A/N: The food poisoning is history. I feel better now, only preparing for my 10-days sailing trip. I'll be away from 09.02-09.11, so don't be alarmed if there is no update then.

Thank you for all of the amazing reviews. I enjoy every kind of feedback. Many of you were concerned about the certain event that happened in chapter 6. All I can say is that I want this story to be as canon as possible. I'm deeply sorry if some of you don't like where I'm going to with this fic, but I cannot change something that has already been set in stone in my mind. That said, I do hope you will continue reading it even despite some of my ideas.

Disclaimer: Now, for the eighth time - I do not own them. I wish I did, but I don't. I'm just a geek who likes to write stories which give no profit. Pathetic really, but what can you do?

Rating: Strong M for this chapter. So if you're too young, stay away! (What? I'm obliged to say this; it does not mean I actually mean it.)

Chapter 7

Emotionally Yours

Come baby, find me, come baby, remind me of where I once begun.
Come baby, show me, show me you know me, tell me you're the one.
I could be learning, you could be yearning to see behind closed doors.
But I will always be emotionally yours.

Come baby, rock me, come baby, lock me into the shadows of your heart.
Come baby, teach me, come baby, reach me, let the music start.
I could be dreaming but I keep believing you're the one I'm livin' for.
And I will always be emotionally yours.

It's like my whole life never happened,
When I see you, it's as if I never had a thought.
I know this dream, it might be crazy,
But it's the only one I've got.

Come baby, shake me, come baby, take me, I would be satisfied.
Come baby, hold me, come baby, help me, my arms are open wide.
I could be unraveling wherever I'm traveling, even to foreign shores.
But I will always be emotionally yours.

"Emotionally Yours" Bob Dylan

xxx

How shall a man sail the dangerous and uncharted waters, with no stars to guide him and show him his heading? How can he know which path is right, when his compass is broken, the needle pointing persistently to his inevitable downfall? He has no answers, only questions which bring no peace to his weary soul, as he crosses the oceans, waiting. Because always he waits for something he cannot, or is afraid to name. And so he is lost.

He thought, once, that at last he had found his star, a direction to lead him out of the mist. But he was mistaken, and the price he paid for this mistake was high, the wandering sailor was lost among the living.

And yet the waves whisper he has returned to the world, his heart heavy with melancholy and eyes dark with unnameable shadows, still waiting and searching, balancing on the edge of life and death but with no star glowing constantly at the horizon to show him his way this time. And in his hour of despair, the sea joins him as he weeps.

xxx

"That was a bloody stupid mistake, if you asked me," a voice resounded in the darkest corner of the hold, coming from somewhere behind the numerous barrels. "Bloody stupid mistake made by a bloody stupid fool, namely - Jack Sparrow. In fact, it would probably win you the trophy of William Turner in the category of most dim-witted acts in the history of mankind." There was a sound as if someone was downing a bottle of drink. "But why did you do this? Have you finally lost your mind?" A sigh, followed by another gulp. "First, become immortal. After that, you can play a hero, if that is what you so pathetically desire, but not the other way round. Definitely not the other way."

Jack was not hiding. He was definitely not hiding, just checking the supplies. Right now he was simply going through the rum. After the storm had passed, he had come back to the first mate's cabin but the much needed sleep had not come, as the unwanted thoughts had kept him awake. Hundreds of times, the events of the previous night appeared before his eyes - each time showing him, with every painful detail, how close he was to losing his life, and to losing her as well. Maybe, once, he would have named it an occupational hazard, but never before had he felt like this, like maybe it was not worth it after all.

And so now, bottle after bottle, he was trying to soothe his nerves and find logic in his late night ponderings, but to no avail - yet. He reached to his belt and unfastened the compass. He flipped the lid open - revealing the needle which moved swiftly, settling on one point. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, indecision or wavering, and no denial . . . this time. "Bloody, buggering hell," he cursed under his breath, but the compass did not change its mind and Jack closed it furiously.

"It was supposed to end," he muttered, taking a swig from the bottle.

Why exactly?

"She killed me."

She came back for you. And then, yesterday, she saved your life.

"She felt guilty."

Same difference. You're still alive.

"How can you - no, how can I be trying to justify her actions? Why do I even want to forgive her?!"

You have already forgiven her. You know you have , you old fool. And you do exactly know why . . .

"Do not."

Of course you do . . .

Jack took another mouthful of rum. "Even if I - do, whatever it is you're insinuating, it does not change anything. There is still a matter of certain William Turner. God knows why, but she loves him. Him, not me, never me. No, nein, non."

So she is not yours. When has it ever stopped you from taking what you wanted?

"No… no, this would be wrong, she would never forgive herself, and she would never forgive me for that matter."

Then leave, Jack. Arrange for yourself another passage from Tortuga, you don't have to go with her. Save yourself before it's too late.

A sad smile appeared on Jack's lips. "What makes you think it already isn't too late?"

He stared into the blackness of the hold, stretching his limbs on the dirty, dusty floor. So many years he had lived in solitude, and it really had been enough. A bottle of rum, a wench by his side and a vessel to sail the seas was all he wanted from life. But it changed. It changed the very moment he had laid his eyes on the beautiful, deceitful Governor's daughter. And he could not forget, he could not leave, because he knew their paths would always cross leading him back to her. He was drawn to her, like a moth is drawn to the flame, and every time she praised him with her warmth, he knew he was just one step from his ruin, but there was no other way for him, he could not leave anymore.

He put his head into his hands closing his eyes, and suddenly he felt raindrops falling on his face and heard the cries of men fighting around him. He saw Elizabeth, weeping over dying Will, and then his own hand, helping the boy pierce the heart of Davy Jones. How could he watch her suffer so? He had no choice. It was the least he could do for taking away her old life from her, taking away her family and friends, because he had stolen it all. Pirate. Beckett had always wanted only him, it had never been about them, it had not been their war, but in the end she had lost more than most. It had not been her war.

Jack almost cried out loud, as a jolt of pain ran through his skull. Oh this time it would be more entertaining than ever. Opium, he needed it, if not for the physical suffering then to just simply forget for a minute, a few seconds really. Slowly, he rose to his feet and moved toward the stairs, when a shadow blocked the passage. Of course, your timing is, like always, impeccable, love.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss … I'm sorry, Captain Swann?"

Elizabeth moved a few steps and sat on the nearest barrel.

"In about two hours we will be in Tortuga."

"You came here to inform me about our progress?" he asked in disbelief.

"No, I- ah, actually I came to apologize, for what I said yesterday. It was uncalled for and downright rude, I'm sorry," she blurted out the sentence, as if she had it memorized by heart.

"Do not fret yourself over it, love. It's always good to say the truth. Otherwise, it will not let your sleep, now if you'll excuse me-"

"Jack," she caught him by his hand as he tried to walk past her. "I did not mean it. I really didn't. It's just... I miss my father; I miss him so much . . ." her voice cracked and Jack winced, not really knowing if it was his head that was aching, or heart. He reached in her direction and for a second he thought he would touch her, hold her, cast the shadows away from her face, but then he realized he was not strong enough anymore to comfort her, maybe he never was, and his hand froze in midair and then lowered back to his side. He watched the tears mark little paths on her cheeks and he knew he could not add more regrets to her already miserable life, because she did not deserve it. He paled as another wave of pain went through his head and with all his might he restrained himself from rubbing his temples, realizing that Elizabeth for the last few seconds had been observing him suspiciously, her thoughts averted from sad memories.

"Jack," she said quietly, the recent tears still audible in her voice, "Are you alright? You look ill."

"I'm bloody fine," he answered, fighting to keep his voice steady, not letting the nausea take over him. "But I really have to go now . . . Places to visit, people to meet. You understand "

Jack moved to leave, but Elizabeth placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and he almost screamed when the world before his eyes shattered to pieces in a one flash of white. He cast her hand away in a violent movement, barely registering she flinched in pain as her hand flung down to her side, her big eyes staring at him in concern and hurt. But he could not stay there to apologize. He rushed off to his cabin, almost tripping over the cargo in the hold, not able to see clearly through the mist of agony with only one thought on his mind - to ease this horrible pain.

xxx

A glass of opium infusion took the edge off his suffering, but did not bring the sleep he yearned for so much. Instead, the vivid visions he was experiencing all day only increased their frequency and he wondered if there would ever come a time when he would just be able to rest, not haunted by the memories of the things that had been.

He lay on his bed, when the tumult on the deck and the cries of the men informed him they had reached their destination. A flicker of hope lit in his heart. The Pearl. Maybe she was there, maybe he would just take her and be free of everything. Could he not run from his ghosts? He rose from his bed and took off to the deck, but when he got there it took him only one stare to know the truth. The Pearl was not in the port. Jack's heart sank. He turned around, not wanting to look at the nearing docks anymore, and then his eyes met Elizabeth's. She was at the stern, but he could tell she was looking directly at him, with sadness in her eyes, and her pity was too much for him to bear.

He was the first to leave the Empress when it finally moored in the harbor, and he did not look back to see the concerned look Elizabeth cast him as she was shouting orders at her crew. He crossed the busy streets of Tortuga, occasionally acknowledging with a nod people he knew. The headache he had felt before had ceased completely and now only the heaviness of his limbs and the slight stupor of his mind were reminding him of the narcotic.

He headed his steps toward his favorite tavern, the "Faithful Bride" and soon he was inside, one of the few occupants who decided to spend their time there at this early hour; it would be a few hours before the place would start crowding, even though it was almost nightfall, but until then he would have the peace and quiet he needed.

He took the table in the corner of the inn, far from the prying eyes of anyone who would want to become his acquaintance tonight, all of the girls here knew that whoever took this seat, wanted to be left alone and undisturbed. This was a place a man took if he wanted to drink himself into oblivion. A few minutes passed and a black-haired woman appeared by his chair to take his order.

"Whisky," he said and she raised her brow questioningly.

"Excuse me, but are you not Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Not tonight, lass," he smiled darkly. "Tonight I'm a man who is thirsty like hell. And I want whisky."

Without any further comments or questions, the girl went away and after a moment returned with a bottle and a cup. She poured him a good measure of the golden liquor and was about to leave when he caught her by her wrist. "Leave the bottle, darling."

The woman looked at him in a strange way but said nothing and left him with his whisky and his thoughts. A very poetic combination, as it were.

"Drink up me hearties," he said before emptying the whole cup in one swift movement of his well-trained wrist. The drink burned his throat but Jack welcomed the fire in his mouth with pleasure. God, two more weeks, maybe three and he would be immortal, finally free from the bloody Elizabeth Swann. But did he really want to be free? Could he?

He was downing another cup when he realized that someone was observing him. He looked up and his eyes met the eyes of one of the people he really did not want to meet this night.

"Giselle!" he greeted the woman with fake enthusiasm in his voice, "Forgive me for not inviting you to join me, but I'm in the middle of something, as you can see. You do understand, I hope."

"Oh, I do understand … you're in the middle of getting impossibly drunk. But I will not leave you unless you tell me why you are sitting here with nothing but a bottle of whisky. Is the rum gone?"

"I'm really not in the mood, Giselle."

"The Jack Sparrow I know is always in the mood," she tilted her head to the side and smiled teasingly.

"Maybe the Jack Sparrow you know has changed," he said and Giselle's face fell as she looked at him closely, but he continued. "And what have you done with our dear Scarlett? I don't think I've seen her tonight. Usually she does not let you talk to me all by your onesies for such a long time."

"Scarlett, she's... she's dead," Giselle answered, the pain clearly audible in her voice.

"What? How?" for the first time since he had entered the tavern, he seemed distracted from his own thoughts and nightmares. In fact, he seemed shocked and concerned.

"It happened a few weeks ago. She needed money so she took a man she did not know. And … he slaughtered her, like she was an animal " her voice broke.

"I'm sorry Giselle, I really am… if I could help…"

"There's nothing you can do. They caught that beast; he was hung."

"But are you alright?"

"Jack," she placed her hand upon his. "I'll be fine, but you … I've known you for years and I've never seen you like this. I don't know what ails you, but if I cannot help you otherwise, let me at least take your mind off the things that have left you so restless." As she spoke, her other hand caressed his thigh and Jack felt there was a part of him that needed her touch, her closeness. And so he nodded, closing his fingers around the bottle, letting Giselle take him from his table and upstairs, to the room in which he had once been a frequent visitor, hoping it would give him a moment of peace.

xxx

The sun was almost setting when Elizabeth finally finished her duties at the Empress and could go to enjoy the vibrant evening in Tortuga. She had been here before, once, but could hardly remember a thing; she had been so worried about Will and her father that the details of the town were blurred before her eyes now, and she felt as if she had never seen this place in her life. Once she might have found it filthy but after all the events of the past year she could only feel joy from seeing so many people around her, knowing it was also by her doing that they could be free now.

She remembered the way to the "Faithful Bride" and decided to go there, hoping she would find Jack and force him to talk to her. He was so difficult to understand sometimes, like this morning, in the hold, when he had almost hit her. Had she hurt him so much with her words that he could not forgive her? Had she destroyed the delicate bond that had been building between them ever since they had met for the first time, and which she then had broken so brutally by leaving him for Kraken to feast upon? She was now desperately trying to restore whatever had been lost, put together the pieces of their friendship, but it seemed he did not want it and maybe she ought to respect his wishes.

Sometimes, when he looked at her, she thought she saw…, but she was just fooling herself. There maybe had been a time when he could look at her without disgust, and even though he did not seek revenge for her betrayal, even though he helped her whenever she needed his help, there in the hold his eyes had told her the truth, they had spoken of the depths of his indifference, no, worse - of his detestation.

But it was so hard, so bloody hard . She needed his presence although she knew she shouldn't. It was dangerous, and she could not trust herself. She had already proved how fickle her feelings could be, when she had been sailing with Jack not more than a year before. How fast had Will's image disappeared from before her eyes, when Jack had looked at her with those inscrutable eyes of his? And now… when she felt so lonely, so horribly lonely and hurting... She had loved Will almost all her life and yet would she have agreed to marry him, had they not been in the midst of the battle?

Of course, I loved him... I do love him... still.

But do I love him enough? Enough to stay true?

And Elizabeth could not find answers to those questions as she crossed the Tortuga's streets, in her search for Captain Jack Sparrow. She finally found the tavern, and with a sudden hopeful feeling she went inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness in the not yet fully lit room. She scanned it, hoping she was not mistaken and Jack really was there, when her eyes noticed a movement in the other part of the inn and she recognized the man sitting behind the table, talking to one of the women working there. She began moving, but something about the way they were conversing made her stop and not let her presence be known. She stood behind a pillar, as the two continued their talk and then she watched as the woman touched Jack, and how she led him to the rooms upstairs.

Elizabeth went outside, her heart beating frantically, not willing to stay in the "Faithful Bride" a second longer. As she walked back to the docks, tears streamed down her face, although she could not tell why she was crying over something she had no rights to, over losing someone who had never belonged to her.

xxx

Jack closed the door behind him and Giselle went to light the candles in the room. He approached the window and stared through it into the night. Below, on the street, the town was coming to life, and with every passing second more and more people crowded the alleys.

As he stood there, Giselle came to him from behind and took his coat off, putting it gently on a chair. She then placed her hands upon his strained shoulders, beginning to massage him. With every move of her skilled fingers tension left him and he wondered where she had learnt those tricks that melted every man she placed her hands upon. Soon her fingers wandered down his sides and he sighed when the gentle palms slipped underneath his shirt, caressing the skin upon his chest, exploring every inch of his muscular body.

And then her lips touched his neck, and he hissed through his teeth when she bit his ear, sending shivers down his spine. She was rewarded with another moan, when her fingertips stroked his already hardening nipples. Still standing behind him, Giselle let her hands slide down the naked skin, right to the hard bulge forming at the front his breeches. Jack closed his eyes, as she rubbed him through the thin material and instantly a familiar face appeared before his mind's eye. Oh Christ, if he could not have her, if she did not want him, then at least he would have this, even if it was as far from reality as it could possibly be. If only she would let him... Elizabeth, weeping from pleasure underneath his tongue, wriggling madly when he would touch her, stroke in all the right places, driving her insane. She was there, in his head, every second of every hour, the sweetest torture. Elizabeth, Lizzie. Oh Christ.

His head arched backwards as Giselle's hand slipped under the band of his breaches. Her clever fingers moved up and down his length until he was so hard he thought one more touch would send him over the edge, but then she stopped her movements and moved her attention back to his neck and chest, not letting him finish yet, wanting to prolong his pleasure. She walked around him, standing between him and the window. Her tongue touched the brown skin on his torso, circling the nipples, and then traveled downwards, tracing wet paths on his body. She knelt before Jack and he sighed when she finally freed his throbbing cock from the breeches, pulling them down to his ankles. She ran her fingers up his inner tights, ever so gently, almost as if she was teasing him with delicate feathers, but did not let her palms even brush his manhood.

At last she neared her head to his pulsating shaft and blew hot air at the velvety tip. He cried, when her warm, wet lips finally closed around him and her head began moving rhythmically. His breathing changed into frantic panting, as she continued her ministrations upon him, her hands squeezing his buttocks gently. She massaged his cock with her restless tongue until he could take it no more. The orgasm was sudden and powerful. Jack held to the wall for support, afraid his legs would give in, had he let go. He breathed hard when Giselle cleaned him with her tongue. She then rose from her knees, and took off her dress, letting it fall to the ground, and naked moved toward the bed.

"Come Jack," she said and he obliged, lying down by her in the surprisingly clean sheets. Her hand begun wandering across his chest and lower, but he caught her palm and brought it to his lips to kiss the tips of her fingers. She understood.

"Who's Elizabeth?" she asked after a moment and Jack stirred.

"What?" he looked at her with danger in his eyes.

"Jack, usually I do not care what men call me when I am with them, but you are my friend and I do care… for you. It was her name that was on your lips every time I touched you. I know it is none of my business, but- "

"You're right, it is none of your business," he cut her off but she continued.

"Is she the reason for the shadows underneath your eyes?"

"Giselle, when I pay for the use of your mouth, I hardly mean talking," he sneered.

"Oh Jack," she smiled. "If I thought you were serious, I would slap you. But you don't mean it." Her hand flew to his cheek, caressing him fondly.

His eyes softened, but he rose from the bed, and begun putting his clothes on.

Giselle sat up on the bed, not bothering covering her milky-white breasts. "I'm sorry; I should not have bothered you with my questions. Please stay…"

"Thank you, darling, but I don't think it's going to do me any good now. I have to go," he fastened his belts around his slim waist. "How much do I owe you?"

"Let's call it an old friend's favor."

Jack smiled at her but took out a bag of coins nevertheless, and placed it on the table, next to the candle. "I don't know for how long it's going to last, but it should be enough for at least a few weeks, maybe months. In return… just… promise me to be careful for whom you work, that's all."

Giselle's eyes watered as she looked at this beautiful man, standing there so flawed and yet so worthy of love and warmth, and she did not understand how it could be that from all of the women in the world who would have given him their hearts so gladly, he had to chose one who apparently did not want to belong to him.

"You have a big heart, Jack," she said at last.

"And it seems to be my curse, love," he grinned, although there was only sadness in his eyes, and then he went out of her room, and out of the tavern, into the darkness of Tortuga's night, and his feet took him to the docks.

xxx

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