It's three o'clock in the morning! Elizabeth Turner had awoken with a start to the sound of someone banging on the door.

It must be Will, she thought amusedly. He had done this before.

"In such a hurry to get to the forge you forgot your key again," she said chuckling quietly and pulling her dressing gown around her shoulders.

Elizabeth turned up the oil on the lamp and made her way down to the door, which was still thumping periodically.

"Okay," she said smiling, "stop banging! I'm coming!" But when she opened the door, it wasn't her husband who was standing there before her. The legendary Jack Sparrow, the most notorious pirate captain in the Caribbean, captain of the Black Pearl, and personal friend to the Turner family, was standing, er, more like leaning in her doorway.

"'ello 'lisbith," he slurred.

"Jack, what on earth are you doing here?" she asked quickly, ushering him inside. "What if you had been seen? Where's the Pearl?"

"Gone," he grunted as Elizabeth half dragged him toward the kitchen, "gone to Tortuga t'find a replacement. Be back for me in two days." She pulled out a seat for him, but he sank down against the wall and hugged his knees, an unfamiliar posture for the usually overconfident pirate. The bottle in his hand was nearly empty, but he clung to it when she tried to take it away.

"You're drunk, Jack," she said gently.

"You're a quick wit today, love," he said. "Drunk I am, and drunk I intend to remain until those bloody sea dogs come back with my ship."

"Why are they in Tortuga?" she asked, busing herself making the coffee she knew her friend would need.

"T'pick up a few new men. Replacements."

"Replacing who?"

"Duncan, Ladbroc, Moises, Marty-"

"Marty?"

Jack held his hand up about four feet off the ground. Marty. The little person. Elizabeth nodded her understanding, silently urging him to continue.

"And Anamaria," he said, avoiding meeting her eyes, his gravely voice raw with emotion. "Anamaria's gone too." He tipped back the bottle and swallowed the last of the rum.

Elizabeth couldn't hide her surprise. She didn't think Anamaria would ever leave. No matter how much she may complain about Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth had seen the stricken look on her face when she thought Jack had 'fallen behind.' She had seen they way they acted together. There was a history there, and more than that, there was the possibility of a future.

"I'm sorry," she murmured quietly, taking a cup and saucer from the cupboard. "I didn't think she'd ever leave."

"She's not gone. She's dead." He turned to Elizabeth, catching her wide eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. "Anamaria's dead. They all are." He turned away again and started to take a swig from the now-empty bottle. It was halfway to his lips before he realized that there was nothing left in it.

Elizabeth abandoned the coffee preparation. Oh, she and Will would need it later to get through the night, but Jack? Jack would need something a little stronger. She rummaged through the liquor cabinet and pulled out the Turners' sole bottle of rum, left over from Jack's last visit, actually. He accepted it gratefully, and finally relinquished the empty one.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said, knowing it wasn't nearly enough.

They key in the lock startled them both, and Jack's pistol was half drawn when Elizabeth stopped him.

"That'll be Will," she patted Jack on the shoulder in a gesture she hoped was comforting. "Wait here."

* * *

Will Turner had had a very long day, but he was, by and large, pleased with its results. He had finally finished clearing away the debris from last week's awful hurricane, and the orders were still pouring in from all over Port Royal for him to repair or replace items which had been damaged or lost in the storm. Best of all, he had two swords finished, both absolutely perfect. Part of a full set he had been commissioned to make for the highest ranking officers on the island, he knew they would see good use. So, it was with a mixture of exhaustion and pride that he was coming home to lie in bed beside his beautiful wife.

Wife. He had been married nearly three years, and still the word filled him with excitement. He would never get used to the fact that the beautiful creature inside actually preferred him to all others. To Will, it was still extraordinary that the woman for whom he had risked life and limb had been willing to risk the same for him. Indeed, even after their perilous adventures, Elizabeth had given up her father's title and life in high society for her love of him, and Will strove every day to be worthy of that love. The blacksmith's shop was his own now, and becoming busier every day. He would have to hire an apprentice soon to meet the growing demand. All in all, life was good.

At least, it was good, until he opened the door to see his beloved's tear-streaked countenance.

"What is it?" he asked, encircling her immediately in his muscled arms. She just shook her head and leaned into him.

"It's Jack," she whispered.

"Jack? What's wrong?" Will's mind raced. Jack. Had he been caught? Killed? He braced himself for the worst. "Is he all right?"

"Shh," she cautioned him. "He's in the kitchen. He's all right, but, Will… It's Anamaria."

"Did she finally break his heart?" he asked, but softly.

"She's dead, Will, and a few of the others are too." Elizabeth heard the sharp intake of breath and felt her husband's chest expand against her cheek. He knew what losing a member of his crew, any member of his crew, but especially Anamaria, would do to his friend. Jack always cared a bit more than he let on.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He's only just arrived. Will, he's dead drunk. The Pearl dropped him here for a few days while they go try to find sailors to replace the ones they've lost. He wasn't even disguised. I think he's taking it badly."

"Then we better go to him."

Elizabeth allowed herself a long gaze into Will's chestnut eyes and felt her courage bolster. As strong a person as she was, seeing suffering in others always made her feel helpless and weak. But Will's simple tenderness, his honest strength, gave her strength, and she hastily wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of her nightdress and nodded.

"I'm ready." She clasped Will's callused hand in both of her own and together, they started for the kitchen.




Author's Notes: Thanks to Julie, Michael, Amber, Alex, Cherise, Karin, Theresa, Jen & Adam for proofreading and/or listening to be bitch and moan about the next chapter. I especially want to thank Alex and Patrick for their expertise and willingness to help. It was tough, but we got through it. I'll post it in a few days and you can see what the heck I'm talking about.