Author's Note:

This chapter is more or less a written version of a scene from the movie, which I felt necessary to include because it resulted in an overall better flow for the story and also contained plot-sensitive dialogue.

Because of this, I will post the next chapter very shortly.

As usual, reviews are always appreciated!

Her first journey into Tortuga was not going at all how she had anticipated.

She hadn't expected to find Will here, and would have considered it to be incredibly good luck if she had, but she had thought that at least one soul on this bloody island could provide a scrap of information as to his whereabouts. Instead, her inquiries had yielded nothing, and that was not at all comforting. When she had finally discovered that the Pearl had made port, she hoped to get answers from Jack, but he had practically vanished in the wake of the ruckus in the Twelve Daggers and was probably in the process of leaving Tortuga as quickly as possible. And in the midst of all of this was James Norrington, who was the absolute last person she had thought to include in her plans.

He still seemed vaguely unreal, plodding behind her as she briskly walked towards the docks. It was difficult to reconcile the man in her memory with the drunkard she had pulled from the mud with the pigs, and in her heart she knew that she didn't want to reconcile it. She wanted to continue imagining that he had remained in the Mediterranean or had returned home to England, and was living in relative peace and comfort, supported by the wealth of his family despite whatever fall from grace he may have suffered. It was a much more agreeable fantasy than the truth, which was that he was a broken and dissolute man, and that she was partly responsible for his fate.

They stepped onto the wharf, the distinctive black sails of the Pearl visible even against the night sky, and she heard him retch behind her. She didn't stop, trying to ignore him, but something said over a year ago surfaced in her mind. "Rum is a vile drink," she had claimed, "that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels." Of course at the time the words had been meant for Jack Sparrow, but somehow they rang even truer in reference to James.

As if springing from her thoughts, Sparrow himself came into view amidst the bustle of his crew, his swaggering walk unmistakable beside the stockier figure of Gibbs. Elizabeth lengthened her stride, making a beeline for the pair.

"Captain Sparrow," she called out, and he cast a glance over his shoulder.

"Come to join me crew, lad?" he asked, still heading for the gangplank, "Welcome aboard."

She felt her jaw clench in frustration. Her disguise was intended to be convincing, but she thought that Jack of all people would have recognized her.

"I'm here to find the man I love," she replied, hoping to catch his attention.

It worked.

He stopped dead in his tracks while Gibbs turned to stare at her, gaping.

"I'm deeply flattered, son," he began in a strained voice as he furiously motioned at his first mate, "But my first and only love is the sea..."

Somewhere close by, James retched again.

"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow," she explained, putting forth no effort to hide her annoyance.

Jack whirled around, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Elizabeth?" he whispered huskily, before turning to speak covertly to an incredulous Gibbs, "Hide the rum."

Gibbs clutched at the bottle in his hand and hurried away before Jack faced her again.

"You know these clothes do not flatter you at all. It should be a dress, or nothing. I happen to have no dress in my cabin." He grinned, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, but she had no time for his dramatic flair.

"Jack," she started impatiently, glancing down at the gnarled dock as she fought to keep the worry from her face, "I know Will came to find you. Where is he?"

Sparrow sighed, stepping towards her. "Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but... through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that have nothing whatsoever to do with me... poor Will has been press-ganged into Davy Jones's crew." He flinched as he finished, his words continuing to process slowly in her mind.

"Davy Jones?" she said in disbelief, staring at him skeptically. He couldn't mean the Davy Jones... That Davy Jones was just a myth. Of course, cursed Aztec gold and skeletal pirates were also myths.

Jack grimaced and nodded emphatically, but was interrupted by the sound of vomiting, and both he and Elizabeth turned quickly towards the former commodore.

"Oh, please," began James disdainfully, pulling away from the edge of the wharf and spitting, his breathing ragged, "The captain of the Flying Dutchman?" Despite being caked in dried mud, he looked even paler than he had upon leaving the alley.

Jack frowned at him. "You look bloody awful. What are you doing here?"

James glared back sourly. "You hired me," he retorted, leaning heavily against a collection of wooden barrels, "I can't help it if your standards are lax."

"You smell funny."

"Jack!" she snapped, and both the captain and former commodore looked at her. Her patience had begun to wear thin hours ago and now she had none left to suffer their petulant bickering. "All I want is to find Will."

"I know," he muttered, looking sadly at the ground, though the sentiment wasn't exactly convincing. And then he paused before meeting her eyes again, and she saw it: Jack Sparrow had a plan. Whether or not it was a truly horrible plan... that remained to be seen.

"Are you certain?" he pressed, cocking his head to one side, "Is that what you really want most?"

For an instant she felt anger flush her face. After all the three of them had been through, Jack certainly knew better than to imply that she wasn't dedicated to Will. She was here, wasn't she? She had escaped Port Royal, threatened the commander of the East India Trading Company at gunpoint, stolen government property, stowed away, and come to– of all places– Tortuga. If that wasn't proof enough of her devotion, she didn't know what was. But even she couldn't deny that enough had happened in the past two days to wreak havoc on her emotions– the arrest and departure of her fiancé, the holding of her father, and the reappearance of James– so that she could barely tell what she truly wanted. Perhaps Jack had been right to ask.

"Of course," she replied after a pause.

"Because I would think," started Sparrow, placing a hand on her shoulder as they walked towards the Pearl, "That you would want to find a way to save Will the most."

She squinted at him, hardly convinced. "And you would have a way of doing that?"

"Well, there is a chest..."

"Oh dear," groaned a voice to her left. It was James, quite effectively playing the cynic.

Jack ignored him. "A chest of unknown size and origin," he went on while two of the crew, whom she recognized as Pintel and Ragetti, pushed past with a crate of bottles.

"What contains the still-beatin' heart of Davy Jones," said Pintel, as though he were discussing the weather. Ragetti leaned towards her as he shuffled by and made a thumping sound, drawing an invisible heart from inside his coat.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to contest the possibility of such a thing, but Jack interrupted.

"And whoever possesses that chest possesses the leverage to command Jones to do whatever he or she wants, including... saving brave William from his grim fate."

By now, James had stumbled across the wharf until his tall, lean frame was looming over both her and Jack, and he looked severely unimpressed with what the captain had to say.

"You don't actually believe him, do you?" he asked, waving a hand at Jack and frowning down at Elizabeth as he swayed from side to side.

She thought for a moment. After her experiences a year ago on the Isla de Muerta, she was much more inclined to subscribe to the impossible. Additionally, she had very little to lose. Returning to Port Royal empty handed would only end in the noose for her and a life of servitude aboard Davy Jones's ship for Will. Even if Jack were lying, she had a better chance of discovering what had really happened to her fiancé if she boarded the Pearl, and she had absolutely no desire to remain in Tortuga. Therefore the choice was obvious, and she felt the familiar thrill of adventure stir within her. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"How do we find it?"

"With this," replied Sparrow, fumbling with his belt before producing a small wooden box, "My compass–" He popped open the box to flash the dial, "Is unique."

"'Unique' here having the meaning of broken," James insisted, still frowning.

"True enough," began Jack, and the former commodore sighed impatiently before wandering back towards the side of the wharf, "This compass does not point north."

Again there was the sound of retching.

Elizabeth waited expectantly, but Jack said nothing else. She raised her brows before prompting him. "Where does it point?"

There was a beat and Jack smiled back as if he were preparing to reveal something earth-shattering.

"It points to the thing you want most in this world," he said slowly, letting the words take hold of her.

She wanted to believe them more than anything.

But Jack Sparrow had said them.

"Oh Jack," she whispered, biting her lip, "Are you telling the truth?"

"Every word, love." It might have been the most sincere he had ever sounded. "And what you want most in this world," he continued, taking her hands and gently cupping them around the compass, "Is to find the chest of Davy Jones, is it not?"

"To save Will," she quickly added, trying to convince herself that she wasn't playing into whatever scheme the pirate had concocted. It wasn't particularly working, but she had come too far to turn back. If she walked away now, her curiosity would fester until it killed her.

"By finding the chest of Davy Jones," reiterated Jack, smiling that unfairly charismatic smile as he popped open the lid of the compass and backed away.

She stared at the dial as it swung back and forth, and she was ready to curse Jack Sparrow for being a liar when suddenly...

It stopped.

The dial stopped dead and held steady.

She didn't even hear Jack when he shouted to Gibbs that they had their heading, because she could only wonder which was the more surprising: that this fantastic compass driven by the heart's desire actually existed, or that Jack Sparrow had told the truth.