Watching from the small lookout, Norrington positioned his musket to lie on top of the rock wall. Barbossa's head was in his sights, but the commodore knew that he ran the risk of shooting Will by accident. He wasn't going to be absolutely devastated if the boy were killed by his musket shot—however, he knew he had a duty to protect the people of Port Royal, and that included Will. Regardless of the wariness he felt regarding the young Turner and Miss Swann, he knew that she would likely never accept a request of betrothal to a man who let a close childhood friend die needlessly.

Norrington's hands shook around the long, heavy firearm, and he truly worried that his nerves would take care of matters of their own volition. Thankfully, the wormy captain in his moth-eaten clothing was going on about Will's father, Bootstrap Bill, the importance of the blood line and the debt owed by the boy because of said ancestral link.

Gibbs whispered fiercely, "Remember, Commodore, that Will must spill his blood to lift the curse. Only then will ye be able to kill Barbossa and his band of pirates!"

"Yes, I believe we have established that, Mr. Gibbs."

"Begun by blood," Barbossa growled, clenching the scruff of Will's shirt in one hand and wielding his large bow knife with the other. "By blood undone!"

Will threw a desperate glance at the savage beasts around him, who were busily grunting and shaking their fists, awaiting his demise to reclaim their mortality. He prayed silently for someone to come to his rescue, but no fanciful interruptions came, not Jack Sparrow's clever distractions, nor a troop of Royal Navymen brandishing their bayonets and threatening death.

Barbossa placed the blade into his neck and to Will's horror, moved to make the first slice, but he was set to thoroughly enjoy himself, and allowed the cut to be superficial by pressing in only a hairbreadth, just enough to draw blood. The captain seemed to relish the wince of pain the young blacksmith made, enjoying the gasp that escape the boy's mouth. Drops of crimson liquid fell, and just as Will expected the final slash at his throat, a bullet zipped by his ear, and Barbossa's decrepit, meaty hand fell away, leaving Will pushed head first into the chest of gold coins. He heard surprised shouts and gunfire, and suddenly realized the miracle he'd hope for was indeed relaying itself before him. He lifted his head, ignoring the white hot pain at his neck and recognized Norrington's figure stepping out bravely, as well as the company that followed. They were attacking the pirates and killing them successfully!

The small wound at his neck had bled enough to mortalize the pirates. Barbossa lay before him at his feet, his eyes glazed and open, but judging by the glazed, vacant expression it was clear the man was dead. A bullet had pierced through the middle of his crown, killing him instantly. Will leaned backward onto the heels of his boots until he felt the body with his hands and picked up the knife stained with his own blood. He managed to free himself from the rope that had restrained him, then made a quick movement to touch the tender, opened skin at his throat, thankful the cut was rather small, then grabbed Barbossa's sword and jumped into the crowd of fighting men.

The renewed hope allowed him to outdo one of the larger pirates, the boatswain, as he made a downward strike with the pirate captain's weapon, and then kicked him away, causing the man to tumble into the standing water of the cave.

"Mr. Turner!" Norrington called, obviously shocked that the blacksmith had gotten away virtually unscathed, save for his neck, which trickled with blood. "I have to say I'm quite pleased you escaped the hand of death."

Will nodded. "Thank you, Commodore." He crouched into a defensive position, sword ready, as the soldiers backed the pirates into the cave wall, swords and bayonets daring them to move. The majority of the infidels were dead, and those who were still alive didn't appear to put up much of a fight. Only about five soldiers lie dead, so clearly waiting for the right moment and using the element of surprise had been highly effective, resulting in a quick and overwhelming defeat.

Pintel, Ragetti and the rest of the surviving men finally dropped their weaponry and grinned sheepishly, holding up their hands in surrender, knowing they had no chance of getting away. "Uh..." Pintel trembled. "Parley?"

The trip back to the Dauntless was far more pleasant and dignified than the last time Will had been on board ship. His body was exhausted from the anxiety of potentially losing his life, as well as the stress of knowing Elizabeth remained on the island with Jack. After the remaining pirates were locked away in the brig, the ship was positioned to sail back to Port Royal and when the blacksmith discovered this, he impulsive sought out and confronted Norrington with his objections the moment the naval head made his reappearance from below decks.

"Commodore," he pressed, approaching the man as he placed his hat atop his head and brushed his hands down the prim suit. Clearly he had an opportunity to clean himself up and change out of the bloodied clothing. Will was not so fortunate. Norrington spoke with the helmsman, and then stood to his fullest height at Will's hurried gait, briefly glancing at the stained garments before returning his gaze.

"Yes, Mr. Turner."

"When will we begin the search for Miss Swann?" Will asked eagerly.

The man sighed indignantly. "I fully intend on a search for the governor's daughter as soon as we address some very urgent matters. Regretfully, they take precedence at the moment."

Will's stomach sank like stone, his mouth hanging open in shock. "She's going to die if we don't leave now!"

"I understand the urgency, but—"

"Commodore, she will starve to death, and Jack Sparrow will be the last man she will ever lay eyes on. Is that what you want for her?" Will grabbed the man's lapels and the helmsman stepped forward immediately to pry the boy off of his leader. Norrington held his hand up, and then shrugged Will off of him.

"Mr. Turner," Norrington uttered, much like he'd done after Will demanded action when Elizabeth had been kidnapped. Could that have only been days ago? "We have no way of knowing if she is still alive at this moment. As much as it pains me to have to leave her, possibly to her death, I have a responsibility to my men, and the ships are in desperate need of repair. They sustained heavy damage during the firefight."

"There's the Black Pearl! I can use her to rescue Elizabeth, can I not?"

"Turner, the Black Pearl needs the most repairs between the two. She is taking on water. Fortunately, Sparrow's crew has agreed to patch up the leaks. If they are successful in keeping her from sinking, then we just might get her back to Port Royal."

"Please, sir," Will begged, hating how desperate he sounded. "Would it be possible to take a longboat and row back to the island?"

James shot a look at the boy that indicated he thought he'd lost his mind. "Don't be absurd, Turner. As soon as the Dauntless and the Pearl are seaworthy, we will resume our search." With that, the commodore swiveled and left, no doubt heading toward his quarters. Will was frustrated to the point of violence and he couldn't help but feel crushed. To go from a miraculous save to learning the love of his life was being left to die? There was no telling how long repairs would take!

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he whispered.

"Worry not, young Turner," a gruff voice sounded off to the right. The young man turned in the direction of the voice and his gaze fell upon Gibbs, who stood lazily against the rail of the Dauntless. "All is not lost."

Will's frustration made his answer short as his teeth clenched together angrily. "I am getting tired of your ridiculous pirate malarkey. Just tell me what you mean, Mr. Gibbs!"

Gibbs was unruffled. He was a pirate after all. Poor etiquette was his forte. "Commodore Norrington is a fool for his arrogance, as not even the love of a fair lady like Miss Elizabeth compares to his own vanity. Norrington does not know that the Pearl is the most steadfast ship of the Spanish Main. If he truly wanted to fetch the maiden from the island, he could very well do that. No, what he desires is having two ships instead of one, and the favor of the governor and the King himself when he returns to Port Royal with a notorious band of pirates and the infamous Black Pearl in his possession."

"You think he doesn't aim to save Elizabeth?"

Gibbs languidly scratched the gray beard on his face, deep in thought. "Perhaps he does, but his pride will always come first. Do not be surprised if it takes days, possibly a week to sail in the direction of the island. That is, if he can find it."

"I'll do anything, Gibbs. Please help me find her!"

The older pirate grabbed the boy's arms to calm him. "Turner! I plan to save Elizabeth, same as you!"

The determined fire gained strength inside of Will, and he brushed off the older man's grip with a renewed enthusiasm. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Gibbs chuckled. "Pick yer battles, son. We be severely outnumbered."

Will crossed his arms defiantly. "Jack and I alone were able to commandeer the Interceptor without a wound to show for it. We're wasting precious time sitting here on this ship when we could be sailing back to that island and saving Elizabeth from starvation, exposure, or worse!"

"Quiet!" Gibbs hissed, grabbing the boy's shirt and practically hauled him to a shaded area of the ship. Two soldiers traipsed by with their weapons tucked under their arms; their boots made mellow clicking noises as they went. "We must wait—"

"For the opportune moment, yes," Will muttered sarcastically.

At sundown of the second day, the last remnants of the rumrunner's cache had been consumed by the two marooned individuals, and he could not help but thank his maker for their discovery of a bottle of amber liquid, buried, unscathed amidst the burned rubble of the cache. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two of them, leaving both to their own thoughts. Jack closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, but the girl remained on his mind. She hadn't entirely left it since the day he first met her, but he was now imagining what had transpired between the two of them their first night since the marooning.

Perhaps he'd gotten what he deserved. Just as she had a plot to get him intoxicated enough to carry out her plans, so he did as well. His scheme had been to get the girl drunk and enjoy himself rightfully while he still had the life in his body to do so, but the plan had backfired in the morning, as she destroyed the cache and his dreams of drinking his way into the grave.

Elizabeth toyed with the end of her dirty shift and sighed, absolutely refusing to look at Jack. The lithe, sun-kissed body spread out in the sand bathed in orange by the firelight reminded her of the actions she'd taken in order to get the man to fall into a rum-soaked slumber. Wasn't as easy as she had anticipated. She supposed she should have contemplated this since he was after all a pirate and on a ship spirits were often considered more trustworthy than water—he, just like so many other sailors, had developed a stealthy tolerance to the effects of the drink, whereas a fair thing like she would be thoroughly inebriated had she attempted to match the magnitude of his consumption.

She moved to pass over him after her contemplation, but he made a throaty chuckle and pulled on her hand until she lay in the crook of his shoulder. She made an exasperated yelp from the sudden downward motion, immediately attempting to escape the confines of his grasp, but she stilled herself at the simple comfort of being embraced by another.

She could feel her pulse thumping wildly in her breast, as she had never been in such a compromising position with a man before and it brought forth irritating and exciting feelings to her insides. She could feel the curve of his ribs against her abdomen, but he avoided turning completely, choosing to lay prone on his back. The sensation of Jack and the fire enveloped her in a blanket of heat. Jack's chest rose and fell gently, calming her racing heart significantly.

"Jack," she whispered over his semi-exposed torso. She hoped with all her might that he was finally asleep, but a tiny, secret, evil-bred feeling buried deep inside of her wanted him to be awake.

Apparently, Fate had decided to listen to this evil desire. Jack's eyes moved beneath the lids. "Hmm?' came a low purr. Elizabeth found she rather liked that sound with her ear crushed against his chest.

"I'm still not drunk enough for that kind of talk," she whispered to cover up the tremble in her voice.

"Ah, but I am, darling," he said in a way that lit her cheeks on fire. Elizabeth wondered what exactly he intended to do since they were lying in quite a suggestive position that would cause her father to faint dead away had he witnessed the sight. But he stirred finally, only to move his square, brown hands from lying unused in the sand up to caress the dip in her waist. This caused all manners of sparks to fire across her skin, especially where the man's weathered fingers pressed into her shift. "Not drunk enough, eh?"

Elizabeth glared, but with her cheek resting on his breastbone, all that caught the withering look was his shirt. And now that his shirt came to attention, she realized that her hand rested near the opened part of it. A pure child-like impulse churned within her to pull the fabric away and look at the twin bullet wound scars tattooed dark by gunpowder. His body, the scars he bore, proved that there were so many tales to be told, sagas she had yet to hear.

"How did it happen, Jack?" she asked timidly, her fingers touching the area where they were hidden.

"Hmm…wha'?" he mumbled.

"The bullet wounds. Where did they come from? Honestly?"

Had she glanced upward, she would have caught his sobering frown. "Oh, yes. Those."

"Did you really get them from an East India Company soldier as you raided their hold off the port of the Hooghly River?"

"I'll say I did! Got the brand not long before then. Some whelp fresh into the rank of lieutenant hardly enough of a man to grow whiskers burnt it into my arm himself."

"And a gypsy woman saved you by dressing as a man and looked after you during your convalescence?"

He grinned at the mention. "Ah, yes. She was a belly dancer from Calcutta, that girl, very talented. I met her a month prior during one of her performances and found her most pleasant. Also provided lovely services afterward."

"What was her name?" Elizabeth asked, her mind vivid with women dancing seductively, colorful silk flying, soldiers shouting.

"She called herself Jasmine, although she eventually admitted it was a name she used for entertainment purposes only. She said she picked it up after moving to that splendid city." He opened his eyes to stare off into the night sky. "Never knew her real name, though we shared many a great moment. She was a spirited lass, more so than yourself, if that is at all possible."

"Probable, you mean?" she teased.

"Ah, right, probable is the correct term. Excellent. I see you've been paying attention." Jack smiled. "She had hair down to her thighs, dear Jasmine. Always in a fuss about brushing it, until she chose to keep it braided."

"Did she braid yours?" the girl asked, touching one of the black plaits carefully.

"Actually, yes, she did."

Elizabeth hummed contentedly. "I would love to see such a place."

"What's stopping you, then? If it is the belief that a woman does not belong aboard a ship, well, I've sailed with many a lady and they can be quite useful."

Elizabeth pushed herself up with an arm, casting a serious glance in his direction. "A lady of my upbringing guarantees a life already planned out and determined for me. Once I return to Port Royal, Commodore Norrington plans to ask for my hand in marriage, and then I will be expected to be at his arm, at court, attending parties, having children, and fawning over his greatness with the other ladies of breeding until I die. As long as I am the governor's daughter, I will never see Calcutta, or Singapore, or any of the other places you've seen."

Jack stared at her uncertainly, and then frowned at her in his usual daft manner. "Well, then, I s'pose you'll have to become a pirate, then!"

"Me, a pirate?" she asked, feigning disgust.

"Why, of course! Seeing as me crew's abandoned their captain, I'll need a first mate." He eyed her with the intensity of a man with one too many drinks in his gut. "You'll have to start with grunt work—swabbing and holystoning the decks, furling sails, running the bilge pump—t'ain't glamorous, but one must start somewhere. Isn't that so?"

"Yes. But it sounds far more interesting than any day in Port Royal."

Jack pushed himself up, shaking the sand from his person and Elizabeth moved to her haunches, still uneasy about the proximity of their bodies. He stuck out a jeweled hand, and she reluctantly grasped his. He shook it firmly. "It's settled then! When we find a way off of this speck, you will be my second-in-command."

Elizabeth watched him amusingly and chuckled, appreciating his humor. She knew the likelihood of her becoming his first mate was nil, but the idea brightened her from the cloying depths of depression that had settled into her consciousness since tumbling overboard the Pearl. "All right, agreed. Now, finish the story of Jasmine, the Calcutta entertainer and your escape from the Hooghly."

He grinned boisterously. "Ah, yes. Where were we?"

"Braids, dancing, and gunfire."

The story continued until Jack noticed the girl had nodded off, head tipped to the side against a well-positioned rock. He'd have been offended if it were anyone else, but he realized with the sudden, burgeoning insight that he was becoming fond of the lass. He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders and settled her into the sand, pausing to watch her small movements. The dastardly, inappropriate pirate in him let his eyes wander past the smoothness of her chest and further over the curve of her breasts and his fingers twitched with the desire to run along the soft surface. But he couldn't do that to the girl. No, he would be a gentleman to this one, although it felt absurd to honor such rules since he made it a point to break them for a living.

He wasn't enough of a proper chap to keep himself from lying next to her, an undignified move for an unmarried woman of station. He grinned at the night sky, and then let his eyes slip closed.