A/N: Chapter 28 of Esprit de Corps is underway! Not too long of a wait now, gents! For any of you looking for some good smut, check out Conquests of a Well-Bred Prostitute!

Pairing: Will Turner, Bootstrap Bill, and the survivor of a ship lost at sea.
Word Count: 1,064
Prompt: Alive (FFnet), Stories (Livejournal)

Lost at Sea

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"I love it," she once said. "When I'm out here at sea, I'm alive. I never get seasick. Never. And I've got good deck feet. I don't fumble around much."

It was a short-lived love, if anything. Many have heard the stories of ships being attacked at sea by pirates and those alike, and those who were unfamiliar with the sea laughed at the thought of The Flying Dutchman's existence. Many people have claimed to have seen The Dutchman, but the tale was still questioned, especially when the story turned up once again from a young girl whose ship sank a day out from the island of Santo Domingo.

The ship's captain was so deep in thought that he failed to notice dark clouds looming in the distance. It was only when he heard the lookout scream out in terror that he realized they had sailed straight into a fierce storm. All they heard was a sickening crunch, indicating that the ship had hit something for too treacherous and it began to sink. As the ship plunged into the depths, and they knew that death was swiftly approaching.

The waves were, in fact, about to bury them alive.

When her male companion drowned during the long swim through icy waters, she was left to fend for herself in the rough current, feeling her insides being filled with sea water as she continued to gasp for air.

As she sank to her death, there was a moment of stillness within her. The sea was a silent killer beneath the surface. She was drowning out in a dark space, somewhere without anything to pull her back to land again.

Allowing her body to finally relax against the sea's brutal downward pull, she closed her eyes and welcomed her fate.

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"She's alive!" She heard faintly; her body too exhausted to move.

After a moment, she realized that she was breathing.

'What a most wonderful feeling,' she thought gratefully, even if it still hurt to inhale.

"Just about," said another, far less enthusiastic than the first. "Little thing seems to be gettin' less familiar with death by the minute."

"What'll we do with 'er then?"

Her ears were in tune with the wooden deck beneath her, and she could feel a confident drumming of footsteps vibrating upon the surface. Another man was approaching quickly.

"Captain! We've picked up a live one."

There was a moment of hesitation and she assumed that he was looking her over.

"She must get off this ship at once. There's an island only a day's journey away, and we shall take her there." The voice caused the rest of the men to grow quiet.

A pair of strong arms lifted her from the deck, and as her head rested limply on the captain's chest, she was astonished to hear that he had no heartbeat of his own. That's when she knew that she was dreaming.

"Will you take her?" he said to another, handing her off carefully, like a porcelain doll.

Take her he did - down the companionway to an area below decks where she could rest until their day's journey would lead her back to land.

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"Who are you?" she whispered, when she awoke, feeling the presence of someone by her side.

"I'm no one of importance, Miss."

Her eyes fluttered, trembling as she continued to feel the effects of her exhausting swim. Her mind journeyed in and out of consciousness until she heard him speak. His voice was soft at first, only allowing her to hear several patches of his story.

"…. Used to drink a lot when I was in port," he said, speaking openly of his weaknesses. "And, at first, when I slept on deck, I would wake up in the middle of the night, and it was getting pretty unbearable. I start running around with a knife in my hand, trying to find lines I needed to cut loose, 'cause I kept thinking we've run aground. That's no longer the case. Captain Turner's a good, fair man. Keeps us all clear headed, while reminding us of our purpose."

The sailor's face was weathered, and his blue eyes are bordered by crow's-feet, giving him the appearance of a man squinting into the sun reflecting off a flat plate of ocean at high noon. Ragged clothes and disheveled demeanor seemed indicative of some brute beast of burden. Yet, aside from the madness behind the rough outer appearance of being ungroomed and shoulder length hair, the gruff texture of voice, and its dogmatic delivery, and in spite of a lifetime of servitude, a kindness remained.

Finally finding the courage to speak, she told him of her companion that she lost at sea. "I was drowning out there, and I could not see him, but I must have been visible to him in the faint haze. He called my name and I almost rejoiced when I heard his voice, but he slipped away, and he could not reach me. The waves took him under," she said to him. "The sea took him. I need to find him."

The sailor nodded, looking down at his boots. "Aye, I know, lass."

And he did. He knew exactly of who she spoke of, because he found the boy himself. There was nothing he could have done.

"Help me? Please? Help me find him."

The sailor nodded his head, and she appeared to be satisfied by his answer.

However, she quickly realized that her body refused to let her continue on in her state, and as she tilted her head back, she found an unbelievable comfort in sleep.

The sailor watched her carefully, hoping that she would not awaken before their journey's end, for she would find the boy she spoke of on deck, and it would make matters far more complicated than they already were.

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Ten days passed before disbelieving searchers discovered her — gaunt and emaciated, but nevertheless alive upon the shores of an unknown island not too far from Santo Domingo.

She survived without food or shelter or any way to build a fire. Early on, she decided that she would not brave the swim again, and her only comforts were her thoughts of home, complete with a spacious living room, beam ceilings, and a huge rock fireplace where she sat with her long lost companion that died at sea.

She told herself that her memory of The Flying Dutchman was a dream. A story. A long forgotten legend of the sea.

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