I.

I'm not exactly certain he's the best man for the job, here, love.

Elizabeth.

Bess, he lears, taking a bite of bread

Then who would be, in your opinion?

The best man for the job?

Do you try to be maddening, or does it just come naturally?

It's a talent.

Jack. I asked you a question.

He nods. He loves you well enough, I'll give him that. But…he seems a bit poncy, doesn't he?

Poncy?

Not the right man for you, deary.

Jack.

Now William…he's better, I suppose, if you like whelps. A bit less of a to do, about him, anyway. But just the same, you could do without a dozen children and a eunuch of a husband.

Oh? And where did the children come from, I wonder?

His grin is so full of pride and conceit she wonders at his ability to hold his head atop his neck.

Don't be ridiculous, Jack.

You wanted to know.

Instead of responding, she takes a swig of rum from the bottle perched precariously close to the edge of the side table.

Now, if you really want to know who I think would fit the job title of 'Lizabeth Lover –

Jack!

– and I'll thank ye not to interrupt me. As I was saying, in my, humble, indifferent, completely uninterested opinion -

I don't want to know.

He chuckled. Yes you do. You just don't know what you'd do with the answer, love.

Elizabeth.

Lizzie.

II.

There are moments. When she wishes Jack had let Will die, and that he'd stabbed the heart himself, and let her drown in the maelstrom. They are dark moments, when all she sees is Will walking away from her.

Nathan brings her back. Sometimes it is his voice, calling her to show her some new thing he's found, sometimes a hand tugging at her skirts or lying softly on her hair, sometimes it is merely his eyes catching hers, so that she can see the smile in them.

It is Nathan, always Nathan, who shows her life, and eventually, she knows, there will no longer be moments. In the meantime, she takes them for what they are, and promises that she will always miss Will, even though his face blurs at the edges, now, and when she thinks on his memory, she can't quite remember his smile.

She thinks it must have looked like Nathan's.

III.

I have to go.

He seems a bit disgruntled as she stands, and the pout that greets her when she turns back to him is so comically childish she lets out a bark of laughter. Fine. Laugh at me, take me rum, and shackle me up, all in one fell swoop. Never liked you all that much, anyway.

You're ridiculous.

You like it.

She smiles as she fingers the manacles that she'd let Jack out of nearly an hour previously.

Jack holds out his hands, grins at her. Go on, clap 'im in irons. I know how it goes.

She reaches out and closes the cuffs, ignoring the way his fingers stroke the soft skin on the inside of her wrists, and the way his eyes follow her while she goes about picking up a tray, the bottle of rum.

She stops at the door, looking back at Jack. Tomorrow, then, deary, he says, and she smiles, turning and slipping out of his room.

It is later, much later, that she thinks back on it. And she finds it ironic that the first time she shackled him in anything, he held out his hands.

IV.

Gov'ner Swann.

Captain.

Jack swings forward, wondering what could possibly make the governor want to visit him like this. The door shuts behind him.

My daughter has been to see you, Swann says, glancing about the room.

'snot my fault. I told her not to.

Weatherby laughs. He actually laughs, and Jack studies him. Wonders what kind of man he is, to have a daughter like Elizabeth.

Captain Sparrow, if anything could stop her from doing exactly as she pleased, I'd give you my wig and become a pirate myself.

Jack thinks Elizabeth might be lucky to have a father like Weatherby Swann.

Elizabeth seems quite unwilling to talk about what…happened between her abduction and…the island, Captain.

Ah. And you want to know if any of us pirates sullied her, is that it?

Sparrow –.

I can assure you she'd 'ave cut off any necessary body parts long before they could be used, governor.

Well!

I suppose the fact that I've not ruined your daughter won't change your mind as far as my execution goes, will it?

He caught a flash of something – regret, perhaps – in Swann's eyes, but the man was at the door already.

I've pardoned more men these past few days then in all my time as a governor, Sparrow. But you're too well known.

Then William's to be given clemency?

I had to give one of you pardon, or I'd never hear the end of it from Elizabeth. As it is…

Jack shot a glance at him.

Farewell, Captain Sparrow.

Gov'ner.

V.

Good boy, Nathan is.

Elizabeth takes another wheezing breath, and ignores the worried look Jack shoots her. Shrugs off the hand on her shoulder.

Bit surprised he listens to his mother quite so well, he finally says, and reaches for the teapot and a cup and saucer.

Just because I never listened to my father doesn't mean I'll let Nathan run wild. I'm a bit more stern than him.

God rest 'im.

Elizabeth smiles. Since when did he believe in God?

His look is heated, but more than that, it is caring. He tugs the blanket up around her shoulders, and she accepts the cup of tea he holds out for her. Since when did she let anyone else care for her?

VI.

It is a dream. She knows this. But she can't help but invest herself in it.

She is on the Pearl. She's on the Pearl, and they are just leaving port. Jack is surveying the new crew that has accumulated, and she has purposely put herself as far away from him as she can.

Hopefully, if they are far enough out to sea, he will not turn back.

He's holding what she thinks might be Articles, and tells herself that she's ridiculous, because she knows Jack never bothered with Articles. Perhaps that was the reason he'd been mutinied upon so many times.

Or perhaps it was just that Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't the greatest captain in existence.

He's getting closer. He is speaking to a man only slightly taller than Marty, and she feels a grin tug at her face as the ship catches, rocking forward and then moving smoothly, swiftly in the wind that has caught in the Pearls sails.

In the dream, time moves more swiftly than she might like, and Jack Sparrow is before her. She notices the Articles are gone, and that his hat is slightly crooked.

She takes a deep breath, and he tugs the hat off her head in one swift motion. Her hair falls in a mess about her face, and he gives her a leering grin. Bit waifish, for a sailor, aren't you?

She feels a smile pulling at her lips. Hello Jack.

Welcome back, Miss Swann.

Lizzie, she says, yanking her hat out of his hand and moving to greet Gibbs.

She can feel his gaze on her back, and for a split second her mind wanders to Will. Then the thought is gone, and instead she is being hauled into a hug by Pintel.

VII.

She is pulled from her slumber by the smell of something burning, and barely takes the time to throw on a robe as she bolts down the stairs.

She stops short at the sight of Jack and Nathan, both of them holding large pans and waving them back and forth, trying to blow smoke out of her kitchen. They look absurd. Nathan has a cooking glove on one hand, and there are spots of oil all down his shirt. Jack is wearing her apron, and his dreadlocks have all been pulled back and tied with a length of leather. His shoes have gone missing, and she remembers her father kicking a boot under the bed.

Nathan catches sight of her, and the pan stops its fanning motion.

Mum!

Jack's head swings around, and she feels her face heat a bit as he takes her in.

What is going on here? she asks. Nathan smiles guiltily up at her.

We tried to make you breakfast.

Did you also try to burn the house down?

She laughs when they point fingers accusingly at each other.

VIII.

This isn't right, she tells him through the bars, and it's all he can do not to grin.

You've done all you could, Bess.

The look she shoots him is an angry one. And it wasn't enough, was it, Jack? It's never enough.

He catches her hand, holds it through the bars. It was enough for me.

She softens. Reaches through the bars with her free hand and brushes his sleeve up, away from his wrist, and smoothes two fingers across the sparrow tattooed on his arm. Jack…

Got it in Singapore, he says softly, closing his eyes as she continues to caress the softer skin of his underarm. A woman did it for a few good pirate stories, and those I came by much more easily than currency…

She smiles at him, and he thinks, even if he dies tomorrow, for tonight he will tell this woman stories, for she's given him something he can't pay for any other way.

IX.

He's been threatening to leave for weeks, but something – a stray glance, a pleading Nathan, the cough that's never left – has always kept him.

And she has tired of it. Wishes he would make up his mind. Leave. Stay. Give her some inkling of what he really wants. And as they yell at each other, she is quite certain what she most wants is for Jack Sparrow to disappear from her life forever.

Get out! Get out of my house!

Fine! he yells back at her. I will!

Good!

They both know how ridiculous they sound.

That's what you do, isn't it? You leave, and then you come back whenever it suits you! I swear to God, Jack Sparrow, if you leave here you're never coming back!

What in the world are you talking about, woman? he asks, his voice lowering, and he is suddenly looking at her differently. Not angry, anymore, but something else.

Seven months, Jack! You left seven months ago.

What –?

I spent seven months telling Nathan that you'd come back, that surely there was some reason why you weren't here, why…

He takes a step closer and her voice breaks.

No! I said get out!

Elizabeth.

No!

He grabs her shoulders, shoves her backward into the wall.

Let me go!

Yes, seven months. I spent five of them in a Spanish jail cell, Elizabeth, and believe me, I'd much rather have been here than there!

Her voice is soft. Let go of me. Leave me alone.

He pushes her against the wall again, leans forward, and kisses her fiercely. When he pulls away, she is clutching at him, legs wrapped around his waist, her eyes dark, her expression ardent, heady. No, he says, and pulls her back from the wall, moving towards her bedroom. Never.