• 1-The Storm Gathers
• 2-The Storm Breaks

Part 2: The Storm Breaks



She watched as his eyelids lowered, again, and heard him groan softly as he rocked toward her, his head lowering to her shoulder and then below. His hat bumped her shoulder and loosened, and he impatiently grabbed it and tossed it aside. Her eyes widened as she felt the sharp brush of the hair on his lip on her upper chest as he turned his head, stroking his lips across her skin. Then his face was lower still, and she gaped, fascinated, as his nose came into contact with her breast and she saw him open his mouth, wide, his tongue peeking out as he meant to... he meant to take her nipple in his mouth. In a panic she caught his face between her hands before he could do so, holding it fast, and he paused in the act, looking up at her in desire and frustration.



“It's your turn to say something,” she gasped out.



“Mmmm,” he answered, and lifted his hands to wrap around her wrists, pulling her hands away from the sides of his face and releasing them. She did not resist. He then leaned forward and opened his mouth again, closing it around the upper half of her breast and pulling back until he only held her nipple between his teeth, finally letting it go with a soft tug. At first she could only watch in shock, but when he lapped the same nipple with the flat of his tongue, her head fell back and her hands flew up again, this time to wrap around the back of his head and hold him closer, because she'd never felt anything so exquisite... so sinfully good.



“Jack,” she sighed. The world was rolling forward - no, she was tipping backward, he had pushed her back onto the table and she felt the scratch of the parchment on her bare back. He rose above her, and his arms were bronzed columns on either side of her.



“You like that, do you?” He leaned forward to draw his lips along her neck, under her jaw, nicking her softly with his front teeth. “Tell me, do you sigh like that when Will does it to you?”

She could barely think when his lips were upon her sensitive skin, but through the haze his words finally registered.



“He hasn't - we've never - oh,” she gasped, as one of his palms came up to rest upon her breast, and his fingers stroked the edges of the mound as his mouth left her neck and came to hover just over her lips.



“Never, eh?” Jack whispered. “I find that hard to believe. After all, Will has got blood in his veins. Nothing, since your happy reunion the day I died?”



She moaned as he brushed her nipple with his thumb, and then tried again to form words. “Is that your question, then?”



Jack seemed to think for a moment, all the while fondling her as she arched her back to press her breast even more into his hand. “No,” he breathed, and the evil glint was back in his eyes. “My question is...” and she felt the hand burn a trail straight down her middle to the fastening of her breeches, which he undid with several flicks of his wrist, “...I want to know, if in your grief after losing me so tragically, if you sought some comfort from your bridegroom. What would be the harm, after all?” He slid his hand inside, and she knew she should stop him, push him off, get away, but her muscles were completely slack and she simply lay there as his fingers tunneled through her curls and between her folds, and before she knew it he had curled a finger inside of her, and her hips came off the table, partly in protest, partly in plea.



He massaged her with his thumb and she moaned, a low keening sound in her throat. He was pleased at the sound, and at the same time his awareness was heightened. She wasn't resisting, and that was the opposite of what he'd expected... he thought she'd fight him off, or least try to slap him. But this passionate abandonment of all propriety... it was more than he could take. He bit his lip with the effort it took to control his actions. He still intended to have his question answered, and she wasn't speaking, her head lolling on the table, her brows knitted and her lips pinched together as he stroked her. Oh, she wanted him after all. He curled a second finger inside of her, just an inch, gently probing for what he sought, a thin covering of flesh just inside... there. He felt it. Smiled. “No, eh? That's interesting. I do wonder about that.”



“Jack,” she pleaded, lifting her head. “Please understand, we... we're waiting.”



“We're waiting?” he echoed, and placed one foot on the chair in order to lean over her as her stroked with his thumb, watching her writhe. “I've no doubt that nothing could get in the way of what Elizabeth Swann truly wants. Therefore, if anyone is waiting, it's you, Lizzy. The question then becomes, what are you waiting for?”



“You're not playing fair,” she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut as her hips began to rock in time with his hand. “Don't bother to say it. 'Pirate'.”



“I wasn't going to. Relax, and lie still. It's just between us, now. Don't worry.” He ground his thumb against her and she made a different noise, a strangled sound in her throat. He thought about leaning over and kissing her, falling on top of her and ending this torture... but there were too many complications. Women were bloody complicated. But if he was going to be in agony, she could stand a little herself. “Now tell me, Lizzy... tell me the truth. What were you waiting for, then? Your wedding night? Or perhaps...” and he leaned over his arm, to stare down at her contorted face, “...my return?”



Her eyes opened, then, glazed with desire. “I'm not answering that.”



“You lose the breeches, then.”



She gave a quick sigh of frustration. “Fine.”



It seemed to Elizabeth that she could only do the opposite of what she ought, as she lifted her hips to allow Jack to peel the trousers from her legs, laying her bare. In the space of a second he had divested her of them completely, and they fell in a heap on the floor next to the chair. She ought to care that she was stark naked... she ought to slap his hand away, get up, move, before it was too late. She was spread wide to him, now, and he replaced his hand, placing his fingertips gently inside her, taking great care not to shove too deeply. She moaned again, and fell back on the table. “Jack,” she sighed. “It feels... too good. Please... don't stop.”



Her words, ironically, had the opposite effect of immobilizing his hand where it held her, as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his teeth, knowing he was harder than he'd ever been, an extreme arousal that was fast becoming an ache... damn. Her hips lifted of their own accord to grind against his stilled hand.



Several things happened at once.



Boom. An extremely loud clap of thunder exploded through the sky, seeming to shake the very boards of the ship. Elizabeth, startled, fairly leapt off the table in a single spasm of surprise. Jack, also startled, but less jumpy, snapped his eyes open when he heard the thunderclap and felt her jerk, violently, against his hand and fingers, which were still buried inside of her... much deeper, now, than before. “Ow!” she hissed. He yanked his hand back. Too late. Two large dollops of blood spotted the pads of his fore and middle fingers.



Shit, shit, shit. “Bugger it all, I told you to lie still,” he snapped at her, knowing full well it wasn't her fault, but unable to contain his alarm. He watched as she sat upright, gasping for breath.



“I'm sorry, I...” Elizabeth's chest was tight with the remnants of her shock at the cataclysmic stroke of thunder, and she laid a hand on her bare chest to calm herself. “It startled me, I just... ouch, that hurt.” She looked at Jack, who was now regarding her with an odd mix of emotion in his eyes. Desire, still, as he took in her naked form from his place beside her thighs. Regret, perhaps, and a little bit of defeat?



“I'm sorry,” he said, in a low, sad tone. “I didn't mean for that to happen.”



She looked at him, feeling the last vestiges of panic fade as another roll of thunder echoed around them. A very mild throbbing reminded her of where he'd been touching her. She glanced at his hand, seeing the spots of blood. “It's all right, I'm all right. I'll be fine in a moment.”



He stared at her as if she'd sprouted another head, holding her eyes as he shook his head slowly. “Would it were that simple. 'Spose that's what comes from playing with fire, anyway... but... bloody hell.”



“What on earth do you mean? Really, Jack, I'm fine.” She sat up, becoming alarmed by the somber expression on his face. “What's the matter?” He held his blood-spotted hand out to her, by way of explanation. “So? I hardly bled. I'll be all right.”



He stared at her for another moment, before chuckling once, bitterly. “I'm no expert in virgins, by any means, love. But I do think I know what this means. Don't you?” He lifted his fingers to his lips and ran his tongue across them, in one smooth motion. Swallowed. “Wish I could take it back that easily.”



Understanding dawned, and something else quickened inside of her as she watched his tongue play briefly over his fingers before he dropped them to his side, still regarding her sadly. Oh. Oh. Shame rushed in, making her cheeks heat, and she suddenly was aware of how completely nude she was, right in front of... Jack. What had she done? She shook her head in disbelief, in denial as she saw lightning flash outside the window, and then heard the gradual beginning of rain on the water. It sounded like someone saying Shhhh, whispering to her from outside the room. “This can't be,” she whispered. “I'm going to be married.” With another frantic glance around her, she began to slide off the table, in search of her clothes. Jack stopped her by sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.



“It was an accident,” he said, exhaling slowly.



“Oh, yes. Will shall understand completely when I explain the circumstances,” she shot back.



He sighed, lifting her chin in his palm. “Now, listen. He probably won't notice anything at all, if you seduce him into even half the mindless lust you just did me.”



His words washed over her, sparking something to life inside of her again, but she turned her chin from his hand defiantly. “Oh, yes. More deception. That's a wonderful way for me to begin a marriage!”



His eyes flashed and he gripped her chin again, turning it back toward him. His tone was low, menacing. “Don't like that idea, do you? Very well. Give it up. Start a marriage with something else.”



“What?” she hurled back.



“This,” he said, and covered her mouth with his. This, he had said. Start a marriage... did he mean... with him? She almost gasped aloud at the thought, but succeeded only in deepening the kiss, the kiss she'd been dreaming about for nigh a week. He was kissing her hungrily, as though he were starving for the taste of her mouth. She found herself returning the kiss with equal ardor, opening her lips wide in response to his probing tongue, and she was lost once he plunged inside her mouth and swept every corner of it. Her hands twisted into his hair. His bare chest pressed against hers, and she could feel her nipples tightening against the heat of his skin. Still they kissed, rocking against each other rhythmically, their mouths grinding with a devouring intensity.



He pushed her back down onto the table, and either she went willingly or her knees gave out - he wasn't sure - and he scrambled on top of her, kissing her wildly as his hands took a quick survey of her naked form. So soft. So smooth. He wanted her so much, he was afraid he'd explode too soon. He tore his mouth away, gasping for air.



“Get up,” he said, pushing himself up and off of her. He grasped her wrists and pulled her upright, as she looked at him with confusion in her eyes. He cupped her face in his hands, pulling her close. “Listen, love. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly.”



“Will...” she said, looking suddenly nervous again.



He scoffed and shook her head a little with his hands, only a little, for emphasis. “Never mind Will. I'll not be damned for something I haven't done, that's for certain. And if he finds out I have, well, then, at least I'll have gotten something out of it, savvy?”



She gazed at him in still more confusion, and then shook her head to protest. “No, I was going to say... I meant to say... Will... it hurt?”



His lips parted. Closed again. “Oh.”



“Will it?”



“I don't know, I don't think so. Think you've borne the brunt of it already.”



“Oh, I see.” Still she chewed her lower lip, and Jack watched, longing to take over for her in that respect... he compromised and raised a hand to brush his thumb over her lip.



“What's it going to be, love? Last chance to opt out.” He smiled a little. “Shall it be good night... or... game on?” His voice was a deep, terribly tempting invitation.



She looked at him, her eyes dancing over the curve of his impossibly high cheekbones, the lopsided smile upon his full lips, the deep tan of his skin that she knew continued below his jaw to his neck and chest. Briefly, she imagined that it continued also where she couldn't see; beyond the horizon of his waist and down his legs, and the thought alone was enough to make her mouth go dry completely. She knew he was provoking her. She knew he was trying to dare her into... into... she swallowed. “Jack,” she began, her throat tight. “I...”



He didn't permit her to finish her sentence. He leaned forward, or else she did, or perhaps they both did, and their mouths collided in a kiss that was fueled entirely by deep, raw need. She was frightened by the power of it, just as she'd been frightened by the sea, at first, long ago. The sea was dark and mysterious and intense, with the power to give life or take it, to carry her to shore or pull her out, forever. Frightened, but unable to stop, she clung to him and drank him in greedily, hearing herself make strange sounds in her throat, unable to stop them, too.



Jack's fingers, digging into her sides. His palms, sliding over her nude bottom - she started - she'd never been touched there. The table, then, and she realized she'd been lifted back upon it. His arms wrapped around her. Bare, deliciously, wonderfully bare, his arms, his chest, against hers. The back of her head met the table, gently.



Jack was berating himself even as he eased her backward. She's still a bloody virgin, get a hold of yourself and carry her to the bed. I can't carry her, my knees will give out, he thought plaintively as he coaxed her delectable mouth wide open with his tongue. Well then, walk. He shook his head slowly, breaking the kiss, bracing himself on his arms, bending down to take a nipple between his teeth. The one he hadn't had before, the one that had been tempting him ever since. If you can't walk, give her a goodly shove and then crawl after her, for God's sake, anything's better than taking her right here on the bloody table! But the taste of Elizabeth's breast on his lips was too sweet and obliterated every other thought. Her cry of pleasure brought him back to the moment and he lifted his head to look up at her. Her head was thrown back and her hair loose around it, a picture of sensual abandon that he found unbearably erotic. She was letting him do it because he was making her feel good... she would let him do it, she wanted him to take her. He knew it with a certainty that somehow steadied him, and he bent his knees to lower his lips to the curls between her thighs, brushed them across her slowly. He watched her arch up in surprise.



He waited for her to protest, heard her pant once... twice. She lifted her lids halfway. If she intended to protest, she wasn't doing it fast enough, Jack concluded, and opened his mouth to taste her.



Will. Her fateful word came back to her, in that moment, as she shivered uncontrollably, fearing how it would end, now. She had to pull herself together and put a stop to this insanity with Jack, and she would, she would very soon, right after this touch of Jack's tongue was over. No, after the next. After the one after that. In a few minutes.



She would think about Will Turner in just a few moments.



Her damp palms bounced lightly across the table, her fingers catching the edge of the parchment. A small slice, she felt on her fingertip. The tiny pain was drowned in the sea of pleasure Jack was releasing upon her... it was too much, and she strained to get closer to him, wordlessly begging for something she knew not how to name. But she knew she had to reach it, or die trying, in exquisite agony.



She would think about Will... once she was... there.



Jack stepped out of his lowered breeches at the same time he reluctantly pulled his head away, knowing that she was aroused beyond belief, that he was aroused beyond belief... he knew she would come, soon, and he wanted to be inside her when it happened... wanted it to be because of him, and around him, and through him, and so he pushed on her knees till she slid backward enough to give him space to climb up on the table, the map crumpling under his knee, tearing, and he didn't care in the slightest.



But he did not tear her, or hurt her any more than he already had, for which he was distantly grateful in the part of his mind that still thought rationally, rapidly giving way to the part that only took and did not give. He became aware of every nuance of her body, every catch of her breath, every pull of her muscles against his, even the moisture gathered in her navel as it met his when their bodies aligned.



Jack was inside her.



She opened her eyes and he was so close that she could only see part of his face, the lower half, and he was smiling, his teeth showing just a little because he was breathing hard, his breath hot on her face. It seemed to her that he was thinking the same thing she was, a single word, Yes, as desire and satisfaction licked at her from thighs to lips and back down to where they joined.



She would think about Will Turner later, she decided as she moved against Jack with delightful results. She would, she would... just as she would find a way to control her voice, to stop emitting the cries she was shocked to hear from her own lips, but she found she couldn't, she couldn't stop crying out and that frightened her, too, so she held tighter to Jack, unsure what would happen, just like when she'd been so terrified back on the Pearl and she'd wrapped her arms around his leg to steady herself... to be anchored in the storm.



Jack knew it when she came, knew it with a deep and lasting satisfaction that sent blood rushing through his body at an even greater speed. She is mine, he thought simply. She is mine, she is mine, she is mine, and even as the thunder rumbled outside, threatening to drag him from his fantasy he plunged himself deeper, into the pretense of possession, and into her.



As the roll of low thunder faded in the distance, Jack moved his face over hers, a gentle nuzzle, like a cat seeking the reassurance of human touch. Yes, I'm here, she said with her hands as she slid them up his back, over and between the scarred lines. He was shaking, she noticed as she did so. Shuddering. Even his lips trembled as they came down upon hers, and she took the tremor from them, easing it with her own.



She would think about Will Turner tomorrow.



After several long moments, they both had quieted and stilled. Outside the windows, however, the rain quickened and grew more intense. “Oughtn't you to go out on deck?” Elizabeth finally said into Jack's ear, beginning to feel crushed under his weight.



“It's only a thunderstorm. Gibbs is more than capable. So's Barbossa - let him earn his keep. If they need me, they'll call for me. In the meantime, I'm occupied.”



Another long, silent moment passed. She thought about his words... the crew... the ship. “Jack, why did you row back to the Pearl that day, if not out of feeling some responsibility towards us?”



He lifted his head to peer down at her. “That, I elect not to answer. Out of clothing, I'm afraid, but I offer to drink a glass of rum as penance.”



She slapped at his shoulder. “Jack, be serious.”



“I am serious.”



With a great sigh of frustration, she rolled him off of her, and climbed to her feet. She was warm and sore at the same time, she noted with a mixture of curiosity and chagrin. She folded her arms across her chest, unable to face him until this was resolved, because it was gnawing at her, making her question everything. At last she had an idea, and turned to face him again, as he lifted himself off the table and stood in front of her, his expression almost sheepish.



“I'll trade.” She looked at him steadily, the flashing lightning reflected in her eyes. “A secret for a secret.”



“What sort?”



“The very first man I ever dreamt of marrying as a girl wasn't Will Turner.”



One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a smirk. “Oh? Who was it?”



“Why did you come back to the Pearl?”



He smirked. “Ladies first.”



“Age before beauty,” she replied, angling her head up to speak almost against his lips.



“I'll show you age,” he growled. “Wretch.”



“Pirate.”



“Why have I the familiar feeling you don't trust me?”



“I trust you... as much as you trust me,” she purred, brushing his lips with hers.



His arms came around her bare torso, pulling her against him. “A wonderfully duplicitous statement.”



“You'll have my trust when I have the reason you returned.”



“You'll have the reason, when I've the name of the mystery man.”



“Compromise, then?”



“How so?”



“We both write our answers.” She nodded toward the folded, crumpled, sweat-stained parchment spread on the table.



He pursed his lips and then turned to catch up a blank corner of the ruined chart, tearing it off. He divided it half again. “Lizzy... do write small, or be brief.”



“And you as well. If that's possible for you.” They both then leaned over the table, cupping their hands over the tiny bits of paper. Jack handed her a quill and flicked an inkwell with his finger to send it a few inches closer to her. She scribbled on her piece and handed the quill back to him, and he scribbled on his.



When they stood, each clutching the tiny scrap in their respective hands, the ridiculous nature of the situation struck them both. She was naked; he was naked, and they were standing by the table in his cabin, a storm raging outside. Things could not be any more absurd. And yet, quite calmly, they each handed the other their torn pieces. He took hers with his left as he handed her his with his right, and both of their hands touched, lingering, as the papers were exchanged. Both of them turned, at once, toward the flickering candle to read.



Elizabeth's fingers shook as she unfolded Jack's torn corner, smoothing it out to discern what he'd written. The reason for his return to the Pearl, that was not guilt, not responsibility, not the crew. Not the ship itself, which he'd given up easily enough afterward. After all, “she” was just a ship, as he'd said. She frowned as she saw his answer was only a single word, wondering if he was trying to trick her. Then she read the word: You.



Jack spread apart the folded halves of Elizabeth's piece of paper with his thumb, holding it near the light. He was very interested to know the name of the man the young Elizabeth had dreamt of marrying before Will Turner. Before she really grew up, and learned the sorry state of the world... before she ended up being deflowered in the cabin of a worthless pirate. He sighed, narrowing his eyes at the word written in tiny, neat script: You.



His eyes snapped up in surprise, and he watched as she lifted her eyes from his paper. He saw hers were filling with tears. It wasn't possible. Him? Something clenched and unclenched in his chest, and he reached for her, his hands wrapping around her upper arms. Her eyes searched his face, sparkling with emotion.



“You had an awfully high opinion of a pirate you'd only heard stories about,” he said, swallowing when his voice cracked on the last word. He cleared his throat. Their papers fluttered to the floor.



“You seem to care an awful lot about my opinion of you,” she answered, the hint of a smile on her lips.



“However falsely inflated,” he amended, and bent to curl an arm beneath her knees. In another moment he had picked her up and was carrying her, without delay, to his bed.



“Not falsely,” she insisted as he dropped her on the mattress. “I imagined one day the famous pirate would come to carry me off, and-“



“Now, now,” he said, climbing into bed next to her. “Good little girls don't know of such things as come after that, do they?”



“So much the worse for them,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he raised himself over her.



“Or the better.” He lowered his head and kissed her, and she melted against him.



In the next second, a knock sounded at the door. “Cap'n!” someone cried.



Jack lifted his head. Oh, no. The ship rolled, then, nearly spilling them from the bed. The wind had picked up. He rested his forehead on her bare shoulder in despair.



“Captain? Captain!” called the voice as the pounding on the door continued. It was Gibbs. Jack made a mental note to shoot him. He opened his eyes and looked down at Elizabeth, whose half-lowered eyelids bespoke of renewed passion and many promises of sensual delights... the candlelight danced over her face and hair, and the more beautiful he thought her, the more vile were the curses that sprang to his lips...



“Cap'n, if ye don't answer, I'm readyin' to break the door down, ye hear?”



“Just a fuckin' minute!” he shouted at the door, startling Elizabeth out of her delicious languor. Her eyes opened wide. Yes, now she would come to her senses. Realize there was a world outside, with a ship and a sea and a fiancé. Well, his luck had been for shit, lately. Especially with regard to timing.



In one motion he sprang off the bed, and snatched up his shirt, shrugging into it. “Wait,” he told her, pointing a brown finger at her. “Wait for me. Don't go anywhere. Lock the door behind me.”



“Jack, don't be silly,” she said, sitting up and putting her feet on the floor. “Anyone could be looking for me. Everyone's bound to be up, now.” She stood and began to gather her clothing from the floor. “I can't stay here.”



“Oh, anyone and everyone's who you're worried about, eh?” Lightning split the sky outside the windows, and more thunder crashed. A most inconvenient bit of weather, Jack concluded as he buttoned his shirt. More pounding at the door.



“Cap'n! Will ye get out here?”



“I'm coming! I'm comin',” he growled, shoving his arms through his tunic. He grabbed his bandanna in one hand and his boots in the other as he charged for the door. Or, I would have been, if not for this fucking storm. He slammed out of the room and onto the deck.



“Took ye long enough,” Gibbs grumbled at him. “Ye got someone in there?”



“Bugger off. I was having a good dream,” Jack said bitterly. “I'll steer. You supervise.”



“Aye,” Gibbs said with a glance back at the door, before stalking off down the deck.



“Have you seen Elizabeth?” Will said as he passed him, walking the other way.



Gibbs frowned back at the cabin door, and then turned his eyes to Will. “Can't find 'er?”



“I'm sure she's around somewhere. We're on a ship, after all.”



“Ask Jack,” was all Gibbs said, and went to secure a bit of rigging.



Will furrowed his brows, puzzled, and glanced around the deck. Thunder boomed. Many crewmen ran this way and that, climbing the rigging, furling the sails and spotting one another. The wind howled and rain blew nearly sideways, and in the darkness Will did not see Jack anywhere. He crossed the deck to the captain's cabin, and knocked.



There was no answer, but Will was not surprised, since the noise of the storm nearly drowned out all other sounds. He pushed the door with his fingertips and it swung upon. Inside it was dark. “Jack?” he called.



A figure stirred on the bed. Will walked inside, letting the door swing behind him. “Thought you'd be out on deck,” he said. “Have you seen...”



The rest of his sentence died on his lips as the figure's limbs unwound, and Elizabeth turned to face him.



“Will,” she said weakly, and then seemed to be prepared to jump out of her skin. “Will!” she said, leaping out of the bed. He frowned at her, seeing she was at least dressed. But what was she doing in Jack's bed...



“What are you doing here?” he said, his voice unsteady.



“Jack and I had a spot of rum, that's all,” she said, walking toward him quickly. “He told me to go to sleep, since it was raining and he'd be out on deck. There's nothing to worry over.”



After being on deck a scant few minutes, Jack spied Will striding toward his cabin. The problem was, he didn't remember seeing Elizabeth leave it. Bugger and a half, he thought, shoving Cotton behind the helm.



“Steer,” he told the mute man. At least he doesn't argue. Jack jogged down the steps and dashed toward his cabin. He entered and heard Elizabeth say, “... worry over.”



At the sound of the door, Will whirled to face him, accusation written on his face. “Jack?”



“Will,” he replied.



“Jack?” said Elizabeth, staring into the darkness.



“Elizabeth.”



“Jack?” said Gibbs, walking in behind him.



“Is the whole sodding ship invited into my bloody cabin? Out!” Jack ordered, pointing at the door.



Gibbs sniffed and backed out. Will, frowning at him suspiciously, glanced at Elizabeth. She walked quickly toward the door, with a fearful glance at Jack. Jack followed them out onto the deck and shut the door, resolutely, behind them.





It was nearly dawn when he collapsed, exhausted and soaked, onto his bed. It only seemed like a few minutes, but must have been longer, when he heard the cabin door open and close. He peered into the gray pre-dawn light, lifting his head with effort from the pillow.



“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he whispered to Elizabeth, who was striding across the cabin floor.



“You told me to wait for you.”



“I also told you to lock the bloody door. Guess I should have followed that advice meself.”



“What's the matter?”



“You're going to get me killed. Again,” he muttered, looking her up and down, noting how delectable she looked, her men's clothes wrinkled from wearing while she slept, her hair poking out from behind her ears. He also noted that he was far too tired to do anything about it. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed.



“Elizabeth, get out of here. Go to sleep.”



“I'm not tired,” she whispered.



“Then go find Will to scratch that itch for you,” he murmured, turning his face away. A bad idea. The pillow was abruptly yanked from beneath his heavy head, and was used to smack him soundly across the face. “Bloody hell, woman,” he groaned.



His eyes were closed, but he suddenly felt the weight of her on the bed. She had gotten in. His eyes shot open. “What in the blazes are you doing?”



“I'm joining you.”



“The hell you are.”



“Move over.”



“Listen here, Lizzy,” he growled as he rolled over, and pinned her down with his arms. “This is not a game. Think what you will about me, but your husband-to-be is right below and he's rather good with a sword, which ought to bode well for your marriage, believe it or not. I don't fancy being run through, being recently resurrected. So shove off.”



“But Jack - I want to stay.”



He couldn't resist kissing her, then, fully and completely. But after a moment he pulled back, and rolled away. “Go on. Get back to your cabin.”



“Don't be ridiculous.”



“Hurry now, before it's too late.”



“Too late for what?” she said in frustration, propping herself up on one elbow.



“To save your marriage,” he replied. “And your modesty.”



She promptly burst out laughing. He smothered her loud guffaws with a hand. He withdrew it when she began to kiss his palm, yanking it back as though he'd been burned. “Modesty?!” she chuckled. “Do you remember what happened earlier tonight, or have the rain and lightning boiled your brains?”



“Maybe it'll grow back,” he said.



She began to laugh heartily again, and wiped a tear from her eyes while he lay in stony silence. “Oh, Jack.”



“What? I've heard of it growing back, I heard a woman say once, it could heal, it can grow back.”



“Yes, and perhaps that parchment on the table shall grow back the corner we tore off, as well.”



“Anything can happen.”



“Jack,” she sighed, and moved closer to lean over him, balancing on her arms.



“I thought you loved him,” he said quietly, all the childish denial gone from his voice.



She looked at him, stroking her palm across his forehead. “I do love him. But I'm starting to think it's not the way I should... not the way I always dreamed I'd love the man I married. At least... not anymore.”



“You're a fool. He's a good man.”



“So are you.”



“A fool? Oh, undoubtedly.”



“No. A good man,” she said with a small smile, inching her lips closer to his. She kissed him, and he allowed himself to be kissed for a good, long second before his hands seized her face and his mouth opened under hers.



She kissed him back until he turned his head, breaking the kiss. “So you're mulling things over, as it were?”



“Yes, I think so.” She shifted on top of him, her knees slipping down on either side of his thighs. “Trying to... puzzle out a truth. If there is one.”



“Over-rated, as I said... but perhaps I can assist in that endeavor,” he said in a low whisper, reaching up to undo the buttons of her shirt. “You'd better be back in bed before long, or there'll be hell to pay. For both of us, not just me, this time.”



Hell to pay, indeed, Elizabeth thought. She nodded once, gravely, before sinking down upon him, losing herself in the murky oblivion of the grey dawn. It was not yet light, she told herself. When it was light, it would be tomorrow, and when it was tomorrow, she would think about Will.



Somewhere between the night and the morning there was a change, a passing of the storm, over them all.




A/N: Probably my last fic of the summer! Thanks for reading and for positive feedback on all my other stuff, hope you enjoyed.