Angelica wakes slowly, her eyelids still heavy and tired. They open reluctantly and she blinks away the remnants of another bad night's sleep until the familiar wood planks above her head come into focus.

Sleep doesn't come easily anymore, hasn't since her failed quest for the Fountain of Youth.

Her failed quest for her father.

She sighs and stretches, grimacing at the way her body aches. She couldn't have slept more than an hour all night. Her mind races in the dark, thoughts running together, fading into a constant buzz that keeps her tossing and turning. Thoughts consumed by Jack Sparrow. He is a presence in the depths of her consciousness, bleeding into every minute, every second of the day. He took everything she had - her innocence, her future, her father. There was nothing left, just an empty space for her anger to take root and plans of revenge to blossom.

Closing her eyes, she settles back against the bed, momentarily losing herself in the lazy sway of the ship until a slow realization washes over her.

"We are not moving," she says, her voice a low whisper in the quiet room. "We are not moving," she repeats loudly, her eyes flying open. Frustration gets the better of her and she pushes off her blanket and sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

A frown creasing her brow, she reaches for her jacket and quickly pulls it on before swiping her hand under her pillow, grabbing the voodoo doll and stuffing it in the inner pocket. She keeps it with her at all times, the opportunity it offers too great to risk losing.

She emerges from her cabin still straightening her hat to find the Queen Anne's Revenge anchored and bustling with activity. Someone shouts "manned and ready!" and she turns toward the voice to see several men about to lower one of the boats into the ocean. She looks out over the water and sees an island nearby. Turning back, she searches the men below, ready to demand answers, but doesn't see who she's looking for.

The crew continues to rush around but they avoid looking at her, dropping their heads when they notice her. It's her own doing. She rarely leaves her cabin and when she does, it's to make her presence felt, to bark orders or intimidate. They still respond to her as if she is the first mate and she encourages it, knowing well the benefits of having those around you cower in fear rather than look you in the eye.

"You!" she says finally, pointing to the nearest man. He looks up, startled. "Where's the captain? Where's Barbossa?"

He hesitates before pointing to the island.

She groans low in her throat and quickly makes her way down the stairs, annoyed with these side trips.

"Wait!" She hurries toward the men about to lower the rowboat, their surprise obvious as they look up at her. "Move," she orders.

They glance at each other, unsure of her intentions and step away from the railing, allowing her the space to move past them and climb down into the boat. Once she is settled, the boat is lowered the rest of the way to the water.

The trip to shore is quick and Angelica soon finds herself trudging through the sand, anxious to find Barbossa. She doesn't know the reason for these expeditions and for the first time she wonders if she made the right decision the day Barbossa picked her up from the island where Jack left her stranded.

At first she thought it was a mirage when she saw her father's ship in the distance but, as the rowboats began approaching the island, she realized it was indeed real. She could see the intrigue in Barbossa's eyes as he spotted her but he did his best to mask it once he and his crew had made it to shore.

"And why should I help you?" he asked, leaning toward her.

Refusing to back down, she leaned in even closer. "What do you want in return?"

He looked her up and down, sizing her up. "I have an opening for a first mate."

"No," she said quickly, the voodoo doll gripped tightly in her hand. "I want Sparrow."

The grim line of his mouth curled into a grotesque smirk. "Well, in that case, there's always room for one more."

It was well over a week ago when she asked instead to be dropped off at first port, planning to improvise once they arrive. She is confident she can find herself a new ship and crew, even if it means donning a sickeningly familiar costume. But they have gotten no closer with these endless side trips. If she were first mate, or had at least pretended to take the position, she would know exactly what Barbossa's plans entail. She may have even been able to use her powers of persuasion to change those plans because at this rate, they would never get to port and she would never get her revenge.

She trails behind the crew as they delve further into the island along a well-worn path, pushing aside low-hanging branches and stepping over deeply embedded tree roots. It's not long before the heel of her boot catches on one, forcing her to stop.

Ignoring the rough bark against the skin of her hand, she leans against the nearest tree and inspects for damage as the men, already well ahead of her, continue on, not noticing she is no longer with them.

Their voices quickly grow distant, leaving behind only the sounds of the jungle, the sounds of nature. Annoyed but finding no damage, she straightens to follow after them but before she can take a step, she hears something under the occasional high-pitched caw and the rustling of leaves.

It's a man's voice, speaking in low tones.

Drawn to the sound, she takes several steps off the path, the bushes snagging at her clothes as she inches forward. A clearing appears through the trees in front of her and she shields herself half-heartedly behind one before peering in, her eyes quickly landing on him.

Philip.

She has seen him several times walking the ship. He keeps to himself. She doesn't know what happened to him after the battle at the Fountain, just that he was found washed up on an island shortly before the Queen Anne's Revenge picked her up. She has not spoken to him nor has he approached her but, unlike the others, he never looks down or cowers in her presence. Perhaps feeling protected by his faith, she thinks bitterly.

He sits reclining against a large, mossy tree trunk, the canopy of leaves and vines providing a much needed respite, though his skin still glistens with sweat. His eyes are closed as he murmurs a quiet prayer, an air of peace surrounding him. The peace that passes understanding she's sure. It has been out of her reach for years, since she discovered sin so close and heaven so far.

She sees him reach for the cross that hangs around his neck and can't help but remember the rosary she used to clutch in her hand. And the way it fell from her grasp as she tumbled back onto her modest bed with a mysterious stranger from places unknown. She was completely different then, a bashful girl devoted to God who blushed with each compliment, loving the attention heaped upon her. She went to him each night, this stranger in need, charity the excuse that fell from her lips.

Resentment begins to creep through her, building in the pit of her stomach the longer she watches. The last time she tried to pray, she found her throat closed, the words gone.

She is about to turn, to leave, when his eyes suddenly open. He blinks against the sunlight peeking through the trees and raises his eyes to her. He appears unsurprised by her presence and she feels caught. Unaccustomed to the feeling, she feels compelled to speak.

"I did not mean to interrupt."

"No, please," he says as he stands, brushing the dirt off his pants.

She hesitates, briefly wondering if he thinks she came looking for him, before taking a step forward. She comes to stand in front of him and stares, waiting for him to say something and offering nothing as the moment stretches on uncomfortably.

Clearing his throat, Philip finally breaks the silence.

"How are you?" he asks awkwardly.

She squints at him suspiciously, too much time spent manipulating people having jaundiced her view of others. When she fails to answer, he continues.

"I'm sorry about your father. I can't say I -" He must catch the scowl on her face because he stops abruptly. He clears his throat and begins again. "But I know how important he was to you, how important the journey was to you. And for that loss, I'm sorry."

He seems sincere and she doesn't know how to respond. "I am fine," she says, deciding to answer his original question instead.

He nods though he looks unconvinced.

"Thank you," she adds curtly, turning to leave. She takes a few steps back towards the path, back toward her original mission, when his voice rings out, stopping her in her tracks.

"We all need help finding our way at times."

She tenses and answers without turning around, his words hitting something raw deep inside. "You have no idea what I need," she says, her voice a low growl, a warning to back off.

But instead he takes a step closer to her. She can hear his voice closer than before. "What do you need?" he asks softly.

She becomes aware of the doll pressed against her side. She needs to stop feeling this way. She needs to find Jack Sparrow, make him pay for everything he took from her. Everything she let him take. Slowly, she turns back to face Philip.

"You would not understand."

He holds her gaze for a moment, studying her. For a second she thinks it will be over, this conversation. But just as quickly, his eyes take on new meaning, and clarity.

"Some people think they find strength in their anger," he begins carefully, "that it gives them direction, or purpose."

Suddenly uncomfortable, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. He's more perceptive than she would have given him credit for.

"But really, it just hides the truth from us, leaving us lost."

"I am not lost," she argues.

"We're only human. We -"

"I am not lost. I know where I am and why I am here," she interrupts, irritated by his assumption and still not quite understanding. She looks at him pointedly. "Are you lost?"

He ducks his head and she begins to think he isn't going to answer. But then he takes a deep breath and raises his eyes to hers. "I don't know."

Angelica can hear the honesty in his voice and decides to push it, asking the question she really wants an answer to. "What do you want?" she asks bluntly.

He falters momentarily, a thoughtful look on his face. "You saved me once. I thought maybe I could return the favor."

Surprised by his answer, she is unable to think of a response. She can only nod, accepting his answer. He says no more and she turns to make her way back to the path and back to the ship, no longer in the mood to talk to Barbossa.

:::

Angelica jerks awake with a start, gasping for breath. She struggles to sit up, the sheets twisted and tangled around her, sticking to her sweaty skin. Disoriented, she looks around the room, lit by a small oil lamp near her bed, and tries to get her bearings.

She runs a hand through her hair, still panting as awareness settles over her. She tries to will her heart to stop beating so fast but she can still feel him, phantom hands traveling over her body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake.

It's cruel the way memories come, unbidden as she fades, not asleep but not fully awake and completely unable to stop them.

His hand on her cheek. Hot breath on her neck. The wild rhythm of blood pulsing through her veins, distracting her, making her forget everything until she pushes back against the hard swell of his body. The low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "I see you know what you want."

Impulsively, she climbs out of bed and heads straight for the door, the room too small and claustrophobic when filled with her thoughts this way. She foregoes her jacket, hoping the light breeze from the sea will cool her skin.

It's a clear night, the moon hanging heavy in the sky, as she emerges from her cabin. Too many nights she has to fight the urge to run away, knowing there's nowhere to go, no where far enough to get away from her own thoughts. She releases a deep breath and begins to walk the ship, angry at the way her mind and body betray her.

Soon, she finds herself standing at the railing, looking out over the ocean. Just being here, with the rocking of the ship and the salty air is an uncomfortable reminder of her past. And how she got here. She leans forward and closes her eyes, trying in vain to ignore her thoughts and the feel of her heart beating out of her chest.

She hates the way Jack still gets to her. If anyone asked she would say she regrets nothing but it's a lie. She regrets the day she let Jack into her heart, into her bed. But she wouldn't let herself be blinded by her feelings this time. This time he would pay.

Without warning, Angelica suddenly hears a soft voice in her ear.

"Am I intruding?"

Momentarily startled, Angelica grips the railing tighter, surprised she didn't hear him sooner. She recognizes his voice easily, not that anyone else on this ship would dare approach her like that. Even Barbossa seemed to be keeping his distance. She recovers quickly and responds without turning around.

"I could not sleep."

With only a slight pause, Philip closes the remaining distance between them, his boot heels scraping the wood as he comes to stand next to her against the railing. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him nod in understanding.

She almost rolls her eyes, as if he could possibly understand.

"What troubles you tonight?" he asks.

She continues to stare out at the ocean, ignoring his question, still unsure what comfort he thinks he can give her. She knows what she needs to do like she knows he would only advise against it. After all, human anger doesn't produce the righteousness that God desires. She knows the words well though the days she devoted herself to them feel like a lifetime ago. But he doesn't know what she has been through since then or how little she wants to hear it now.

"As a missionary, I know how frustrating it can be," he ventures carefully. "I know how important it was to you but to save someone's soul - "

"You don't know what you are talking about," she says angrily as she turns to face him, wanting him to see the intensity in her eyes.

They are closer than she expected but, though she sees his eyes widen in surprise, he doesn't back away. He holds her gaze, refusing to back down, refusing to give up and it only makes her angrier.

Frustration welling inside her, she licks her lips, readying herself to say something, anything to make him go away when she sees his eyes dart down to her mouth.

He quickly looks back to her eyes but it's too late, she's already noticed. And even though it's probably just a reflex, a purely instinctive action, it's enough to remind her he is only human, only a man and the strength of his convictions would only serve him so well. She knows from experience.

She steps even closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, testing him. He lets her, possibly caught off guard, his body staying impossibly still, frozen as he looks down at her. Confusion is evident on his face but she can see something else as well.

And she can sense his weakness.

She reaches out her hand and runs her fingertips down his arm, soft and fleeting, designed to make him doubt whether it even happened. Indeed, his eyes follow the movement.

"Look at me," she commands, but it isn't her voice that echoes through her head. It's Jack'svoice. And it grows louder with each beat of Philip's heart, as commanding and sure in the recesses of her mind tonight as it was on that night so long ago.

With his eyes trained on her face, she lifts her hand to gently cup his cheek, holding him in place as she leans forward, bringing her face close to his. She keeps her eyes on his face, watching for his reaction and seeing his eyes darken. She lingers close to him, the bridge of her nose bumping against his jaw.

Then she pulls back slightly and his body shifts closer, unconsciously following her retreat, a small victory.

This she knows. She recognizes too well the way his body betrays him, and she feels the power she wields over him, primal and pulsing through her veins. It goes straight to her head.

She slides her hand from his cheek down his neck, measuring the heat of his skin as it travels to rest over his heart.

Never dropping his eyes from hers, he raises his hand to her face of his own volition. She notices the slight tremor in his hand as it moves toward her, his fingertips just grazing her cheek and lightly tracing her jaw line.

She drops her eyes as she lets her hand fall further down. It bumps the cross hanging low around his neck and it pulls her out of the moment. Her eyes quickly dart to his face and she looks at him more closely, noticing for the first time the shadows under his weary eyes.

Her stomach twists violently as her conscience slams down on her. The way he searches the sea during the day, the prayers, the reason he is also awake at this time of night.

He is not a man at peace.

Breathing heavily, she tries to step back but his hands go to her hips, holding her in place. She feels his fingers twitching, digging into the soft skin there. His eyes are closed but she can see the struggle playing out on his face. As his breathing returns to normal, he lets her go and she steps back, away from him.

He looks at her, so many emotions in his eyes she can't read them. "Why do you tempt me?" he asks weakly.

Her eyes soften as she looks at him. "Because we are only human," she says sadly, echoing his words from the previous day. She doesn't wait for a response. She turns and rushes back to her room without a second glance, slamming the door behind her.

:::

Angelica roams the ship restlessly, as she has the last several nights, unable to take lying in bed awake any longer. She knows now sleep won't come so instead of even trying, she walks. She paces the ship for hours, letting the wind blow through her hair, contemplating the beauty of the night sky and the vastness of the ocean.

She walks until her legs grow so tired she can barely stand and she can't imagine keeping her eyes open one second longer, too exhausted to even dream when she finally makes it back to her bed.

Then she can rest without thinking about her father, Jack, and now Philip.

He did not deserve her hostility; he did nothing except believe that there was good in her, something that could be saved. It was something he made clear he did not believe about her father.

She has not seen him since their last encounter, only catching glimpses of him at times. He has not approached her either and she is relieved. She still blanches at the thought of what she did, what she almost did. But even more, she wonders why she wanted to, why she was so determined to prove him wrong, prove he knew nothing about her or what she was feeling.

Angelica looks out over the moonlit water, unable to stave off these thoughts for another night. Not that there was much time left. Tonight would be there last night on board. Three days ago she went to Barbossa and he finally showed her the voyage he charted, revealing only three more nights on the sea. She could tell it wouldn't be long now; they had passed several ships indicating they were approaching a busy shipping lane.

Knowing that her time here is coming to an end, and that she still has a big decision about what to do next looming before her, leaves her feeling uneasy. Something feels unfinished and she knows it has to do with Philip. His words still linger, nagging in the back of her mind.

It must be why she finds herself at the door leading down to where the crew sleeps. She has to talk to him though she doesn't know yet what she can say.

Most of the crew is out cold, their snores filling the room, but she does see several heads turn as makes her way through the room. They quickly turn back around when they see who it is and suddenly the sound of snoring is twice as loud as before. Ignoring them, she begins looking for Philip. Barbossa is still rebuilding his crew so he is easy to find in the motley group.

She hesitates, uncertainty weighing in her stomach as she looks down at him. Moments pass before she reaches out. He wakes with a light touch to his shoulder, lifting his head from his makeshift pillow.

"Angelica?" he whispers, blinking up at her.

It's the first time he's used her name and she can't stop herself from flinching, the guilt still palpable. She nods and steps back, gesturing for him to follow her.

Philip is slow to rise, his fatigue more noticeable now, but still he follows her without question.

As she leads him up to the deck, she realizes that it is later than she thought. It is still dark but the night sky has begun to turn from black to a purplish dark blue and the stars have begun to fade from sight. She walks forward, staring out at the horizon for a moment, trying to steel herself before turning around to face him.

Despite it all, everything she's done and the time of night, he looks back at her patiently.

"I am lost," she says quietly. It comes out as both an admission and an apology of sorts. She can admit now that she is indeed lost, in memories of the past, and her shortcomings.

She was a fool to think she could save her father. Or that in time having him in her life would fill the empty space she had inside. She was too blind to see he himself was a lost cause, too selfish to be able to see it. Instead, she convinced herself that if she had more time, she may have been able to change him. She would have gone along with him until the day she died, never seeing that it would get him no closer to heaven, only take her further away.

And she was angry that Jack could see what she could not. That Philip could see it. Everyone probably could.

Her eyes go to his, pleading for his understanding, hoping he would recognize in her all that she was unable to vocalize. He had before.

He studies her carefully and reaches out to grasp her hand, much like he did when she attempted to jump. "We all are."

She can't help but close her eyes at the thought and drops her head, acknowledging the feel of her heart breaking for the girl she used to be, the woman she had become, and the father she would never have. And for this man she thought, raising her head to look at him, this good man who was somehow as lost as she was.

Angelica thinks back to the last time she saw him, before they found themselves back on this cursed ship. "You were with the -" Angelica catches herself. "Syrena?"

He nods reluctantly, looking away. He takes his hand from her and walks past her, to the railing. She follows to stand next to him.

"What happened?" she asks.

He takes a deep breath and tilts his head thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly as she looks at him.

"I couldn't stay," he says simply.

Something in his voice causes her chest to tighten painfully and tears to burn in the back of her eyes. She recognizes it; it sounds like the ache for something impossible and she can only nod in response. She finds her own voice caught in her throat, keeping her from asking any more questions. There's nothing else she needs to know.

For the first time in a long time, Angelica feels the need to give comfort, like the kind he wanted to offer her. But she doesn't know what to do.

She finally decides to reach out and gently take his hand in hers.

He looks down at their hands and gives a slight nod, understanding what she is trying to do.

Relief floods through her and they stand quietly like that for several moments, letting the stillness of the early morning hours settle over them.

Soon Philip looks up at the sky. "It will be morning soon," he observes. "I heard Barbossa say we will reach port today. Will you go after him?"

Angelica pauses for a moment, knowing exactly what he is asking, will she go after Jack Sparrow. When she answers, she is sure. "No. Not yet," she adds. She looks over at him and he seems to be satisfied with her answer. "What will you do?"

He looks back over his shoulder at the ship and then back out at the sea. "I don't know. But I think there's a place for me here. And work left to be done."

She isn't sure if he means on the Queen Anne's Revenge or on the sea in general but she's not sure that it matters. So, she just nods and turns back to look at the water, waiting for the sun to break over the horizon. A new day is about to start and, even though she doesn't have a plan, she's ready to move on.