Disclaimer: I do not own Captain Jack Sparrow or Elizabeth Swann (Disney does). I only play with them from time to time.

A/N: Yet another Scarlet Swan! I really have nothing to say, other than SoftStuff is awesome!!

EDIT: I have surpassed myself in dumb blonde moments and totally forgot to add one very important bit, because it wasn't in any of my drafts. head/desk

Anyway, it's back in now.

Honesty

Chapter One: Denial

Jack sashayed across The Empress' deck towards Elizabeth's cabin, nodding at various crew members. They'd become used to him, for the most part. The Pearl had been sailing at their side for enough time to get used to anyone. Jack fancied they even respected him a bit, if only for the standing he held with their Captain. Or used to hold. Now…well, he'd soon see.

He reached Elizabeth's quarters and flung the doors open.

"Good mornin', Lizzie m'dear," he said, cheerfulness wrapped around his voice like a hangman's noose.

She looked up at him from whichever chart she was pouring over now with unfocused eyes.

"Oh. Hello," she said, and went back to her chart.

"There's a welcome in the valleys," he muttered.

"Mmm," she said absently, reaching for a cigarette smoldering in a dish. She winced and rubbed her shoulder.

"How is it today?" he asked.

"It's been worse," she said, brusquely. Jack frowned, but didn't pursue the subject. She could be touchy about it—touchy for Elizabeth meaning chucking things across the room. Not that he really blamed her, admitting any weakness was a hazard in their line of work, but…one would think she'd at least be able to talk to him. But she didn't. Not even right after it happened. He could remember it with piercing clarity, that day. The fight had been over before it really began, the one ship no match for two, especially their two, especially the way they worked together. They had boarded in a matter of minutes, so easy it seemed. But some enterprising soul with more guts than brains and more cleverness than common sense had the bright idea to swing a boom around and Jack had turned round to see a bloody great pole bearing down on his head. He had had enough time to think "oh, bugger" before something cannoned into the back of him and he hit the deck. And then he had turned around to see what had hit him and he saw Elizabeth sprawled unmoving on the deck, her golden hair streaked with red that wasn't dye, blood pooling from her parted lips and a dirty great spike of splintered wood protruding from her shoulder.

It had been the most frightening moment of his life.

It turned out she'd been luckier than he thought, and certainly luckier than either of them deserved—most of the blood in her hair turned out to be other people's, the blood on her lips from a tooth knocked loose, and the spike, by some miracle of angles and angels, had only gone through skin and muscle. But if he lived forever and forgot all else, he would remember her unnatural stillness in that moment and the way it hit him like a cannonball in the gut.

That had been three months ago. The blood washed off, and the wound healed, and she now flashed her own golden grin when she smiled, but that smile was all too rare these days, and it wasn't the only thing. Ah well. Tonight…he had high hopes for tonight. He strode up to her desk and planted his hands on either side of her own.

"So tell me, darling, what treasure are you after this time?" he asked, trying to make sense of the upside down markings.

"This isn't a treasure map, Jack, it's a map of the Haitian coast."

"Ah, so it is. And why are we looking at a map of the Haitian coast?"

"Because Capitaine Chevalle is sailing his merry way toward us and I have to figure out where the bloody hell we'll meet."

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glowered at the chart.

"What's he doing that for?"

"Dinner. Well, it's a business meeting, really, but it's over dinner."

"Oh," said Jack. "I see."

Elizabeth glanced up at him.

"What is it, Jack?"

Jack shrugged.

"Nothing. It's just…well, he's a Frenchman."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I just don't like the idea of you being alone with a Frenchman."

"He's at least thirty years older than me, I'm better with a knife, and from what I've heard, his amorous Gallic proclivities don't tend towards the female kind. Anyway," she continued, looking back at the map, "I won't be alone. You'll be there."

"That might not be the best of ideas, love…" said Jack, carefully. She frowned.

"Hell's teeth, is there anyone you haven't offended?"

"No. Well, let me think…no. At least, not anyone I've met." He grinned at her as she rolled her eyes.

"Did you come in here for a reason?"

"Yes, actually, I did. I came because it seems an awfully long time since we had a moment alone together and since tonight looks to be the type of night of which poets sing, or singers write, or someone composes sickly arts in the name of love, I figured you might want to break our long string of lonely nights and spend one together, eh? Just me and you and a bottle of rum..." he murmured seductively. "What do you say, love?"

Elizabeth's gaze flickered up to him, and just for a moment he thought he saw something like longing in her eyes. And then her gaze dropped back to that infernal map and he almost thought he imagined it.

"Sounds lovely, Jack, but I really haven't the time at the moment…"

Jack stepped back.

"No, you wouldn't would you?"

Elizabeth looked up and focused on him for the first time since he came in.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that you never have time for old Jack anymore."

Elizabeth sighed.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's—"

He put up his hands.

"No. It's fine. Enjoy your charts and your Frenchman."

He turned to leave.

"Jack…"

He turned back. Elizabeth looked at him, that old lost, frightened look visible in her eyes for a half second.

"You promised me you'd never try to take more than I can give. I'm trying…"

"No," he said, stubbornly. "You're not. You were, I'll grant you that, but you're not anymore."

"Jack, I promise I will, but I can't tonight—"

"It's not just tonight, Elizabeth! It's been like this since that damn fight! The last time we actually talked was in Jamaica! What the hell have I done to offend you? I don't even know where we're sailing anymore, I'm just following you around like a blind dog, and I'm bloody tired of it! How long will you keep shutting me out?"

"I'm not shutting you out! I'm just—I'm just—"

"Oh, be honest with yourself!"

"I am being honest!"

"No, you're not. You're doing just what you did with Will. You're too busy, you don't talk and every time I try, you lose your rag, because you just can't face your own demons! I swear, Elizabeth, sometimes I can't blame him for what he did!"

Elizabeth went very, very still, her hands suddenly gripping the table so hard her knuckles turned white. Jack realized what he had just said.

"Oh, God, what a horrible thing to say. I—"

"Get out," she said quietly, still looking at the table.

"Lizzie—"

She raised her eyes to his, hard and glittering like topaz, like a tiger's.

"Get. Out."

He left.