At first meant to be a one-shot, but i have decided against it.

She was a lady. Elizabeth Swann was born and raised a governor's daughter, one meant to marry young and bear many little children for her wealthy and well-respected husband. Every since infant hood she realized what she was meant to be, what her father had hoped he could raise her to be, and she rebelled against it, at least mentally. With every prod for marriage with the newly instated Commodore Norrington, her thoughts slipped to the dashing Will Turner. Every moment her individuality was questioned, she did her best to reinforce it, even if she could no do so aloud.

And here she stood, at the burial of her dearly beloved, the man she was so close to marrying before circumstance cruelly ripped them apart. The same man who rescued her from the clutches of ruthless pirates, the man who she evaded capture from the East India Trading Company just to assist him. There was no doubt that she loved him, always had.

It was rather ironic, though. The sun was out, spreading its many rays onto the Caribbean island, the utter opposite of her raging emotions. On her wedding day it rained, no, poured down onto them, soaking through her dress and ruining the supposed best day of her life. Now Will was dead, in the ground, and everything was so damned cheerful, and she was long since cried out. She knew that she was risking exposure here, standing outside in the open, just asking the wretched Beckett to capture her and take her to the gallows.

His tombstone was makeshift, she had made it herself. No one would come to pay their dues to this great man on this little island, and the sea wouldn't swallow him, just as she knew he had wanted it to, but it was her own selfishness that did not allow it. She wanted a definite place to visit her love, somewhere warm and safe, despite the fact that now Beckett controlled the Caribbean, making nowhere entirely safe. Elizabeth carried a clump of weeds in her left hand, the prettiest she could find. The flowers were covered in swarms of bees, and she was well aware that her beloved would not be picky.

She did not look like a lady, her hair slicked back with sea water, coal smeared beneath her eyes, a pair of slacks and Will's torn jacket draped over her arms and chest. It still smelled like him, and she feared that she would wear it out, overpower the stench of salt and sea, one of the many reasons she had no intention of permanently dwelling on land. She would continue as though Will was next to her, fighting alongside her.

Her father would barely recognize her without the victorian dresses, hair dolled up to perfection. She looked the part of a ruffian, and now she smelled it. She considered a dwelling in Tortuga for a short while, perhaps becoming a ship hand and playing the part of a man. She had done it before, and without her corset her...womanly assets were hard to identify beneath the clothes that nearly swallowed her. Elizabeth doubted that Beckett would care to find her, now that he had what he Davy Jones' heart and thus controlled the seas. She was not his main concern, and word of Will's demise would eventually catch up to him. The thought of that odious man smugly smirking upon discovering this wrenched her gut, he did not deserve the self-satisfaction.

Elizabeth admired her handiwork cautiously, she could not give too much away. It simply read Will Turner, after a mental debate whether or no to allow his last name to be lost, and her own name was below it, though she tacked her love's surname onto her own. They didn't need sacraments, she had been 'married' to Will for a long while, though the physical aspect never caught up with either of them, and perhaps it was for the best.

Elizabeth Swann 'Turner' was now dead, along with William Turner. She wondered if anyone would read this, if anyone would care. Perhaps some sailor would and report, their names were on the tips of many-a-tongue in Port Royal. She wondered whether or not the grave would be excavated, and she somehow doubted it. James would find it fit to allow the two to rest in peace alongside one another, she knew that he would rather believe her dead than lost in piracy, but it was contagious.

The thought of Jack came to mind, his miraculous rescue, his betrayal and redemption and betrayal yet again continued to bob in the depths of her mind, lost in the grief of Will's untimely death. She wondered whether or not she would ever see him again, and if she did would she make herself known? The ambiguity of it all kept her captivated and curious. She could not help but wonder if he would look for her, or if she wanted him to. These thoughts were treacherous indeed, her beloved not yet cold in the ground.

Captain Jack would be too busy pillaging innocent boats to spare two moments of thought toward Elizabeth and her impressive double-cross. He had resurrected The Black Pearl and this was all that mattered, even though it was just a ship, or so he once painfully claimed.

"I'll see you soon, Will. I'll be back, I promise." The promise of a lady was something honorable, a word that you could count upon. But the promise of a pirate, a female pirate, this was not a plight one could be sure of. She placed Jack's hat, a keepsake, atop her greasy head and swaggered away, turning back three times before finally reaching the golden sandy beach.

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"Captain! Captain!" The voice and pitch made the speaker quite obvious, a young boy barely surviving seventeen summers that they had picked up at some port for scouting purposes. Jack Sparrow twirled around dizzily, a bottle clutched in his hand and his eyes wide and disinterested.

"Yes, yes, what is it...boy?" He questioned, a momentary lapse of memory and a permanent case of not caring causing him to forget the name of the gent. The boy looked eager, as though he had discovered something shiny, like tinfoil.

He seemed not to care that the captain had forgotten his name, his own pride lost in the heat of the moment. "There is something I believe you need to see, Cap'n." Ah, the boy had already caught the contagious case of incredible vagueness, Jack was mildly impressed.

"Ah, now see, m'dear lad, need is a relative term. If you seem to think that I need to see something, you could be sorely mistaken, thus resulting in some sort of devastating disappointment from me, and causing some bitterness betwixt the two of us. I need more rum, seeing as someone found it fit to load it into the cannons, savvy?" The boy seemed lost, but nodded nonetheless.

"I think that you would want to see this, then, sir, is that better?" The lack of his feature change seemed to signify that it was not, but he followed him nonetheless.

"Gibbs, if you may." Jack stated, over gesturing toward the rope that acted as a ladder. "I would like a second opinion on this allegedly incredibly important circumstance." He explained without much care, stumbling onto the damp sand carelessly. They had stopped briefly, attempting to evade arrest from that pansy Beckett, whom had found it fit to send good ol' Davy Jones after both he and his crew. It was growing tiresome.

The deck hand, Declan, he now recalled he had renamed him for association's sake, eagerly pranced across the sparkling beach, his boots thrice sinking into the muddy abyss beneath the surface while both Captain Jack and Gibbs retained their footing extraordinarily well. "It's over here!" He called out, leaping into the foliage and following his own footsteps toward this allegedly wonderful place, and Jack was annoyed when all they found was a flat stone, apparently from the nearby jetty.

"While this is incredibly interesting, lad, I don't seem to recall showing an interest in..." He stopped mid sentence as he came into close enough range to read what was carved onto the rock, and nearly dripped over his own boots. This was no regular stone, it was a headstone, one that read two names that he was not expecting.

"I heard some of the crew discussing the two of them, Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner, I didn't know that they had passed." Declan stated, not seeming to note the sudden change in atmosphere. Gibbs' gaze was fixed on Jack, while Jack seemed to have completely forgotten that the world was still turning. His bronze skin paled slightly, as he took note of the mangled weeds laying atop the grave.

It took a few moments for the Captain to regain his swagger, though he came back with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. "Hmm, strange that the two found their deaths on this little hunk of land. I suppose it will be comfort to the gov'ner to know that they died together." It did not seem to be comfort to him.

Joshamee Gibbs did not appear to be quite so certain. "It's been less than a year since we've seen the pair, I'm finding an awful lot of trouble believing that they wrangled a crew they could trust in that short span of time." The captain was already walking away, his arm extended somewhat snootily.

He turned around at this, brow crinkled. "What exactly are you saying, Gibbs?" He questioned slowly, Declan appearing blissfully ignorant.

"I'm just saying that I don't believe that the two of them, on the lam, as they were, would indulge their full names to a crew who could quite easily turn them over to the East India Trading Company."

Jack was not quite grasping the concept. "You are saying something, this I am certain of, but what it is that you mean to convey to me through words seems to be lost." He informed him with his dizzying intellect, and Gibbs resigned to simpler means.

"Perhaps they are not dead, but hoping to dissuade any who would find this here stone and believe them to be so." This did not fit, and the captain found it his duty to inform him of this.

"As though a simple little rock in the middles of nowheres would call off the hunt, I don't find false hope to be much of a condolence at all." Gibbs was surprised by his reaction, there was nothing in his features that displayed grief, but his words seemed to suggest that he was sorry that they were dead.

"Not meaning to be on the contrary, sir, but then perhaps only one of them has found their death by unholy means. I don't see Ms. Swann and Turner finding it in their interest to state their names, as I have said before." This seemed to hit Jack suddenly, as though Gibbs' previous attempts were completely lost.

"Ah, so what you are saying is that perhaps this is only half a red herring, and perhaps only fifty percent of the pair is maggot meal, while the other percent is off frolicking and drinking rum...or, if the case allows it, burning it." He said, relaying exactly what his first mate had stated, expect with much less logic and quite a bit more confusion.

Gibbs frowned, relaying the whole of the conversation for a moment before sighing. "Aye."

Captain Jack Sparrow smiled somewhat falsely, before turning away from the scene. "Alright, I'm glad we understand each other, mate." He said, completely unaware that nothing was understood.

tell me what you think, please.