"The heat," Elizabeth whispered to Will—or was it Jack?

The apparitions around her in the Locker were ever-changing—Norrington, her father, Will, Jack—although it was more often than not Jack. Not in body, but in voice.

Jack. With his restless heart and troubled mind, so like her own. That's what was so infuriating about him. They were alike, weren't they?

"Two peas in a pod, Darling," he told her once, the moment feeling like ages ago.

It felt as if her skin was not protecting her organs in this heat, she thought. The sunlight might as well be pulsating through her veins like blood, scalding her heart with every beat, and setting her mind afire.

Elizabeth's hands grabbed onto the hat on her head and she pulled it down tighter, gritting her teeth. She then emitted a sound that was animalistic to her own ears, low in her throat as she leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. The headaches, the endlessly racing heart, the way she was damned to her body in terms of heat but left outside of it in terms of mind was maddening. She wondered if this is how Jack felt years and years ago, his mind scrambled into madness alone on that nowhere island, where she appeared to be now, only Jack wasn't there to offer her drink or tell a welcomed story to lighten the mood or pull her down and close into his chest.

"Oi, over here, Darling," his voice would ring out and she would jump to her feet, pathetic and starry-eyed.

This was how it always started. Different words, same game.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" she would hear the heat call to her in his voice, so clear sometimes. Other times it was a muttered, barely-there, "Lizzie, come and find me, you fire-hearted girl." Or a level-voiced, "I told you to abandon ship, Swann. I told you to go. I'm accustomed to madness. I would have got on fine. But you, this is torture for you, isn't it? Unfamiliar, isolating, unsettling torture. You've gone blood-boilingly mad by now, haven't you, Swann? Haven't you?"

Those kinds of delusions, the ones that felt the most real, were the worst, she reasoned.

"Oi! I'm over here. This way, love."

Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to a palm tree, drawn to the voice. She instinctively stepped forward but stopped herself. Even though the voice calling to her was gentle and spirited this time around, she forced her feet to stay still, sinking her weight into the ground. She couldn't take the tormenting any longer. She knew what would come next by now.

Elizabeth pulled Jack's hat to rest lower on her head. "No," she sighed. "You aren't."

"But I am, Lizzie. You can trust me. Come on—"

"No!"

Elizabeth planted her feet firmer into the ground although she couldn't feel them. She couldn't feel her feet or her hands. Her thoughts felt disconnected. The back of her head was numb, and the only matter she was certain of was that her heart was beating much too fast.

"You're not here. You're never here. You aren't real! I'm alone. I chose alone when I chose you," she whispered, tears falling down her face.

"You'd rather it be that way, that it?" Jack asked, his voice quiet. "Rather go it alone than with old Jack?"

Elizabeth looked up and her breath caught at the sight of him, standing before her, arms crossed before his chest. She hadn't seen him materialized ages, typically just a voice carried to her on the wind.

"Jack," she spoke his name—more so a disbelieving laugh than speaking really—as she reached for him. It was only then that she realized she was in quicksand, up to her calves now. "Help me, Jack," she called to him, but he turned and looked up, finding the merciless sun more interesting at the moment than her cries. "Please. Please, Jack," she repeated on end, panicked as the sand was up to her middle now.

When he turned, even in all the heat, Elizabeth felt a chill. Will was before her now. He kneeled then shook his head at her before tipping up her chin.

"Remember—you chose this," Will said, and those three words were more chilling than anything else he could have told her, Elizabeth decided as she shut her eyes, preparing to be suffocated by sand.

Elizabeth forced her eyes open in the next instant, the world sideways from where she was curled up on the sand, shivering.

Why was she cold? she wondered. Had she not just endured sweltering heat a moment ago?

"Jack," Elizabeth said to no one, shutting her eyes and clawing her fingers in on herself as she shuddered. "It's so cold, Jack."

Her breath caught in her throat when she was enveloped in strong arms, enveloped in warmth, and she melted at Jack's voice, comforting and steady in her ear.

"I told you, I'm here, Lizzie."

Elizabeth grew tearful, choking out a joyful laugh as she rested her arms atop Jack's then turned into his warmth, nestling the side of her face into the crook of his neck. She held onto the moment of mercy in the Locker, the rare moment of bliss. She knew better than to open her eyes, to pull back and see Jack become nothing more than sand before her. No, she learned her lesson from the last similar vision in the cycle.

Cycle.

Elizabeth palmed at her aching head. A sense of shame and emptiness washed over her when she realized with clarity for the first time in a long expanse of visions that she fell for it once again. She was stuck, trudging along on an endless loop on a nowhere island, only granted a fleeting moment of sanity once she returned to the beginning, walking straight into a palm tree each time.

A whistle that seemed to carry much too loud on the wind jarred her thoughts.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder with tired eyes and a weary heart.

"Darling Lizzie," Jack called out, a hand on either side of his mouth. He lowered his hands then waved at her animatedly, high above his head. "Come on then! Up! Up with you. Come with me." He hastened forward, his face falling when he noticed how dejected she looked, still resting upon the ground. "Lizzie, you don't look so well," he murmured then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. "No offense," he added, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, his hands behind his back. "I know women are fragile about that sort of thing."

Elizabeth would have laughed had she not heard it before. Probably hundreds of times by now. She stood and stepped forward. Jack's face lit up then dropped comically the next instant when Elizabeth shoved once at his chest with her palm. Then again. Then both. Then she used fists against his chest.

"I saved you. I saved you. Do you know how backwards that is?" Elizabeth met Jack's eyes in the beat when he didn't answer her, her eyes dark and a touch wild. "'And so, Judas saved Jesus?'" she narrated, her voice distant. "It's not right, Jack. It's not right!"

Jack took Elizabeth by the wrists to still the hits to his chest. She fought the hold for a moment until he pressed a kiss to her forehead then one below each of her tired eyes, effectively calming her. Jack tipped Elizabeth's chin up and her bloodshot eyes fell to his mouth, wondering if he might kiss her or offer she lay down and rest, although she knew she couldn't rest. Not here.

A moment of grace typically didn't come so soon. Then again, she normally didn't fight against the cycle.

Jack finally broke the silence with, "Who said you got to be Judas?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and let out a shrill scream, then circled her arms around Jack's middle to drag him backwards.

Jack shifted in her grip, trying to loosen her hands only for her to claw her nails into his middle further. "Oi, easy on the goods—"

"Shut up," Elizabeth seethed.

"Swann, now—now, Lizzie, let's be reasonable—"

"This place is devoid of reason!"

"Stop this. We can't go backwards. That isn't how this place works."

"To hell with this place!"

"You can't say 'to hell' with hell," Jack scoffed then paused, a dead weight in her arms. "Can you say 'to hell' with hell?" he asked no one in particular, pulling a face at the question.

"It's not hell, Jack," Elizabeth sighed. "It's somewhere in the middle, rather. You told me that once," she said, her voice turning tender, just remembering the exchange herself. Her voice grew determined with her next words. "We're going back."

"Back?" Jack finally wriggled free from her arms and held her by the shoulders. "Back where, Swann?"

Elizabeth picked up a bottle of ale from the sand and uncorked it, forcing it into Jack's hands.

"Just do what you do best, okay?" she said, wearing a good-natured, teasing smile.

"Lie?"

"Drink," she corrected.

Jack shrugged and took a swig of the alcohol then Elizabeth leaned her head back to drain the bottle, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she was in Jack's embrace, pressed in close to him.

"What the Black Pearl really is? Is freedom," Jack finished a speech he seemed awfully proud of and he looked to her pointedly, as if prompting her to swoon or say "indeed" or, well, anything really. "Were you even listening, Swann?"

"Of course. Every word," Elizabeth assured, her hands finding his chest as she met his eyes. "I want that life."

"A pirate's life?" he chimed in, smiling wide enough to show his gold teeth.

"Sure. But what what I mean to say is," Elizabeth leaned forward, close enough that her next words brushed against his lips, "a life with you."

She initiated a kiss, desperately searching, smiling when Jack emitted a surprised sound in a register probably higher than he would like. Elizabeth took Jack by the wrist and drew his hand to the hem of her underclothes at her thighs, still a bit damp from the sea. Jack's hand twitched slightly, seemingly itching to touch yet waiting, unsure.

"You're a pirate, aren't you, Jack?" Elizabeth asked, a light in her eye. "Isn't this what you know—taking things?" she whispered, tracing her fingertips along his lips then his beard, playing, twisting slightly. "My innocence," she started, the alcohol pulsing through her veins along with the opportunity of a second chance at this moment making her bold, "take it."

Jack shook his head and Elizabeth's heart nearly sunk until he kissed her, open-mouthed, introducing her to his clever tongue in a way that stole all of her breath clean from her.

"In matters such as these, I like to think of it as giving," he countered in her ear.

"Give me a life like your own then, Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth framed Jack's face and claimed his mouth, smiling into each kiss and, curiously, she bit his lip and brushed her knee against the growing interest between his legs.

"Lizzie."

Elizabeth drew a hand down the front of Jack's pants, uttering a shaking exhale at the feeling of him, hard and eager in her hand. She worked her wrist, slow and relaxed, guided by alcohol and pure want. Her eyes met his—quick as lighting a flame—when he sighed, the sound low and rich, causing warmth to blossom in her chest and spread all over.

Elizabeth leaned forward and spoke into his ear, "Promise me that life, Jack. Please," she insisted.

He nodded wordlessly and she took a few steadying breaths, preparing herself to sink into desire and rapture below Jack, feeling blood rush to her cheeks when Jack kissed at her neck and pushed her underclothes above her thighs.

Elizabeth gasped sharply, feeling as if she was falling. Yes, she was quite literally falling.

She blinked her eyes open and pressed her hands flat against the walls of glass as she fell, her head turning from side to side, looking frantically above her as she tried to make sense of the shift. She shut her eyes and huffed when she fell to the ground.

Elizabeth stared upwards, finding an opening several feet above her. She couldn't climb up the walls of the confinement, not on walls made of glass. Elizabeth paced in a circle, realizing the opening was the neck of a bottle. In all of the strangeness thus far, this might be the strangest, she thought. She refused to wait around and see how much stranger the scene could become, perhaps a fate of drowning in liquor or being crushed by a miniature, decorative ship placed in the bottle.

Elizabeth tugged at the sides of Jack's hat upon her head and spoke a steady mantra to herself, that this wasn't real, that she could think her way out into another space—and so, it was.

Elizabeth gasped, holding her middle. She knew that feeling—a corset pulled too tight.

"Company's coming, Miss Swann," a voice chirped, before another pull at the laces.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and pressed her palm against her forehead.

"Company?" she breathed out. "I doubt it. It's just me here."

Elizabeth scrubbed at her head a while longer then sat forward, staring at the same tree as always. She was back at the beginning.

"Just me."

She felt anger stir deep within her. Back at the same bloody start, only—Elizabeth looked down—in an unreasonably tight and ornate dress this time.

"Elizabeth!"

The voice sounded like Will's but in a sudden strong wind, she couldn't be entirely sure.

Elizabeth stood, brushing her hand against the back of her neck when a delicate fabric tickled the skin there. Her hands rushed to draw out the fabric. A veil.

She looked about the full skirt, the ornate bodice and sleeves heavy on her form, accompanied by a train—her wedding dress.

"Elizabeth!"

She turned away from the voice calling her and reached to her head, pulling off Jack's hat which still rested there, atop the veil. She held it close to her chest and ran, focusing on her thoughts instead of footfalls or where she might even be going or the voice calling out to her, less loving and more insistent. Will's voice, Jack's voice—it didn't matter now. She was desperate to run towards where the wind was guiding her, playful against her skin, whipping the veil and her hair into her eyes every so often.

She recalled an interaction with Jack.

"All I want is to find Will."

"Are you certain? Is that what you really want most?"

Elizabeth was devastated initially when the wedding was cancelled. It was more than a wedding, she must be clear—more than a dress, flowers, and an orchestra. It was, she originally believed, her life path taken from her with an agreeable, perfectly ordinary man for an agreeable, perfectly ordinary life. However, she realized in stolen clothing aboard an unfamiliar ship, using her wit for survival to make her way back to the Black Pearl crew, she quite liked making her own decisions and discovering new pathways, not the assumed, carved-out ones expected of her.

She remembered a sentiment with a pang in her chest, more difficult to stomach now that she saw the choice for what it truly was. Taking Jack's place was not a selfless choice to save Jack, Elizabeth finally admitted to herself, but a choice of near-death to avoid making a choice for her life. She was always carrying someone else's weight—the weight of a governor's daughter when she could care less for pageantry, Will's pendant and well-being heavy around her neck for years, and now Jack's place in the Locker. She ought to carry her own life more, hadn't she?

Elizabeth reached for the pin digging into the back of her head to yank out the veil, replacing it with Jack's hat. She ripped at the ribbon at the back of her dress, attempting to unlace as she ran, huffing in irritation when she had to stop as the act proved impossible to complete simultaneously. She worked, quick and agitated, until the dress was loose enough to shrug her way out of. Elizabeth raced forward until she was stopped once again, tripping on the underskirts. She sighed at the layers. Her eyes darted from her place on her hands and knees in the sand to a sword piercing the ground. She hoped it wasn't an apparition.

Elizabeth reached for the weapon and cut her way out of the remainder of the wedding garb, layer after layer, until she was down to a slip. She felt as if her head just broke through the surface of water, finally able to breathe again.

She ran without pause for some time, until her calves ached, only stopping in her tracks at the Black Pearl. An instant later, she approached the ship in haste, climbing up the side.

Elizabeth was breathless at the sight of what felt like her first true home. She stepped up to the helm and placed a hand on it, starting some when the ship creaked and lurched forward, although on sand. It was then that she noticed flecks of white in the air. She blinked up at the sky, her eyes widening at the snowfall. Elizabeth thought perhaps she was the maddest she ever was in the Locker. But this was a pleasant kind of madness, so she welcomed it, smiling at the feeling of snowflakes tickling her eyelashes.

Elizabeth released the helm and extended her arms, taking a deep breath as the snow washed everything clean. She removed Jack's hat and ran her hand through her hair, pausing as she contemplated fresh starts.

Elizabeth pulled her hair taut then used her sword to sever the length. She looked over the hair in her hand, at how quick it was to let go, weight from the past, then stepped to the edge of the ship. She let the fistful of hair fall along with a collection of comments from her past, comments she carried for years—most of them from grown men who mentioned to her father swhile she stood at his side that she would make "a beautiful wife" someday or "a splendid mother."

There was many a thing Elizabeth could be, many a thing she could want—and she was certain no one would suspect she could ever be or ever want to become a pirate—so wild, so unlady-like, so lowly, and so many other signifiers whispered behind privileged, scrubbed-clean hands. And yet, here she was, feeling at home while leaning against the side of a ship, and not just any ship, but the Black Pearl. There was just one thing, one person, rather, missing from the ship, she thought.

"Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth rushed towards a chest and grappled for a telescope. She looked through it and focused on him instantly—Jack—running onto land from a longboat. Elizabeth pulled a face. Another apparition. She ought to be more careful what she wished for, she chastised herself, then further chastised that she should be well acquainted with this lesson by now.

"Elizabeth!" Jack called out again, his eyes scanning the beach for a moment before turning, standing frozen as he took in the Black Pearl sailing upon sand. His arms fell lifeless at his sides and he leaned his head back, tilting it to the side. After a moment, his face broke into a smile wide enough to see from a distance and he waved, jumping up and down. "Oi! Lizzie! Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie—this way! She's alive, men. She's alive... ish!" Jack called over his shoulder, and it was only then that Elizabeth noticed Will and Gibbs stepping from the longboat followed by Pintel, Ragetti, and the rest of the crew.

Elizabeth disembarked the ship, climbed the side, then leapt down, landing less gracefully than she desired. She managed to balance, both of her hands holding her stable against the ship's hull. Elizabeth blew hair from her vision then straightened, offering a small smile even as she eyed the men before her suspiciously, unsure to trust her mind after so much time in the Locker. How long had she been walking the same endless loop, anyway? she wondered.

"What on earth did you do to your hair?" Jack surpassed any greeting, seeming so like himself that she wanted to believe it was truly him.

He reached forward and toyed at the ends of her hair, and Elizabeth focused on breathing and jutted her chin forward, trying to defy the beginnings of a flush blossoming under her skin from his closeness.

"I like it."

"You were looking for me," Elizabeth spoke around another small, tentative smile.

"I had to come back for my hat," Jack supplied, teasing as always.

Even so, Elizabeth held out the hat and shook a hand through her hair which met her shoulders now.

"And,"— Jack took the offered hat and placed it upon his head then looked upon Elizabeth—"I had to come back for my Lizzie."

She felt stiff as a board in Jack's tight embrace, startled and squeezed tight. Elizabeth adjusted some, stilling when a panic washed over her. She wondered if when she pulled back if he would turn to sand or if she would fall down the neck of a bottle or if—her anxieties were cut short when she felt a slight tremble that wasn't her own.

"Jack, are you okay?" she murmured against his arm, shifting again to avoid nearly choking from his overbearing affection. "You're shivering."

"It's snowing, Swann."

"Even so, the heat is barely quelled."

"Yes, not quite sure how that works out."

"Nothing makes sense here, best to not even try. Believe me." Elizabeth drew out of Jack's embrace when she heard his breathing catch in his throat.

Elizabeth couldn't fight off the pulling of the corners of her mouth into yet another smile from the feeling of being wanted and at the sight of Jack, still solid and in the flesh before her. No ever-changing scene or moment of loss or painful, accusatory words. Just Jack. After trial after trial, she was going to smile as much as she pleased, damn it.

"Are you crying?"

Jack blinked at her, his expression schooled, brow set low before he cleared his throat and spat out a rush of words. "No, Swann. What would give you an idea like that? Me? Tearful? I laugh at the thought."

She shook her head when he barked out a performative laugh, framed his face in her hands, and gently brushing the pads of her fingers underneath his eyes as most of the kohl ran from his waterline, a tell-tale sign of tear tracks.

"It's okay." Elizabeth leaned forward to whisper in Jack's ear. "I can keep a secret, especially for someone I can't imagine living without."

She stepped back and, seeing Jack radiating true human emotion instead of a strange, fabricated kind, made her believe this was real. He chose her in the way she chose him, over comfort, over adventure, over the promise of life. Elizabeth thought upon all he and the others much have went through to journey to the Locker. She would ask him about it later. For now, she practically leapt into his arms, wrapping him up this time, laughing into his neck when his legs buckled but he still caught her, cradling the back of her head.

"You, me, this ship, and whatever we want to do, wherever we want to go," she whispered. "That's all I want for what's left of my life. That's what I really want most, Jack," she admitted, calling back to the conversation she had with him regarding his compass.

"Are you certain?" Jack asked after a beat of silence, almost sounding as if she would rather she not answer, as if maybe he was the one who questioned the realness of this moment now.

"I'm certain," she spoke barely above a whisper.

Jack brushed windswept hair from her cheeks, looking her over, seeming to see into how much the Locker changed her, not only her appearance but how her time there served as a reminder of the brevity and fragility of life.

"Wait, that's Elizabeth?" Pintel asked, pointing.

"'Course it is," Ragetti answered with a roll of his eyes, natural and wooden.

"But her," Pintel gestured around his head.

"Elizabeth was never bald."

Pintel growled at Ragetti and in the interaction made Jack recall he and Elizabeth were in company. He rushed to remove his frockcoat, dressing Elizabeth so she wore more than her thin slip, then pulled her into her side.

Elizabeth looked upon them all, leaning against Jack, her hand at his chest. She refused to let go of him for a while, grounding herself in the reality of the crew's presence. "You are real, right?" she finally broke, asking, a tad fearful of the answer. "All of you?"

"Right and honest as the sea herself," Gibbs answered with a sharp nod.

"We're real, Elizabeth," Will assured, and with the way his eyes shone with a kind of brokenness at the display her and Jack made before him, she knew it was so.

Elizabeth shoved hair from her eyes to get a better look at him. "Will, I—"

"I know," Will cut her off as his eyes shifted the ground. "You died for him. I know." He looked upon her again. "Even if I would rather not."

Elizabeth swallowed further words, not quite having it in her to go about a full explanation of how living through the Locker made her plan a future that in a way that, sure, was about Jack but also more—a whole sea of more.

There was sure to be a long journey back. She would talk at length with Will then.

Elizabeth looked to Cotton to his parrot to Marty to the lot of them as a whole, the group talking amongst themselves and drying off, appearing as if they were fully submerged in water at some point to travel to the Locker. Then she turned, looking upon Jack. She felt a flush rush to her cheeks when she realized the entire time he was still gazing upon her and only her, a secret kind of message swimming in his dark eyes—

I'm never losing sight of you again.

"You all came to save me," Elizabeth whispered. "I," her voice broke some as her fingers reached to shake through her shoulder-length cut, "I don't believe it."

"Neither can we," Pintle muttered, shaking water out of his ears, "when there's bigger fish to fry like Davy Jones and Beckett trying to take over the seas and that sea witch up to something we're clearly playing into and Barbossa's back, sure to have our necks when he realizes we're helping you 'stead of—"

"And right now?" Jack held up a hand, silencing him. "All blather."

"Blather?" Pintel shouted, red in the face. "Listen, 'Captain Jack Sparrow'—"

Pintel was ranting but Jack ignored the jumble of words.

Jack faced Elizabeth and his fingers nimbly untied the end of a braid of his own then held the tie in-between his teeth. His hands found Elizabeth's hair and as he braided, he focused on her face, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He never thought he would be close enough to notice each individual eyelash of hers, let alone ever see snowflakes fall upon them. Jack imagined Elizabeth in a hood lined with fur and her cheekbones with a permanent dusted rosiness, frostbitten. Jack decided he'd like to see Elizabeth in every kind of climate and every kind of dress, he reasoned as he tied the end of the braid, as that would mean she would come with him across every sea to the ends of the earth.

"You mean that? Truly?" Elizabeth asked.

Jack blinked, not realizing his mouth ran away with his thoughts, thoughts so flowery he ought to be a tinge embarrassed, speaking them where his crew could hear. Instead, he took the dream-like trance as a moment to elaborate further—although his eyes did dart over first to see that the crew was mostly disinterested in their union now, already hungry for the next heading. Whereas Jack only hungered for the woman before him now. He was in trouble, he thought, as he looked and looked upon Elizabeth, seemingly more at home in herself than ever before.

"Of course. Have I ever lied to you?" Jack pulled a face. "Don't answer that." He cleared his throat. "You, Elizabeth Swann, are the only person I ever cared about more than myself," Jack declared softly, earning a sharp fit of laughter from her which, in turn, earned a long face from him. "What? What is so laughable, Swann?"

"Nothing. I think that was supposed to be heartfelt, so I'll take it."

Jack's frown deepened. "Was it not?"

Elizabeth shook her head at him, smiling softly as her hand reached up to play at the short braid in her hair. "The fact that you're here tells me it was." Elizabeth drew Jack in close, her arms lacing around his neck. "Well?" she asked expectantly.

"'Well?'"

"This is where you kiss me, isn't it?" she asked. Elizabeth leaned further to continue quietly into his ear, "Until we're alone and can do further."

"I didn't know if—In front of—" Jack cleared his throat and fixed his expression, starting over. "I'd be a fool not to."

"Either way, you're a fool, Jack."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That whole bit about 'sailing across every sea to the ends of the earth with you?' I take it back."

Elizabeth shook her head at Jack, the tip of her nose just barely brushing against his.

"Joking, Swann."

Jack kissed Elizabeth, digging his hands into his coat on her back, making sure she was as close as possible. She felt a flutter in her chest, a reassurance that she chose right, taking his place. Elizabeth pressed in closer against Jack, shutting out the world of the Locker around them and its worry-inducing nature, not wanting to think upon how matters might have gone had she let Jack go down with the ship.

As she deepened the kiss, gripping at his shirtfront to the point she was sure her knuckles were as white as the snowfall around them, Elizabeth thought—hang being unsure if the people around her were real. That was a worry of the Locker. In the surface world, the worry would return if she herself were real, her own life worth the same weight, the same action she put on others'. After all she went through, Elizabeth was certain her wants and needs would guide her across the map of the world. She was emboldened in that thought. It was a wonderful thought.

Elizabeth watched snowflakes collect in Jack's hair and his eyelashes as her fingertips gently traced his lips and the outline of his jaw. A moment later, Jack pressed kisses into the insides of each wrist then lowered her hands to rest between them.

"There's a whole world of mess back there." Jack nodded over his shoulder towards the longboat, their way back to the surface world. "Think we can handle it, Swann?"

"Of course." Elizabeth shoved her hands into the pockets of Jack's coat. "We're pirates, after all."