-112.

Many weeks had passed, and still no sign of the Explorer. Jack was beginning to doubt they'd even set course for Japan at all, at this rate. How could they have missed them? What other possible route could the ship have taken? But Elizabeth took readings on his special compass, and besides the odd tick of the needle in his own direction, it pointed steadily on course. And Jack had no doubt that finding John was what she desired most.

What if we're too late, he dared think. What if she gets her scaly hands on John, and drags him down to the dregs of Davy Jones' locker, to keep in place of her son? The thought sent chills across his skin. It's not going to happen, Jack, he told himself. We're going to find the boy, and even if the lad can't keep off the sea, we can well keep him away from the Japans.

It was strange, but Jack felt as though he were getting to know the boy, without him even being here. Tell me a story, love, he would request, as something to pass the time behind the helm. So Elizabeth would tell him tales of their son, of the mischief and joy he brought her. He recalled a few times when his grip upon the wheel unwittingly turned his knuckles white, and he felt that damned unfamiliar stinging in his eyes a few times more. I wish I could have been there, love, he would tell her with his eyes. There were so many things he wished he would have known.

Their difficultly in finding the boy was not the only element that factored in to Jack's sour mood that night. The whelp was turning the decks of the Pearl into a small space, a very small space indeed. At every passing of Elizabeth, he seemed to devise some way of making contact, a kiss or brush of fingertips. It sickened Jack to watch, deep in the pit of his stomach, like a noxious black ball rolling back and forth in his innards. Who did Will think she was? His wife?

It was jealousy, he admitted to himself. Plain and simple. It should be him who is so free to touch the woman he loves in the bright light of day. It should be him stealing kisses and nips on the neck, not the whelp who seemed to have so badly deluded himself. Elizabeth took his affection like a martyr, not having the heart to push him away, but knowing his efforts would win no ground with her.

The subject of his thoughts made her way up the steps to join him at the helm, as she'd made a habit of doing every night after Will drifted off to sleep in his hammock. She wrapped those long arms around his torso, molding her body to his back, head resting between his shoulder blades. "You seem vexed," she said quietly.

He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of her body warmth through his clothes. "I'm not vexed," he pouted.

"You are," she insisted, reaching up to brush his neck with fingertips. That single touch threatened to undo him, sending a thrill shooting through his system; his hands clenched the wheel involuntarily.

Pursing his lips, unable or unwilling to hold it in, he fired, "If Will keeps this up, I'm going to make a scene in broad daylight for all to see. I want to do things to you that would make Parrot blush, and take my bloody time about it too. That would set the whelp straight..."

Even as Elizabeth's body shook with a chuckle, the thought of said things sent a blushing heat to fire her cheeks and ears. Truthfully, secretly, the thought of Jack doing such a thing delighted her. You're a wicked woman, Elizabeth, she scolded her self. Of course I am. That's why Jack loves me.

Elizabeth slipped under one of Jack's arms, so she stood within the circle of his arms and the wheel. By the look they exchanged, it seemed they both approved of the position. "So like an animal, you want to mark your territory?" she teased, much amused.

"He practically ravages you on deck!" Jack exclaimed, obviously exasperated. "What does he think he is? A pirate?"

The corners of Elizabeth's mouth turned up in a smug smile. She would never ever dare tell him, but she found Jack's little fit adorable. It was certainly not an adjective one could normally apply to the great pirate captain. "I think he's trying to act like you," says Elizabeth. "Or rather, how he thinks you must have seduced me, so many years ago."

Jack narrowed his eyes at the thought of Will even thinking of borrowing his methods. "I've never been so obviously blatantly puppy-dog in love all my life. If you want to woo a maiden, it's all about timing. You've got to lead her along, take your time. You have to make her want you, not attack her with sloppy kisses at every opportunity. For examp--"

Completely without warning, Jack leaned down to take Elizabeth's lips, kissing her deeply, pressing her into the helm in his enthusiasm. The spokes pressed almost painfully into her back, but at that moment she cared not. There was that element of ambush, of passion, that Will could never emulate. Jack pulled back, dragging Elizabeth's bottom lips between his teeth gently, tasting the plump fullness of that sensual mouth. Her knees trembled from the experience; he'd taken her completely unawares.

"I didn't expect that," she admitted, breathless.

He smiled, that devil-may-care curl of lips she loved so dearly. "Exactly, luv."

Unable to resist the warmth of his body so near in the cool night, she reached up, pulling him to her once again. This kiss wasslow and lingering, a languid re-visiting of once charted territories, leaving her knees even weaker than before and lightheaded. "I can't steer the ship and pay you the proper attention you deserve, luv," said Jack, his voice gone low, husky with desire.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, making to move away from her little haven between him and the helm. Before she could escape, Jack held her with a hand on her hip, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. "But I could get Gibbs to steer," he offered. "And we could retreat to my cabin. I promise we won't get a wink of sleep."

A small whimper escaped Elizabeth, and she leaned her head forward, resting in the hollow of his throat. "Jack..." she whined quietly, thoughts of Will sleeping below whizzing through her brain. No matter how much she wanted the pirate, it seemed betraying her husband would never sit well with her.

"Please," Jack breathed into her hair, hand squeezing her hip gently. That one word held such emotion, such raw need, that she thought she could feel her heart breaking all over again. At least at that moment, he felt that if he couldn't hold her near for the night he would die. It wasn't a craving for carnal knowledge solely, although that was certainly in there somewhere. It was more of an intense desire to simply feel her bare skin against his; to draw her warmth to him, to assure himself that he hadn't yet lost her once again.

Elizabeth tried twice before finding her voice, transfixed by his smoldering black eyes. "Yes," she agreed.

Without another word, Jack left her to steer, disappearing on his urgent quest to find his first mate.

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