The Best-Laid Plans

by etsfanfics

Pre-DMC courtship of Elizabeth and Will. After Will and Elizabeth free Jack from the gallows, the couple battles with class differences, political intrigue and an entire smithy of swords, as they set out together to explore the expanding boundaries of their relationship and build their dreams for a shared future of new adventures.

8. The Rules of Engagement - Part 2

As they agreed prior to lying down, Miss Trattles roused Will and Elizabeth at the first sounds of the governor's carriage clamoring up the hill. With sleep-laden eyes, they rose and smoothed out their hair and clothes, while the lady's maid helped smooth out Elizabeth's coverlet and pillows. But each sleeper seemed too tired to care for appearances in the end, and almost immediately Will fell upon the divan in Elizabeth's drawing room. Without a minute to spare, he felt her join him, her body falling into his, followed by the nestling of her head upon his shoulder. Miss Trattles tutted, but his eyes slipped closed again as they leaned into each other for a few more minutes of gentle dozing.

How was it possible to feel so much more tired after sleeping? And for that matter, not just tired but outright exhausted? In fact, Will wouldn't be surprised if this was what it felt like to have one foot in the grave, with the way his body felt as though it were turning to stone. To make it even harder to stay awake, he had been dreaming vividly about something mystifying he was already beginning to forget, but it called to him as though beckoning him back into another world. All he could remember was a night sky and a voice whispering something about the borderlands…

It wasn't long before Elizabeth's father had disembarked from his vehicle and made his way back upstairs, into the room in which they lounged. His peeved sigh signaled it was far past time for them to return to his world, so they slowly pried their eyes open and peeled their tired bodies from each other. Will bit back a groan as he did so—his eyes were dry and his mouth felt like a desert.

Elizabeth stretched and requested Estrella call for a drink, revealing she probably felt much the same.

"I take it you had a relaxing afternoon," the governor noted in a tone Will couldn't discern. Hopefully he wasn't too displeased.

Elizabeth responded with a nod and a wide yawn. "It was lovely, thank you, father."

While he blinked and tried to moisten his mouth, Will caught sight of the crossed weave of his vest imprinted upon Elizabeth's cheek. He ran a hand over his face, both to rub his eyes and to conceal a laugh from her father. Then with a smile still upon his face, he reached out and tapped his finger to her cheek twice to call her attention to it. She shot him a drowsy look of confusion before popping back into her room to examine herself in her mirror. There she began to cackle, and the amused delight over her appearance spread until even her father was smiling alongside the shakes from his wigged head.

"It's fortunate we have no guests today. Perhaps next time it might be best to allow for more sleep in the morning," the governor suggested before he took a seat on a neighboring armchair.

"I don't know," Elizabeth responded in her return to the drawing room, her gaze meeting Will's. "I thought it turned out quite nicely in the end."

A wonderful warmth spread throughout Will at the smile in her eyes, which he returned to her, quietly reveling over the secret comfort they'd just shared so very closely.

"Clearly," her father muttered.

With a mood far more relaxed than that of the morning, Elizabeth settled back beside Will on the couch and chatted lightly with her father and Estrella, trading tales about the handful of hours they'd spent apart. For his part, Will felt there wasn't much he could offer, so contented himself in listening and allowing the afternoon's sleep to continue to creep from his head. A footman presented them with a tray of light cocktails, which Will recognized from their past meeting in the governor's office. Elizabeth explained it was mostly water mixed with a splash of Curacao, as well as the fruit and mint Will had first tasted. The drink did wonders to revive his mind and body, and within some minutes' time he felt rejuvenated and wide awake again.

Seeming to have noticed his brightened demeanor, the governor stood again, saying, "I think it's about time we dress for supper."

Elizabeth seemed to be in agreement, considering how she popped to her feet and swept into her room without a word. As he also rose, Will could feel his stomach churn almost restlessly with its hunger, having also been awoken at the mentioning of food.

The governor turned to him, granting him a look that resembled a smile. "Mister Turner, I presume you'll still be wearing…" he paused for a moment, eyes darting up and down Will's figure, "well, that. Unless you would like to borrow something?"

Will felt his cheeks inflame a little. He knew from his past service in the mansion that the wealthy changed their clothes almost as often as their moods—something he had considered bewildering when he was a child and now found rather unnecessary. In spite of this belief, there was a small yet keen sense of otherness he felt springing back to life within his chest, as he was reminded that the clothes he wore were not simply the only ones he brought but nearly everything he had altogether. Perhaps he ought to have taken the governor up on his offer to borrow a dinner jacket—it was a show of good will after all, and the man wasn't all that different in height from him.

But something inside Will made him recoil from the idea. And fighting back a tiny tingle of embarrassment, he responded simply, "I can put on my coat, thank you."

He couldn't be certain whether the governor's response was more of a smile or a wince.

---

Supper was light, composed from the remaining leftovers of the previous night brought back to life with a freshly roasted chicken and a fragrant pairing of white wine. While the conversation was casual and bounced about at a relaxed pace, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the way Will was once again becoming more and more prone to bouts of quiet brooding, not unlike what had happened in the garden before.

Something seemed to be on his mind again—perhaps he was already anticipating the continuation of the morning's interrogation regarding their future house.

She drew him out with a tangent from the discussion over the new regiment's impact upon Port Royal's security, asking his opinion regarding the dwindling popularity of spadroons among the marines. This led to nearly an hour long discussion on the merits of different blades, and the type of smithing involved to craft them to their greatest strengths. In this, Will was not only clearly well-versed but animated. All the while her father seemed genuinely fascinated by the answers to his increasingly specific questions. By the time the sun dipped into the sea, the small group was buoyed comfortably by their sated appetites and good spirits. Misters Paterson and Rose made their way about the perimeter of the dining room, lighting the various candles, then shutting the doors behind them as they stepped away for the after-supper conversation.

Things began to feel pleasantly slow and lazy again. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, tipping her head upon the chair's rest as she stared upward at the coffered ceiling, and enjoyed the feel of Will's thumb running across her knuckles. Soon talk shifted back to the various new officers who had arrived, particularly those who her father had seen at his little dinner parties while Elizabeth was away, as well as those he'd seen again attending church in the afternoon.

It was at this point her father swirled a few dregs of wine about his glass, noting, "You were missed, Elizabeth. I had several people inquiring whether you are well."

She felt her eyebrows rise for a moment, outwardly presenting the question that had popped automatically into her mind: 'What else was new?' There were always busybodies sniffing around for something to talk about.

"And how well am I?" she asked dryly, as she brought her own glass to her lips.

"You are presently indisposed once again, following your trip," her father informed them casually of the excuse he concocted. Then he pinned her with a pointed look. "But you are certain to be back on your feet next week."

Elizabeth couldn't resist rolling her eyes. She could sense the teasing expression coming from Will's direction even as she resisted looking at him. It wasn't as though she felt particularly thrilled over the prospect of returning to Sunday services. But as she'd already conceded both to her father and herself, it was probably time to make something of an effort to return to her public social appearances—if only to assure the world of her good health. It wasn't as though popping in for a few hours to daydream through the droning of their priest was demanding, anyhow. But it was so terribly boring, and the social crush afterwards was bound to be intense.

Her father leaned forward, setting his glass down upon the table with a tap that matched the carefulness that had come into his voice. "And seeing as we are on the topic: it was my feeling—and I hope you will both agree—that after the new year we might present your courtship for public awareness by attending services all together."

Elizabeth blinked and sat up, taken somewhat aback as she eyed her father, then examined Will's bemused face, then searched her father again.

"We… three?" she asked.

Her father nodded once.

Her eyebrows rose high again, and she looked to Will to find a matching expression upon his face. She of course was expecting a return to the topic of their courtship, but had anticipated a segue more directly tied to where their morning had been interrupted. It seemed as though her father was skipping ahead—not that she was upset about that, far from it. In fact, her mind was currently scrambling to collect words to say in response, as it repeatedly, excitedly dropped its half-baked phrases in the flurry of her surprised emotions.

Will, on the other hand, sounded confused and almost wary when he asked, "Are you formally granting us your blessing now?"

Her head swiveled back to her father. Almost by reflex, Elizabeth laid her hand atop Will's entirely. In an unspoken acknowledgement of her comfort, he slipped his forefinger from underneath hers and perched it across the tips of her fingers.

"I am," her father began simply.

Elizabeth felt Will's hand twitch in synchronization with the leap her heart took. Her fingers clenched around his.

Her father leaned an elbow upon one arm of his dining chair, to perch his temple upon his knuckles. He concluded, "I don't think there's much doubt about the outcome of your match, anyhow."

Elizabeth sighed at the same time Will's head bowed, letting out his own deep breath in visible relief. Then they sought each other out, seeking and reading the specific joy in each other's smiles as though they were messages written in their own private language. It was finally beginning. One key battle had been won. Now they only needed to make it to the endgame.

Less than a year…

"Will would truly begin to sit with us?" Elizabeth found herself trilling happily at her father, winding hers back around Will's. She knew she was beginning to be redundant and repetitive, but she was very thrilled by the prospect of how much less dull it could be, sitting through sermons or other events she cared little about with her dearest friend beside her.

This time before her father answered, his eyes flitted to Will for a half an instant, the corner of his lip twitching ever so slightly, and he let out a sigh deep through his nose. Yet when he answered, it was a level sound.

"…Yes."

Elizabeth shot her father a quizzical look at that. Why the hesitation? Or was she already becoming a nuisance? It was his own suggestion, after all... No, now that she was stopping to question his reaction, she found herself reconsidering his phrasing. "After the new year," he'd said—another delay to the public acknowledgement of their courtship by a month and a half.

Perhaps she ought to have left it alone—they were getting what they wanted after all, weren't they? It was only a little interlude, just a little more waiting before things were finally going her way. But Elizabeth didn't want an interlude. The last several years of their lives had been one long interlude. She wanted to finally begin the main movement of her life, to hear how it harmonized with her love at last.

So she asked her father, "Why next year? You've granted your blessing. And if I am to return next week, we might as well invite him into our pew then."

"I believe we ought to wait until certain adjustments are made first," her father answered in a flat tone.

"Such as?" Will abruptly asked. Elizabeth caught a slight tension in his voice—evidently she wasn't the only one confused by the timing.

Her father didn't answer immediately, seeming to take a minute to decide upon the right words before he spoke, slowly. "It would be prudent to ensure that the man on whose arm you present yourself appears as though he belongs beside you."

It took a moment to register what her father was insinuating. When she felt the tension in Will's arm, a mortified heat began to flare in Elizabeth's cheeks. While she had assured Will that his absent wealth wasn't an issue to her, they both knew that others in her class would openly disagree. She didn't expect it to begin so soon, and certainly not within the walls of her home like this.

She took a deep breath. "You think it would be unseemly for the governor's family, our family to extend a show of equality to one of the island's hard working citizens—"

"That is not what I mean, Elizabeth," her father sighed.

"But it is what you are saying," Will retorted in a voice that was even but not without its edge. When Elizabeth looked at him, his eyes were leveled steadily upon her father. "My rags are unbecoming of you."

Elizabeth slipped her hand down and gripped Will's fingers again. In an instant response, he turned his hand over within her grasp to be able to hold hers back properly.

Her father released another close-mouthed sigh, until he settled his own stern look upon Will. When he spoke, his voice was weighted by a tone of business, saying, "Unfortunately, to the rest of society that is the way of it. And even I am not able to override the sentiments of the general populace."

"It isn't the general populace, though, is it?" Will retorted in a quick clip. "I highly doubt the baker would have any misgivings or qualms over the sight of his neighbor sitting beside our colony's leadership."

His brow was now pinched, her father's deeply wrinkled, and Elizabeth began to feel an unpleasant drop of regret begin its fall within her gut. Things had been going so well, her father had just granted them their blessing. How had they so quickly diverged from a happy moment?

"The baker does not write the colony's charters or laws, does not determine our family's salary, and does not correspond with the Crown regarding my decisions," her father responded to Will with an audibly impatient bite in his voice. "I know it seems meaningless, but for your marriage to succeed in its inception, you must play by the rules of the wealthy."

While Will's jaw clenched, the sore spot inside Elizabeth's heart stung afresh.

In a voice almost soft enough to be a whisper, she posed to her father the question she was certain Will was thinking as well: "And if we don't?"

She met her father's eyes, unsurprised by the familiar hues of frustration she found inside them. She was grateful, so very grateful, for what her father had committed to in his plans to help her step away from her household duties. None of that had changed, especially not in less than a day. But there seemed to be something he still failed to understand: it wasn't the chores or the rules alone that encumbered her—it was the people they made her beholden to, the people they had made Will beholden to, who were the real source of her pains. She and Will had both played by their rules for the past several years of their lives, fulfilled the duties the powerful in society asked of them with whatever diligence they could muster in spite of their dispassion.

All it had rewarded them with was a stupid torpor, a general numbing to their general misery.

Her father's reply to her was measured, "The legality of your marriage depends on parishioners' acceptance of it. If they do not approve, you simply will not be wed."

She shook her head, her other hand coming to rest over the existing clasp between her and Will. Why were those rules still following her now, even after she'd decided to leave them behind? First at the Blackwells, now creeping into her courtship? No! This was her life, not theirs! Why couldn't the world keep out of it?

"Not if we pledge ourselves to each other in private," she asserted. When an urgent expression flashed upon her father's face and he opened his mouth, she pressed further, "I know you've said you have no interest in a marriage by common law, father, but I am choosing to marry into a common life. I am not above such measures."

"And I have no interest in your family's status," Will added. "Why bother with the pomp and circumstance if it'll only create all this trouble through unintended messages?"

"Because your dowry is contingent on the family's approval, not only mine," her father practically snapped, a clear display of distress upon him now. "I will have to write back to England regarding your intentions, and I am certain there will be resistance."

Elizabeth inhaled deep and angrily through her nose.

Now another problem was being presented to them for the first time, after she and Will had both practically drawn it out of her father by obnoxious needling. She knew it wasn't for lack of foresight on her father's part—he was choosing to keep these things to himself. But why? Why did he have to keep these things to himself this way? She wasn't a child—Will wasn't a child. Perhaps they'd disagree with him at first or would fail to see what he saw through his years of experience. But even so, shouldn't they be sorting out these problems as a team? It seemed unfair, having such decisions presented at their feet already having been made, as though she or Will were completely incapable of being reasoned with.

And yet again she found herself almost screaming in her mind: why did other people have to insert themselves into her personal affairs, family or otherwise? The Swanns would survive just fine losing one granddaughter's branch off the family tree!

"Then write to them once the engagement is official or the banns are being read! By the time it reaches them, it'll be too late for them to make a difference without being able to accuse you of failing to communicate," she found herself ranting in return. "Actually no! Don't write to them! If they ever ask, say the letters were lost!"

"Elizabeth…" her father sighed, closing his eyes. He brought a hand up to knead his forehead. "I already have written to them—about your engagement to Commodore Norrington. If I do not write again to clarify the situation, they will soon be expecting you to use your new family connections to facilitate a closer relationship with the Comptons."

A sickening combination of fury and relief surged through her over what her path in life had come so close to being. She clenched Will's hand and knew he was observing her with careful eyes as she seethed.

It wasn't as though Elizabeth hadn't already known it. Her engagement hadn't been called a "smart match" for no reason at all. Like Amelia, like Mary, like Violet, she was seen as her family's bargaining chip, meant to be traded for a possibility of patronage in their pedigree. Understanding those expectations didn't make it sting any less when they were spoken aloud. And it certainly didn't alleviate the claustrophobic feelings her household duties had summoned in her these past few weeks.

But that was not her fate anymore, in no small part thanks to her father.

Fixing her vision upon the desperate, tenderhearted hazel that was his eyes, Elizabeth reminded herself how assuredly she knew: regardless of what the rest of their family intended or wished or thought, regardless of his missteps, her father was on her side. He was not her enemy, and did not deserve to be burned when she spat her fire at those who were—especially not when the confusion regarding her forsaken future with Northampton's nobility was not his fault at all, only hers.

This was a misunderstanding. They could find their way through it sensibly, if the three of them all tried. Although he currently seemed a little lost, she could tell from Will's grip and steady breathing he was trying his best to remain reasonable. Her father was trying as well. She could try.

Elizabeth took a steadying breath. "Fine. Then I will write to them and apologize, if need be. I only ask that you be willing to support me when I tell them that I refuse to exist only as the family's political investment. If they don't like it, that's for them to sort out. I've made my decision."

Her father pressed his lips together, clearly less than enthused with her assertion but also not in disagreement.

Seeing his sympathy, she leaned forward a little to press on with cooled persistence, "That's my inheritance—one of the few things I have been granted a genuine right to in this ridiculous world. How can they care so much about holding onto it, when I'm the only woman left in the family who could walk away? It'd be such a small loss. Besides, Uncle Reginald is constantly causing the family real pain and heartache—if he is to be depended on, my 'condescension' will be all but forgotten within a year or two."

"I can assure you it will not," her father answered wearily, clearly believing himself unable to budge from his position.

Elizabeth bored her eyes into him as she tried to think up another proposal, knowing he also was trying to think up an option that would satisfy all interested parties. What else could they do?

They sat in the mansion's silence for a moment, lit by the fading sun and the many candles throughout the dining hall.

"What if we forgo the dowry…?" Will suddenly offered.

Elizabeth and her father frowned at Will together. She and her suitor had not yet taken the chance to even hint at the topic of her dowry—she hadn't felt confident in doing so without her father. But while she was certain Will wouldn't make any final decisions without her consultation, especially one so drastic as disappearing her dowry altogether, she still found herself irritated he would even toss the possibility about for negotiation.

She would have to discuss it with him when she could. For now, she squeezed his hand, hoping he would turn his eyes back to her so she might prompt him to step away from the suggestion.

Her father was obviously repulsed by Will's idea altogether. "I believe we have established that I will not leave my daughter penniless, Mister Turner."

"Yes, I know—I apologize, I misspoke. I meant me, not 'we,'" Will persevered without a moment's hesitation. "I refuse the dowry. I can sign whatever agreements you need to satisfy you and your family that I cannot touch or inherit any of it. She would have it all."

Elizabeth's father looked at Will in a sort of astonished bafflement. Elizabeth also felt temporarily at a loss for words.

She and Will were both wildly fortunate that her father loved her enough to care for wellbeing as sincerely as he did. While stories of fathers, especially wealthy ones, who were willing to pay a dowry to a suitor with empty pockets for their daughter's sake weren't unheard of, they were rare. Many fathers would simply hold onto their money, rationalizing how common men like Will offered nothing of value to their family, so such men ought not to be permitted to profit from their coffers.

In such a scenario, many grooms would have balked at the suggestion that a bride so close to wealth be offered to them for free. After all, by custom and law, her legal identity after marriage would be absorbed into her husband's, and her money would ultimately go to him. And yet here Will was, offering to let it all go without being asked to do so. Once again, he was jumping towards measures many would have held for the very last—she knew many would call him stupid for it. A man of such little means turning down the assurance of a small fortune was almost unheard of.

But she understood his heart.

While she was stewing over such things, Elizabeth's father answered Will with a face transformed under an expression reflecting something similar to pity.

"I'm afraid I have considered that option and found no ironclad agreement that would satisfy their concerns. Every dependable solution involves refusing the dowry or the betrothal. There simply hasn't been a precedent among our class for the solution you suggest, Mister Turner. Not in centuries."

Will's eyes fell for a moment before settling in Elizabeth's direction, staring into her eyes as if beseeching her to perceive his thoughts and turn them into something better. She gave her head a trace of a shake—this issue was too complicated to discern through their eyes alone. They needed to speak about this properly.

Her father had more to say.

"Furthermore, whether we like it or believe it or otherwise, the moment we reveal you to be Elizabeth's accepted suitor, you will be seen here as an interloper who is setting a precedent dangerous for those who would protect their families' dynastic wealth."

"'Dynastic…'" Elizabeth tutted with a roll of her eyes. There was nothing "dynastic" about first and second generation slave drivers.

"It will not matter if you choose not to accept anything from us. The fact that you do not offer any material or strategic gain to our family, that you will seem to spirit a daughter of the gentry away for nothing..." Elizabeth's father paused with a creased brow and darting eyes, visibly searching for the words he wished to use. At length, he shook his head once and stated, "Many will see Elizabeth's decision as a risk of hereditary loss, and will wish to make it clear it is not acceptable for their daughters."

Again, again, again the world around her was determined to control and barter their daughters. The faces of Elizabeth's friends swam before her minds eye as if summoned by her father's warning:

"I do not believe you as yet comprehend the enemies you will make—the enemies you likely have already unwittingly made—by disrupting the status quo in the manner that you have."

Elizabeth grit her teeth.

"For what?" Will spat, suddenly spurred back into bristling defensiveness. "I haven't done anything besides help one specific man slip out of his noose, one time. Practically the entire crew of the Black Pearl was executed without my saying a word. I haven't caused a prison break, I haven't started an uprising—why am I made to be a villain?"

Elizabeth set her hand back upon his forearm in a soothing motion meant to placate him. It seemed to work somewhat—he took a slow breath, though his brow was still worried with his umbrage.

She turned to her father, agreeing, "He's right. And it certainly isn't as though he intends to try and become governor of the island himself. We just want to be allowed to live together in peace—whether the rest of the world likes it isn't any of their bloody business."

Her father shook her head again.

"You both know full well that the world is not built to your ideals," he responded. He took his wine glass back up and brought it to his lips. "Marriage has rarely ever been about love—not for people like us."

Again. Again. Again! Elizabeth's mind found its way back to her friends, as her father's assertion closely echoed words they had all shared more than once. Who was the world to determine what they were meant for? Money. Power. Pedigree…

Where was their freedom in all of these dealings?

"This is exactly the sort of thing I've been hoping to leave behind us," she hissed.

Her nails dug into the wool of Will's sleeve, earning a turn of his head and a touch of his hand. Bolstered, she raised her chin in defiance of their shared struggle.

Then she declared, "If we must marry in a different parish or colony to do so, then so be it—I refuse to let them put either of us back inside the bounds in which they would keep us. They are the ones who need to adjust, not us!"

Her father was not convinced, placing his glass back down upon the table and shifting in his seat with an openly dubious expression. He waved his hand once in Will's direction as he spoke, "And then when you return here, married to a man from their nightmares and unwittingly inspiring others to follow your lead, how do you expect to be treated? Hm? If persecution doesn't find you, ostracism will."

"Good! They can fuck off for all I care," Elizabeth retorted.

She heard Will breathe what may have been a held-back laugh. While her father was clearly displeased with her words, she felt no shame in her chosen expression of her sentiments. She meant it. So what if the Pembrokes and the Muddifords and Lord This and Lady That shut her out of their circles? Did they think she would be anything but delighted to be liberated from their pretentious faffery?

Her father did not see it the same way, promptly arguing, "And how is it your husband will be able to make a living running a business without clientèle, Elizabeth? You cannot pretend that there will be no lasting negative impact from such a thing."

"The people will support us," Will asserted.

"And what do 'the people' commission from you, Mister Turner? Hm? Are they the ones commissioning your swords? Their fixings?" her father shrewdly threw back, clearly no longer interested in restraint. "Are you suggesting the life you intend to give my daughter will be one scraping by in an economy you are willfully limiting to the lowtowns? I will not accept that."

Elizabeth shook her head. It wasn't for him to accept. Besides—

"This isn't England, father," Elizabeth insisted. "There are as many newly wealthy families as there are older stock—people who were once like Will themselves. I believe there will be just as many among the wealthy who are sympathetic to us as there will be antagonists."

Her father gave her an incredulous look underscored by a single laugh.

"And how many of those potential patrons will you be turning away, thanks to their prosperity from the slave trade?" he inquired. "Or do you intend to compromise such ideals once money becomes an object? Will you support your husband in smithing shackles for the plantations? Brands? Plows?"

She winced internally. Admittedly, that had not been something she had thought much about and, sharing another questioning look with Will, she had to admit it was something she hadn't considered speaking with him about yet either. Clearly they had a multitude of things they still needed to discuss.

"You will have very little power in a simple blacksmith's family, Elizabeth. And beyond that, there is far more that could be done against you by those who feel threatened, beyond simply protesting your banns or boycotts of your smithy. Some would set out to make your lives miserable, even violently so."

Will's head snapped up at this, and Elizabeth could see a flash in his eyes. "Do you not believe a practiced swordsmith is capable of defending his own home?"

"And are you intent on dueling your way into acceptance?" her father replied, unfazed.

"If I must, then yes."

"Yes," her father echoed somewhat sarcastically. Then he placed his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed it back and slowly stood. "Well, while I've borne witness to your proclivity for picking fights, Mister Turner, I have yet to see evidence you're capable of reliably finishing them favorably. Would you risk losing your life and leaving my daughter a widow for your pride? Hm? And if you do manage to win your squabbles, what makes you think that winning duels would pacify such men? That they wouldn't resort to more underhanded tactics or forming a mob to take you down, if you manage to defeat them and survive? They may not be pirates, but they are still cutthroat."

By this point, Will had balled his hands into tight, rock-like fists atop his thighs, visibly fuming. Elizabeth herself found herself gaping angrily at her father—for while she could not entirely disagree with his logic, it felt as though he had begun to abandon his normally acute sense of decorum, with a creeping condescension in his voice.

Seeming to recognize the heightened tension that had come between them, his expression shifted to yet another look of pity, and he sighed yet another sigh.

"It shouldn't have to be this way, but the circumstances surrounding this entire situation have become a lightning rod for sabotage and retribution. We must play their game by their rules and placate them, to ensure not only your success but your safety."

"In what way?" Elizabeth snapped, perhaps a little too harshly. The growing friction between Will and her father wasn't helping calm her irritation dredged up by the current topic. "Playing dress up, and pretending that Will and I intend to fall in line with their views of the world?"

Three seconds of silence sat among the three of them.

"Yes!" her father pressed his answer with a bob of his head, seeming to feel it was obvious. "There must be a… demonstrable threshold of quality for Mister Turner to surmount, if only performatively. I feel strongly that if he—" he turned his attention from Elizabeth to Will, "—if you can prove yourself capable of becoming a convincing gentleman, it will help appease misgivings by providing the necessary demonstration that not just any craftsman might wed a daughter of the gentry, helter-skelter."

More silence.

The unsettled feelings churning inside Elizabeth became harder to ignore, but she was uncertain what to say. This felt… backwards somehow. She was supposed to be walking away from the strict monotony of the gentry, but now her father was proposing almost the complete reverse: that Will walk up the hill, away from the dust of town, and polish himself into something new, something her father thought was better. But she didn't think richer finery was better—just different. She'd never been unsettled about the rougher ways Will often looked, after all. Perhaps he couldn't afford silks or silver, and perhaps he could have soot on skin and tangles in his hair after a long day or night at work. But he was no slummock—he kept himself clean and took care of the things he did have. Of course, she wanted him to have nice things, to know comfort and success. But she didn't want him to feel that those expensive things, those contrived appearances mattered more than the parts of him that really made him who was, the parts of him she loved.

Yet she couldn't help remembering the worries Will had expressed in the garden, his fretfulness over the humility of his home, his life. He'd looked a certain way then, his face shaded with a quietly intense sobriety as he turned his shortcomings over in his mind. He had that same look upon his face now.

Did he believe these things her father offered him, things meant to polish him, would make him into something better?

Carefully she loosed her hands from where she had been gripping his sleeve, and laid them over the fist he clenched closer to her. She'd thought her touch might shake him from his reverie, but instead he turned to look at her in a steady manner, still stirring things in his mind but not lost within the tussle. He turned his hand, and carefully drew her fingers against the warmth of his palm.

Then Will's eyes were back upon her father. "You wish us to help uphold the constructs that would keep us apart?"

She wanted to sigh and gasp at once—somehow Will had been thinking things very similar to her thoughts.

Her father appeared taken somewhat by Will's accusation, replying, "Only on its face, so that they might—"

"So that we might succeed," Elizabeth interjected, her voice much more constricted and tremulous than she had been expecting, "while they might continue to exact control over whom and where and why other women—my friends—are allowed to love."

Her father's face fell.

"The fate of your friends is not our responsibility, Elizabeth," he responded softly. "And if you wish to protect your marriage, the last thing you should do is go about meddling in the marriages of others—your match cannot, must not be seen as a spark that ignites a larger trend."

As she felt her throat begin to constrict with the intensities of her emotions, Will's hand tightened its hold on her fingers, silently reminding Elizabeth he was right beside her.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" her father asked.

She turned to look at the man she'd chosen for her companion, finding he was already looking at her with a clear message written across his countenance.

"I think we understand perfectly," she replied to her father. "But if it may be granted, I would prefer a chance for Will and I to discuss it in private."

---

"I can't believe this," Elizabeth fumed as Will watched her heavy-footed pacing along the mansion's carriageway. "Every time I believe we've finally come to an understanding, something… else has to come up and throw it all into a pit of uncertainty again!"

They were walking together along the rocks lining the drive to the stables, their steps dimly illuminated by the stars flickering in sky and candlelight shining from the mansion's windows. The birds had quieted their songs, but in their place came the new songs of chirping crickets and piping tree frogs. The cooled evening air was a boon on Will's heated skin, and he took long, deep breaths of it to soothe his riled nerves.

To both his and Elizabeth's great frustration, the governor hadn't been willing to allow them absolute solitude inside the mansion, insisting that servants must be positioned outside the doors of whatever room they chose to converse in, at the very minimum. No matter how they'd argued that it was unreasonable to believe they'd end up in an indecent position, he could not be persuaded otherwise. However, every door in the mansion was framed with shuttered panels, to allow the house to "breathe" in the tropical humidity. As such, there was not one room in the house Elizabeth had felt confident wouldn't risk some measure of eavesdropping, and she was entirely unwilling to accept listeners or open doors. Eventually they did reach a compromise, partially started by Will's request that they be permitted to speak privately outside, on her father's condition that they would still be observed through the windows of the house.

This was why the warm glow in a few windows were currently obstructed by shaded silhouettes, keeping watch over their conversation with a strangely ominous sort of looming. It was an uncomfortable reminder for Will of how little the Governor still trusted him, how much he was an Outsider to the Swann family, first and foremost.

But here Elizabeth could speak freely with him, and for now that was what mattered.

Suddenly, the woman in question stumbled, recapturing Will's attention—his hands flew towards her in a reflex. However she caught herself before taking any sort of fall, and his hands remained suspended without having touched her.

"Elizabeth, are you alr—"

With an angry hiss, she wrenched her skirts aside to unveil to both his and her eyes a fallen branch that had somehow managed to leave the greenery and cross their path. She kicked it, sending it skittering a small distance before them.

"This shouldn't be so difficult!" she shouted into the twilight.

He shook his head to himself, his lips curving from relief for her missing injury and an affinity for their shared discontent. Feeling his own need to distract himself from the pressures of frustration, Will walked to where Elizabeth had pushed the offending switch and plucked it from the ground. He intended to toss it over the property's front wall, but he found it had a pleasing shape and good heft in the hand. Instead, he kept it. And as he walked back to Elizabeth's side, he gave his fingers something mindless to do by casually snap-snap-snapping away its twiggy offshoots to pieces and tossing them into the brush instead.

"Is it too soon to say, 'Welcome you to my world?' Or would it lead you towards having second thoughts…?" he asked his companion.

"Ha!" Elizabeth barked back, and for a few seconds that was all she had to say.

Will wasn't certain how else to admit it, but after speaking to her father, he found himself bothered by doubts again, even though they were small.

For years, he'd revisited faded memories of his parents from when he was young—too young to divine any sort of meaning from their ties, whatever they were. And while Will still wanted to believe there had been something meaningful between his parents, that his father had always meant to come home after his last adventure aboard the Pearl, much of what he'd learned on his own adventure had muddied the beliefs he'd long enshrined. In the end, the only tangible truths he had to help make sense of his father's love were the gift of that goddamn coin and the lasting pain of his absence—and the coin was gone. In its wake there now was only half of a story, and it wasn't exactly an auspicious one for the mysteries the other half left behind.

Really, he'd only really witnessed up close one "functioning" marriage in his life: that of the Browns. And while he felt he'd learned a good deal from their example, his experience with them had been extremely short lived. He had an acquaintance or two he'd made over the years who seemed happy enough with their families. But far too often, Will witnessed the ripples from marriages torn apart for reasons that felt so numerous it was almost daunting.

Surely, she realized these failings of his?

Suddenly, she turned her keen eyes upon him. "I asked you the same thing just a few hours ago, didn't I?"

The snap of the branch's final twig split the night before he tossed it into the shadows, though he kept the bald branch itself.

"I suppose you did," he conceded softly. Pausing in his fidgeting, he drew close to her at last and reflected her observance of him with a careful watch of his own. "I gave you my answer then…"

They were on the edges of the windows' candlelights, the stars awakening in the very final remnants of daylight. The blue and purples of the evening hung like a sheer veil across Elizabeth's expressions, obscuring but not entirely concealing the thoughts in her eyes as she studied Will for a moment suspended in time, a breath suspended in anticipation.

Just as they could not see each other clearly in this courtyard, a part of him was beginning to feel that there was much he and Elizabeth were unable to see in their expectations for their future, for themselves, for each other. He knew she was aware of much of what it would be like to leave her wealth behind and become a poor blacksmith's wife, yes. But there was also much he felt certain that she did not yet fully comprehend, much he felt he could not predict that might make him into a poor excuse for a spouse. He knew there were things only experience could make clear. With that slowly earned experience and clarity, he was beginning to worry there could come regrets that would reveal themselves to her after she felt it was too late.

In fact, while they had begun to predict and address the material concerns for their future marriage, he'd also begun to realize that he didn't know much about what being a good husband really meant. And when considering the clumsiness with which he tended to fumble so many parts of his relationships lately, there was a growing worry in his mind that his ignorance could become their undoing altogether.

Second thoughts would practically be natural...

She extended a single hand, placed it lightly upon his chest, and he knew what her answer would be, even without knowing the words she'd choose to convey it.

"And here is mine: I've already realized much of what I'd be giving up in choosing you. It is all far outweighed by the real treasures we would gain together, I'm certain."

Will let his eyes drift over Elizabeth's star-kissed outline, temporarily swept away by her. She turned her head to look at the mansion, and the light bouncing off the earth revealed a stern wistfulness in her face.

"I can't go back to the way things were, Will–I won't."

Her whisper touched his heart, stirring him with the resonance he felt with her determination and vulnerability.

He'd felt so confident that morning. While he knew he had a lot to learn and mountains of work ahead, it had felt perfectly achievable with diligence and time. After sitting with Elizabeth's father, listening to talk of family expectations, of dowries, of client boycotts, or "threats to the status quo…" he was starting to feel not only under-prepared, but also as though even the way he'd bothered to be born was wrong.

But even though he felt it, he didn't believe it. He knew Elizabeth didn't believe it. And he knew her well enough to know better than to sell her perceptions and adaptability short. By himself, he was already a stubborn man, but with her behind him he felt he was immovable. He would never agree with such suggestions of his worthlessness.

But he could still feel outcast.

It was an old feeling, one he'd first discovered when it had been spat on his face on the streets of Falmouth. He might have forgotten it, if it had only happened once or twice. But those moments with those people and that feeling followed him as he'd tried to find his way in the world, across the world, searching for some sort of reassurance that he belonged somewhere, with someone. He found her eventually, a someone who wasn't his father like he thought she would be. And not long after that, it seemed everywhere he went, there always was another person, another power, insisting he didn't belong almost anywhere, especially not with her.

That was the way things had been for him: enduring passing run-ins with the people who spat those awful feelings onto him. He could hardly imagine what it had been for her, to be utterly surrounded by those venomous, domineering people all her life.

And now her father insisted that wading into the vipers' pit was the only way forward, just after she had begun to make her escape. It was obvious why she'd refuse to go back in.

He reached out to her and touched a finger to her chin, to draw her attention back from the mansion's heavy walls, to see him as he answered, "Neither will I."

Yet while he felt confident in saying so, he couldn't help but notice the wave of restlessness that crept up inside of him as he did so. Digging their heels in was well and good when they needed to resist a change, to stop an injustice, to go nowhere for a moment. They had been going nowhere for a long time—now that they'd found each other, they had to find their somewhere.

So he turned his eyes to the stars lighting the sky in beacons over the horizon, and added, "But we cannot chart our course based simply upon the things we won't do."

When he looked back to her, he thought he saw her sigh.

"You're right…" Elizabeth conceded, taking his hand from her face and into her own fingers, inviting him to join her in walking once more, leisurely. "So, 'What shall we do, instead?'"

Will nodded with a little smile—that was exactly what he meant to ask.

"Well," she began, a smile of her own creeping into her voice while idly poking the side of his hand with her thumbnail, "the backup plan I always had was secretly marrying you in the smithy one night—assuming Mister Brown is available, of course."

The laugh that puffed up came before he could resist it.

"Well, obviously," he replied with some good-naturedly sarcastic seriousness. After all, it was somehow an option that he hadn't even considered once despite how common the practice was, while he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd dreamt it up ages ago. "It would only be appropriate to clasp hands over an anvil, surrounded by swords..."

"I certainly thought so," she chuckled.

He looked at her instinctively, but the shadows were now deep where they stood. In fact, as they had reached the end of the carriage way—or the end that could be visible from the mansion, anyway—together they made a wide turn to stride back the way they came. He extended the bald branch in his left hand and tapped at the large leaves and stems of the garden patch as they walked by them. As he did so, he turned the image of her suggestion around in his mind. While he had joked about how appropriate her plan was, mentioning the swords and the place of their forging, the more he considered it the more he felt it was much more convenient than it was truly fitting. Elizabeth Swann, daughter of the governor of the most prosperous and powerful British colony in the Caribbean, exchanging vows with him in a dusty old smithy, choosing him for a husband, and a drunkard and a literal ass for witnesses? It was laughable!

Will would marry her under a rock if he had to, and he was fairly confident she would claim something much the same for him. But if he didn't have to marry her under a rock or in a rather ramshackle shack, then he thought she ought to have the option of choosing someplace that would delight her.

A smirk crept across his lips, as he realized how out of place her father's suggestion of a formal, traditional wedding also seemed. Certainly it would look more "appropriate" for her to greet him at the chapel. And if she got to plan the proceedings, perhaps she could fashion it in such a way she would genuinely enjoy it…

"Yet somehow I would have thought you would have preferred to be married by a ship's captain at sea…?" he mused aloud.

They were closer to the house now, and the distant candlelight revealed a dreamy glow crossing her face. They stopped walking.

"Hm, you're right, that is very tempting," she muttered, and tipped her head to look up at the stars, as if pinning her imaginings among them.

For a moment she simply dreamed , wonder sparkling in her eyes. Will was suddenly swept back to a similar night years before, when a young girl had shook him awake in his hammock and persuaded him through incomprehensible pantomimes to sneak onto the Dauntless' upper decks with her. They'd nicked some biscuits from the galley, then tucked themselves between some lashed crates near the forecastle, a single blanket draped around their shoulders, spending who-knew-how-long picking out constellations and trading whatever fanciful tales they could bring to mind. He hadn't come to understand her yet, fascinating over pirates the way she did when all he could still remember was the terror they'd unleashed upon him. But he saw the wonder in her eyes when she looked up at the stars and he couldn't help…

Her magnificent, dark eyes turned to him in the present, and they dazzled him.

"Would we both become pirates in this scenario, or are we simply running away to a new colony?" she asked.

The corners of Will's mouth twitched back up. They were starting to get very off-track from what they were supposed to be discussing. Will found he didn't care. This was the first time since… well, before the Interceptor had been captured that they'd managed to steal some time almost entirely alone—if it could be counted, considering how closely they were still being watched. And any moments sharing in Elizabeth's indulgence were completely addictive to him, time far from wasted.

"Maybe a little of each?" he suggested, then took a half step to resume their walk. "You never did get to see Tortuga, after all."

"You're right about that!" she declared in a show of vexation, taking up her own stride. But she released his hand to hug his arm to her chest, pressing her jaw into his shoulder as she continued, "And I am quite jealous of you for it, I'll have you know! However, even though it may surprise you, I think you should also know if we were ever to go to Tortuga I'd probably prefer to visit rather than live there."

That did surprise him, a little. When they were young it was practically her dream home, second only to some mysterious, hidden haven she'd claimed was built entirely from the remains of sea wrecked ships. With the way she hadn't wholy grown out of the rest of her pirate fascinations, he would have thought the famous pirate port would have maintained some of its allure.

"Port Royal isn't exactly heaven after dark—it has its raucous streets as well," he replied. Although, with images of the continuous nightly brawl that Tortuga was replaying in his mind, he had to admit to himself it wasn't entirely a fair comparison. Still… "Perhaps Tortuga becomes less… turbulent the farther away you live from the harbor? It seemed a fairly normal town by day."

She lifted her head off his shoulder to give him a pointed look. "Well, the harbor is where the best business would be. But I suppose in the end it doesn't matter. I think you would hate living there, if I'm honest."

That explained it better. All the same, Will threw her responding look of playful skepticism. Had his painfully prudish presentation the past few years convinced her it was his new, genuine personality? Or was she teasing him over their arguments as children? Before he could ask, they'd reached the stairs to the mansion's entrance then took another wide turn back towards the stables. Will began tapping the stick in his hand against the ground, leaving scattered dashes alongside the shallow footprints left behind them.

Elizabeth continued, "If I'm even more honest, I must admit that I now think I much prefer taking my piracy in more controlled doses—possibly keeping my real pirate adventures a little more separated from home…

"Oh?" Another mild surprise.

She nodded and sighed dramatically over her admission. Then with another little smile she elaborated, "It turns out sleeping is much easier when you don't have to keep one eye open."

There was a joke in there on the tip of his tongue about testing that with a partner or some other such thing, but Will couldn't figure out a clever way to say it. So he just shrugged, and returned the topic to the mostly-pretend scenario of their seafaring elopement.

"So maybe not Tortuga. There are plenty of other interesting ports all over the Caribbean we might choose from."

While they were leaving the mansion's light, Will could still make out the subtle smile that had been on Elizabeth's face beginning to slip. He felt her fingers tighten for a moment around his arm as she cast her eyes to the ground before them for the first time, whispering, "We can run all the way to Boston for all I care, but…"

She tapered off, their walking slowed back to a halt and her grip upon him grew loose. Serious things had obviously returned to weigh on her mind and heart—if he was right, they were the things they had meant to come out and discuss originally. In fact, with all that she'd spoken to him lately, he had a hunch that…

Looking at her falling shoulders, it occurred to him quite suddenly that maybe it didn't matter so much that he didn't understand what it would mean to be a husband yet. He knew how to be her friend—that came naturally. He thought he made a decent confidant… well, a decent listener, anyway. Admittedly, he felt a bit like he needed to work on giving advice. Even so, she seemed continually confident and happy to confide in him, which heartened him greatly. And while being her lover was still mostly uncharted territory, he was finding it to be a sensational and comfortable role he was more than ready to fill.

He felt understood and whole with her, and his heart ached at the thought she might feel even a little empty or unseen. There was no part of him that doubted that he wanted to stand beside her for the rest of his life, helping her dream and smile. He wanted to continue to believe that was the thing that truly mattered more than anything. He was confident she believed it. He had to trust her faith in him—more than that, he had to honor it.

Will stepped a little closer to Elizabeth, close enough to dip his head towards hers and speak together in secrets.

"If that's where you go, I will follow," he responded in a low confession. "Even so… I'm not convinced pirates would be the only concern keeping me up at night, in this scenario…"

Elizabeth back at his eyes once more, quizzically.

He took a deep breath then took a chance on his hunch, asking, "Are you really willing to run so far from your father?"

"I…" she said as she began to blink, visibly stunned by his question, even in the darkness. For a moment that was all she could manage. Then she turned her head, casting her eyes towards her father's figure in his office window. "It's not what I would choose in better circumstances, I admit. But if it turns out he cannot see what all of this means to me, I don't know whether I can…"

When she paused, he could hear the pent up emotions stalling her disclosure. When her face turned back into the shadows of their huddle, he could see those emotions glimmer and shine in her eyes. His heart clenched a little tighter with every passing beat.

Her voice wafted and billowed in the night. "I can't be kept by his side forever. I need to come out from under his wings. I need…"

"I understand," Will insisted. With a slow and secret reverence, he carefully took Elizabeth's hand. "I've been feeling something similar myself."

How exhausted had he been lately, worn down and restless not only from the demands of his labors but from the constant weight of expectations he no longer could pretend were pointless? But he knew, she'd told him she'd been feeling things she wasn't unveiling now—the things that were closing her voice up in her throat, turning the things she confessed into a battle in her heart instead of the easy decision it ought to have been.

And Will thought he understood that as well, even if his own relevant experiences were so very unlike her own.

From the moment the Black Pearl had let loose her cannons on their town, his mind had been churned up with a storm of questions, new and old. And ever since returning, especially since returning, Will couldn't stop puzzling anew over what his father had always meant to do when he'd set out to sea. It was a question that had echoed in his mind from the moment he began living in this port city, watching for his father's specific face on each inbound ship, searching out his name on every posted manifest, and never once avoiding the sting of disappointment. Now knowing for certain that the last time his father had tousled his hair would be the last time ever again, knowing the mistakes his father had made that swept him beyond his son's reach, and knowing he would never be able to find the peace of understanding why…

Will swallowed against his own emotions rising up inside.

"I'm probably not the right person to be saying this—I know I'm not exactly the most diplomatic man in the world…" He took a slow breath. This could very easily go the wrong way… "I also feel your father can be a deeply frustrating man. And I've only gotten the opportunity to live with a father a handful of times in my life, so I…"

He wanted to admit how often he made things worse. He didn't know what he was doing—forget being a husband, he didn't know how to be a son anymore. There was an instant where he thought he saw something pass across Elizabeth's face, but the darkness made it hard to be certain. He sifted through the thoughts and feelings swirling in his head, took up what bits he could make sense of, and forced himself to push ahead.

"I honestly don't know if your father will ever see things the way you or I do completely, Elizabeth. But I do know how sincerely he's trying to understand your heart. I've seen and heard myself how sincerely he loves you. And I know you love him as well, in spite of your conflicts," he began, the words starting slowly but soon tumbling from his mouth like the white rushing foams of a crashing wave.

He stepped a little closer still to Elizabeth, lifting her palm and holding it over his heart. Her face was turned up to him, open and radiant.

The wave kept crashing, "If ever there did come a time that you truly wished to run, I can promise you that I would follow you to the ends of the earth. But right now, there is something here which you have that I worry would be painful for you to lose, especially for avoidable reasons."

"Will…" Elizabeth breathed, and her fingers curled, her nails dug into his waistcoat, as though she wished to grasp at all the things surging from inside of him with her bare hands.

"I lost my parents, Elizabeth, with no real chance to choose otherwise. They were with me in ways that I thought would be forever, then they were gone. And now I…" Another pause. Another memory. Another swallow. "I don't want to ask you to make that decision for no good reason: choosing him or me."

There. He said it. Now the nighttime chorus filled his silence while he wondered whether the way he said it had been wrong or right. There was no moon, and the darkness still obscured Elizabeth. But he could hear the shaking in her breath.

"So you want to do as he suggests?" she hissed. "To go back to pointless rules and casual oppression, and pretend everything is alright?"

He shook his head, and his hand left hers to clutch at her elbow, desperate to reach her to such an extent that he drew her close enough to accidentally bump noses. "That is not what I want, no. But if there's a way to give him some of what he wants, just for one year, so that you might keep peace with him, I…"

"You want to compromise," she finished for him in a calmer voice.

"Yes," Will said quietly.

He loosened his hold on her arm, not wanting to trap her in facing him. For the illusion of an eternity, no words passed her lips. All he could feel was the intensity of her measured breathing and the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes near his skin.

Then her body was flush against his, her arms about his neck, her gasps upon his ear. The stick Will had been holding cluttered to the ground, abandoned the instant he could wrap Elizabeth tightly and caress her in the reassurance that there could be a way for things to be alright—hoping she might feel that if she needed him, she could rest upon his back or stand upon his shoulders for whatever time her heart required, and he would gladly carry her across whatever nightmares reached for her feet. And if she didn't wish for that, he would offer to be her anchor, her shield, her ally.

Her hold on him was as tight and steady as her breathing, and as long as she clutched him he was determined to bolster her. By instinct, the tips of his right hand's fingers began to feather across her back, and his face turned to pepper soft kisses into her hair. She dropped herself from the tips of her toes, and he felt her relax as she slipped a little lower and buried herself against his neck.

"I need to tell you something that you must swear you absolutely will not utter to a single other soul," Elizabeth suddenly appealed with a thick whisper.

Will pressed one last kiss upon her brow. "Of course. Not a word."

She pulled away enough to capture his full attention, her eyes pinning his down with an intense seriousness. "Not a single soul, Will—you understand? Man or animal or… anything!"

"Elizabeth." He cupped the side of her face and traced a line across her cheek with his thumb, acknowledging how completely she had him. "I promise."

For a long moment they surveyed each other, peering through the night for every bit of trust the starlight would show. Then Elizabeth opened her mouth.

"The night I wrote my letter to you, the night my friends and I became drunk, there were a few times I haven't mentioned where the silliness stopped and we spoke about other things…"

---

At last the words that Elizabeth ached to speak were released from their restraints. Despite how much they'd pressed at her commitment each time she'd told her tale, it had been her father's determination to uphold the mores responsible for the pains around her that had pressed her to a point near bursting. So the missing pages of her story were unfolded for Will's quiet reception, the scenes tumbling out of her in surges of searing sentiment. And while she withheld specific names from him out of an abundance of caution—they were still standing in the open air—her concerns gushed forth about Amelia's pending marriage and her similarly taboo romance, of Violet's risky, rebellious affairs, of Mary's controlling father and unhappy mother. She confessed about the morning before her trip, about squabbling with her father over his politics, about the ugly things she saw in the Crown's newspaper.

All of it came out in a breathless tirade, rasping her throat and stinging her eyes. Throughout it all Will stood and listened.

At length Elizabeth came to her conclusion, choking with some desperation, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful or inconsiderate of the good my father does. He is compassionate and kind to so many. He is willing to grant me my freedoms, and I love him dearly for that. But lately he has shown he is hesitant to extend the same to others who need it just as much or even more, all because of the same fears that bound me and you for so long. And I… I can't…"

She trailed off. What else was there to say that hadn't been said? She had poured her heart out with the nightsong. Now all she wanted to do was bask in the welcome respite that the falling coolness of evening offered against the heat of her emotions.

But Will's hands took her fingers into their shelter, and her eyes, finally adjusting to the dark, were drawn to the glimmer in his.

"You're the bravest person I've ever known, Elizabeth Swann."

It took a moment to register what he'd said. Then she loosed a sigh and shook her head. While she was moved by his kindness, she couldn't resist a feeling of bafflement sweeping over her. Where had that come from? Had he actually been listening, or had she been mistaken?

Seeming to sense her doubt, his hands ran along the outside of her forearms in a cautious path, and she prickled where his touch brushed across her fine hairs along the way. He seemed to be looking to comfort her, and with her emotions feeling raw although it was sudden she was willing to step into with him. Coming close, the two of them clasped each other gently by the elbows, while he settled his cheek lightly against hers, and rocked her side to side. Though they were hardly closer than two dancers, his warmth was around her, and she let her eyes fall shut to revel in the sensation of the night breezes and his breathing taking turns in caressing her skin.

She closed her eyes.

"When I set out to find you, with Jack…" he continued, pausing for one whisper of a laugh, "he kept telling me, 'You'll turn pirate, you'll turn pirate; your father was a pirate and you will be too.' And it made me so angry."

She couldn't resist a puffed scoff of her own at that. Something similar used to happen every so often between the two of them, almost from the moment they were first becoming acquainted on the Dauntless. Against her eyelids she could easily summon the way he'd wrinkled his nose whenever she suggested he become a pirate with her, just for a day.

"I know. What a surprise, right?" Will joked, clearly predicting her thoughts, and for a moment Elizabeth could feel the shape of his smile pressed upon their cheeks. Until it melted away, his voice falling particularly low and reflective. "I was absolutely committed to finding you, bringing you home, and then simply… going back to whatever they would allow for me. The smithy, jail, the gallows… I knew what they would probably do to me for doing the things I was, but I didn't question it. Not at first."

He grew quiet. Elizabeth fluttered her eyelids open, drawing her head back and turning her face to try and read his thoughts under the hour's murkiness. Was this a confession of some sort? However, she couldn't find her answer. His eyes weren't with her anymore, instead looking beyond her into their recent past.

"Some things changed because of Jack. We, uh…" He paused to let slip another quiet laugh. "I hated so much of what I thought he stood for, but I came to him with the knowledge that the 'proper ways' of doing things were failing you. And he told me something: he said… that the only rules that mattered were what a man can and can't do with the hand he is dealt. It was something I couldn't get out of my head once he'd said it."

She still had no idea where this was going, but could tell Will had a point he was narrowing in on. So she waited without voicing the questions on the tip of her tongue.

Yet what a strange thought it had been—still was—thinking of the Will she had spoken to, a sworn pirate killer only hours before the city's attack, choosing to ally with as unpredictable an enigma as Jack Sparrow. More mystifying still was the notion that Will would have opened his ears, let alone his mind, to whatever silver-tongued threads of wisdom were woven within Jack's tapestries of subterfuge.

Who would have thought that the sea's rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves would include those so practiced in sophistry?

She felt Will's thumbs begin tracing her arms with thoughtful arcs.

"But once we were finally on our way back home," he gave his head a single shake with a pop of his eyebrows, "it felt like your feet had hardly touched the deck before you were advocating for both our sakes. No matter how many times the commodore or your father or anyone told you, 'No,' you kept pushing and pulling and launching every possible argument for every injustice that was also running through my mind."

The pleasant sweeps of his thumbs stilled, and his eyes came back to the present through a blink, seeking her vision then holding fast once he found it. She held him just as soundly, drawn by the story he was telling and the lingering question of why he'd begun telling it.

He suddenly provided the answer with the beginning of a revelation, uttered with an exacting certainty: "You were the voice that insisted I don't stop—that I couldn't stop fighting after I had begun, because I knew it was right. And you were right."

Understanding began to dawn, and a shuddering sigh slipped past her lips, while the air grow still around them, inside her chest. With it she felt the pressures that had built up to such painful magnitudes begin release and bring her some temporary relief. There was a heady glow in her cheeks, radiating down to the tips of her fingers. Perhaps the night wasn't so dark after all? Had the crickets also stopped singing or was she simply swept away by this new song?

"Elizabeth," Will's expression was beginning to brighten and burn, a flame kindled in the charcoal of his eyes, "you look into the world without fear and bring people to see things the way you do, whether they anticipate it or not. I would not be standing where I am now without you."

Once more she found herself wondering: where did he learn to speak like this? So simple and clear and yet…

All her life, Elizabeth had been lavished with flatteries, called lovely, refined, accomplished, spirited, clever. She wasn't a fool—she knew the gifts she had been granted, the skills and talents she had worked hard to hone, which gave credence to much of what was said. Who would she be to pretend at false modesty with herself? But she also sat adjacent to power—that alone would be enough to summon adulations without any correspondence to candor.

Yet no one had ever whispered to her anything quite like this before, and she found herself at a loss for words to offer in return. While she'd always vaguely wished for people, for Will, to aspire to better things, she'd never meant to be anyone's hero. And here was claiming she had inspired him to become one in his own right. What did one say to that? "Thank you?"

Seeming to take her silence for a general uncertainty, Will's hands left her arms to cradle her head in the cups of his fingers and her sight in the refuge of his own.

"If you don't feel like it's worth going back, I won't insist on it," he said. "It'll certainly be easier for me. But I hope no matter what you choose, you're able to see how powerful you can be, and perhaps able to feel some reassurance that, if you did feel it was worth the fight, there would be some hearts I'm certain you could change—including your father's. You helped change mine. And I would be right beside you, this time."

Her hands slipped about one of his wrists, nearly overwhelmed for a moment.

Then the doubts began to swirl. Would agreeing with her father's plan really be a compromise or concession? Will had already been forced through so much change so recently—so had she. How would either of them have space or time to breathe, to settle with these new revelations they were uncovering within themselves and each other? She let her eyes fall with the rise of her old hesitations on his behalf.

There had to be another way forward.

"I just don't feel I could ask it of you, Will," she confessed, beginning to shake her head and lift her gaze back to his level. "Especially after surviving what we went through, only to return to their world. Going along with their ways would feel like… upholding them. You yourself have said as much, so I know you know what I mean."

"I do," he agreed. "And I must admit I'm not overly fond of the idea either. But we have limited time and means for other options. And… a part of me has been wondering: maybe there's a way ahead for us, where we don't have to go along with all of it?"

His logic lost her all over again. Not going along with all of it…?

Clearly her confusion was inscribed into her countenance with enough precision he could read it even lacking lamps or daylight, considering how he offered his suggestion: "Just because we go along with some of your father's plans for us, doesn't mean we can't have separate plans of our own, does it?"

Separate plans? Oh, she hadn't heard that excuse in a long time. Years, even. An incredulous laugh broke from her before she could stop it, realizing his thought process must have been much the same more recently, when he'd chosen to attend Jack's hanging with full intent to disrupt it.

"Do you mean to say your plans involve appearing at their soirées dressed as though they intend to kill you, swords and all?"

Thankfully her laugh didn't offend him, although she could sense a bit of sheepishness creeping into his voice in his reply. "In a manner of speaking. Although hopefully it'd be a bit better supported and thought out—I was hoping you would probably help with that."

He dropped his hands to her shoulders and gave her an appreciative squeeze before letting them fall from her body altogether.

She couldn't help it: now an utterly ridiculous image was forming in her mind, and with it a grin starting to creep back onto her face. In a way, it was similar to many of her childhood daydreams, albeit featuring a much more grown up setting and enemy. She could see them arriving together at the annual Governor's Assembly Ball: dressed to the nines, her in a dazzling robe of lavish golds popped with scarlet roses, him in a matching ditto suit that left them no more conspicuous than any other pair in the dance hall. And they would mill about the perfumed puffery, answering all the vapid small-talk thrown their way. All the while, they would smile across the crowds at each other with their devious little secret.

Then… once the music started and they were able to take the floor as each other's partners, she would draw out two swords hidden in her petticoats through her pocket slits, and toss one into Will's outstretched hand. He'd cut a red curtain and toss it about his shoulders, she'd steal a hat or two for them to don. The officers in attendance would draw their own swords to try and bring them to order. In the clamor of the scattered minuet line, they would dance a new dance with swords swashing and buckling about! They could slash at people's wigs, waltz across the hall, leap atop the banquet table and duel soldiers upon it until all the porcelain offerings were smashed upon the floor. And at last, perhaps they'd stand together upon the window sill, bid all the guests a good, good night, and swing away upon the drapes to their escape for Tortuga, for freedom.

No one there would ever stop talking about the shock of it, so long as they lived.

But the delightful image was marred when, in her mind's eye, she could picture her father's face downcast with his disappointment, and could hear the rumbles of ridicule roaming the room, surrounding him and her left-behind friends with a smothering scorn left in their wake. It was an amusing dream, but in reality, they could never attempt such a thing without consequences that rippled well beyond them. And even if they chose a more realistic form of rebellion, the outcome would likely be no less unpleasant.

Her grin crept back into the shadows, her frustration beginning to return with a slow simmer. Will tipped his head with a questioning look.

With a bitter huff, Elizabeth turned to look at her father's real figure, standing shadowed and shaky behind the swirled glass panes of his office.

"You heard what he said—he's very adamant that our match be a harmless curiosity for the wealthy to titter over across their salons."

"For our safety, he said, yes," Will agreed with a nod. Then he bent to the ground, and plucked back up the stick he had dropped a few minutes before. "In a way, I know what he intends. I've spent the last few years thinking almost the same way. But lately I've been thinking it might be time to instead take our safety into our own hands."

To her surprise and amusement, he placed the stick in her palms as though it were a sword, then curled his hands around her right fingers, guiding them to clasp its imaginary hilt. Holding the bumpy wooden shaft felt familiar in more ways than one. It brought to mind the sticks they both would collect for a game they had often played their very first few months in Port Royal.

The mansion was not yet finished being built, and they'd lived for a few months in the old governor's house in town—although Will had been a hall boy and therefore stayed with the servants. For a while, her father had been lax with the two of them and permitted an association. Seeing things through older eyes, Elizabeth now believed he'd wanted her to be able to take her mind of all the changes they'd been going through, to not wallow in sadness over her mother's death and to feel like Port Royal was a good home. It had worked, but not quite in the way he had likely hoped.

After some private schooling, she would wait patiently each day for Will to finish his hall boy assignments, becoming available to socialize. She didn't have a governess or assigned minder right away, and her father thought to try trusting her to amuse herself, as she was becoming older.

She took full advantage of the opportunities it afforded. Rather than reading in the library or going to the shops together, as she often claimed they were doing, they would explore all about the town. Everyday, they would go to the docks to ask around concerning Will's father, irritating the dockmaster with haughty declarations that the governor's daughter ought to be able to read the ship's manifests whenever she demanded. He never relented, of course. What they did after that changed day-to-day. Sometimes they did go to the shops, eying all the new pretty things that had been shipped in, new books Elizabeth would covet. Sometimes they'd poked their heads into the doors and windows of various artisans' workshops, to watch their worn hands at work until they were shooed away for being underfoot. Blacksmiths were both their favorites, as they had a shared fascination with swords—that was how they'd first met Mister Brown, although their acquaintance with him didn't come to mean anything more until a few years later.

When they felt up to the walk or were able to hitch a ride, sometimes they'd make their way up to the site of the future Fort Charles, where they would spy on the training exercises until then-Lieutenant Norrington or other men would inevitably discover them. Most of the time he'd shoo them away with warnings he would inform her father about their visits "next time." The warnings were usually hollow.

But when the regiment wasn't too busy, Norrington would sometimes turn his eye aside for their indulgences—something the other officers never did. And for a short time, there had been afternoons where the younger soldiers had entertained her and Will's curiosities with stories or turns at practice shots with their muskets. Then on even rarer occasions, the officers would practice at fencing, and this was what Will and her had most looked forward to watching. Elizabeth had delighted in the quick exchanges of the blades, cheering and hollering with the rest of the men, and memorizing various plays for the imaginings of pirate adventures she would later play in her mind before falling asleep. However, Will would always watch with an intently studious eye…

Unlike with the muskets, they were never allowed to touch the officers' swords even with supervision, though they had both desperately wanted to try their hands at them. A few times, the two of them had even schemed at "borrowing" a pair of hangers for an afternoon, but they'd never managed to pull it off. Their theft attempts drew a line in the sand, and Norrington's warning to tell her father finally came to fruition. The Navy stopped permitting their unsupervised "visits" altogether, and she'd received a stern lecture about the expectations of a well-bred lady's comportment.

After that, her friendship with Will began to have restrictions placed upon it. He was given more assignments about the house, and they were only allowed to spend real time together on specific days of the week—usually Sundays and Mondays, when the business about town was slow with sleeping workers and therefore exploration became much more boring. But they were children, and children have always been creative and often a little naughty. The effort to stifle Elizabeth's less "proper" forms of entertainment had simply led them to scour the shoreline and discover secret places away from adults' eyes. That was where they'd hunted for sticks and practiced their swordplay together anyway, often striking each other with their sloppy ignorance, and both vowing to one day get their hands on real weapons and become the greatest fighters of all time.

That was one area his life had proven more fortunate than hers. Once the mansion's main house had been completed enough to move into, escapes into town or the beach had become nearly impossible. And adventuring in the gardens became difficult once a minder had assigned to her. From there change after change had continued to come, drawing them farther and farther apart, until they'd both been sent to be trained in their respected places in the world, where swords were accessible to him but continually forbidden to her. So divergent were their paths, eventually they'd been drawn to the brink of becoming strangers…

But for a time, they'd had their secret game. It had been the game they'd played in secret defiance of her father's insistences that she begin acting like a real lady. It had been the game they'd played in naive beliefs that their practicing would prepare them for a day when pirates came to Port Royal. It had been a game they'd played when they craved time with each other in a hidden world quite apart from the one around them.

Perhaps it had always been more than a game for them.

Elizabeth ran her thumb along a nub left behind by one of the stick's broken-off branches.

"What is this half-finished plan of yours, then?" she asked Will as she raised her chin, pivoted about and began to wave her "sword" in front of her, drawing out a foe for her to face.

In answer he placed a hand upon her back and edged her forward, allowing her to take a few paces before him so that she might take her own turn swatting at their imagined enemies hiding in the tiny jungle scape around them—albeit with a lot more vigor than he had done. They began to walk again as she sliced through shadows and stabbed at leaves. The stick made a satisfyingly low whistle when she swung it fast and hard, almost matching some of the tree frogs still singing around them. The vibrations and movements of fighting even the air felt good.

From behind her, she heard Will begin to recite his idea, "I'll go along with what your father asks, do whatever new things I need to do to appear the gentleman he wishes I were, in the places where it matters: the good Mister Turner, sitting beside you in your pew very piously and escorting you…ah, well, wherever else the powdered masses gather."

She turned her face to look at his dark form over her shoulder. Though it was small, she dipped her head in her first real chuckle since supper and tucked a bit of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. This earned her a returning grin, with his lips tugged to one side. At last, the conversation was beginning to feel better. Where before one of them had been the one caught in an overly cynical cycle of pragmatism, the other trying to offer assurance through optimistic musings, it seemed that now they were starting to come back to equal footing. However, just as these thoughts had finished crossing her mind, she realized his lighthearted demeanor was beginning to sober with the coming of the rest of his answer. His footsteps were slowed, quelling the crunching of the carriageway's gravel under the soles of their shoes. And he appeared pensive again.

They stopped walking. She turned to face him. And together they gazed for a moment through the dimness at one another.

"It doesn't have to all be doom and gloom, does it?" he asked at length, still trying for some levity. "Even if it's awful, you have to admit it could be useful for me to learn a little more finesse in their types of games, at the very least."

'But at what cost ?'

Rushing back into her mind all at once were the exact same concerns she had just walked through, for her and him. What sorts of facades would they have to maintain, which parts of themselves would they have to hide and betray? And what about her friends?

She didn't want to just play along anymore. She didn't want that for any of them.

"And…?" she asked, insisting he go on—there had to be more to his idea than this.

Pressure was building inside her again. She knew her worries were obvious in the way she was looking at him, the way she'd begun to clenched the branch in her fists. He saw. They had stopped near window-wavered candlelight, and the orange hues illuminated the sincerity in Will's expression as he closed the distance between them, laying his hands over her tightened knuckles.

"I'll go along with what he asks. But," he began steadily, raising his eyebrows to insist she hear him out, "… I promise I will neither hide nor apologize for what I really am."

Her body began to relax from those few words alone. So there'd be no facades or concealment or betrayals, after all? When she felt the grapple of her fists loosen, let the tension ease from her jaw, he moved to tuck the once-more wayward strand of hair back behind her ear.

He continued, "I will still speak my mind, and make an effort to support you in speaking yours. And the moment we step beyond their sphere of influence, I'll be only the man you know me to be. Just Will… And no matter where we are, I will only ever call you Elizabeth."

She bit the insides of her lip.

Integrity. To present himself in front of the gentry's judgmental eyes, mimicking the ways they dressed and talked and moved, all while choosing not to say what they wanted him to say or not to go where they wanted to go. He would follow the letter of the etiquette, all while daring them to accept where he came from, choosing to face whatever derision was lobbed back at him head-on. While he'd allow them to try and polish him, he would still be made of iron instead of silver and would make sure they knew it was worth something, all the same. That was his plan—his stupid, foolish plan. She knew it was not the deference her father wanted, and it was almost certain to end up messy in its pursuits.

But it was a compromise—one she could live with.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at her partner, electing to double check how far he'd considered things. "It isn't easy, Will. My father's right about much of what he says—many of them will be cruel to you, I'm certain."

Will simply shrugged.

"They weren't exactly icons of compassion to me before, were they?"

Her lips settled into a conceding smirk. "No, I suppose not…"

"Besides," he went on, raising an eyebrow back at her with a teasing air, "they can snarl and bare their teeth all they like, but I will have you by my side. One leer from the lioness of Port Royal and they'll be shaking the buckles off their shoes."

"Ha!" Elizabeth guffawed, and gave her thin weapon two swipes through the air. "Even if that were true, I must warn you: little brushes of business are quite different from being locked in close quarters with whole masses of those hypocrites, for hours on end. No matter what you belief, I have felt the teeth in their words… many times."

While she wrestled with her mind for a moment, forcing herself to focus on their conversation and not to wander through long-past experiences, Will looked at her, unconvinced. Or maybe it was better to say he seemed un-intimidated?

She pushed on with her cautions in a cascade, "Additionally, it isn't just the times you'll be with them that will be difficult. Just as father said, they could bully you with boycotts and other types of exclusion well before we are married. Mary's father has already decided as much, thanks to your 'flagrant delinquency.' And on top of it all, there will be so many things you'll have to master in such a short time. When you're caught in the thick of all their expectations, so much of it can feel stifling and old fashioned and-and…"

"Empty," Will declared at the exact same time Elizabeth concluded with, "Hollow…."

They stared at one another, saying nothing else. While the words they'd each uttered had been different, their common meaning harmonized perfectly and the beautiful tones of understanding rang between their hearts.

"How did you bear it before?" Will asked, and the question surprised her. She knew he was asking very specifically of the period of time when they had been thrust deepest in the world's efforts to mold them into its ideal images for them, when they had been drawn farthest apart and she felt the most powerless.

"I hardly did," she admitted. "I read my pirate books, dreamed about running away on adventures, dreamed about you…"

As his face softened, lips parting in a visible pang of empathy, it suddenly struck Elizabeth how similar her coping sounded to where they were at this very moment. Reading the newspaper wondering what was happening to the Pearl, dreaming of running away to Tortuga, of eloping with Will…

They really were risking going in circles.

"What did you do…?" she found herself asking.

Will raised his eyebrows, turned his head to the side thoughtfully and shrugged. As he reached out with one finger to trace a line across the stick in Elizabeth's hands, he answered, "I just fought the things I could, the only way I knew how."

A smile tugged at her mouth. "Literally?"

"Literally, yes. Literally," he nodded, dipping his head into a quiet giggle they shared over the contrast in intellect and complexity to their coping mechanisms. In the fading of their laughter his smile lingered with a thoughtful expression. "We've faced many of these things before, but now we'll face them together. Perhaps we can teach each other these different ways we survived?"

Elizabeth felt her breathing hitch, taken aback by the thrill of this one simple idea as well as the abrupt, deep pull she felt to the man sharing it.

"You mean I'll get to fight with a sword, at last? Will you teach me?" she gasped in no small measure of excitement.

His teeth flashed and eyes crinkled, shining with the enthusiasm of a surprise kept secret for far too long. "I've been wanting to, yes! I'd actually meant to save it for a surprise on our first outing in my charge but—"

Elizabeth's mouth connected to Will's with more force than she had intended, but she couldn't hold herself back any longer. The kiss was sloppy and made disjointed by their giggling, as he stumbled backwards under her unexpected weight upon his shoulders. But she held him tightly about his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, holding his lips to hers and reveling in the scratchy tickle of his beard on her skin. He clutched her by the small of her back, and when he began to answer her with a slower, deeper zeal, she let slip a delighted squeak she'd never heard herself make before, accepting his attention with relish.

The sound and light of the mansion's door opening for one of the servants to peek out at them brought the moment to end. As their kiss was ended, Will gazed into Elizabeth's eyes, and she felt as though the stars had drifted down to dance all around them. Her heart was thundering in her chest.

"I take it you approve?" he joked.

She failed to maintain a serious expression when she countered, "How did you know?"

He shrugged with a cock of his head to one side, glancing at the mansion door as he answered quietly and honestly, "I've known you've wanted to learn properly practically since our first conversation. And with the way you fought throughout our pirating experience, it's clear you haven't lost your touch from our little excursions. I think you'd be a fantastic swordmaster."

Oh, she wanted to start learning right away! But she knew they didn't have time … or swords, for that matter. So instead Elizabeth sent the energy of her anticipation back towards him, encircling his neck once more in a tight embrace, followed by pecking a set of kisses on his cheek. He scrunched up his face but laughed at her exuberant affection.

At last, she finally released him, though she slipped her left hand into his right as they turned with an intent to begin walking back towards the house. Although… remembering her stick, she released his hand once more, and they paused to allow her the chance to try and toss her wooden "sword" over the wall. Drawing her arm back as far as her jacket would allow, she threw it with all her might. She didn't quite make it—the stick bounced off the wall and clattered into the garden, but she didn't mind.

"Well… I accept your offer. But I want you to promise me you'll tell me if any of this becomes too much for you to take," she said, turning back to face him with sincerity.

Will met her eyes and her vow, swearing without hesitation, "I promise if you promise."

Her heart fluttered in a surge of sweet affection, spreading outward until it touched her lips and bent them with her happiness. Elizabeth nodded with her whisper, "Yes."

He held out his hand for her. She took it, threading her fingers between his as she did so.

But he didn't walk yet, his brow creasing with emotion. He had one more thing he wanted to say: "You've already given me so much, Elizabeth. Your love has granted me life in more ways than one. For now, I only have these little things I can offer to love you in return, but I swear, no matter where we are, I will do everything I can to bring you the joy you deserve."

"They're not little at all," she gasped, and pinned him with a look she hoped pierced his heart like steel. She hadn't forgotten his entire reason for offering to compromise with her father to begin with. Somehow, he had seen her desires for peace and healing as a daughter. More than that: "It's not just swords, Will. I love you. And with you, I finally feel like I'm allowed to be the person I crave to be. To me that is worth more than all the marble halls or feather beds or whatever else you believe I 'deserve.'"

Will opened his mouth as though intending to answer, but simple silence sat upon his lips. In the depths of his eyes swirled a dozen things she could see he wished to say. In the end, he bent towards her for one last, gentle kiss to her mouth. And it was enough.

They began to walk.

He cleared his throat. "So we have a plan?"

"I think we do," Elizabeth replied, then offered him a sly smile. "Except I believe it's missing one thing…"

A flash of genuine confusion crossed his face. "Which is?"

She ran her bottom lip under teeth, then tipped her head back up towards the stars.

"I want to have another adventure with you. Together this time… and perhaps a little less life-threatening." His eyebrows shot up, but when there was no disapproval in his eyes, she pressed on. Fed by the dregs of excitement in her veins, she nudged him and teased, "Can you imagine? Setting sail just for the thrill of its back to the Isla de Muerte, taking even a few pockets of gold and hiding it away? We could have a house for certain: along the water, with windows turned towards the sea, a room or two to spare and our own little dock."

"I'm assuming you'll want at least a ketch while we're at it," Will offered, indulging her fantastical mood.

"Of course! Then we could sail wherever, whenever we wish—anywhere the wind blows!" With her finger she pointed to different windows on the house as they approached it, pretending they were ports on a map. "Nassau! Cartagena! Charleston!"

Now Will was grinning as well, buying into her whimsical sales pitch. "I hear they have fine blacksmithing in Spain."

"Oh, better yet—I hear there are places in the Far East with swords that halve even the grains of salt of the sea. And if we don't wish to go that far," she cocked an eyebrow in his direction, hoping to entice him, "they have entire fencing tournaments in Paris and Florence."

His eyes twinkled as they approached the front steps of the house. The casting them downward, he offered in a soft voice, "We could see your father in England, once he's left."

They walked up the steps together. It was a more realistic suggestion, but an appreciated one. Once again, his mind had turned towards ways to preserve her relationship with her father, if she wanted it. What could she offer to him, in this dream filled with treasures? Perhaps this:

"And when we're home, your craft could be for passion instead of necessity—you could spend your time making only the things you desire…"

"Hm..." Will responded in a tone colored by a surprising amount of doubt, considering they were only dreaming. Then as they passed through the doors on the left of the foyer, coming into the quieter spaces of the main parlor, a noted conspiratorially in her ear, "Somehow I feel that which I'll most desire to make in this carefree future won't have anything to do our finances…"

There were several 'things' her mind thought this would be, and at least half of them drove a sensational blush into her cheeks. "Will it make me happy?"

"I think so," he answered, seeming pleased with leaving his hint to be a door open to many possibilities.

"Then we'll just have to make certain we take a very good haul," she declared, then dropped her voice as they approached the door of her father's office. "The best part is that we wouldn't even be breaking any laws this time–not really. The people Barbossa stole most of it from are long forgotten anyhow… Seems a shame for it to just be sitting there, of no use to anyone."

Will shook his head as he raised a hand to knock upon the door. "You really are a pirate, after all."