Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I must say, Clara, that is without a doubt the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Jack’s dark eyes sparkled as he smirked up at me from where his head lay heavy against the pillow, his tawny skin and tapestry of tattoos and scars seeming to come to life beneath the touch of my fingertips.

He was sprawled across our bed — a glorious, mahogany-clawed thing that managed to withstand the ever-present rock and tilt of the room around us — one hand behind his head and the other draped lazily over my bare thigh. I sat straddled over him, wearing nothing but an oversized white muslin shirt that slipped off of my shoulder — well, that and a half-glare-half-grin — for as lovely as the compliment was, I knew full well what he was actually referring to.

“That might make most women swoon, Captain Sparrow,” I replied wryly. “But I know you far too well to think it’s directed toward me.”

My eyes rolled up to point to the golden, jewel-studded crown that balanced lopsided on my salt-thick, sun-bleached waves.

“Well,” he growled, his mischievous grin widening as the glint of the gold seemed to reflect in his eyes. “It’s a very pretty crown.”

When Jack and I had sailed out of Port Royal and begun our second age in command of the Black Pearl, our first stop had, of course, been Isla de Muerta. Being the seasoned professional crew that we were, we kept our child-like, greedy frolicking amongst the gold to an absolute minimum — it couldn’t have been more than four hours, tops — before cataloging the entire haul, making sure each sailor got their fair share. And there had sat the crown, just as I’d left it, perched on a gold-plated column — the symbol of my return to sea. The last time we’d been in that cave, so many strange, painful, incredible things had happened, and Jack and I had kissed for what we believed could’ve been the last time. And here, we had returned to it, side by side, with time stretching ahead of us like a fresh page ready for a million stories. We’d stocked our store, filled our pockets, and left the rest to stay hidden in the caves, effectively making it our crew’s new hideout — and stash.

When we were sure the crew felt satisfied with our ship’s arrangements, we dropped them off in Tortuga to enjoy their hauls and Jack had taken me to our second stop: to Dominica, to visit the grave of my long-lost daughter, Winnie.

I hadn’t been to visit her in many, many years — a fact I carried a potent guilt about, which Jack quickly soothed with a somber but encouraging, “Life’s long, darling. Death’s even longer. She wouldn’t begrudge you a minute, a year, or a decade from heaven.”

The fact is, I hadn’t had the means to travel. When I had fled the Pearl all those years ago upon finding myself pregnant, I had initially sought to build a life with the man who had fathered the child — a handsome, yet rather bone-headed young cobbler in Nassau — but when he had made it explicitly clear he had wanted nothing to do with myself, nor the child, I had used what little I had to cross to Dominica. There, I gave birth, and for one strange, beautiful day, I was Winnie’s mother. And then, when she died, and I found myself sick with grief and physically ragged from childbirth, I had found myself quite alone — and near penniless. It was in Dominica where I spent the last of my money on a plot for Winnie, and after a long, lonely goodbye, I had bartered passage to Port Royal, where I met the Governor, met Elizabeth, and the next chapter of my life had begun.

When Jack and I arrived at the cemetery, I found myself blanching at the gates. Winnie’s grave was unmarked — I had only had the money for a small, plain little stone — but I knew exactly where it was.

“There,” I murmured as we approached the shady corner where I had laid her to rest all those years ago. “There she is.”

He squeezed my hand and gently released it, allowing me to kneel down before the little stone and run my hands through the overgrown grass before it.

“Hello, darling,” I found myself murmuring aloud, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks.

I sat there for a long while, just thinking, crying, closing my eyes and feeling things I’d spent years shoving down. Jack waited patiently, hanging back and leaning against a large mahogany tree and allowing me to have my time. It wasn’t until my tears slowed, and I turned back to look at him with a deep breath and a red-cheeked, sad little smile, that he stepped forward.

“Want to meet her?”

His eyes had lit up, despite the sadness creasing his brow, and he wandered over to kneel down beside me, casting a warm look down at the ground beneath us.

“Hello, Winnie,” he said, his voice gravelly and tender.

I had reached over to take his hand, and he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to lean against him, pressing a kiss against my temple.

That visit had been a gift beyond measure, far more valuable than any amount of swag we could’ve amassed — and something deep within me felt like for the very first time, it was beginning to heal.

To commemorate the visit — or perhaps just to fuse himself to our story in the way he wished he’d always been — Jack left Dominica with a fresh tattoo: the word “winnie” in small, sweet script along the side of his forearm, mingled in with other images and texts that meant enough to him to make permanent on his skin.

I ran my thumb along the name now, smiling softly down at his forearm and feeling a huge rush of affection for him in my chest — a feeling that hadn’t slowed with time. On the contrary — it seemed that every day that passed made me love the man beneath me in our bed even more.

“It suits you, is my point,” Jack rumbled matter-of-factly, his eyebrow cocked as he ran his hand up my thigh, his eyes still exploring the bejeweled crown, glinting in the rays of sunlight slipping through the grand Captain’s Quarters windows. “You look positively regal — fitting for the Pirate Queen of the Spanish Main.”

“I’m nothing of the sort,” I smirked, though the pretend title still sparked a hot little flame of ambition and titillation in my chest. “I think it takes a bit longer than six months to conquer the ocean, Jack.”

“Precisely my point,” he observed. “Only six months and your name already carries a fearsome reputation — all we had to do was walk onto that merchant ship last week and announce who we were, and they handed over every spice in their store.”

“That wasn’t last week, Jack,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “That was two months ago.”

“Was it?” he purred, reaching up to playfully tug the strings hanging from my neckline. “Silly me, I must’ve been distracted.”

It was true, much as I hated to admit it — in the six months since we’d begun sailing, we hadn’t exactly been as industrious as I’m sure the crew had been expecting. Not only had Jack and I been a little… let’s say consumed by finally having unlimited access to each other, but something had clearly cropped up in his head — some wild-eyed, hair-brained scheme had taken root, I could see it. He wouldn’t elaborate to me, but we constantly found ourselves heading for strange, thrilling destinations only to come back empty handed, save for a strange trinket or odd jumble of words that seemed to amount to some sort of clue.

The latest had been a drawing of a key, sourced from a rather dangerous prison break — in and out, mind you — that all of us had stared at in frustrated befuddlement, and Jack had beamed at with a giddy, wide-eyed excitement that told me all this was in service of something — something rather uncanny, I’d guess.

Nevertheless, I could see that while I had plenty of patience and good faith to see where Jack was going, the crew was beginning to grow weary of his nonsense. Sensing impending trouble, I had suggested that we take the crew back to our stash on Isla de Muerta to remind them of our abundance — and distract them with freshly-filled pockets.

“So, not the Pirate Queen of the Spanish Main, then,” he sighed. “I’ll just have this back then, I suppose.”

He reached up to snatch the crown off of my head, causing me to spring into action.

“Aht!” I grabbed his wrist and pinned it down on his chest, holding up a warning finger. Jack smirked. “You should know better than to try and steal treasure from a pirate.”

“I beg your pardon,” he growled, escaping my grasp and running his hands up my thighs. “It seems to me you’ve forgotten the chain of command here, you see—” he tightened his grip on me, making me gasp through my grin. “… I’m the captain on this ship.”

I smirked back.

“You might be the captain on this ship, Sparrow, but I think we both know who the captain is in this room.”

“How dare you. Who’s the one with the hat?”

“Who’s the one with the crown?” I leaned down to brush my nose against his ear and spoke in a low, sly whisper. “Besides. You weren’t saying as much an hour ago when you were telling me, in a rather desperate tone, that you belonged to me.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and I felt his hips press up against me between my legs.

“That was in a moment of extreme passion,” he rumbled into my ear. “I’m lucid, now.”

I straightened and looked down at him.

“Have you ever been lucid in your life, Jack Sparrow?”

“Hmm,” he smirked, his palms continuing their journey up underneath my shirt to hold me by the waist. “You know, I really should’ve taken into account exactly how much of our relationship would be a constant struggle for power.”

“Would that have been a deterrent or a selling point?”

“Oh, a selling point, no question.”

I shrieked giddily as he seized my wrists and flipped us so that he was on top of me, pressing my hands into the pillow on either side of my head. The crown clattered as it fell to the floor and rolled across the planks and carpets until it settled against Jack’s trunk.

“Now,” he growled intimately as he began to drop soft, sensual kisses onto my neck. “Perhaps I do belong to you. But this…”

I gasped, unable to keep myself from smiling as he skimmed one hand down my body and let his fingers whisper between my legs.

“Whose is this, then?” He continued his slow, languorous kisses across my chin, my cheek, my temple. “Hmm? Who does this belong to?”

I opened my mouth to his, just about to answer that question — probably several times — when suddenly, there was a loud knock.

We froze, peering over at the large, opulently carved mahogany door.

“Don’t move,” Jack hissed through his teeth. “They can’t see us if we don’t move.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” I laughed, pushing him off of me.

“No, no—” he stammered, grabbing at my waist. “Nobody’s home! Come back tomorrow!”

I turned in his arms and kissed him quickly before putting my hand on his chest and shoving him back down into bed, where he lay petulantly with a comically put-out scowl.

“Just a moment!” I called, quickly draping myself in a beautiful, voluminous patterned dressing gown that I’d picked up in Cape Town after our last successful pillage.

“Hello, Gibbs,” I smiled magnanimously as I cracked open the door and poked my head through just enough to greet the gruff-but-kind second mate before me. “Need something?”

“Hopin’ to speak to the Captain, Finch,” he said warmly, always softer when he was speaking to me — though I could see that if Jack had answered the door, his tone would’ve been rather different.

“Ah, yes, well—” I began, but I was cut off by a loud thump behind me, followed by a furious grunt. I peeked over my shoulder to see that Jack had fallen out of the bed in his effort to reach for his trousers. I fought an eye roll and grinned back at Gibbs. “He’s indisposed but I’ll tell him to come and find you — unless there’s something I can do?”

There was another loud crash, followed by another groan. This time, the eye roll won.

Gibbs nodded for me to step closer, and I did so, pulling the door closed behind me and leaning in to listen.

“Er,” he began, shifting anxiously. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Finch, but… well, its the crew. They be gettin’ restless.”

“I know,” I conceded, wincing. “I know, Jack has been a bit myopic, and we’ve been a bit…” I trailed off, awkwardly. “But that’s why we’re heading back to the island — I promise you, Gibbs, this stash is enough gold to make everything worth it!”

“Well, that’s just it, Miss,” he grimaced. “We’ve made it, and—”

“Oh, we’ve made it!” I lit up, reaching back to open the door again. “Brilliant, just give me two minutes and we can—”

“We’ve made it,” interjected Gibbs, “and… there be no island.”

I stared at him, baffled.

The door opened behind me and Jack jutted his head out to peer at us.

“What do you mean no island?”

“…Ah. So when you said no island, you meant…”

I looked over at Gibbs, our arms folded as we stood next to each other at the side of the ship, staring dubiously at where Jack stood knee-deep in the choppy, grey-blue waters, pacing back and forth on what appeared to be the very tip of volcanic rock that had once been the highest point of Isla de Muerta.

He looked comically surreal, flailing about in the middle of what appeared to be wide-open sea, splashing the water from side to side as though he could uncover the island with his bare hands.

“Aye,” Gibbs growled. “Quite literally, Finch.”

Jack roared a litany of curses and incomprehensible raging.

“I don’t understand,” said Anamaria, coming to my side and looking utterly furious. “How does an island just… sink?”

“The curse,” rumbled Gibbs, his eyes widening. “The gods must’ve struck it down for all it’s dark energy.”

“That,” I mused, raising an eyebrow, “or Jack nettled an especially powerful sea witch and is now paying the price.”

I turned around to the crew and raised my voice above the waves — and Jack’s ranting.

“Not to worry! We didn’t lose so much!” It was a lie, but the pained look in everyone’s eyes meant the truth would be quite out of the question. “And we are a crew to be reckoned with — there are plenty of brilliant heists to be had!”

“Jack!” Gibbs called to his friend. “Captain! Perhaps trying to dig up the island isn’t the best course of action!”

“And that particularly astute piece of wisdom is why you’re second mate,” grumbled Anamaria with good-natured sarcasm, clapping Gibbs on the shoulder and walking away from the scene before she lost her temper fully.

We managed to coax Jack back onto the ship, and for a moment, he stared out at where the island had once been, stormy-eyed and silent. Then, he abruptly turned back to face us and clapped his hands, his eyebrows raised to the heavens.

“Right,” he grinned, slightly manic. “Seeing as the sea has decided to swallow up our bountiful abundance, the next course of action is to begin amassing a brand new, far superior trove, which we will be storing in a water-tight, dry-land location soon to be determined, savvy?”

The crew stared back at him.

“Braac! Shiver me timbers!” squawked Cotton’s parrot.

“That’s the spirit,” nodded Jack, pointing nimbly at the bird.

“And where exactly do you propose we begin this quest, Captain?” asked Gibbs, trepidatiously.

Jack flailed with a drunken sway, opening his mouth to speak and pausing for a moment, before turning to me and clearing his throat.

“Ahem. Finch?”

“Well, we discussed investigating the merchant shipwrecks off the coast of Hispaniola — the ones they say the mermaids are guarding, but—”

“Exactly! Hispaniola!” Jack roared, grinning once more. “Been eons since we’ve been to Hispaniola — lovely food there, mind you — right! Get to work, you layabout swabbers!”

With fresh motivation, the crew leapt into action, hurrying to ready the ship for speedy travel. Jack picked up a bundle of ropes at his feet and tossed them into my arms before making to stride past me toward the ship’s wheel.

“’But’!”

At the sound of my harsh bark, Jack wheeled around and furrowed his brow, pulling a face.

“Rather unappealing language for a lady, don’t you think?”

“’But’, Jack, did you not hear me say ‘but’?” I glared at him.

He looked baffled, then offended, then deeply suspicious.

“Do you know what today is?” I asked pointedly.

“’Course I do,” he replied quickly, his voice brash and authoritative. “The day I make it to Hispaniola in record time.”

I whacked him in the arm with the bundle of rope. He looked affronted.

“It’s March the twenty-first, Jack.”

He blinked back at me.

“It’s not your birthday,” he said defensively, his mind racing to catch up. “I know that for a fact, so don’t try and tell me it is!”

“March the twenty-first, which means that we have two days to get back to Port Royal or we will miss the nuptials of one William Turner and one Elizabeth Swann, and if you think I’m going to allow that, well then you’re just as mad as everyone says you are.”

“Right,” he mused, nodding. “When in fact I am of course—”

“—far madder,” we said together.

“Yes,” he continued, looking thoughtful and regretful. “That does put the proverbial spanner into the proverbial works.”

“I’m not missing that wedding, Jack.”

“Clara, you know how much I love weddings—”

“I do.”

“And you know how deeply my affection runs for your darling charge and her handsome-yet-obscenely-uptight fiancé—”

“I do.”

“But is it wise?” He wrapped his hands around my shoulders and steered me off to the side, his dark eyes flicking between mine with a hushed sort of earnestness. “Going back there… the last time we were there—”

“Yes, I know,” I nodded, begrudgingly understanding. “Things were rather on the neck-breaky side for you, I know — which is why I insisted I would go alone! Just drop me off at a more isolated beach, I’ll slip into the wedding in disguise, embrace the bride quickly, and be back on the ship in no time at all!”

“You seem to forget, love,” he rumbled, still looking grave, “that you, also, were one dainty footstep away from the noose yourself.”

I swallowed, looking up at him and letting out a resigned breath.

“Jack, I would never ask you to put yourself in danger.” I reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking my thumb across the line of his cheek. “I nearly lost you then, and the idea of repeating that risk feels utterly impossible. I do love you, after all,” I murmured wryly, lowering my voice and leaning up closer to him.

The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly, and he let his hands sweep fondly down to hold me by my arms.

“But I promised Elizabeth,” I continued, looking at him pleadingly. “I have to be there. I know it’s a risk, but it’s one I have to take.”

His mouth folded into a straight line, and his chest deflated.

“Alright,” he conceded, wearily. “Very well. We shall go to Port Royal. And you shall go to the wedding alone.” He picked up my hand and peered over it into my eyes, pointedly. “And I shall accompany you.”

With a quick kiss dropped on the back of my hand, he strode over to the wheel and bellowed to the crew.

“Slight change in coordinates! Instead of going that way,” he shouted, gesturing out to the ocean before us, “we are now going that way.”

He squinted one eye and shifted his arm about three degrees to the left. I chuckled, despite myself — I was always in awe of how adept he was at sea. How he could configure himself in the waves and fog without so much as a star chart or a sextant.

I strode up to stand beside him, folding my hands behind my back.

“You really are impossible, you know that?” I murmured to him, unable to bite back my smirk.

“Sticks and stones, Finch,” he rumbled, whipping out his compass and peering down at it with an amused eyebrow raise, before returning his gaze to meet mine and tossing me a wink. “I do love you, after all.”

Chapter Text

“Jack, I swear to all that is gold and silver on this earth, if you don’t stop being such a baby—”

I yanked him out of the boat by the arm, dragging him up onto the beach and ignoring the petulant scowl on his face.

“Oh dear, you’ve got the shoes wet, guess we’ll have to go home!”

I dropped his arm and wheeled around, choosing to bypass his snark in favor of fixing his collar.

Bizarre didn’t even begin to cover it. Gone was the vest, the belt, the bandana — all of that had been left on the Pearl with the crew, who had been sent to Tortuga with an extra month’s pay.

Instead, Jack Sparrow was standing before me in a light blue brocade jacket and trousers tucked into crisp white knee socks. His hair was pulled back and a snow white ruff frothed over the lapels of his waistcoat.

It was… not his best look.

“I know,” I soothed, guilt panging in my chest — though I had to stifle a laugh. “I know, this is the biggest favor you’ve ever done for me and I will let you lord it over me for the rest of our days.”

I bent down and buried the little anchor in the sand, casting a quick assessment over at the small sailboat.

“Can I not at least wear the hat?” he pled, gesturing back at the boat.

“Nothing that could get you recognized,” I insisted. “What’s more important to you, your hat or your neck?”

He had the nerve to look like he was genuinely deliberating. I rolled my eyes and stood, surveying my work.

“At least you look… rather fetching,” he observed, gesturing theatrically at my silk gown, which was a lovely shade of pink that draped in side swags and ruffled around my décolletage — all the more highlighted by my simple but elegant updo that I’d mastered after years of styling Elizabeth. “I look like some sort of horrible French dessert.”

“Oh come on, I’ve seen you in disguises before!”

“Yes, but that was in pursuit of treasure, Clara.” He gestured at himself, vainly. “I have a reputation to uphold, savvy?”

I narrowed my eyes back.

“I think this little show is all to demur the fact that you are excited to see Will and Elizabeth again.” He scoffed, but I knew I was right. “And besides, you get to see me looking ‘fetching’ in return, isn’t that treasure in itself?”

His brow cocked and he raked his gaze over me, quickly.

“Yes,” he purred, leaning into me. “You look like an elegant woman of society who is simply aching to be sullied by a wicked pirate captain…”

“Do I?” I murmured back, grinning against his mouth and leaning in to receive a kiss — but he pulled away and shot me a pitying grimace.

“If only there was one nearby, ay?”

He dodged my kick and nimbly made his way up the beach, calling back for me.

“Come on, my lady, lets get this bloody show on the road! The weather’s already giving up!”

Sure enough, the sky above us cracked and the damp air began to yield to a steady drizzle. I hurried up to meet his stride, holding my hands above my head in a vain attempt to keep my hair from getting soaked.

“It’s a good sign,” I called back. “Rain on your wedding day — it’s supposed to be good luck! Washes away old lovers, that sort of thing!”

“Right,” he grinned, his gold tooth glinting. “Monsoon for us, then.”

I laughed, and we picked up our speed, making it to a road just in time for it to really start pouring.

“I don’t believe it… we missed it?”

I stared around at the upturned chairs, the wilting flowers, the rivers of water carrying fans and bits of decor — this was the place for a wedding, no question, but instead of guests and vows, there was nothing but a sickly air of something gone horribly amiss.

“Perhaps it was moved indoors?” Jack posited, shifting uncomfortably at the cold — he looked a bit like a very posh drowned rat at the moment, and his good humor was fading quickly. “I don’t know if you know this, Clara, but some people don’t enjoy standing and staring at things in the middle of a rainstorm — perhaps we should investigate that line of thinking, hm?”

His grumpy face dropped, however, as a gang of redcoats came walking by. He reached out and grabbed my arm, gently but protectively, and we turned away from them and back toward the main stretch of town.

We headed to the Governor’s mansion in the hopes of find the wedding party moved, but instead, there were officers going in and out of the open door, their expressions grim and unyielding — and my stomach sank as I caught the faces of Nancy and Isabel peering worriedly out of the upstairs window.

“Something happened,” I breathed, my hand tightening on Jack’s arm as we held back, out of sight.

He lifted his hand to my waist and gently pulled me further into the trees as two officers came down the lane. He nodded toward them and we listened, hard.

“… never thought I’d see the day…” one of them was muttering in awe to his stouter companion. “The Governor’s daughter imprisoned — feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” the other replied, “I swear, nothing’s been right since that Black Pearl came around.”

“I know — and it looked just like I remembered it!”

“You hadn’t seen it before,” the second man rolled his eyes as they passed us.

“Yes, I had!”

They receded out of earshot and I shot a horrified look at Jack, who looked surprised but amused.

“Of the three of us,” he murmured, wide eyed, “I wouldn’t’ve assumed dear Miss Swann to be the one to end up in the clink, but it appears that your excellent criminal influence on the girl has been highly effective.”

“It doesn’t make sense—” I breathed, pushing a soggy stray ringlet back out of my eyes. “Why on earth would Elizabeth— Where’s her father? And where’s Will?”

The only reason I could think for Elizabeth to end up behind bars was if something terrible had happened to the Governor. I felt the color drain from my face as my stomach twisted. Jack cast a look back at the scene before raising an eyebrow and pulling me gently by the forearm.

“One way to find out.”

But for two guards at the door, who were easily slipped past thanks to some quick misdirection on Jack’s part — something about a roasted nut cart coming by giving out free samples — the jail was gravely quiet.

We descended the stairs, holding our breath, and hurried past empty cell after empty cell until, right at the back, we came upon Elizabeth Swann. She was slumped on the ground, her back against the wall, her hair a wreck from the rain, her ivory and gold wedding dress foaming around her like she was Venus emerging from a whirlpool. My heart leapt at the sight of her.

“Elizabeth—” I hissed, grabbing the bars and dropping down to a crouch.

She looked up in shock, and her eyes widened and warmed at the sight of me.

“Clara!” She scrambled to her knees and hurried to meet me at the bars, looking relieved — until her gaze slipped to Jack beside me. After a quick moment of confusion, her lip curled up in distaste. “Jack? Why do you look like that?”

Jack shot me a look as if to say, See?

“What the hell happened?” I demanded urgently. “Your father, is he—?”

“He is currently trying to negotiate with the demands of the most pathetic little man I have ever laid eyes on,” she spat, the eyes in question clouding with malice. I breathed out in relief. “But you— you both are here? What on earth—”

“We had intended on attending your wedding,” I replied.

“Yes, I was promised cake,” piped up Jack behind me.

“But it seems that we arrived just a few hours too late — are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “The cowards had fear in their eyes even as they clapped me in irons.”

“Irons—” I stammered. “But you’re the Governor’s daughter! What crime have you been accused of?”

Elizabeth lifted her chin.

“Conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the Crown and Empire and condemned to death.”

Slowly, we both looked over at Jack. He raised his eyebrows innocently and peered behind him.

“You are being persecuted for freeing Jack?” A deep, heavy well of guilt began to brew in my gut.

Elizabeth nodded.

“A crime for which the punishment is also… death by hanging.”

The well became a whirlpool as the air seemed to leave my lungs. Jack slipped a hand against the small of my back and cleared his throat, clearly trying to salvage things with an air of cheer.

“Well, a favor spent is a favor earned — we’ll find the keys and spring you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Elizabeth shook her head. “They have Will.”

“Yes, where is young William?” Jack peered down the hall of empty cells.

“I don’t know,” she replied, looking distraught. “They took him up to the fort.”

“Elizabeth, they cannot hang him without a trial—” I soothed, but she cut me off.

“Why not? They were more than prepared to hang Jack without so much as a hearing.”

“Ah,” interjected Jack. “Yes, but that is because of my nefarious reputation and undeniable infamy. William’s worst crime is cutting one pirate free — well, that and the hat he was wearing at the time.”

Elizabeth glared at him. He swallowed, nervously.

“Clara is the reason I look like this, by the way,” he said, pointing at me. “I had intended to be a good-looking wedding guest, only she bullied me into this ensemble under threat of a rather pointy death.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes—” I hissed, wheeling on him. “If you hate it so much then go ahead! Stroll around Port Royal looking like yourself! See how well you escape the noose this time with Will and Elizabeth in shackles!”

He turned back to Elizabeth and gestured to me.

“Well,” he said pointedly. “As you can see, the honeymoon is certainly over.”

“Honeymoon??” Elizabeth barked, her eyes widening in furious, almost scolding alarm. “Have you two married?”

Jack and I shared an incredulous look before bursting into laughter.

“No,” explained Jack cheerily, shaking his head. “No, no, no, I was referring to a metaphorical honeymoon, you see — Clara and I are unabashedly devoted to one another, but the exchanging of vows is a positively medieval ritual designed to bind one human being to another in a way that is akin to animal husbandry, and were we to marry, Clara would effectively become a thing that I own, a dynamic that, personal intimate and pleasure-based exploration aside, we both eschew and deride wholeheartedly in favor of a life of mutually-agreed-upon closeness that need not the validation of such a dusty, confining punishment as marriage.”

He grinned.

Elizabeth glared up at him from beneath the confectionary mess of her wedding gown. Jack cleared his throat and shifted, awkwardly.

“That being said, we’re both delighted to attend your lovely nuptials, should they become rescheduled.”

“Just who exactly is this under the order of?” I barreled ahead, turning my attention back to the crisis at hand. “Norrington? Is this punishment for rejecting him?”

“Commodore Norrington left his post,” Elizabeth answered somberly. “Some time ago. No one’s seen him since.”

“So who issued the order?”

Her face soured.

“A tragic little man who goes by the name of Lord Cutler Beckett.”

A chill of recognition ran through me. I looked over at Jack, whose mirth had entirely dissipated now, replaced by a dire, grave expression.

“Cutler Beckett—” I breathed. “Isn’t he the one who—”

“He’s a lord now,” mused Jack, darkly. “That’s interesting.”

“You know him?” asked Elizabeth, urgently.

Jack looked over at me, his dark brown eyes suddenly weary.

“Mm,” he rumbled, nodding. He pulled up his sleeve and revealed his forearm to Elizabeth — the shape of a “P” seared permanently into his skin. “I know him.”

I felt a pang in my chest at the sight of it — every time I looked at it I could only think of how much it must’ve hurt. Elizabeth looked down at it, her eyes full of alarmed curiosity.

“He’s the one who branded you?”

He smirked, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“We’ve both left our marks on each other, so to speak.”

“He’s the one who you were sailing under,” I said softly, looking up at him. “The Wicked Wench.”

Soberly, Jack nodded.

“And if I may offer you a bit of advice, Miss Swann,” he rumbled, raising an eyebrow. “I’d say you let us spring you from this cell and sail you as far away from this mess as possible.” He turned to me, his eyes flashing and his teeth gritting. “As a matter of fact, I’d say we do so rather quickly, hmm?”

Instantly, he began assessing the bars for a weakness, grumbling as he ran his fingers along the iron.

“If only I’d paid attention when your bloody fiancé did this last time…”

Suddenly, the rusty swing of the door echoed down the stairwell, freezing us all as we exchanged a glance of collective horror.

I grabbed Jack by the scruff and pulled him down to the end of the corridor and rounded the corner into the dingy little stairwell that led down to the more dungeon-like cells. His hands found my waist and we waited, holding our breath, listening hard.

“What news?” Elizabeth’s voice was urgent and breathless. “Is he—”

“He is still alive…” I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the Governor’s bewildered voice. Jack’s hand tightened at my side, reassuringly. “But they are questioning him rather relentlessly, I’m afraid.”

“Not too close there, sir,” muttered a third voice, presumably a guard.

“I’ll have you know that as of this moment, I am still the Governor of this province,” he barked back, proudly, “and I will touch my daughter’s hand through these bars if I so wish.”

“Questioning him about what?” Elizabeth insisted.

“About the location of that Captain Sparrow,” he answered, and I felt my pulse double in speed.

I looked up at Jack, my mind suddenly full once more of images on that terrible day, his hands tied, a noose around his neck, the lever pulled — my hands found his face and I clutched him, tightly, trying not to let my shaking breath become audible. He wrapped a hand around my wrist and looked off to the side, listening intently.

“They seem to think he knows his whereabouts—” his voice lowered to an urgent hiss. “—And I wouldn’t be surprised if they question you next. They haven’t mentioned Miss Finch, but I can only assume that to find her would be to find him. Elizabeth, do you know of their whereabouts? Have you been in touch with them at all?”

Petrified, I held my breath. Normally, it would never even occur to me that Elizabeth would ever put me in danger, but I understood what it felt like to know that the love of one’s life was staring death in the face. I knew how mad, how desperate that made one, and even though it would be a betrayal of the highest order, it would be one I could understand.

Jack tightened his hand around my waist, the other around my wrist, and we just stared at each other with bated breath as a long, horrible silence passed.

“No,” she replied finally, sounding convincing enough. “No, of course not — but I don’t understand, why do they want him so urgently? It cannot simply be for his piracy, surely—”

“Something about… about a compass,” answered the Governor, his voice weary and confused. “I do not pretend to know the value of such a thing, but that is what Lord Beckett said.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and I felt my stomach plummet. Silently, we exchanged a grave look that recognized the abject danger before us.

I had never met Cutler Beckett, but I knew him. I knew what he did to Jack, and I knew why he did it.

Jack had, like many pirates before him, spent some time as a privateer — meaning, he did piratical work for the East India Trading Company. They called him a “merchant sailor,” but everybody knew what the company wanted — raiding, pillaging and thieving is only illegal if it’s done by individuals or free agents. If it’s done by powerful companies, it’s called business — and it’s perfectly legal, thanks to the letter of marque granted to the sailor in question.

Of course, it didn’t suit Jack at all, but it served its purpose for a while, and it’s what finally introduced Jack to the love of his life — The Black Pearl. Back then, it was called the Wicked Wench, and Jack was made the captain of it so long as he sailed whatever cargo the company asked of him. Until Cutler Beckett gave him a ship full of slaves to transport. Human beings, shipped like barrels of gunpowder.

So, naturally, Jack took the ship with a smile and freed every last person in the hold at the first opportunity.

That’s when that godforsaken brand had marked the official end to his limited relationship with the East India Trading Company.

I knew that if Cutler Beckett ever got hold of Jack’s compass, it would mean real danger.

Then again, if I ever got hold of Cutler Beckett, I couldn’t promise it wouldn’t also mean real danger — for him.

“I must return,” the Governor trembled. “I want to be there if… if conflict arises. I still hold some rule in this town yet.”

I could practically hear the glare he was rendering toward the guard. There were footsteps and the slam of a door, and Jack and I stayed rooted to the spot, clutching each other and silently reckoning with what was now before us.

“… Are you here?” Elizabeth called out to us.

Sighing, I released Jack and rounded the corner, walking back over to the cell. Jack sputtered, looking at me like I was being an idiot, but he followed, dutifully.

Elizabeth was staring at us, wide-eyed and urgent, like we were wasting precious time.

“You heard what Father said!” Her eyes flicked between Jack and me. “All he wants is your compass, take it to him!”

“You did not reveal us, Elizabeth,” I murmured, leaning my forehead against the bars. “That means some part of you knows that we cannot do that.”

“But Will— he’s— they’re going to hang him if he doesn’t help them!”

“My dear Miss Swann,” enthused Jack in a hushed, hurried voice, “It’s been a delight to see you again and we are ever so grateful for your discretion, but I’m afraid we must be on our way—”

As he put a hand over hers on the bars, she reached out and grabbed him by the scruff.

“Your little island where you stash your spoils cannot possibly be worth the life of a good man,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well,” replied Jack, gingerly. “Depends on the man, really—”

“Jack,” I scolded, before pulling her hand off of him. “Elizabeth, this has nothing to do with the Isla de Muerta.”

“But that is where the compass leads!” She glared at us, furiously. “I saw it — I’ll not allow you to sacrifice Will for your ridiculous pile of treasure!”

“That isn’t only where it leads!”

“Clara.” Jack admonished me through gritted teeth.

“Well where else does it lead?” demanded Elizabeth.

“Nowhere!” Jack grinned, desperately. “Nowhere, it’s just a shoddy old trinket that points any which way it wants and Beckett only wants it because it looks particularly posh. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“If it comes down to your compass or Will’s life, Jack, you know which one I will choose,” Elizabeth threatened.

“And what of Jack’s life?” Now it was my turn to glare and grit my teeth. “What of his neck? You saw the brand on his arm, do you think that man has any intentions of letting Jack live if he finds him again?”

Elizabeth’s face fell, guiltily. Jack cleared his throat.

“Well, I mean, I could certainly handle him—”

“And what of my life?” I pled, forcing eye contact from her. “Commodore Norrington was the only reason I was able to leave Port Royal with my life, and now he’s gone…”

She stared back at me, her mind clearly racing as the invisible tapestry of unwinnable scenarios seemed to weave itself around us.

For a long moment, we just looked at each other, full of sorrow and panic.

Suddenly, there was another loud creak. Footsteps and voices echoed once more, only this time, there was a new one at the forefront.

“Elizabeth!”

It was William Turner’s voice, full of wretched adoration as it was every time he said her name. Elizabeth’s eyes widened and her breath hitched. Jack cursed under his breath and wrapped his arm around my waist, spiriting me back down the corridor. I was eager to hear what Will had to say, but it was impossible — with Jack steering me, we had escaped out of a small window in the dungeon stairwell before he even reached her cell.

I wanted to believe that when put under pressure, Elizabeth and Will would never betray us. I wanted to believe that there would be some third path, a way for them to achieve freedom without using Jack as a bargaining chip.

I knew I couldn’t put stock in it. We had to get as far away from there as possible, as quickly as possible, before we could even think about some sort of plan to rescue the other two — but I clung to a hope that Elizabeth would not crack.

The curse of love is that it will inevitably call for sacrifice, somewhere down the line — and it is never a clean request. And to love more than one person or thing or idea is to someday have to make some concessions.

That’s why I slipped a pin out of my hair and tossed it through the bars before Jack yanked me away.

Because no matter what her choice would be, I knew my own. I could never leave her in a cell without a way out, even as Jack and I fled the potential damage she could cause us both.

…I only hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt us.