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

A/N: Caveat, caveat! This is my FF debut, so please be kind. Between you and me and the dogs, this is a piece of absolute fluff that keeps me from falling asleep in my government class and richly deserves its subtitle as Attack of the Adverbs, but I hope I do not flatter myself that it is entertaining. The smut I promised is going to be a few chapters on, but the language is in this one.

Chapter One: Of Old Friends and Much Rum

Jack dropped lightly through the window, hoping his old friends were already in bed. The looks on their faces would be priceless. He snickered softly to himself and lit the lamp, turning the wick up higher.

"Rise and shine, my lovelies! Old Uncle Jack has come for a visit!" He shined the light on the bed.

No one was in it.

"Bugger," he muttered quietly. He did so like to make dramatic entrances. Well, maybe they were downstairs, or out. If they were out, he would just make himself at home, maybe try out the conjugal bed…he could just see them walking in, ready to have a roll in the hay…Elizabeth's lovely eyes widening in shock at finding him in their bedroom… He grinned evilly and sat down on the bed, bouncing up and down to test the mattress. Down. Living in the lap of luxury, was Will. Lap of someone else, too, no doubt. Lucky bastard.

Jack blew out the lamp and sat on the bed for a moment, blinking until his eyes re-adjusted to the dark. He walked quietly out of the room, and down the stairs, listening for any sound of life. Still nothing. Good God, where was everyone?

There was a metallic crash from upstairs, followed by muted but vicious swearing. Jack's head jerked up. A few moments later, the noise was followed by a few muffled strands of song.

"…and really bad eggs…drink up, me hearties…yo bloody fucking ho…"

Jack grinned. He knew that voice. He bounded back up the stairs. Light leaked out from the threshold of a door, and he threw it open.

"Elizabeth, darling, don't you know it's bad luck to sing about pirates? They might hear you."

He grinned cheekily down at the girl. She was sitting slumped down in a chair at the table, her long legs stuck out in front of her. Several bottles of ambiguous alcohol open before her, a half empty glass of golden rum in her hand. Her lacy dressing gown was untied and muddy at them hem. Underneath she wore only cotton shift. She blinked muzzily up at him.

"Jack…What're you doing here?"

Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Not exactly the Elizabeth he was hoping for either…Well, one must persevere.

"Well, darling, I was hoping I might find dear William at home. I have a bit of a problem."

Elizabeth snorted.

"What else is new?" She gestured expansively around the room. "As you can see, dear William is not at home. I am all by me onesies, Jack Sparrow. Just me and the rum".

She said it so bitterly that Jack raised an eyebrow. Had a spat, did they?

"And what, might I ask, are you doing with all that rum?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked morosely into her glass.

"I'm drowning my sorrows," she said, and tossed back the rest of the rum. "It's proving a lot more difficult than I expected."

Jack laughed.

"C'mon, love, what sorrows can you have?" He indicated the room. "You're living in the lap of luxury! With all the rum you can drink!"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow back at him.

"I think, Captain Sparrow, you truly underestimate how much rum I can drink".

This statement seemed to remind her of something and dropped her eyes and sniffled. Jack frowned. On closer inspection, she appeared to have a lot more sorrow than he thought. Her hair had bits of leaves and twigs in it and she looked like she had been crying. Under the table, her feet were bare and dried mud was flaking off of them.

"Elizabeth…" he started.

"It's Miss Swann, thank you," she said sharply. Jack blinked. Still?

"Miss Swann? I thought you'd be Mrs. Turner by now."

Elizabeth laughed, bitterly.

"No, Captain Sparrow, it's still Miss Swann. It's likely to remain so." She reached for the bottle. She looked from the bottle, to her empty glass, and back to the bottle.

"Oh, fuck it," she muttered, and took a swig from the bottle.

Jack studied her. He appeared to make up his mind about something, grabbed a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked at Elizabeth.

"Well, c'mon then," he said. "Spill."

Elizabeth blinked up at him, surprised.

"Tell Old Jack what's wrong, love."

Jack rested his eyes on her tawny gold head. With any luck, he would catch a glimpse of the sweet, vulnerable girl he'd fallen for years ago.

She glanced down at the table, then up into his eyes. They shone innocent concern at her. Drunk as she was, she wasn't fooled. She knew Jack. He wanted something, he always did. But damned if she knew what, and she was so desperate for someone, anyone to talk to. She dropped her eyes, stared down meditatively at the golden rum, not really seeing. There would be a price to pay. She knew. But now…at the moment…it almost seemed worth it.

She raised the bottle to her lips. I'm going to regret this…she thought. She looked back at Jack. Luck had apparently deserted him for the night. A cold, angry woman stared at him now, hard from pain.

"Will left me," she said, her jaw set. Her expression told him if he said anything stupid, he would soon be without certain parts of his anatomy he was very fond of. His head, for instance.

"What?" he spluttered, hoping it didn't sound stupid. He liked his head. It worked, for the most part.

Apparently, his question wasn't stupid. She relaxed slightly and proffered the bottle. Jack took it, dumbly. He couldn't believe his good luck. He'd come here, intending to rile up the marital bliss a bit, and instead found the woman of his dreams lonely, single, desperate for affection and—most importantly—drunk.

"I know", Elizabeth continued. "It sounds ridiculous, after all we've been through together. But it's true."

Jack took a swig from the bottle, barely tasting it.

"When?" he asked. He passed the bottle back to Elizabeth. She took it.

"A week ago. He left me a note saying he was sorry, but I deserved someone who could love me fully and it wasn't him, what with his new "duties" and such. He said he had no right to tie me to a cursed man. Load of bullocks. What he meant was he'd fallen for someone else." She chugged some rum and passed the bottle back.

Jack arranged his face into what he hoped was a sympathetic expression. Inside, he was debating whether to kill Will or thank him. Maybe both.

"That's a bit harsh," he managed to say. "Who?" he asked, and took a swig.

Elizabeth fixed a baleful glare at the table. "Charles", she said darkly.

Jack choked.

"What?!" he sputtered.

Elizabeth looked up at him, her mouth twisting into a wry expression.

"Charles," she said again. "Apparently they met on a boat the Dutchman was scavenging. Charles was neither dead nor dying, but after a few months on a ship without me, Will was ready to make exceptions. And…well, I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"What? When? How?" Jack trailed off, trying to wrap his head around this new information. Will was a ponce. Well, fancy that.

"I know", Elizabeth said. "Trust me, I know…" She relieved Jack of the rum and took a pull.

"I should've known from the hat," she said, gloomily. Jack focused on her again.

"What did you do?" he asked. "When you found out, I mean."

Elizabeth looked at him, surprised. "I…" she gave a little laugh. "I went for a walk. Up the hill. I watched the ship leave. Then I came back down and started drinking."

Actually, she'd walked up the hill, watched the ship leave, screamed until she was hoarse, cried for a few hours, and fallen asleep. She'd woken up sometime the next morning, walked home, set all Will's clothes on fire, and then started drinking. But she'd be damned before she told Jack that.

"Ah," said Jack. "That explains the mud. And the leaves."

Elizabeth looked confused.

"On your dressing gown, love. And in your hair." The girl in front of him still looked nonplussed. He reached out a hand, gently detached a leaf from her hair and held it in front of her.

"Oh," she said. She reached up a hand and tentatively ran it through her hair. A small shower of vegetation ensued. She laughed, somewhat hysterically.

"I'm sorry, I must look a fright," she said. "I haven't exactly been expecting company."

"No one blames you, love," said Jack, liberating the bottle and taking a drink.

"So," he said, after a moment. "All you've been doing for the past week is drinking?"

"Well…" said Elizabeth. "Yes, mostly. And sleeping. Or passing out, as the case may be. I think I stopped eating few days ago. It just didn't seem important, somehow…"

Jack looked into her exhausted, bewildered countenance and decided it was a very good time to start worrying.

"It's this house," Elizabeth continued. "Everything in it reminds me of—" Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. "Of Will. Of us. I mean…" She took a swig of another bottle and stared meditatively at the wall.

"I lost my maidenhead in this room to him" she stated, distantly.

Jack blinked. There was no way his Lizzie would say something like that. Either this wasn't his Lizzie, or something was very wrong indeed.

"Tell you what, love," he said, injecting false cheer into his words. She started, and looked at him like she'd forgotten he was there. She probably had. "Give me that bottle, go brush your hair and I'll take you out of this damned tomb and down to the beach, eh?"

He stood up, an offered her a hand. Elizabeth smiled up at him, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. She took his hand and stood up.

"I think I'd like that," she said, and fainted.

"Bugger," said Jack.