Just as I Promised

Elizabeth solemnly climbed down the ladder to the waiting longboat without even once looking back the way she had come. Only once she was securely seated in the boat, with the oars at ready, did she steal a glance back up towards the deck of the Black Pearl. She felt a twinge of sadness. Not a single one of the ragtag group of men who had formed such an integral part of her life of late had bothered to look over the railing to see her on her way. However, in all honesty, she had not expected them to, nor had she really wanted it. A clean break from that particular part of her life was definitely in order – if such a thing was even possible at this point. The ordeal she would soon begin was more than enough to occupy her mind without adding the welfare of the ship's crew to her list. She was sure that from time to time she would wonder what had become of them, but not today. It didn't seem fair to believe that for them, life would most likely return to what they expected – an endless quarrel over ownership of the Pearl, accompanied by their eternal pursuit of ill gotten gains, women of questionable moral value, and rum— most especially rum.

My life is the one that is about to undergo a drastic change—in more ways than one, she thought as she pushed off from the side of the ship, simultaneously casting a longing glance towards the other ship anchored a few hundred yards away, and the lone figure standing forlornly on its deck. She could see Will standing beside a broken section of railing aboard the Flying Dutchman, staring in her direction. He was too far away to make out the exact expression on his face, but she knew if she was closer she would be able to see the familiar sadness from his childhood had returned to his eyes. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she thought she could discern the faintest glimmer of a shy smile – one for her and her alone. An ever so tiny flicker of joy surfaced as she cast an equally shy smile back in his direction. She then reluctantly tore her eyes away from him and put all of her concentration into rowing ashore.

It was mind numbingly difficult to stay focused on the task at hand and not on what lay ahead of her. It wasn't as if rowing to shore took all that much concentration, anyway. Besides, she didn't exactly have to land in any one particular spot now did she? All that mattered was that she made it to shore. Will could just appear from nothingness wherever she happened to make landfall, so why worry about drifting off course? Elizabeth shuddered in revulsion at the thought of that particular one of Will's newly acquired abilities. It was going to take some serious adjustments on her part to accept that Will, her husband of just a few hours, now had certain talents that mere mortals lacked. It was small consolation to think that he had no more knowledge of what he could now do than she did, and it wasn't as if she would be by his side as he learned more about his new obligations either. An unexpected coldness invaded her limbs as the unfairness of it all threatened to consume her.

Elizabeth pulled in the oars for a few minutes while she futilely tried to rub some warmth back into her arms—However, cold from fear was far harder to alleviate than cold caused by weather conditions. The temptation to see Will again won over, and she looked towards the Dutchman. She was not at all surprised to not see him still standing on deck. Turning partway around on the narrow bench to look for him on shore also proved unsuccessful. She hadn't expected to see him there, but the compulsion to look was nearly overwhelming. Wherever he was, he must have had a good reason – he never did anything without one. He had been that way for as long as she had known him. Elizabeth shivered again with the mysterious cold, as she realized that she was going to have to adjust to not knowing exactly where he was or, for that matter, not even having a vague idea of where he was. Isn't not being able to see him enough of an ordeal? Would it hurt for me to at least know he's safe?

Tears that had threatened since the end of the battle welled up in her eyes. She distracted herself by concentrating on the cloth-wrapped bundle resting on the bottom of the boat towards the stern. Mr. Gibbs had tossed it in just before Elizabeth had started to climb down to the boat, mumbling something about it containing everything she needed to get by, but never once looking her in the eyes. Elizabeth recognized it as the classic Gibbs way of acknowledging to her that the everything she really needed was the one thing none of them could provide – that part would be left up to her.

Elizabeth shook her head and drew a deep breath to clear her head of such depressing thoughts. She would have ten years to agonize over what had happened, but right now she had something much happier to look forward to. This was her and Will's wedding day. It hadn't exactly come about as they had originally planned – truthfully, it hadn't been planned at all—it just sort of happened. She smiled and giggled at the memory of Will's reaction to her calling Barbossa to officiate, and his unabashedly delighted reaction to her enthusiastic, "I do!" It had long since ceased to matter to her when, where, or under what circumstances they married – it only mattered that they were. Considering that Will had insisted on formalizing their relationship in the middle of a literal fight for their lives, she felt secure in her belief that the conditions had mattered little to him as well.

If reliving their unorthodox wedding wasn't enough to keep her mind occupied, there was still their forthcoming wedding night to consider. An apparently deserted beach was not a location that had ever – or would ever have—occurred to either of them to consummate their marriage. Elizabeth had long since lost count of the number of places Will had rejected for a possible tryst because they lacked privacy, and yet every last one of them were far more secluded than this stretch of sand ever would be. She had always known Will's hesitation and excuses stemmed more from a sense of propriety and timing than a need for seclusion, but even he would have to see the humor in their situation – humor that they both desperately needed.

Elizabeth both anxiously anticipated and was uncharacteristically nervous about what would soon happen. As the well bred, sheltered, and spoiled daughter of the governor she was not expected to know exactly what went on between men and women in the privacy of their bedroom until she married. That was not to say that she didn't know some details – she had managed to worm bits of information out of her maid, Estrella, on rare occasion. She was also quite observant and well aware of how her body responded to Will's touch

She rolled her eyes at the memory of her former governess–a woman she had not seen since she was sixteen—coming to see her just days before the wedding at her father's request, no doubt for the express purpose of instructing her about her wifely duties. The dried up husk of a woman had been agonizingly ambiguous as to exactly what those duties entailed. For all intents and purposes, the only useful bit of advice Elizabeth gleaned from her meanderings was to let nature take its course – like she couldn't have figured that out on her own. The rest of what she had said sounded somewhat horrific, but surely that wasn't true? If it was, then surely the human race would have long since died out.

While she and Will had never openly discussed any details of their wedding night beyond where it would take place, she knew that he was just as inexperienced as she was. He had freely shared that information with her shortly after their engagement. There were no topics of discussion that were taboo between them. Obviously, she couldn't say for sure – she couldn't exactly go around taking a survey, but she got the distinct impression that it was perhaps a bit unusual for a young man of his age in Port Royal to have never been with a woman. All she knew for certain was that, when she was with him, there was always a strong sense of an unexplored something more that she wanted and she had no intention of waiting any longer.

The more physical aspect of their relationship was perhaps the one subject were they stood on equal ground. Will had patiently and unbegrudgingly learned all the social graces he would need to survive in Elizabeth's world: the proper way to greet people, what was acceptable and what was not at formal dinner parties, how to dress, how to dance – how to be something he was not nor had ever had much of a desire to be. He had indeed proven to be a most adept student in spite of numerous frustrations. In return, he had taught her to handle a sword, mainly as an outlet for both of their pent up desires, but also because that's what she had wanted. At the time, neither could have known that either of their lessons would prove as useful as they had. Will, in his crucial negotiations with Cutler Beckett, over tea no less, and Elizabeth cutting down their enemies right and left with her blade on multiple occasions–even during their unorthodox nuptials. But starting from this day, they would each need to be both teacher and student as they started a life together—only to have to learn to live apart.

The emotional extremes Elizabeth was unavoidably experiencing were beginning to take their toll on her. The closer to shore she got, the more difficult it became for her to deal with her inner turmoil and the further she drew in to herself. She no longer paid any heed to her progress, but mindlessly rowed the boat, shutting out everything but the monotony of her task. So oblivious was she to her location that she was completely unaware she had reached the shore until the oars hit the bottom and the boat scrapped across the sands in the shallows. She dropped the oars as if they were burning her hands, and sat for a few moments with her head hanging. Her breath was coming in short pants – not from exhaustion, but from being on the verge of panic. She steeled herself for what she might see as she lifted her head. It was as she expected—there was little before her but open water – the Black Pearl would soon be out of view, while the Flying Dutchman had sailed further out from shore. She took a deep breath and turned her head towards the beach, expecting to see Will waiting for her. But no one was there. She continued scanning the area as her panic grew. Had they been wrong about having one day together before he left? Had the ten years already begun?

"Take off your boots."

Elizabeth spun around in her seat to see Will, standing barefoot in the water at the boat's stern. He carried his boots in one hand and had the Chest containing his heart tucked under his arm. He had also carefully pulled the edges of his shirt together in an attempt to cover the hideous wound on his chest, but parts of it were still visible. Elizabeth stared at him, frozen in place. She was vaguely aware at how unconcerned he seemed to be with their situation. Was it not affecting him as much as it was her? Her brain fought to process the instructions he was giving her.

"Elizabeth? Did you hear me? Take off your boots and leave them in the boat. You don't want to get them wet," Will said as he carelessly dropped his own boots into the boat and then set the Chest down beside them. He noticed the uncharacteristic unfocused look in Elizabeth's eyes.

Elizabeth continued to stare at Will or more specifically, at the wound on his chest. She slowly peeled off her boots and dropped them in the boat. The last one had barely bounced off the boards before Elizabeth was in the water, slogging her way away from Will – not having said a single word to her husband and not once looking back.

Will watched as the crew of the Pearl lowered the long boat into the water. Elizabeth kept her head down throughout the entire process—she didn't even look up as she climbed down the side of the ship into the tiny boat. It wasn't until she had pushed away from the Pearl that she even paused long enough to gaze at him across the expanse of water. He was unsettled by the apparent lack of emotion on her face. It was not the look one expected of a woman who had, just a scant few hours earlier, been deliriously happy at the prospect of both starting over – possibly somewhere new, far from the horrors they had faced, and beginning a life together with her new husband. Elizabeth managed one sad smile for him before she tore her eyes away, and began her current task – rowing the boat to shore.

For a brief second, Will considered changing his plan and joining her for the short trip, but he still needed to talk to Jack first. He knew that he would now have the same ability to teleport as Davy Jones had—only he was still a bit unclear on how the process worked. Unlike blacksmithing, this job had no apprenticeship. What better way to try out his new skill than to pay Jack one last visit? If the attempt didn't work, it would be best to know now, before Elizabeth had gotten too far away with the boat. Not being able to spend this one last day with her was not an option. He would swim to shore if he had to.

He turned from the water, went back to the Captain's cabin–his cabin now—gathered up his coat and put it on. He reached into one pocket and found the precious token that he had so carefully guarded for so long. It glinted in his hand as untied his necklace and added it to his collection. Sighing, he turned to the small wooden Chest sitting on the table and picked up it. If there were any other useful items in the room, he did not take time to look for them. There were things he needed to accomplish before going to the island, and he wanted to get there before Elizabeth.

He went back out onto the deck, noting as he did the numerous crew members going about their duties as if nothing had changed—but things had changed. The crew had been returned to their human form, and many of them would be leaving the Dutchman's service the next day. He already knew that Bootstrap would stay, but he had no idea how many others would choose the same. Most likely those unfortunate men who were so far into their hundred year obligation that they had no one left who remembered them, but how many were there? Will knew that the crew would be left shorthanded and wondered how he would find replacements. He could worry about that later. This was his day–his only day—and he was not going to allow such trivial matters to distract him.

Will looked across the water, to the ship that had played such an important role in his life for the past two years. How was he to get there? It's now or never, he thought, realizing, appalled, how much truth there was to that. Will took a deep breath and one determined step forward. That was all it took. He found himself in the Captain's cabin aboard the Pearl. As for which captain claimed it at the moment, he had no clue. There were a few things that he would not miss—the constant bickering of who was in charge of the Black Pearl was most assuredly one of them.

Jack had his back to Will, and thus did not realize he was no longer alone. He mumbled incomprehensibly to himself, as he frantically searched for some elusive prize. With Jack, there was no guessing what that could possibly be—although a full bottle of rum would have been a valid guess. Will watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Jack?"

Jack Sparrow let out a girlish shriek as he jumped, spun around and simultaneously drew his pistol to confront the intruder. He blinked several times to assure himself that the person standing in front of him was not simply a figment of his overactive imagination, much to his relief and horror it was not.

"William! That's a most efficacious trick you've taught yourself there, but perhaps you could learn to knock first?" he said gesturing wildly at the door with his pistol. "I might have been entertaining some delicate young ladies and…"Jack shrugged innocently as Will cut him off.

"Jack," Will repeated more sternly.

"Shouldn't you be elsewhere?" Jack asked, nodding his head in the general direction of the island. He made a shooing motion with his hands, still paying no caution to the firearm in his hand. "I would think you have other items on today's agenda than paying me a visit—kind though it is." Jack bowed graciously, as he continued to flap his hands in an effort to get rid of his uninvited guest.

"I need your help."

Jack raised an eyebrow, but still did not lower the pistol. He looked Will up and down before speaking. "William, if you have come to seek my advice on how to best proceed with deflowering your virgin bride, might I tactfully submit that you return to your ship with all haste and consult with your own father?" Jack rolled his eyes and shrugged as he looked curiously at the pistol, as if having just noticed it, before haphazardly sticking it back in his belt. "As for my advice," he added putting both hands on his chest, "Might I suggest that it is perhaps most fortuitous for you that you're already dead… mostly… so to speak." He turned back around to continue his search.

"Jack! I'm serious: somebody will have to take care of Elizabeth. I won't be able to." Will was quickly becoming exasperated.

"Aha! I knew it was here somewhere," Jack said gleefully, as he extracted a nearly full bottle of rum from a cavity hidden beneath a seat cushion. Jack admired the hazy glass bottle for a moment before uncorking it and taking a long pull from it. After brief consideration he offered it to Will, who waved it off.

"I can't leave not knowing she will have someplace to go, someplace safe," Will spat out, his agitation growing by the second.

Jack retracted the proffered bottle, shrugged his shoulders and took another swig. His face held a slightly puzzled expression as he looked at Will. It was as if it had, at that very instant, occurred to him that the boy who had helped him to escape certain death in Port Royal, not once, but twice, had suddenly turned into a man. How had that escaped his notice until now?

"Am I to understand that you wish for me, Captain Jack Sparrow, to endeavor to keep an eye on your virago of a wife? I've asked you this before and never quite gotten a satisfactory answer, but what's in it for me?"

Will shrugged, his face showed no emotion. "Nothing."

Jack screwed his face up in a mask of deep contemplation. "In case you haven't noticed, mate, that one is quite adept at taking care of herself. She's killed a man in cold blood," he declared, patting his own chest to make sure he was really still alive.

"And it didn't exactly take, did it?" Will retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jack raised an eyebrow at Will, took another long pull from his bottle of rum, then stroked his beard braids. "Well, now, I suppose as I'm still the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, and your beloved is my King–thanks to meself of course—I am obligated, although not entirely inspired, to keep an eye on her."

"You'll do it then?"

Jack's face again contorted as he concentrated on Will's request. "Then again, we pirates are notoriously disloyal when it comes to respecting authority, so that might not be quite suitable inspiration to me."

A faint smile flashed across Will's face and his eyes narrowed for a moment as he realized he did have something that Jack wanted – something that only he, Will Turner, Captain of the Flying Dutchman, could offer. Something that even Jack couldn't resist. "I could ensure that you would never die by water: washed overboard in a hurricane, keelhauled, forced to walk the plank – again I might add—shipwrecked, that sort of thing."

Jack stopped mid-swig and lowered the bottle just enough to prevent even one small droplet of his beloved rum from escaping. Will had his complete attention now. "Do tell, dear William. How do you plan to accomplish something like that?"

Will pulled the edge of his shirt further to one side to fully reveal the scar he now bore on his chest as he stared Jack straight in the eye with a distinct air of smugness.

"Done."

"Done?" Will repeated incredulously. He had expected to have to incorporate a bit more persuasion to get Jack to agree to his request.

Jack sat down in his chair and propped his feet up on the table, the rum bottle now dangling precariously at his side. "Dear William, I find myself inclined to pay another visit to Shipwreck City before I embark for a much needed vacation in Tortuga. I shall simply request that one of the fine upstanding citizens of said city pop by and pick her up, when it's time. Who could possibly resist the opportunity to escort the Pirate King herself back to her court? Beyond that, we'll have to see what her nibs has in mind. Of course, if she finds herself in need of my services–unlikely though that may be—I shall find it in my heart to help the best I can."

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple." Jack restated with a smile, for once sounding truly sincere. He looked around uncomfortably for a second to ensure no one else was listening. "We'll all keep an eye out for her." Jack nervously eyed the Chest tucked under Will's arm as he spoke.

Will knew that Jack meant what he said. In spite of everything that had gone before, he was positive that this time Jack was telling the complete unvarnished truth–and for once, he could trust that he had no ulterior motives. Elizabeth had been right all along–Jack was a good man. It was just difficult to see that sometimes.

"Thank you, Jack."

"It's my pleasure," He stopped to ponder what he had said for a second. "Well, perhaps it's not entirely a pleasure. Just consider it a wedding gift or whatever. Besides, I've recently deduced that those adventurous souls who heed the call of the sea would be well advised to maintain a harmonious relationship with any and all undead sea captains they might encounter–even if said captain's recently acquired spouse has a penchant for sending innocent sailors to their doom. Now go!" Jack stood up and once again shooed Will away with his hands.

"I won't forget this," Will promised as he tried to untangle Jack's verbal web while simultaneously removing his boots.

"You do that," Jack said slowly, while nodding his head in the direction of the door. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, as he watched Will stuff his socks into his boots, then pick them up in his free hand. He shifted the other arm to settle the Chest more securely.

Will nodded to Jack as he looked at the door he had indicated, smiled to himself, took one step towards it and disappeared leaving no evidence that he had ever been there at all.

"I'm never going to get used to that," Jack muttered, as a sudden chill washed over him. He stood stock still for a moment before raising the rum bottle in his right hand. "Here's to you Captain Turner—may all that you truly desire one day be yours." With that he dropped into his chair, propped his boots on the table and took a long pull from the bottle.

Jack's last words were still echoing in Will's ears when he materialized knee deep in the waves at the far end of Elizabeth's boat. She was turned away from him, scanning the shore for something, someone—him? She either hadn't heard the subtle splash of water caused by his arrival or she had attributed the sound to something else. Surely she didn't doubt that he would be here?

Will quickly assessed the situation, while Elizabeth continued to survey the shoreline. The first order of business was to secure the boat–it would quite possibly be Elizabeth's only means of leaving this place. He trusted Jack's word in regards to seeing to Elizabeth's safety, and although he usually meant well, Will had long since learned that what Jack promised and what Jack was able to accomplish were not always one and the same thing.

"Take off your boots," Will instructed, as he readjusted his shirt to conceal as much of his wound as possible.

Elizabeth jumped, while simultaneously spinning around in her seat to see him standing barefoot in the water at the boat's stern—boots in one hand, with the Chest tucked under his other arm. Elizabeth stared at him unmoving. The fear that she was regretting her decision was beginning to form in his brain. We've made it this far, she can't give up now.

"Elizabeth? Did you hear me? Take off your boots and leave them in the boat. You don't want to get them wet," Will told her again, then carelessly dropped his own boots into the boat before carefully setting the Chest down beside them. He noticed the uncharacteristic unfocused look in Elizabeth's eyes. The fear that she was regretting her decision was beginning to worsened. He had assumed she had sensed his presence by now. Didn't she always?

Elizabeth continued to stare at Will, or more specifically, at the gash on his chest. She slowly peeled off her boots and dropped them in the boat. The last one had barely bounced off the boards before Elizabeth was in the water, slogging her way down the beach, away from Will–not having said a single word to her husband and not once looking back.

The fear that Elizabeth regretted her choice was increasing exponentially. Without thinking, he pushed the boat parallel with the shore; just far enough that it would not drift away–all while taking care to not step on dry land. If Elizabeth's unexpected flight meant that she did not want to face what lay ahead of them, then there was no point in using his one day. He would simply return to his ship, begin his duty, and stay there forever–but with the knowledge that for a few hours before he died, he had been married to the woman he thought he could never have, but had always wanted.

Will kept his face a mask of calm with his eyes focused on Elizabeth, and watched her determined trek away from him with concern. This was not typical behavior for Elizabeth–nor was it what he had expected. It certainly wasn't what he had hoped for.

"Elizabeth!"

She stopped in her tracks, wrapped her arms around herself and turned towards him. She kept her eyes downcast, but Will could still sense the fear in her, along with tears ready to break free at any moment.

She was clearly in shock—but who could blame her? In the span of just a few days, she had lost her father, nearly lost her fiancé to a misunderstanding between them, been in danger of being stranded in Davy Jones' locker forever, again almost lost her fiancé to the sea when he had slipped from the submerged Pearl, survived a mutiny led—unbeknownst to her—by the one man she trusted above all others, volunteered herself to be what for all practical purposes was a hostage to the pirate lord of Singapore–as always, in an attempt to save and regain the respect of the man she would stop at nothing to have. And yet, she had managed to come though all that relatively unscathed. But her emotional turmoil had been just beginning. There had been yet to come her election as King of the Brethren Court, an unexpected but timely reconciliation with Will, the terrifying release of Calypso, leading the pirates into battle, and best—and yet worst— of all becoming Will's wife and his widow all in the space of a few minutes. If anyone had a reason to be in a state of shock, it had to be Elizabeth Turner.

"Elizabeth," Will called to her softly one more time. "We need to secure the boat. I need you to help me. Can you do that?" He felt as if he was talking to a frightened child, but he had no idea what else to do.

Elizabeth trudged back to the long boat; eyes still focused on the ground and unspeaking, she grabbed a painter and began tugging at it.

"We just need to get it above the high tide mark," Will said conversationally, as he pushed against the stern. He knew full well that she knew what had to be done with the boat, but he was willing to try anything to elicit some sort of response from her–even if that meant mindless banter.

The beach's gentle slope and the still, wet sand made their task an easy one. Elizabeth was sufficiently aware of her surroundings to notice when they had moved the boat far enough inland. As soon as they reached that point, she dropped the line and dropped into a sitting position in the sand–staring out at the water, but apparently not really focused on much of anything.

"Elizabeth? We still need to find a place to make a campsite. Do you think you can carry some of the supplies?" Will suggested. Maybe she just needs something to distract her?

Elizabeth did not overtly acknowledge that Will had spoken to her, but sighed, stood up and covered the few steps between her and the boat. She looked inside, picked up her boots, the bundle Mr. Gibbs had dropped in at the last minute, one only slightly damp blanket and stood perfectly still, staring at her feet now, awaiting her next set of directions.

Will gathered up his own boots, the Chest, another small bundle that had been obscured by the one Elizabeth now carried and set off for an outcrop of basalt stones that looked like a promising location to make camp.

"Once we find a spot, we'll need to gather some driftwood for a fire. I know it's warm outside now, but it still gets cool at night. We might be glad of it later. I didn't think to bring any supplies from the Dutchman, I honestly don't know if there were any,so I hope whatever we might need is in one of these bundles. Something to eat might be nice. When was the last time you ate something? Maybe we can scavenge something from around here. I know it's not what anyone would expect for their wedding supper, and it's most certainly nothing like the banquet we were supposed to have – should have had," he paused for a minute, "but under the circumstances it's the best we can do." Will knew he was babbling and wondered if Elizabeth even noticed. It wasn't something he ever recalled doing before in his life, but his wife's silence was beginning to scare him. What if she didn't snap out of it? How could he leave her here like this–by herself?

The irregular circle of large shiny black boulders some fifty yards away looked promising. It would provide some shelter, however minimal, it was defensible–within reason—and would give them some small degree of privacy–although by now Will was almost resigned to the possibility that there would be no need for it. No matter how much he wanted her, married or not, he wouldn't–couldn't have her like this. As had always been the case, her physical, and now emotional, safety far outweighed any physical desires of his own.

Will watched curiously as Elizabeth struck out for the stone circle on her own. Sometime between him asking her to help carry their meager supplies and now, she had apparently regained some of her senses. If she was aware enough of her surroundings to look to her own survival, that would certainly alleviate one of Will's many worries. He suddenly regretted ever having considered departing the island early, as he shouldered his burden and followed after Elizabeth.

She never once looked back to see if he was following her. She simply continued her single-minded and determined march towards the rocks. Will could have easily caught up with her and even beaten her to the circle, but he instead chose to follow behind and see what she would do. Her quick, decisive pace consumed the space between the longboat and their potential shelter at an alarming rate.

Elizabeth reached white, sand covered center of the ring just a few paces ahead of Will. She dropped her assorted parcels at her feet and carefully surveyed the entire area. "This will do," she said softly and emotionlessly in Will's general direction as she looked towards him, but not quite at him.

Will smiled softly at her and nodded in agreement. He wasn't sure she even noticed. He had the distinct impression that she was looking more over the top of his head than directly at his face. He was still unsettled by what he saw in her eyes – or rather what he did not see there. The familiar twinkle of mischief that normally emanated from them when she looked at him was not there. The woman standing before him looked like his beloved Elizabeth, but the Elizabeth he knew, the one he had just married, was locked inside, and he had no idea how to help her break free of her prison. He felt guilty for ever allowing the thought of leaving her now to ever enter his mind.

"Firewood."

Will raised an eyebrow questioningly. He had been so caught up in his concern for her that he almost hadn't heard her speak, much less immediately process what she had said. He quickly noticed that her gaze had shifted downwards ever so slightly. She was now looking him directly in the face. The smile on his face expanded, as he realized that she was finally beginning to acknowledge his presence.

"Yes, we need to find firewood. Will you help me?" he asked quietly as he offered her his hand.

Elizabeth's eyes drifted to his hand. Her own fingers extended as if she wanted nothing more than to take it in hers, but she made no effort to actually do so.

Will slowly dropped his hand back to his side and set off towards the base of the cliffs, where assorted pieces of driftwood and other combustible bits of flotsam and jetsam had a tendency to accumulate. As he began picking up the most suitable scraps in terms of size and degree of dryness, he wondered how long it would be before the remains of the Endeavor and other ships damaged in the maelstrom battle would wash ashore. It was odd to think that by the next time he would have the chance to visit this place – not that he ever cared to return—all vestiges of the battle would have long since disappeared. The idea was too painful to consider, so he tore his mind from it and focused on happier times when he had conducted similar searches on the beach–with Elizabeth. They had been children then. How did we wind up here? Like this?

After several trips back and forth in total silence, Will decided to take another shot at breaking through the wall Elizabeth had built around herself. "Do you remember playing on the shore when we were children? Your governess used to take us there, not too long after they rescued me," Will asked as he picked up a driftwood branch and brandished it like a sword. "We pretended we were fighting pirates–you wanted to hold them prisoner to make them tell us where the treasure was hidden, and I just wanted to kill them." He thrust the makeshift sword in her direction spinning towards her.

Elizabeth stopped walking and looked at him, her expression still grim, but at least beginning to show some reactions to what he was saying now – that had to be an improvement, didn't it?

"And look at where I ended up–married to the Pirate King. Who would have imagined that?" he continued as he took a step towards Elizabeth. "If you're the King, what exactly does that make my title?" he added with one eyebrow raised questioningly–the humor in his voice clearly evident.

Elizabeth still did not answer, but for one brief second Will thought he saw a twinkle of mischief return to her sad, brown eyes, but she unexpectedly turned and continued walking down the beach, picking up more pieces of driftwood for their campfire. Suddenly, she stopped and turned back towards her husband–her eyes once again sparkling. "I just do not for the life of me understand why your father would stand for this!" she perfectly mimicked the high pitched, clipped and overly arrogant sounding voice of her childhood governess. "That Turner boy is going to be the ruination of you one day, Miss Elizabeth. Mark my words, you should. Mark my words!"

Will broke out in laughter at Elizabeth's spot on impression of the woman. "I suppose she never liked me too much, did she?"

Elizabeth shook her head slightly. "No, she didn't. She still doesn't." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Was I?" Will asked quietly, the laughter quickly forgotten.

"Were you what?" A look of confusion crossed Elizabeth's face.

"Your ruination." Will's expression was totally devoid of emotion, but inside he was not nearly so calm as he appeared or sounded. He hadn't intended to ask her anything like that. It had just slipped from his mouth without prior thought, but if she had any regrets, it was better to address them now—while they still had time to rectify the situation, rather than allow it to fester for years. If what he understood of his obligation was correct, there was no room for uncertainty–it was an all or nothing deal.

Elizabeth gave him a pained look, as the light again faded from her eyes. She turned on her heels and began to stalk back towards the camp. Will could tell from her movements that she was not angry–although anyone else might have interpreted her actions as such—but she was upset. There was no doubt in his mind that his comment had unsettled her. Will allowed her a head start and then followed behind. As hard as he tried to convince himself that her reaction was an improvement, it still did not quell his fears for her emotional stability.

Elizabeth carried her armload of wood to the camp and deposited it on the stack they had already begun. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood perfectly still, staring at the ground. Will dropped the wood he carried just short of the circle and quietly slipped up behind Elizabeth. He slowly and cautiously wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek against her hair.

Elizabeth turned in his arms to face him, and rested her balled up fists on his chest. She then lay her cheek against her own hands, closed her eyes and leaned in towards him. Will could feel her tremble as he held her tightly. He gently stoked her back and her hair in the same manner that a parent would to calm an upset child. But she wasn't a child; she was a grown woman, his wife, and he had no idea how to take care of her in this state. And so he simply continued to hold her in the fading twilight, until he could feel her start to relax. He felt her hands open against his chest and then slid up to cling to his neck. She had been crying so softly that he hadn't been able to hear her, but he could now feel the warmth of her tears on his bare skin.

Will fervently wished he could tell what was going through Elizabeth's mind, if for no other reason than to try to share her burden. It was frustrating to realize that the pair of them had grown and matured to a point of understanding that any and every joy, burden, inconvenience, or what have you, was something they had to face together, and yet he had no idea how to reach her like this. Her current behavior was something completely and totally out of his realm of experience.

Of the pair of them, he truly believed she had been given the worst part of the deal. He had been given a second chance at life –provided he met the requirements. He knew where he would go, he knew what was expected of him, and he would have his father with him for guidance. Most importantly, he knew that Elizabeth would wait for him as long as they needed and never give it a second thought. But between the Company and Davy Jones' curse, Elizabeth had been deprived of everything she had known. Her father had been murdered, and this time tomorrow he would be leaving her too. He knew she had relatives back in England, but they were not close contact. Besides, there were still arrest warrants out for them both. That clearly ruled out relatives, no matter how sympathetic, as a safe haven. Where can she go? How will she survive?

The memory of Weatherby Swann, explaining to him that his biggest concern in granting him and Elizabeth permission to marry was not Will's lack of social standing or the fact that he was the son of a pirate, but his lack of financial resources, surfaced unexpectedly. It hadn't mattered that Will was a master sword smith and that his services were in high demand. What mattered was that it was a profession that would never earn him enough money to provide the kind of life Elizabeth had enjoyed growing up. What would her father say now that she was potentially facing a life of poverty–one that neither he nor Will could save her from? The knowledge that she was a resourceful young woman was little consolation, at the moment.