A/N: Don't worry, it's just a one-shot! :) (Post AWE, J E)

Beta: Arraya (Thank you so much, luv!:)

Disclaimer: Disney owns PotC.

Across the Moonlight

"Sail away with me."

He says it in a tone of voice that leaves her no choice. Her consent is the only acceptable answer, while her refusal, she knows, would remove him from her life forever.

He came after several months, and she wants to ask him why he came so late... or so early... she is not sure which one is it... which one she wants it to be... She wants to ask him what he was doing for all those months, where he was, and why he did not forget her. Why did he come?

But his eyes are dark, and the frown on his face makes her heart clench, even though she is not entirely sure that she is the reason for that haunted, grim look in his eyes. The evening sea swashes against the shore, but all she can hear is the sea brushing against the Black Pearl, even though at the moment the ship is only a sable silhouette in the distance.

He does not even come inside her house. He stands in the doorway looking at her demandingly, as if her agreement is merely some kind of debt that she has to pay, and not a subject to her independent decision. He does not seem to care whether she wants to go. He does not seem to care whether she is happy to see him. There is a hard, enigmatic emotion written on his face, an emotion that she is unable to read, to understand, unless-

She agrees. She nods, and agrees, and makes an attempt to step back, to pack, to lock the door...

But he would have none of that, and without a single word he grabs her hand, and pulls her with him toward the longboat.

She wants to protest, but the words refuse to be said, and she just quickens her steps to keep up with his pace. She forgets to look back.

He rows them to the Black Pearl in silence, hardly looking at her.

They climb aboard, and she smiles at the man who helps her step on deck, expecting to see a familiar face, but the eyes she meets, though friendly, are unknown to her.

Jack climbs after her, in a gruff voice gives orders to set sail, and motions her toward the staircase wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

She swallows, and decides to ask, out of pure curiosity, about Gibbs.

The answer catches her off guard, even though she knows the paths of pirate life, even though she knows of merciless people and non-merciful sea:

"Dead."

She fells silent.

Before they reach his cabin she dares to ask about the others.

The answer is always the same. She wants to cry if only for the harshness of the news... if only for the harshness of his voice...

"Barbossa?" she whispers, unsure herself about the nature of her question. Is she asking about the man's life or deeds?

A shadow hovers over Jack's face like cold moonlight, and a twitch of his mouth that does not even resemble a smile precedes the answer:

"Dead," he says once again, but this time his voice is strained, exhausted; cruel.

She says nothing.

And she says nothing when he closes the door behind them, and pins her against the wall, taking her mouth aggressively, kissing her without waiting for any permission, or indication whether she wants to kiss him or not. So soon...

He does not give her time to enumerate her reasons why she cannot kiss him, he does not give her a chance to say that she has agreed to just sail with him, he does not even promise her anything in exchange for that kiss; he does not care if she cares to pretend - he doesn't.

She moans when he breaks the kiss, her lips feeling suddenly so cold, a look of dismayed lust in her eyes reflected in his black orbs, dark and enticing like black-diamonded mirrors.

He looks at her for a moment before undoing her carefully arranged hair, and burying his hand in her golden brown locks. She keeps her eyes fixed on his face, wondering whether she should tell him to stop. His eyes wander around her face, and when they focus on her eyes again she knows that he would not stop even if she told him to.

He kisses her again. Slowly, deeply, possessively, daring her to push him away, one of his hands still entangled in her hair, pushing her head closer; his other hand wrapped around her waist.

"Talk to me," he whispers into her ear, dragging his mouth across her neck, hot trail of his open-mouthed kisses leaving her lax in his arms, and she can hardly concentrate enough to even think. How can she talk? "Talk to me, luv," he repeats, the words shooting through her like thunders of stars, sprinkling thousands of memories over her hazy mind, dark images springing to her imagination, dark deeds, dark wishes.

Love.

"I missed you, Jack," she whispers, saying his name as if she never said it before. As if it was magical, and new; as if she could conjure up the world with one word spoken aloud, spoken with reverence.

His lips do not stop, they never stop, his hands seeking the straps holding her dress on her, and she helps him to take her dress off, stepping out of the dress and into his embrace.

His touch is exquisitely warm, meant to comfort her, to hold her above the waterline of harsh reality.

He does not want to hear about her oaths, he does not ask, he would not listen. She tells him only about his eyes haunting her at noon and at midnight indiscriminately, about his hands on her face every time she closed her eyes, about his lips waking her up in the morning to the death of her dreams, her dreams fading away every night, the shadows of the past keeping her awake in the moonlight.

He does not tell her anything, kissing her lips, her chin, her neck, his hands learning to read her, to write her with his roughened fingertips, his weathered palms, the sea-sodden back of his hand. She repeats his name over, and over again, losing the meaning of all the words apart from this one, holding onto the only sound that makes sense.

"Tell me about you," he whispers against her skin, laying her down, tossing his shirt away, kissing her lips for the first time again. It always feels that way. As if it never happened before. As if it would not happen again. He kisses her only once. Each time. Each kiss is the only one.

About her? She opens her eyes for a moment to catch a thought fleeing away. What is there to tell? She does not know, does not remember.

"You took it all," she says brokenly, more guilt than accusation in her voice, and he looks down at her with life-sharpened curiosity.

"How could I?" he asks in a voice low like the setting sun, his lips outlining her face, drawing her features. "I never even touched you..."

She laughs, and pulls him down by his shoulders that feel surprisingly bare under her touch, as if he shed not only his clothes, as if he revealed more than should be seen. She laughs with bitter nervousness, regret; panic.

"You never touched me," she agrees watching him through half-lidded eyes, her smile gone, his hand on her breast. "Only pierced through my mind, wrung my soul, burned my heart."

"I meant no harm," he whispers, and she clings to the hint of sunlight in his voice, kissing his lips.

"You should have," she says into the kiss, opening her eyes. He looks at her, dark, inquiring hope flickering across his shadowed eyes. "You should have meant something."

He frowns, and slants his mouth across hers almost brutally, sliding his hands down the sides of her body, letting them rest on her hips.

"I meant everything," he whispers, the words like clear-cut threats made of ice.

She stares at him wide-eyed, tears and words welling up, threatening to fall, to reveal... She holds back the tears, and parts her lips to speak, but then he crashes her senses, her thoughts, and her words with a sudden movement that breaks the mist of cold dreams around her, throwing her into the moonlit sea, into the blazing darkness, and she drowns in the fiery water of colors holding on to him like she never thought she would.

"I meant to have you, to love you, to keep you," his voice hovers over her face, his words falling into her mouth between his kisses. He buries his face in her hair, moving above her, within her, urging her to move with him, and she subconsciously obeys, his hands guiding her, brushing over her skin, freeing her.

"Why didn't you," she breathes, reaching blindly for his face, he lifts his head, her fingertips wandering all over his face. He kisses her hand when it crosses his lips, and opens his eyes for a moment to see her, to see if she was smiling, or crying, if she wanted to hear, or to listen.

"You meant not to let me," he says in a strained voice, groaning.

She arches her back, and his lips collide with her breasts, the tantalizingly slow pace of his movements increases, and he cups the side of her face, bringing his mouth back to hers.

"I didn't know," she whispers exhaustedly, and moans, the tears flowing sideways from under her closed eyelids.

"You didn't want to know," he opens his eyes to look at her again, flushed and beautiful in his arms, writhing beneath him, with his name on her lips tasting of rain and sunshine laced together, entwined, blended. "'Lizbeth..."

"I did," she protests, seeking his mouth to whisper the words between his burning lips. "I just... couldn't read you..."

He moves furiously, pulling her with him into the heat of the night around them, pressing his lips to her neck, the splayed fingers of one of his hands covering the side of her face, and she awkwardly kisses his thumb placed across her lips, tightening her embrace around him.

All of a sudden she is pushed over the edge of a cliff, and she falls into the hot, violet air carrying her above the motionless mirror of the ocean, above the mountains and towns, all within a span of a few moments. And she flies through the air, wingless, and mindlessly happy across the dark sky, across the light of the moon hanging above her, looking at her with dark, all-knowing eyes.

She holds his shuddering body close to her heart, as close as possible, cradling his head in her arms, kissing his face when he rolls on his side, and scoops her into his arms almost forcefully.

"I won't let you go," he whispers hoarsely, breathing raggedly. "I won't. Not even in ten years. Curse or not. I don't care. Not even for a day. Do you understand?"

She does not know if he actually expects her to answer him. Does he want a confession? A promise? A lie?

He wants to kiss her. He lifts her chin, meeting her lips with his.

Standing in the sand Elizabeth watches the moonlight ghosting across the dark water, the night around her enveloping her like comfortable silence. She stares into the dark horizon, licking her dried lips stained with tears.

She squeezes a piece of paper in her hand, sits down, and unfurls it. In the moonlight, the black letters look almost foreign, and she can hardly read her own writing:

"Sail away with me."

He says it in a tone of voice that leaves her no choice. Her consent is the only acceptable answer, while her refusal, she knows, would remove him from her life forever.

This is her favorite story from among all those that she has written over the past nine years. She looks at the paper with a faint smile, the evening, transparently dark blue wind brushes the tears off her face.

Maybe this year...

Maybe today he will come...