Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is not mine, although I wouldn't mind owning it...
Pintel: C'mere poppet...
MidnightDreamer1988: On second thought, I think I'm alright not owning it

Thank you all for such wonderful reviews, and I'm sorry for the late update! Apparently, summer has lost all meaning and has simply become an endless field of research...so much for free time...In addition, I promised one of my friends a story, and I'm writing my two original ones at the moment (I'm praying that I don't get another idea for an original story, otherwise, I have to juggle three stories, and that's no picnic).

Also, remember how I said last chapter that we're finally leaving Tortuga...well, we didn't...sorry! I swear that by the end of this chapter, the ship will leave Tortuga!

That said, read on! Cheers!

Come To Join Me Crew Lad?

Chapter Three: In which Jack starts a conversation about a dress which eventually turns into indirect flirtation

Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief as Jack stepped onto the boarding dock and disappeared on the deck of his ship. Their conversation had been agony for her, especially since there were times she almost felt like Jack had seen straight through her disguise. However, her fear had dissipated as the conversation had taken its course, for she knew that Jack would've taken pleasure in revealing her, and he had not done so, which obviously meant that he had accepted her as Edward Smith. She could now rest at ease and focus her attentions on saving Will rather than having to repel Jack Sparrow's flirtations that she would have had to endure had she not disguised herself (However, she was not entirely pleased with how many remarks had been made about eunuchs and men loving men. She would have preferred to avoid those matters altogether).

She glanced out towards the darkened horizon, and into the sky above decorated with a streak of stars twinkling merrily. Will was out there somewhere, bound to the ship of Davy Jones, a legend she had not thought actually existed. She had merely assumed that Davy Jones was just another metaphor for the sea. However, she had also assumed that Barbossa had been talking of a ghost story when he informed her about his curse, and look how true that turned out to be! Perhaps she needed to put a bit more stock and trust into the legends rather than dismissing them right away…at least, if not all legends, then the ones Jack Sparrow managed to become entangled in. It seemed to her that no legend she had read or heard about was true until Jack Sparrow vouched for it, or became involved in it in some particular manner.

But now was not the time to think about Jack Sparrow or his legend. Elizabeth lifted the compass to her eyes yet again, staring at the needle which was firmly pointing in the direction it had been pointing to before, and then stared out into that direction. She needed to focus on the compass so that she could find Isla Cruces, and then use Davy Jones' heart to barter for Will's safety so that she and Will could finally marry.

The word 'marriage' seemed so awkward on her tongue. She adored Will, and desperately wanted to feel his body against hers, marking her as his forever, but as soon as the Barbossa incident was over, and Jack Sparrow had escaped yet again, he had respectfully proposed to her and had even asked her father for her hand in marriage. And thanks to his respectful nature, he refrained from kissing her during their engagement period, only going so far as to hold her in his arms. She had made a few advances, tried to induce a wild passion in him, the same wild passion that engulfed her at times, but he had politely refused her, and instead reminded her that only a few months remained before their marriage, the proper time for such intimacies. Elizabeth had laughed when he had told her that, and had mocked herself for being impatient, causing him to chuckle and declare that her impatience was just one of the many reasons he loved her, but deep down in her heart, a sharp pang of pain pierced her. If they loved each other, then what was the harm in engaging in passionate activities? Why did he instead choose to refuse her repeatedly? His refusal had done nothing to satiate her desires, for here she was in Tortuga, unmarried and unsatisfied.

"Smith! We'll be taking off soon, so best come on board now!" called out Gibbs, interrupting Elizabeth's train of thought. Perhaps it was just as well, for the more Elizabeth dwelled upon these matters, the unhappier she became, and it would not bode well if she could not focus on the present situation rather than issues of the past. Elizabeth gave a nod towards Gibbs, acknowledging that she had heard him, and made her way up the boarding dock, her footsteps resonating as her heavy boots plodded up. As she ascended, she gave a careless glance towards the left, where the tavern stood, only to have her heart freeze in fear.

There was the Captain Bellamy of the merchant ship Edinburgh, the ship upon which she had been a stowaway, walking deftly towards the tavern, a dress draped across his arm. Her wedding dress, to be exact, the very one she had discarded for her current men's garb, the last memory of her would-be wedding with Will. She quickly scanned the Pearl's crew members, making sure that no one had taken notice of such finery in Tortuga, which was, to put it simply, a dump. To have her extravagant and expensive wedding dress draped on the arm of a scraggly tradesman was extremely suspicious, and if no one on the Pearl noticed, then there would be no suspicions cast about. As she glanced in every direction on the deck of the Pearl, she suddenly realized that her heart had probably skipped a beat earlier, but now it was frozen for sure

Jack's eyes were locked onto her wedding dress as it made its way to the tavern.

Will was slightly out of breath as his father urgently indicated for him to leave the depths of the ship and come aboard the deck. He knew it was only a matter of time before Davy Jones discovered that the key was missing, and that it was necessary for him to leave the ship immediately. But when stared at his father Bootstrap's figure urging him to hurry in the doorway, he suddenly wished that these few minutes he had left on this ship would last forever. Years of living without a father had hardened the little boy's heart that he had once harbored in his chest. However, seeing him stand in front of him, the utmost care and concern reflected in his eyes, broke through the wall and unleashed the feelings of the child inside him, the little boy he had tried to suppress in the face of his circumstances.

Despite the years of separation and his previous anger at his father for abandoning him when he was simply a child to lead a life of piracy, staring at him now, he did not want to leave the man's side. All Bootstrap had done in the past paled in comparison to the sacrifice he had just made – he had, for the sake of his son, condemned himself to an eternity of servitude on the Flying Dutchman. He had placed himself under the command of a man made mad with love, and was now doomed to sail on a ship on which the soul was miserable, and the flesh was rotting or sprouting salty overgrowth from the seas. And Will, despite his previous anger, would never forget this act of kindness, this loving sacrifice made by his own father.

He could not leave him here, doomed to sail under the command of Davy Jones for all eternity. He could not leave this man, the father that had done so much for him, alone in his servitude, with only memories of a past life and a brief meeting with his son to sustain him.

He stepped out onto the deck, leaving behind a haunting melody from the heart-shaped locket that Davy Jones had set out on his organ. The wind chilled his bones, calling upon his strength and endurance to keep his teeth from chattering. Bootstrap's eyes fell upon him curiously, and his previously dim orbs sparkled slightly with satisfaction as he saw the key to Davy Jones' heart secure in Will's hand. However, he did not smile, and instead, with an air of urgency, pressed his own knife into Will's hand.

"Here, take this too," he murmured in his hoarse voice, made rough by the salty seawater and air he had been exposed to for all these years. "Now get yourself to land and stay there. Davy Jones can only make port every ten years, so you'll be safe on land."

Will was not entirely sure about this statement when he suddenly recalled the jar of dirt that Tia Dalma had handed to Jack in her eerie cabin. When Jack had given her a questioning glance about the nature of her assistance to him, she had replied, "Land is where you are safe Jack Sparrow, so you will carry land with you." Upon recalling those words, he decided that perhaps his father's advice was quite sound and should be heeded.

"William, hurry up and go!" repeated his father urgently, furtively glancing at the doorway in fear that Davy Jones would discover the key to be missing all too soon. "You don't have much time until Jones awakens! Now go!"

"What about you?" demanded Will suddenly, his eyes boring into the eyes of his father, the very eyes he had inherited. "What shall become of you when I leave?"

Bootstrap shook his head slightly. "It was always my blood to die at sea, but it was not a fate I ever wanted for you."

"It's not a fate you had to choose for yourself either," countered Will softly.

Bootstrap gave a sigh as he walked towards the railing of the ship, Will following right behind him. "I could say that I did what I had to when I left you go pirating," he answered quietly, his eyes cast downward slightly in guilt. "But it would be a lie to say it wasn't what I wanted. Do not tarry for the sake of me Will. You know my selfish reasons for leaving you behind, and even though I'm by your side now, these deeds do not make up for my past wrongdoings to you. You owe me nothing Will. Now go."

"They'll know you helped me," argued Will quickly, not about to let his father give up and wallow in the guilt of his past deeds, not when he had made so many sacrifices for him in such a short period. "You won't be safe here."

Bootstrap's hollow laugh echoed in the gusts of wind, and Will's blood ran to ice, for although his father was laughing, it was a doomed, empty laugh, one that did not reach his eyes, one that brought him no pleasure. "What more can they do to me?" asked Bootstrap with a harsh smile. "They've done the worst they can to me, it's not like I can suffer any more than I already have at this point! Leave William, and give up on me. I already told you that with every day of servitude on the Dutchman, you lose a piece of your soul, and I've lost most of mine now. There is not point in trying to save a doomed and soulless man."

Will's eyes flared with anger, his fingers clenching the knife tightly, causing his knuckles to turn white. Years on the Dutchman had caused his father to lose all hope, to give in without a fight, creating a melancholy man, a good man who was doomed to spend eternity in servitude. However, Will was not bound to the Dutchman in any way, and now, he had the key to destroying Jones and freeing his father, and was not about to hand over the key to Jack Sparrow, who would, no doubt, use the key simply for bartering his way out of the fate he himself chose!

"I take this with a promise," declared Will firmly, raising the knife in his hands parallel to his father's line of sight, making sure that their identical eyes met so that his father could see the strength and power in his oath. "I will find a way to sever Jones' hold on you and will not rest until this blade pierces his heart. I will not abandon you. I promise."

Without another word, Will turned away from his father, effectively ending the conversation as he climbed over the railing and descended the ship, his uttered promise the only ambition in his mind as he sat in the longboat and began to row away from the Flying Dutchman.

"That's interesting," murmured Jack with mild amusement, staring at the extravagant finery that was draped across the arm of a merchant sailor. However, no sailor, not even a merchant sailor, could afford such a dress, and how he had come upon it was a complete mystery. Jack shrugged his shoulders and decided walk away from the railing and the sight altogether, seeing as he had better matters on his mind. For instance, while he now had a bearing to Isla Cruces, he still needed to reach the island in his allotted three days, and he didn't have the slightest clue of where on the island the chest might be (nor did he have a key for the chest at this moment, but that was an entirely different story). However, he took only a single step away from the railing before his head snapped back to the direction of the tavern door, this time carefully observing the dress he had just seen.

It was really too pretty for a sailor, but what struck him was that he had seen dresses of a similar style and extravagance. In fact, he had seen this sort of dress twice – once when he first entered Port Royal, where he had to save a pretty, fiery, rum-burning damsel in distress from drowning, and then at his own failed hanging, where the same damsel stood between him, Turner, and the British navy, thus enabling him an easy escape.

Elizabeth.

He heard quick-paced footsteps behind him, almost panicked footsteps really, and a grin surfaced across his face. They were too light footed to be anyone but her, and no doubt she was terrified about that dress he had just seen. He quickly composed himself and turned to meet Elizabeth's frightened eyes, although she immediately shielded her gaze, probably attempting to make sure she didn't give away any of her emotions.

"Hello Smithy," Jack greeted her cheerfully, swaying slightly as he pulled away from the railing. "Just looking at that pretty dress that just walked into the tavern. Did you happen to see it?"

"Dresses don't walk into taverns by themselves," replied Elizabeth with an arch of her eyebrow, but despite her composed answer, Jack could still sense a hint of fear, and while Jack dearly wanted to comment that the dress looked very similar to those she had worn previously in front of him, he decided to take the conversation into a different direction. After all, when he had first spotted her dress, her expression had been akin to that of a frightened rabbit, and he didn't want to give her any reason to believe that he could see through her disguise.

"They do when they're draped on the arms of men," countered Jack with a smirk. "Of course, looking at you, I highly doubt you've had the opportunity."

Elizabeth flushed, and Jack knew very well that it wasn't with anger, but with embarrassment. However, his Lizzie was never one to keep an argument hanging, and so she kept the conversation going.

"And you've had many opportunities despite being at sea for long periods of time?" asked Elizabeth haughtily, a scowl spreading across her face in place of the previous redness.

"Why of course Smithy! I have a tremendous intuitive sense of female creature, which makes me popular with the women!" answered Jack with a triumphant grin. "Maybe I'll teach you a few tricks of the trade, although I'm confident you'll never master them as well as I have."

Elizabeth turned red yet again, but still she did not deter from their argument. "If you have such tremendous intuitive sense of female creature, then why is it that every woman you have been with has slapped you at least once?"

"Trifles," replied Jack, still grinning. "Besides, I can name one fair damsel who has yet to slap me."

"You mean there's a woman who hasn't been appalled by your flirtations and your lack of personal hygiene, honor, decency, and moral center?" exclaimed Elizabeth in surprise. "Do tell the name of such a tolerant woman."

Jack smiled and stepped towards Elizabeth, tipping his head slightly. "Lizzie."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in realization, and Jack almost laughed upon seeing the expression on her face. She had no doubt forgotten that while he had infuriated her multiple times, she had never slapped him. She was about to open her mouth again when Jack quickly swooped in and took hold of their argument (discussion really) once again.

"Lizzie and I are alike, she and I, and she knows it," whispered Jack triumphantly, carefully gazing into Elizabeth's eyes, trying to gauge her emotions. "She longs for freedom, and in this whole world, I'm the only one who can give her the freedom she longs for, the only man who can satiate her curiosity. So when this whole adventure is over, and you and your teacher rescue fair Lizzie, do relay my message to her, savvy?"

Jack shot one last grin before walking away, but before he was out of range, he heard her voice call out behind him.

"Miss Swann may have never slapped you Captain Sparrow, but she certainly did punish you once, a punishment more severe than a mere slap!"

Jack swiveled around and walked back towards Elizabeth, a curious look on his face. "And how did Miss Swann punish me despite the fact that I deserved no punishment whatsoever?"

"I'm quite sure you deserved the punishment," replied Elizabeth with a coy smile that made Jack want to seize her right then and kiss her fully on the lips, but instead, he had to flex his fingers as an outlet for his desire. "And as for what the punishment was, well, she burned your rum with a smile on her face."

Jack swallowed convulsively as he shut his eyes and remembered the horrific day where he had awoken only to see a tower of smoke rising above an island, which, hours ago, had contained the most glorious rum. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly realized Elizabeth was gone, and quickly scanned the deck, only to see her slipping down the stairs, probably trying to avoid any further conversation. He shrugged and then sauntered towards the helm, his fingers stroking the pegs of the wheel before grasping them tightly as Gibbs quickly shouted out orders to the crew. Once the anchor was reeled in again, and the ropes tying the ship to the dock were severed, the sails and canvas were released, and the Black Pearl was finally sailing away from Tortuga.

Jack grinned as he stared out into the horizon. He had three perfect days with Lizzie, three days in which to turn her against the whelp completely and somehow make her his, and three days in which he could tease and torment her while she remained in her guise of a boy. He shut his eyes briefly as he imagined all the wonderful opportunities that lay ahead of him. However, his eyes suddenly shot open.

Lizzie had gone below deck…

Below deck was where the hold was…

The hold had all the rum…

And Jack, like a fool, had teased her enough so that she might feel that her previous form of punishment needed to be repeated.

"Gibbs!" commanded Jack. "Secure the rum!"


Alright, so now we've left Tortuga, and now the fun begins!

Please review and provide me feedback! Seriously, your reviews might be the only fun ray of sunshine in my bleak, research cubicle life :D.