Once upon a time, the sights and sounds of a new port were enough to distract Elizabeth Swann from thinking much about Jack Sparrow's concurrent activities. As she saw the same basic things each time and spent more of her months in his company, however, it all built up to stick in her craw to see Jack go ashore their first day into St. Croix. Nothing could be done about it, though, except to see to her own business. She scouted until she found the local smithy and, pressing her lips tightly together to quell the pang in her heart and the downward swoop in her gut, she went in to haggle with the proprietor (a middle-aged stranger, much to her combined relief and disappointment).

Two hours later and less light in the purse than she'd expected, she exited with a satisfied air—and a carefully-wrapped package containing a hastily-conceived idea, hidden in the lining of her oversized greatcoat. She paused on her way back to the Pearl, drawn despite herself to the sounds of revelry in the small village. An internal argument, and then she lost, veering off her intended path toward the music and laughter instead.

She found him in the Sow's Ear, gathering a small, ragged crowd as only Captain Jack Sparrow could. Paying extra at the bar for a tankard of mostly-clean well water, she wove her way to his table, only to find no chairs. The problem was solved in short order when Jack pulled her into his lap with a rousing, "And as I do speak, in walks th' devil 'erself!"

A lascivious cheer went up, and Elizabeth squirmed a bit to situate herself better on his far thigh, forcing a wide grin she didn't feel. This wasn't the first time he'd made her the center of one of his tall tales, but it was only the second time it had annoyed her so. She'd heard the dirty details he gave the last crowd; Jesus only knew what he'd been telling this sorry bunch, but she was willing to bet it had nothing to do with her sword-arm, unless that small hand was being put to 'better" uses in the Captain's cabin.

"Bring me a rum, Lizzie?"

The nickname grated at her nerves. It used to be thrilling and unique, but she'd heard it roll off his tongue aimed at three or four of the multitude of whores they'd run into this last year, and she didn't care for the association. "It's Elizabeth," she patiently corrected. 'And no, this is mine. You would not be interested."

In answer, he snagged the skirts of a passing woman already ferrying one full mug and aimed his most charming grin up at her. "'S that for me, darling?"

The server snorted, clearly acquainted with Captain Jack. "'S not nearly big enough, now is it?" she parried, and Jack tilted back his head and laughed greatly. "Ye need one, love? Le' me go my way, and I'll be right back your way, eh?"

"Thanks, sweet'eart." He patted her behind affectionately, and she winked at Elizabeth, gracefully wending her ample body off through the unwashed crowd. She didn't realize he was watching her now, until she glanced down at him and he waggled his eyebrows in the woman's direction. "Fancy a piece o' that, missy?"

"Jack, for the last time, I am not climbing into bed with you and another woman." It's bad enough you do it, she chimed silently. "Any more than I'd have relations with you on deck."

"What about me an' one of those rentboys?" Her unguarded reaction was an expression of disgust such that Jack nearly choked on the last sip he'd taken from his mug, and had to visibly cough himself back to normal. "Oh, Lizzie, don' tell me you're not well 'nough acquainted with it!"

Unfortunately, she was. When she'd first joined Jack on the Pearl, she'd foregone any courting and joined him straightaway in his bed. Will had left in the night, leaving no note as to his destination, and Jack refused to go looking for him, to the point of nearly getting angry when she'd insisted. She'd taken it as a sign she should follow her adventurous spirit into his arms, and soon gave Jack her maidenhead. After nearly a week aboard with no direction on tasks and no volunteers to show her the ropes, so to speak, she'd insisted that Gibbs teach her. He'd been visibly surprised, but had granted her wishes, and soon she was learning as quickly as any new pirate. Joining the crew in their work was all fine and good, but when she tried to join in their revelry, there was an odd silence that would fall over them, punctuated by disquieting murmurs. When she finally forced Gibbs to tell her what in deuce was going on, he reluctantly (for once) exposited once again about the bad luck women bring to ships.

"But what about Anamaria?" she'd asked of the woman who since had moved on to her own ship and, at last report, was happily raiding every slave ship she came across. "She gave orders to the crew; Jack left her in charge when he was gone."

"Aye, but she was one of them," Gibbs pointed out. "Ye've got to understand, Elizabeth; you're from high birth, and she wasn't. You're not as experienced with sea-life as she was." He'd paused, uncomfortable. "An' ... well, she refused 'im soundly ever' time he made an advance t' get her into his bunk." Off her dismayed expression, he'd smiled gently and shrugged. "Captain's bed is awful comfor'ble compared to a hammock. Almost much as a bed in th' Gov'nor's mansion, to this lot."

And so, she'd moved out of Jack's cabin and strung a hammock belowdecks in an effort to be part of the crew. The first couple of nights had been fairly peaceful, but when it became clear she was serious about staying, the midnight buggery started up again. It hit such volumes at first that she swore they were testing her, and no amount of catching glimpses of it in the dark disposed her any more favorably toward participation. Jack had already tried to get in her back door a few times with some sweet words and rose oil, and she'd balked every time—no matter how it meant not feeling that sheepgut rubbing her sensitive bits, she wouldn't do it. After two months of hammock-sleeping and noisy sex, she gave up and applied to move back in with Jack. He'd accepted her as though she'd never left, and for the first time she began to wonder about her standing with him.

"No, Jack," she answered. His attention wandered once more to a passing painted doxy, and she chose a different tactic, getting a hand under his jaw and coaxing his eyes back around toward her. "Why don't we go back aboard?" she murmured, trying her best smoky expression. "I've been reading ... learned a couple new tricks to show you, and you'll not catch the pox from me." She just barely kept herself from wincing as the last words rolled out, reflecting how far she'd come from the days when men used to compete to simply dance with her.

His black eyes widened, and he seemed about to answer in kind when they were interrupted by the serving woman. "Here ye go, guv." She licked her lips for Jack as he looked her way, and he slipped her a sliver of coin. She paused, smiling, and Jack gave a little nod. "It'll be about two a.m.," she answered, taking her leave with a wink.

At that, Jack grinned back at Elizabeth, rejuvenated. "Alright," he agreed. "Let's make hay, then; I've only a few hours."

In perhaps the greatest acting coup of her life thus far, she managed to clamp down on the invective and the urge to slap him harder than she ever had for a buggery suggestion. Instead, she concentrated on the parcel within her coat, and smiled seductively as she scooted off his lap. "Well, let's go, then."

*****

Still a little raw after her prodigious performance atop the captain's mast, Elizabeth took herself out of bed with the greatest care and dug in her coat for the package she'd brought back. Jack slept deeply, but not long, so she didn't have much time. With only one lamp and taking care not to make much noise, she screwed in the metal plate and hook with the miniature sword-type instrument she'd described to the blacksmith earlier today, which he'd been able to heat and pare down roughly from another tool he'd had in stock.

"If you twist too hard, you'll make the hole wider and deeper than it needs to be, and the screw won't do its job," Will explained, passing her the metal stick he'd fashioned to fasten the screw in place. "Wood is awfully soft for this, you see."

"Then why not just use nails instead?" She'd wanted to surprise her father with something small and hand-made for his birthday that wasn't another damned embroidered handkerchief, so she'd applied to her fiancé for assistance. He'd suggested the bird-feeder, with a wry joke about wondering how much grumbling Swann would do every time he had to put out seed for visiting sparrows.

"Screws are more lasting—they go in tighter and hold it together better," he'd answered.

"So, tighter and better screws are preferable, are they?" She'd quirked her lips, and he'd blushed in typical fashion, and they'd both laughed to the point of aching sides before he'd rather brazenly stolen several minutes of her work-time for kisses.

Elizabeth paused at her work, only now aware she'd just handed another smith the opportunity to make money and credit off of Will's thoughtful invention in a desperate bid to keep Jack faithful. Finishing up slowly, she clicked the padlock into place, but the thought—and the memories—wouldn't go away. She turned and sat on the floor, her back against the door and her knees drawn to her chest as she faced herself for the first time in a darkened, quiet room with no warm body or animalistic grunts to distract her.

Nobody forced her to be here. Elizabeth Swann was as free as a person—let alone a woman—could be. She'd dreamed of pirates, and now not only was she one, she was sleeping with one of the most notorious of her childhood fantasies. She made her own way in the world and answered to nobody, including the man with whom she shared a bed. He expected her to look after herself, carry her own things, and never doubted her ability to do what needed to be done to accomplish a raid, be it swarming aboard a disabled ship or insinuating herself under silks and jewels into a local politician's graces and greedy hands while Jack pilfered his jewel-chest in the next room.

She had no time to examine her tears or the wisdom of what she'd just done, as Jack made a shuffling sound that alerted her to his half-awake status. She wrapped the little screw-tool and put it inside her own small trunk of possessions, down on the side with a guilty furtiveness, and eased back into bed in a manner that suggested she was flouncing to turn over instead of having been gone for any amount of time.

Elizabeth feigned sleep as Jack climbed out of bed several minutes later, bold as you please, and dressed and fussed over his accoutrements. She tensed as he approached the door and pulled lightly at the handle; when nothing happened, and he inspected her work, she still didn't move. She made sure her eyes were shut when he looked her way, and didn't even respond when the bed dipped beneath his weight. "Get up," he ordered softly from two inches above her face, surprising her into betraying the fact she wasn't fully asleep. As she drew away and sat up, pulling the covers around her chest, he kept a steady, neutral gaze on her. "What," he finally asked, pointing toward the door, "is that?"

She flared her nostrils and lifted her chin, pushing past her own belated realization of the bad idea. "A lock, since you seem incapable of keeping the buttons on your breeches similarly fastened."

"Ah." Instead of getting angry, he only smiled. It wasn't warm or comforting, but neither was she afraid. Jack had yelled at her and cursed as nobody else ever had, but since she discovered she could do the same, it didn't intimidate her any longer. "So you're forcing me into fidelity, is that it?"

"I shouldn't have to," she informed him, annoyed at his growing amusement. "I ought to be enough."

He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Who're you t' say what's enough for me?" he asked. "Didn' think you were that provincial, Lizzie."

"Quit calling me that." She ground her teeth. "That's not the name I've asked you to use, Jack."

"But, it's th' name I like." He cocked his head, with a frown. "Very well. What would ye prefer? Bess? Eliza? Lissa? Bett?"

"My name is Elizabeth," she sighed. "Why is that one difficult?"

He smiled oddly. "I'm no Will Turner, missy. That's what you're wantin', I suggest you find passage to track him down."

She was about to snap something back, but was instead alarmed to feel rising wetness behind her eyes. To cover it, she scooted off the other side of the bunk, dragging the covers along and forcing Jack to stand to get off of them. "Why is it such an insult to you to limit yourself to one woman?" she demanded. "We're eminently compatible; I can fight, and work on the ship, and I've never heard you complain about my fucking." She forced back any tears and faced him. "None of those other women can give you everything I can." And have, she thought with surprising bitterness.

"You're a fine crewman—woman," he conceded and corrected, expression softening. "I meant what I told ye, lass, 'bout being a pirate; at your very core, that's your nature. With or without me."

She blinked at the hint. "Do you want me gone, Captain?"

"Didn' say that," he soothed, coming around the end of the bed. "Why would I run off such a valuable member of me crew?" he asked. "And such a willin' participant in me bunk?"

There was no irony in his words. They were plain truth. There'd been no pursuit, no false social constraints to make them wait for the flesh they'd both craved, unlike the long engagement and Will's inconvenient sense of propriety that had kept her from being able to do more than get his hands on her breasts or hers on the outside of his breeches. She recalled a conversation in which she'd drank a bit too much and recounted to Jack the ridiculous excuses the blacksmith had given to forestall relations, how they'd mocked Will's manners and stupidity at being unable to recognize that she'd wanted no traditional engagement in the first place—else, why would the governor's daughter throw over a commodore of the fleet for a blacksmith anyway?

The memory made her hot with discomfort, and Jack leaned closer, taking advantage of her uncertainty. "Th' key?" he prodded gently, hand out. When she stared hatefully at him, he sighed. "I could pick or pry it off, given enough time. You weren' out of bed long enough to get th' screw in that tight—and as we've already established, Will's not around to've installed it himself. Obviously, you were lookin' to make a point, and difficult as 'tis, I'm trying to respect that without losin' me temper."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask What am I not doing well enough for you? but she caught herself in time. She wouldn't make a bigger mistake with what pride she had left. Going to her chest, she knelt and pulled out the wrapping, opening it just enough to get the key and not reveal the new tool—she was oddly covetous of it and didn't want anyone else seeing. Instead of handing Jack the key, she stood and crossed the room to unlock it herself, moving off to the side to let him pass.

He reached for the handle. "I'll be back in a while. Keep th' bed warm."

She met his gaze and realized her heart wasn't breaking over him. "Goodbye, Jack."

He studied her a moment. "Fair winds." And then, he was gone.

****

A few hours later, hair braided and tucked under her tricorn, Elizabeth gave the innkeeper two coin slivers for a week's rent. She couldn't stay aboard the Pearl and maintain any of the respect she'd won among the crew if she moved out of Jack's cabin a second time, and in any case, she preferred parting on her own terms. She needed to figure out where she truly wanted to go, and the only way to do that was to stand still for a moment to actually read her own internal compass again.

As she bent to pick up her trunk, the innkeeper shook his head and motioned his boy to come over and lift it for her. "Payin' customer shouldn' have to carry 'is own trunk," he gruffed. It was such an odd and misplaced gesture in her life of late that Elizabeth blinked only a moment over what she'd given to get here.

"Will, please," she'd protested, as he'd added another of her bags to his overloaded hands. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own possessions." They'd been helping the servants, against her father's protests, load the carriage with her things a few days before their wedding, to be taken to the dock for their cabin aboard the Dauntless, from where it would travel to the American colonies two days after the wedding. Will had suggested the trip as a honeymoon—after catching her looking out to sea too many times, no doubt—and had even hinted they might find something they liked in the New World better than in Port Royale.

"That's as may be, but this is the heavier one." He'd nodded toward a couple of valises by the entryway door and smirked. "Besides, I figured you'd be getting those. They're light enough for a girl." He'd managed to get outside just in time to duck the cushion she'd thrown with great aim at his head, his laughter filling the space in the doorway he'd just vacated. "Next time, it'll be my sword!" she'd called chidingly after him.

And she lived ever after.