dad, he's kept me busy. Very tough taskmaster, he is." He grinned and Elizabeth returned the smile, sure that soft-spoken, mild Christopher Able would let his son get away with murder. Jeremiah continued. "Got a message from Captain Willand. He ran into Captain Sparrow, and he said to tell you that Sparrow will be about a week late."

"Oh." Elizabeth's spirits, raised at the mention of Jack's name, fell a little. Jeremiah, already tuned to a woman's expression, nodded in commiseration. "Must be hard for you, to be separated from your husband this way," he said.

She deftly turned the conversation away from that delicate topic. "And you're far too young to be concerning yourself with such things, sir." She handed him another roll and he tore into it. "Thank you for the message, and give your mum a kiss for me, won't you?"

He nodded, just as serious about his errand as he had been the day he brought her Jack's letter, clutched tightly in his fist, and changed her life. She watched him go with a wistful smile.

Jack was officially two days late, and Elizabeth was growing more and more anxious, memories of the last time he had failed to arrive replaying in her head. William fled the house at every chance, eager to escape her constant pacing and worried face.

"Mum, I'm going to go over to Able's, see if Jeremiah needs any help," he said, watching his mother travel the length of their cottage in a few quick steps with a pained expression. Elizabeth looked up and nodded sharply. There was no use in making him miserable as well.

William headed for the door, but paused, and then returned to his mother's side. "He's coming, Mum, don't worry. We'll get to see Dad soon."

His child's innocence paired with the faintest hints of a man's concern made tears spring to her eyes, and she stopped her circuit of the room to gently brush his face, unable to tell him that it wasn't Will she was eager to see. He ducked away from the caress, old enough already to be embarrassed by too much mothering, and crossed back to open the door.

"'Ello, lad."

"Jack!" Two voices echoed the cry, and the pirate blinked, flustered. William beamed up at him. "You're late," he said. Jack nodded. "Aye. Ran into a few snags on me way over." He cocked his head. "Where're you runnin' off to?"

"Able's store," William replied. He looked back at his mother. "Still okay if I go, Mum?"

Elizabeth nodded, barely noticing as her son disappeared past the pirate. Jack turned his eyes to her and there was a fierce light in them. She covered the distance between them in a step. "Jack," she murmured, reaching for him, but he held her at arm's length, ignoring the frown that spread over her face.

"I found it," he said, and his voice was intense with some emotion she couldn't name.

"Found what?" she asked, almost afraid.

She suddenly found herself in his arms as he whirled her around, catching her in a dizzy spiral and when he set her down again, her head was still spinning. "For God's sake, Jack," she protested, but his face was glowing and his delight was now evident. She grabbed his hands, staring at him. "Found what?"

"Immortality, Elizabeth." He kissed her hard, unexpectedly, and when they broke apart she was even more dizzy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He freed his hands from hers, rummaging through his layers of clothing to produce a small glass bottle. He held it before her eyes. "Aqua de Vida."

She gaped. "You – you found it? You found the Fountain of Youth?"

He only grinned that enigmatic grin at her, the one that made her breath catch and had done for nearly a decade; that trademark grin that spoke of adventure and the sea and only hinted at the irrepressible spirit it contained. She suddenly needed to sit down.

He was on his knees before her, and this was the Jack Sparrow she had fallen in love with; the sharp-eyed pirate with the wicked smile, not the sad, jaded creature he had become – that she had turned him into, by burdening him with her indecision and selfish heart. This man, more than a man, was a being of darkness and energy and insatiable hunger for life and its spoils. This was the Jack she had loved when she was only a girl and opened her eyes, thoughts turning from a watery death to a life she had only ever imagined, and found him gazing back with more intensity than she had ever experienced.

This was Elizabeth Swann's Jack, not Elizabeth Turner's.

A lump was forming in her throat, but she had done enough damage to him, so she swallowed hard. "H-how can you be sure?"

"Tested it," he replied, tucking the bottle back into his clothes. "Killed a hare, and poured the water over it. It came back to life. Hopped off with a very disgruntled look."

"Are you sure it was dead?" she asked. It wasn't doubt in his truthfulness anymore; he had become more and more honest with her, over the years. But such a fanciful story seemed impossible…

'Not when you've seen the dead walk the earth and a goddess return to form,' a voice in her head whispered.

"Positive. 'Twas deader th'n dead."

She believed it. How could she not, after everything she had seen, after the man who now knelt before her had once died in front of her eyes? But she unexpectedly felt very, very alone.

Jack had his immortality, clutched in his fingers. He had finally seized the thing he had been after for years. He would sail the seas forever, freed from death.

Will was immortal too, unless someone stabbed the heart she kept under her floor. He would still be ferrying souls to the other side years after she was gone.

And how soon would that be?

Was this her punishment? To lose the two men she loved, as she slipped into old age or was stolen away by some feverish illness? To watch them, still young and beautiful and vibrant, from her deathbed?

Jack, still on his knees in front of her, caught the shift in her mood, intuitive as always. He reached for her hands this time, and waited until her eyes met his. "What, love?"

She nearly told him, nearly spilled her fears to him, but even as she parted her lips, she watched a bit of the intensity fade from his eyes, replaced by concern. There was still a way to kill him, immortal though he was, and Elizabeth would not be his murderer for a second time. She lifted her chin, speaking in a voice braver than she felt.

"Nothing. I'm very happy for you, Jack."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but let it pass. "So 'm I," he said cheekily, and when she smiled at him, his expression brightened again.

"Who else drank?" she asked, curious despite her distress. Jack shook his head. "None of us did. Gibbs'd have naught to do with it, said it was to spit at the gods." His expressive lips smirked. "I did more than spit at 'em."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Well, you're not to take the water from the fountain," he explained, and her laughter was honest now.

"You stole it!"

He held up his hands in defence. "Borrowed! Borrowed without permission. And a devil of a time I had t' do it, too. Hoodwinkin' goddesses is not as easy as ye'd think."

"Goddesses?"

"Aye, fountain was guarded by a goddess. Y'had to do the usual ritual, bit o' blood sacrifice, that old thing. But she was a watchful thing, and very lippy. Reminded me of you." He winked at her and she couldn't decide whether to be flattered or not. She settled for shaking her head. He never stopped surprising her. "How did you get the bottle past her?"

His eyes glinted. "Persuasion."

She fell into their familiar routine. "Friendly?"

"Decidedly."

A flash of jealousy coursed through her, but her inner voice loudly protested that she was the married one, not him.

"There's nary a female who doesn't respond to my personal brand of…persuasion, goddess or mortal," he continued, and her heart lifted to see him immodest and self-assured again. She hadn't realized the effect her selfishness had been having on him, and to see the old Jack, the impertinent pirate with the silver tongue and heart of tarnished gold, was comforting.

"I'm sure," she replied dryly, and when he tossed her a look of mock effrontery, it was like the past years had slipped away and she was Elizabeth Swann again, young and proud and spellbound by this ephemeral man of smoke and mirrors.

She stood, and he followed suit. "Got your things together?" he asked. She nodded. "Yes. We'll stop by Able's and pick up my vagabond son, who never seems to want to be at home anymore."

"Ah, he's just coming into that restless age," he said knowingly. She rolled her eyes. "He's six, Jack."

"And so? When I was six, I'd already set me mind to becoming an admiral in the Royal Navy."

She laughed at that, trying to imagine him in Norrington's stiff uniform and wig and failing. "And how ever did that dream fall through the cracks?" she asked, turning to gather her bundles.

With her back turned, she didn't see the flash of something dark and painful, something old and half-buried, light in his eyes. "I haven't an idea," he said airily, but his fingers moved to run across the letter that had seared into his flesh and sealed his fate, all those years ago. "Let's go collect your wayward boy." He spoke with determination, forcing the remembrances of the past from his mind, and escorted her out of the cottage.

When they reached the rendezvous point, the Dutchman was already waiting. As the ships linked up, Elizabeth couldn't help the fear that was settling in on her. She and Will had not parted well last time, and she was worried about what could fester and atrophy in a year of silence and separation.

But her heart lifted slightly when she crossed the boards to find him waiting, and she could see her own trepidation reflected on his open face. He greeted his son with enthusiasm, but when William had gone off with his grandfather to the helm, Will turned to face his wife, his heart in his eyes.

She saw forgiveness and regret and no small amount of pain, and she ran to him, collapsing in his arms. "Will," she sighed, and felt the answering kiss on the side of her head.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he murmured into her hair. "I acted like a fool, and I hurt you, and I ruined what little time we get to spend with each other."

She nearly apologized for hurting him, until she recalled that he didn't yet know – for certain – that she was doing anything wrong. But she couldn't accept his apology and prove herself a hypocrite, so she simply held him tighter. His strong arms around her acted like balm to her injured soul for the rift between them, for her loneliness in mortality, and for her constant destruction of Jack's indomitable spirit.

She could feel Jack's eyes on her as Will led her to his cabin, but she did not dare look at him.

Elizabeth and William lounged on the Dutchman for nearly two weeks, soaking in Will and the sun. They took day trips to other islands in the area, always shadowed by the Pearl, although Jack hung quite far back, as though afraid to draw closer and spoil their day. Even Will noticed, commenting that Jack hadn't been around very much, and Elizabeth's heart nearly stopped.

Will had spent an enormous amount of time with his son and his wooden sword; now that the boy had mastered the basics, he could be taught some of the finer points.

"He's a natural," Will commented to Elizabeth, who was standing on the upper deck and watching William practice what he had learned that day. She smiled at her husband. "Well, it's only to be expected, he being taught by three of the greatest pirates of the age."

Will was not one to hold grudges, and he made no comment on her lumping Jack in with William's teachers. "With a Pirate King and the Dutchman's captain as parents, he's bound to be something else, isn't he?" he said softly.

Unseen by him, Elizabeth bit her lip. Her eyes drifted to the Pearl, a dark smear on the darkening water. "Yes," she said absently.

Will turned the conversation to his son's performance at the village school, and Elizabeth forced her attention away from the silent black ship that hung at the edge of her vision like a ghost.

"Enjoy your time with your fish, love?"

Elizabeth half turned from where she stood at the deck rail. She had been expecting him; when she had slipped from his bed, just as she did from her husband's, he had been asleep, but he never slept very deeply.

"Yes," she said truthfully, but she was plagued with indecision yet again. She stood stiffly as he came up behind her, placing his hands over hers on the deck rail, but she could only ever yield to him, and she did again, letting his lips trail along her neck.

One hand lifted free of hers, disappeared from view, and reappeared holding the small glass bottle, the Water of Life reflecting black in the dark. He pressed the bottle between her fingers. She clutched at it reflexively, but twisted to look at him.

His face was unreadable in the dark, only his eyes glinting in the moonlight. "What's this?" she asked. He snorted. "Aqua de Vida. Wasn't that long ago, was it?"

She frowned. "I know what it is, Jack. Why are you giving it to me?"

He mirrored her expression. "I got it for you."

"What?"

The bottle had suddenly begun to burn her skin, and she nearly dropped it. She stared at him, horrorstruck.

He was careworn and concerned again, leeching away the dark pirate and leaving a man weighed down with responsibilities. "I got it for you, Lizzie. This way, even if y'can't see Will but once every so often, at least he won't come back to you agin' every year, getting older and older while he stays young. T'would be a dreadful way to see your beloved go." He tilted his head. "Consider it my final apology for getting you and him into this mess."

He looked past her, out to the water. "'Course, I can't pretend there's naught in it for me. This way, I get to keep you young and beautiful for meself as well, until I go."

"No!"

She was aghast. He had finally found his passage to eternity – and he was sacrificing it for her? So she could be with Will?

'What have I done to him?'

She thrust the bottle at him. "No, Jack, you can't. You just can't." He was looking at her now, but made no move to take the bottle. "This is your life's search! Immortality in your grasp, Jack Sparrow, and you would waste it on me?"

"Not waste," he said vehemently. "It wouldn't be a waste."

"Jack, what have I done to you?" She gave voice to it, finally, pleading with him. His hands gripped her arms, almost painfully, and his voice was sharp and darkly insistent.

"You made me love you, you chit. A pretty little girl, all trussed up in your fancy clothes and drownin'. I saved you and bound myself in the same action. 'Cause then you weren't just a pretty little dressed-up ninny; God, if only you had been. But you were smart-mouthed and bright and a born fighter and stubborn as all hell. You were a pirate, even then." He shook her, almost violent in his fervour.

"You made me love you, Elizabeth Swann – Elizabeth Turner. You shackled me to the Pearl with your manacles and to your soul with your siren's kiss, and then you off and marry your bright-eyed blacksmith. And then what's poor old Jack to do? Poor old fool, he's got nothing left to do but search until he finds away to give you your blacksmith boy, forever, because he'd rather give up eternal life than see you unhappy."

His words were striking Elizabeth to the core, and she could only listen, caught in his tirade; the tirade she had brought about. But now his voice dropped lower, his anger cooling to a sinister coldness. "You bound me to you, Liz. And now all I can do is give you this bottle and wait until I die to be free of you, and God willing you won't come back to save me again."

She couldn't say anything, couldn't lash out at him because she deserved every word. She had made him love her, and killed him again in the process. She was like Medusa, turning everything she saw and loved to stone. And then his lips were on hers, fierce and bruising and she remembered what he'd said to her once.

"Love and hate aren't opposites, Liz, only different sides of the same coin…"

She struggled in his grasp and he let her go instantly. She fled to Gibbs' cabin, locking the door. She stayed there until they reached her island. When she emerged, Jack was nowhere in sight, and Gibbs was giving her a look that was equally pitying and accusing.

She and William made the climb up the sandy ridge to their cottage alone, and she didn't dare turn to watch the Pearl sail away. She knew it was never coming back.

It wasn't until that night that she realized she still had the bottle of Aqua de Vida.