17.

I woke up in the middle of night, unsure as to when I had even fallen asleep. For a moment, I had forgotten all that had taken place. Then, I had an awful stab of fear - what if it wasn't real? Maybe I had trespassed into the world of delusions afterall. I felt bile rise in my throat, I didn't dare to breathe. It must be true. It wasn't a dream, couldn't have been… If it was my imagination had exceeded itself, because never could it provide me with something so beautiful, never in a million years.

Then I hear him breathing. I turn around carefully, making sure not to move my arm, and see him lying beside me. The relief I feel is so overwhelming I nearly burst into tears; sheer elation zigzags through my veins, and I bite down on my lip to stop myself smiling so hard. Moonlight fell through the gap in the curtains, casting a pale shine across the side of his face that those locks of wavy hair didn't conceal. Gently, I swept his hair out of the way, and my heart sank at the sight. Maybe I would never get used to the way he made me feel. It was impossible to not be rendered breathless.

We had talked for hours. Finally we had stepped out of that embrace, just looking at each other. My cheeks didn't taint with red at the closeness. It was too natural, easy as breathing. "Here, lean on me," he had said, an arm around my waist as he led me to the bed. I didn't dare for one moment to look away. I wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. I wanted to jump up and down, I wanted to tether myself to him so he'd never leave my sight again. "I'm sorry," he said to me, and I had frowned.

"For what?" I asked, searching his gaze.

"For leaving you," he spoke softly, voice full of regret. I didn't like seeing him so pained before me, wearing a look I could only identify as long-suffering. He then swept a stray piece of hair out of my eyes, curling the strand gently around his fingertip before allowing it to bounce away. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but there was just so much sorrow in those eyes; eyes that I remembered as being full to the brim of kindness. Oh, was still as handsome. Perhaps even more than I had recalled. But I couldn't deny those subtle changes that had left their mark. Instead of wondering how I came to be here, suddenly away from The Flying Dutchman with nothing but a marred face to prove I was actually there, I'm tormented by what could have caused Will to appear so… conflicted. "I didn't want to. Believe me, it was the last thing I wanted."

"I know," I told him, wishing he wouldn't apologize. Desperate to reassure him. "It wasn't your choice. The fault rests with Jack. You have nothing to feel sorry for."

"Your arm?" He then asked, and it sounded as though he felt sorry for the break. "I looked at it, and saw that it was broken. I tried to bandage it the best I could - medicene isn't really my forte." There was a quick flash of that grin I had missed. It didn't matter it didn't extend to those eyes. "How did you break it?"

My memories of Barbossa breaking my arm were clouded over and unclear. It seemed my entire life up to this point, in this lovely pastel-coloured pink room, was a faint blur. Trying to remember was like peering through muddy water, and I didn't wish to strain myself under the effort. I didn't want to think of Barbossa or Jack or anybody else; all I wanted to do was focus, body and soul, on Will. Couldn't he allow me that? I smiled at him. "Oh, it was nothing really. Barbossa..." I trailed off, watching his kind expression harden at the mention of the captain's name. "It was nothing," I said very quickly.

"Elizabeth..." I loved the way he said my name, caressing it in that voice of his. I found my eyelids had lowered, listening to him speak. They re-opened in a rush.

"He broke it," I admitted. I didn't want to keep secrets from him, not now, and not ever. Will's mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes looked at my cast, and travelled slowly back to my face. He gave me that look... I wish I knew what it meant. It wasn't pity; he didn't look me over in deep sympathy. It was a longing, as if he were fighting something back, and oh-so wished for... Me? No, he couldn't. "It was after you left." I blushed. Dare I tell him about the near-pyscotic fit I took? I did.

"Elizabeth..." He said again, and there was no mistaking the pain.

"It was awful," I said, thinking back to that time, a prisoner in my own home. The fact that Jack and Barbossa refused to acknowledge me for days didn't even concern me, it was not knowing where Will was, where he was. "I didn't know what to do. They told me…" I hesitated, but I knew I had to bring it up eventually. Will was here with me, and that was all that mattered. "They told me the truth. I know you're a pirate."

He doesn't seem surprised, and there's that smile again. Oh, I can't resist this temptation. "I thought that would come up," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. How can he be a pirate? He's still the same as he was before, the same he remained in my memories. Absolutely perfect, so handsome it hurt. An old-fashioned gentleman that handled me as delicately as a doll. "I wanted to tell you, but it's not something you can casually slip into conversation…"

My smile mirrored his exactly. "You could've mentioned it over breakfast. I did make your meals, Captain Turner, and you didn't even tell me what you did for a living!"

"My apologies, Ms Swann." He returns the playful nature. "I promise you now, though. I'll never hide anything from you again."

From one look at him, I know he's telling the truth.

We couldn't delay the inevitable - the atmosphere becomes considerably more serious when I broach the topic of Davy Jones. At the mention of that man's name, Will's eyes cloud over. I've never seen him harbour hatred towards anybody before, and my hand laid over his. "I can't remember it. I can't remember anything. The last thing that's clear is… Calypso. She was prisoner too… Oh, but the things she said, I can't remember them. Did I by any chance hit my head?"

"Yes, actually," Will said, jaw clenching. "Calypso told you where I was, and you came in - Jones had me kept in his chambers. I was seconds away from being run through with his sword. He's not a man of much patience. He's not even a man at all." Will says, a touch of bitterness layering his words. "Then… I see you. I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was already dead, I didn't know. Then, Jones knocked you out cold - so fast I couldn't see him move. I blinked, you were across the floor…" The hand holding mine tightens.

"In that moment he was distracted, I managed to grab my sword and I just… I just launched myself at him. I couldn't see sense, there was just this fury, I was ready to kill him. Even though…" He stops himself, but I knew what he was going to say. Even though Jones can't die. "I thought it was all over. You just can't defeat Jones, it's impossible, the whole ocean fears him. I was knocked to the other side of the room - he raised his sword to strike me there and then…"

I flinched, even though I knew the outcome of this story I was still on edge, imagining Will in such a position, inches away from death.

"Sao Feng and his crew burst into his chambers. There was no time to think. I was able to pull myself to my feet and made it my priority to get you out of there. I'm sorry to tell you I committed theft." He grinned.

"Never!" I gasped. "A pirate actually stealing something? Get out of here."

He laughs. "I took one of Sao Feng's dinghys. I'm sure he won't mind. The nearest island was here - Lawndes Bay." He said, before I could ask. "This is my house. I'm hardly ever here, but it's my escape from it all. My mother came into ownership of many properties in this region, before she died. But this is my home."

My eyes blink, still sleep-deprived even though we've both been asleep for hours. My head falls back into the luxurious white pillows, and I pull the duvet up so that I reaches my chin. It's hard to return back to dreams when I no longer feel the need to. Why should I feel the crazy rush to fall back into dreams of Will, when he's here with me now. I'm definite I fall back asleep, still smiling.

"Can I come in?" I ask tentatively, touching my knuckles three times to the wood-panelled door before letting myself in. You don't often find Jack in his captain chambers in the middle of day - usually, he'd prefer to be in the middle of it all, breathing in the sea air, doing what he loved. My surprise is driven to an incredible new volume when I see he's without a beverage. There's no telltale bottles of rum lined up across his cluttered desk - he's just sitting there, ferociously writing - writing! - with his child-like scrawl.

"Ana!" He said without looking up. He held up his left hand indicating me to wait for him to finish. There are several maps spread out in front of him. And it appears he's making notes. I'm surprised Jack can even read - although he doesn't strike me as the illiterate type, he's not the kind of captain you'll see deeply engrossed in reading. He'd usually give Barbossa that unfortunate task. "Maria!" He threw down his quill, greeting me with his usual cheery smile. "And what do I owe the great pleasure of your company?"

"Mr Gibbs is thinking of a trip to Tortuga," I inform him. I'm still annoyed Gibbs would treat me as a messenger, employed to deliver invitations and carry back replies, but due to the circumstances I don't really mind. Brutal truth be brutally told, I was looking for an excuse to visit Jack anyway. He'd been suspiciously absent from dinner last night, had retired into his room early and seemed stone-cold sober. This is never a good sign. "To raise moral. Mostly yours," I added. "Game?"

Jack shook his head, removing his hat and emptying the contents - a thick cluster of sand fell to the floor. "I think I shall give it a miss. Terrible headache. Cannot risk being in crowds of more than five people - I fear the worst."

"That's not like you," I observe, leaning against the doorway. Jack once again doesn't bother to meet my gaze. Stung, I watch him shuffle through more of his precious papers, knowing with an uneasy twist and turn of my stomach his thoughts still lie with Elizabeth. I'm just as concerned about her as the rest of us - however, my sympathy doesn't go out that much. If she wanted to get herself killed in the name of love, fine. Others had been through much more, and managed to keep it all together.

Well. Just.

"Shall we have a drink here?" I offer. "I'm not up for big crowds either. That headache is making it's rounds of the ship," I joke, feeling increasingly nervous. "It'll take your mind off things."

At first, I thought he was going to say no. Slowly, his head raises. There's a glimmer of confusion, but he doesn't seem opposed to the idea. He carefully places his hat back on, and with that Jack smiles at me. It's a smile not many people get to see. If you ask me, they're missing out. It's not one of school-boy deviance or his usual, care-free grin. It's the smile I've seen him use with only two. Me, once upon a time, and his late wife. There's a certain tenderness surrounding his worn-out features; those searching brown eyes regard me softly.

"That'd be nice…" He stands, gesturing to the vacant seat opposite me and dipping into a bow. It didn't matter how flamboyant he acted - because that's a fact that would never be altered - but as I slipped into a seat, and poured us both a glass of well-needed rum, and I raise my glass to his to clink them together, he's still watching me; those searching brown eyes regarding me softly.

Second update of the night, so I hope you enjoy. As always, thanks for reading (: