Chosen Path

Over the edge, over again. Sunrise sets, flash of green. Up is down.



And they were back. It had been Jack who solved it, but Barbossa who called the orders to make it work. Barbossa who had been at her side, a pace behind her as they raced across the deck to flip the ship. And when Will slipped away and she reached for him, it had been Barbossa who had grabbed her by the belt so that she stayed where she was, at his side, clinging to the rail until the ship righted itself.



And it had been Barbossa who pulled the first pistol. On Jack. After all they had been through to get him back to the living, Barbossa dared threaten to send him back to the dead. So it was only reasonable that Elizabeth pull her pistol on him. Until Jack turned his on Will, so Elizabeth’s second went to Jack.



She wouldn’t have shot him, not after everything. She’d shed too many tears for Jack, traveled too far, suffered too much to bring him back. She would only harm Jack if he hurt Will. Only for Will.



Until everything changed, in an instant. Jack wouldn’t fight Beckett? Perhaps with three pistols on him, one of Barbossa’s and both of her own, he might change his mind. But still, it wasn’t likely that any pistols would actually be fired. Not after everything.



But then Jack did. His pistol, aimed, once again, at Barbossa’s heart. Elizabeth barely registered the click of the trigger before she squeezed her finger on the trigger of her own pistol, the one Barbossa had given her, the one he had taught her to fire. The first time she fired it at a live target was in defense of Barbossa’s life.



It would have been too late, she realized later; had it not been for the wet powder, they would have all been back on the Other Side. But she hadn’t, at the time, registered the ineffectiveness of Jack’s shot. Despite everything, the journey, the anguish of her own guilt the first time she killed him, the distressing and disturbing feelings Jack awoke within her, the instant he made an attempt on Barbossa’s life, all thoughts fled Elizabeth’s mind but one. If she shot fast enough, it might save Barbossa, and if she was too late, at least he would have his revenge.



And that was a curious thing.



Crossing the fifty was cause for celebration on the Pearl. Rum was liberally imbibed, songs were sung, loudly and off-key, and the boards reverberated in time to the stomping feet of the crew.



One sailor hopped up on the rail and mad a show of dropping his breeches. Elizabeth grimaced and turned away. He was hardly the first man to do his business in her line of vision, but she didn’t particularly feel the need to witness it.



Apparently, she wasn’t the only one, for Pintel called out after the man. “Wotcha think you’re doing?”



The man, one of the Australians, glanced back. “What? We rounded the Horn, right? So I can piss to windward now.”



Pintel rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot. You have to go ‘round the other way to piss to windward.”



“Oh.” The sailor’s shoulders slumped and he finished his business and buttoned up. “Can I still get the earring?”



“Aye, next port, we’ll get yer earring.”



The sailor brightened and hopped back onto the deck to finish his rum. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the crowd. Billy, glad to be allowed back on deck, skipped a lopsided jig in alongside the crew, soon sending his mother stumbling after him. He hid behind the coattails of the tall Australian Elizabeth recognized as MacIntyre.



“Well, hello there, laddie. What might your name be?”



“Billy!” The ship rolled, and the boy landed hard on his backside. MacIntyre crouched down to offer him a hand up.



“Billy Barbossa?”



Elizabeth rushed to her son’s side. “Turner, actually. William Weatherby Turner. I don’t mind if you call him ‘Billy,’ but really, it’s Turner.”



“Sorry, Miss. I just assumed, with you an’ the Captain an’ all.” MacIntyre shrugged and turned back to William. “Well, then, Billy Turner, the name’s John MacIntyre, but you can call me Mack.”



“Hi, Mack! Cape Cod cats lost their tails!” Billy’s had neither the right words, nor the right melody, but Mack gave him the next verse anyway.



“How old’s he?”



“Billy, tell Mister MacIntyre how old you are.”



“One, two, four!” Elizabeth couldn’t understand how he managed to forget the existence of the number “three,” especially when it was his own age. She shook her head and held up three fingers.



“Billy, you’re three years old. Say it with me.”



“Three years old!” He laughed wildly, and MacIntyre joined in.



“Me own son should be about his age, I reckon. Ain’t seen him in as many years, mind.”



Elizabeth turned to the tall man. “Why not? Where is he?”



“With his mum, back in Ireland.”



“Why did you leave them?”



“Not my choice. Better ‘an the noose though. Hope they’re alright.”



So he was a criminal. But then, so were they all. Elizabeth smiled and patted his arm. “I’m sure they are. What are their names?”



“Colin’s the lad. Rosie’s me girl. Someday I’ll get back to ‘em.”



“I’m sure you shall.”



Mack offered his hand to Billy, who took it gingerly. Mack gave it a brisk but gentle shake. “Pleased to meet ya, young Billy Turner.”



Billy scrambled back into the fray, spinning and jumping with the sailors. Elizabeth collapsed in a corner to watch him, until he stumbled over to her.



“Mama, I don’t feel so good.”



“Come here, darling, what is it?” Elizabeth placed a hand to her son’s forehead. It wasn’t especially warm, considering he had just been leaping around the deck like a mad frog.



“My tummy.” Elizabeth sniffed his breath and leapt to her feet.



“Which one of you scurvy curs gave my son rum?”



The music died down a bit at her shout, and a few of the men studied the floor intently. “Was just a few sips, to celebrate, ma’am.”



“He’s a child! He can’t have rum!” And then, just to further prove the point, Billy promptly vomited onto her boots. Elizabeth closed her eyes and swore under her breath, willing her own stomach to behave. “Bugger.”



She scooped him into her arms. “Well, I think that makes bedtime for you, young man.” She rummaged through the cabin for soap, water, and rags. She cleaned Billy as best she could, and gave him water which, thankfully, he kept in his stomach. Her boots, though, were likely beyond repair. They were already soaked through with bilge water; she could never hope to get the stench out.



Elizabeth dug out a chamber pot and left it at Billy’s bedside, in case he needed to be sick again. The fragile porcelain had all been packed away for the rounding of the Horn, much to Elizabeth’s displeasure. The so-called “seats of ease” had rapidly become the seats of terrifying discomfort in the rough waters that surrounded Cape Horn. One more reason to be grateful to be in calmer seas.



Elizabeth poured herself a cup of rum and settled into a chair to watch over Billy. She raised her cup in tribute to those who had lost the battle with the Horn, and in silent toast to her Captain who had seen them through safely. She sipped, then absently fingered the holes of her own pierced ears. She hadn’t worn earrings since Port Royal, but perhaps a gold hoop might be warranted.



When Will had gotten his earring for crossing the equator, Barbossa had scoffed. At the time, Elizabeth had been annoyed by his attitude, but she understood now. Crossing the equator had been nothing next to rounding the Horn. Will had surely been to the Horn by now, many times, but he would never understand what it felt like. A man who couldn’t die who sailed a ship that couldn’t be sunk could never understand what it truly meant to round the Horn.



Elizabeth tucked her legs under her. It wasn’t fair. Will should have been here, with her, with Billy. It wasn’t fair to make her wait ten years. He should have known she could never do it. She could never stay on land. Worse, she could never control her wayward heart.



She sipped her rum. Rum tasted like Jack, and Jack tasted like betrayal. She had betrayed them both, Will and Jack, in one moment. And now she was betraying Will again, and Hector as well. She had never meant for it to come this far. But though they hadn’t discussed it since, he had said he loved her, and she couldn’t deny that she was falling as well. Perhaps she already had.



The click of the door interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see Hector duck into the cabin. He strode to the back of her chair, looped an arm around her, and bent down to claim a kiss, which she offered eagerly. “You drinking rum?”



Elizabeth shrugged and tilted her empty cup. “Not anymore. I’ve missed you.”



“Budge up.” The chair was not really big enough for the two of them, and she found herself curled in his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder. “What happened to our boy?”



“Someone gave him rum. He’s much too young to hold his liquor, and well, he didn’t. All over my boots.”



Hector gave a shudder and raised an eyebrow at the boots that dangled against his legs. With a roll of her eyes, she kicked them off and linked her bare feet around his calf. “He’ll be alright.”



“I think so.” Elizabeth glanced back at the bed Billy shared with Jack. “He’ll sleep it off, see how he fares in the morning. I’m surprised he wasn’t worse through the Horn. It certainly did a number on my stomach.”



He trailed a thumb along her midsection. “I noticed. Yer doing better now?”



She nodded. “Mostly. I’ve never been seasick before. I thought I had my legs by now.”



Hector pressed his lips to her forehead. “Horn gets the better of even seasoned sailors. I was heaving me guts over the side for three days me first time through. Don’t think on it.” He slipped a hand beneath her shirt and let it creep up her side to caress her breast. She curled her fingers around his neck, catching them on the fang that dangled from his ear.



“Why don't you wear the gold hoop? You’ve traversed the Horn before.”



Barbossa frowned. “What’s wrong with me shark’s tooth?”



Elizabeth fingered the ornament. “Nothing, it rather suits you. I just thought you would want to display your achievements.”



“I killed the shark with me bare hands.”



Elizabeth offered a half shrug. “I suppose that might beat the Horn, for achievement. Perhaps I’ll get one though.”



“A hoop?” She nodded. “Yer entitled, if yeh want it. Can rest yer feet on the table now too.”



Elizabeth nodded. “But not, evidently, piss to windward.”



Barbossa cleared his throat. “My dear, you’d be lacking the equipment for such a feat, even were ye entitled to do so.”



She couldn't prevent the giggle from escaping her mouth at the image. “No, I suppose I’ll never achieve that particular honor.”



Barbossa nibbled her earlobe. "Get the hoop. In fact, get two; a lady should have a pair. You need a bit of shine.”



Elizabeth tilted her head to allow him better access to her neck, and he promptly took advantage. “Perhaps I shall then. And a tattoo as well.”



“If it pleases yeh. What would you get?”



Elizabeth shifted in his arms. “I don’t know. Tell me about yours. When did you get them? What do they mean?”



Barbossa cleared his throat. “Well, the anchor,” she touched his bicep where she knew the marking lay, beneath his clothes. “Got that at fifteen, to show I was a sailor. Was an honest one then. Got me colors when I made Captain.”



Elizabeth touched the other arm where she knew the replica of his jolly roger to be. “And what about the mermaid?”



His smile broadened. “The mermaid. She’s every sailor’s dream, yeh see. A beautiful woman, lives on the sea. A woman what satisfies yer every need, and ne’er asks yeh to leave yer beloved ocean to make port for her. A woman who understands the lure of the sea.”



“Too bad they aren’t real.”



“So I always believed, ‘til I found one.”



“You didn’t!”



Barbossa chuckled. “Aye. You, cariño.”



Elizabeth smirked and lifted a leg in the air. “I can’t be a mermaid without a tail. I have legs!”



“And such fine legs they be.” He slipped a hand beneath her thigh and drew it to his mouth, then pulled back with a grimace.



“Yeh smell like bilge.”



“Oh, yes, and you smell like roses.” Elizabeth swatted his chest and rolled her eyes. “I’ll wash my clothes when we make port. In fact, I’ll burn them and start fresh.”



“Perhaps yeh might go naked in the meantime.”



“It’s a bit cold for that, don’t you think?”



He cradled her like a child and rose from the chair, setting her giggling as she clung to his neck. “I can think of a few ways to keep warm.”



“I’m sure you can.” He dropped her on the bed and she pulled him down beside her. “I’ve missed you, my King.”



His kisses, though slow at first, soon became urgent. Clothes disappeared and hands wandered, but Elizabeth sensed something wasn't right. He usually surrendered easily to passion, but there was something guarded in his expression, some fear in his eyes.



Elizabeth cupped his cheek, and drew back from his mouth. “What’s wrong?”



He closed his eyes for a moment, clenched his teeth. “Things, ah,” he cleared his throat. “Don’t seem to be progressin’ as they ought.”



“Oh.” Elizabeth rested her head on her pillow. “Well that’s alright then.” She kissed his shoulder and let her hand rest on his chest. “Another night.”



“No!” She started at his sudden exclamation. He took a measured breath, regaining control. “Didn’t mean to scare yeh. Just not ready to give up quite yet.” He took her hand in his and trailed it down his chest and abdomen. His wound was still spreading, but she thought it best not to mention it, and let him guide her motions with his hand covering hers.



She melted against him, lips finding his mouth, tongue, teeth, but he still couldn’t seem to summon the enthusiasm to match her passion. Though he pressed harder against her, kissing fervently, desperately, it was no good. Finally, he pushed off her, scowling, and tugged his breeches back on.



“Hector, come back to bed. It’s alright, I promise.” After two weeks of sharing their bed with both Billy and Jack, Elizabeth was eager to be close to him again, but if they couldn’t be as intimate as she’d hoped, she’d gladly settle for sleeping in his arms.



“Alright? Alright? Fuck, s’not alright.” He stormed across the room and uncorked a bottle of wine.



She slid out of bed and tugged her shirt back on. “Pour me a glass?”



He shot her a glare, splashed some wine into a goblet and swigged from the bottle. “Bah!” He spat the wine onto the floor and sent the bottle hurtling for the door.



“Hector!” She flew to his side. What was this madness? They’d had off-nights in bed before, but he’d never been this upset over them.



He grabbed her arms, holding her away from his body. “This is how it started, last time. Drink don’t satisfy. Women…I’ll hurt yeh in the trying, ‘Lizbeth, keep away from me!” He shoved her back and stormed from the cabin, door slamming behind him.



Elizabeth sank into the chair, absently reaching for the remaining wine goblet. No wonder he was so upset. If only there was something she could do or say to ease his mind…but only Jack held the key to this curse.



She took a sip of wine, and immediately sent it joining the rest of the bottle on the floor. Her head snapped up with renewed hope. The wine hadn’t tasted bad to him because of the curse. It was just bad, sour or salty, or somehow fouled.



Elizabeth replaced her breeches and found Hector on deck. It was rare to see him outside of the cabin in any state of undress; it was an indication of his emotional state that he stood in the moonlight clad only in breeches and head scarf. She sidled up to him and joined him at the rail, not quite close enough to be touching.



“I think sea water got into absolutely everything when we rounded the Horn.” She fixed her gaze, as his, on the horizon. “Including the wine.” She felt his head turn towards her. “It was awful. Hector.” She slid her hand along the rail and gingerly covered his. When he didn’t pull away, she gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s not the same. You can still feel my hand, can’t you?”



“Aye.”



“And the wind on your face? The spray of the sea? The helm of the Pearl? We’ve not got apples, but we’ll get more when we make port, I promise.”



“But I have to go without the company of a fine woman still.”



“Then enjoy what pleasures you do have! You told me that, when I first joined your crew.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “And I would hope you still enjoy my company.”



He withdrew his hand and turned away. “Ye’d not stay if I can’t…” He turned back to her, face stony. “Satisfaction of a need, a desire, s’all this is, isn’t that right, Mrs. Turner? No sense stayin’ with me if I can’t satisfy yer needs.”



Elizabeth felt her heart skip a beat and the knife his words had all but lodged into her chest. “Hector Barbossa, if you truly believe that’s the only reason I’m with you still, you’re a bigger fool than I could have possibly imagined.” She shook her head and started for the cabin.



He grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Why are yeh with me?” He leaned into her face, shaking her slightly. “Why? Say it!”



Elizabeth trembled in his arms. If there would ever be an opportune moment to tell him, this was it. Yet Elizabeth felt herself staying silent, metaphorically waving at the moment as it passed by. She met his eyes, willed him to know what she couldn’t say, but he threw his hands up, shoving her back as he stalked into the cabin alone.



“Hector!” She rushed in after him, pausing in the doorway to see him leaning over the table, head bowed. “Hector…please understand.”



“I do,” he growled into the table. “Turner comes first. Always has, always will.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Always Will.”



Elizabeth rolled her eyes and ignored his abysmal pun. “I have to be there for him. Do you understand? I have to be there.”



“I know.”



“You don’t know. Listen to me.” She reached for him, but he turned away. With a sigh, she sat up, straddling him, and took his face in her palms. “Listen. Will is my husband, and that binds me to him. I will be there for him because I have to be.”



“I know!”



“You’re not hearing me. I don’t have to be with you.”



“Makes me feel ever so much better.”



She went to his side, took his arm, begging him to look at her, to understand. “I’m with you because I choose to be. I could leave you, any time. But I won’t. Because I choose not to. I cannot abandon Will. He is my obligation. But you are my choice.”



He sank into a chair, expression still clouded. “For how long? Turner comes back, what then?”



Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ll make it work, somehow. I don’t intend to leave you.” She took his face in her hands, sliding her thumb along his sun-worn cheeks. “You mean too much to me.”



He drew her into his lap, whispered in her ear. “Tell me what I mean to you.”



She pressed her forehead to his, blinking back sudden tears. “My king.” She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed his cheek, trailing her lips along the scar that crossed his eye. She tried to tell him, but the words caught in her throat. It would be the ultimate betrayal, one she couldn’t bring herself to commit.



“I need you.” It wasn’t enough, but he finally wrapped his arms around her. “Billy needs you. You’re the world to him, you know. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”



That was, perhaps, not precisely true. She admittedly would have had Will with her, if she could talk of first choices. But Will was lost to her, for another six years, and though Barbossa had never been a man she’d imagined making a life with, she couldn’t imagine making a better life of her present circumstances than the one she’d found with him.



“Elizabeth…”



“Please, Hector, I can’t say anymore. I can’t. You know though. You must surely know.”



He kissed her then, finally. When she trailed a hand down his chest, over the scaled and chapped skin emanating from the site of his cursed wound, he buried his head in her shoulder, face pressed against her neck.



“M’scared, ‘Lizbeth.”



She rested her cheek on his head. “Shh, you’ll be alright, I promise. We’ll find Jack and the charts. I can fix you this time, and I will.”



“Hate having me life depend on Sparrow.”



Elizabeth combed her fingers through his hair. “It’ll be alright. I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”



Barbossa snorted. “I know what persuasion means to Sparrow.”



Elizabeth swatted him lightly. “Not that, you wretch. I’ll kill him if I have to, but not that.”



“You’d kill him?”



“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Hector gave a soft chuckle of agreement. “Admittedly, I’d rather not, but if it came to it, I would. To save you, I would.”



His kiss was slow and searching, but he pulled back after a moment, studying her. “What?”



He lifted her off his lap and crossed the room to rummage through a trunk. She hovered behind him until he turned, fist closed around some object he had recovered.



“As I said, yeh need a bit more shine.”



Elizabeth grinned, eager to see the gift he promised. “What is it? Show me.”



Hector’s face remained impassive, and he kept the trinket hidden in his palm. After a moment, he breathed a sigh. “Yeh call me yer King.”



Elizabeth covered his hand with her own. “You are. You were brilliant, through the Horn. You always are. I’m glad to call you my King.”



“Be my Queen.” He opened his fist to reveal a gold chain, from which dangled a single, highly ornamented, black pearl.



Elizabeth drew in a breath. “It’s beautiful…where did you find it?”



“Singapore. Will yeh wear it?”



Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Of course. I’ll treasure it, always.” He slipped his hands around her neck and she lifted her hair to allow him to fasten the clasp. A sudden memory flickered across her mind. “Much better than the last time you did this.”



Hector smiled. “You belong to the Pearl now, my Queen.”



Elizabeth folded her arms and smirked. “I’m still the Pirate King.”



“Out there, that be true. In here, yer just my Elizabeth.”



“Your Elizabeth?”



“Do you dispute it?”



Slowly, she shook her head. “Come to bed? Just hold me. I need to feel that close to you at least.”



“Wish I could give yeh more.”



She curled in his arms, head on his shoulder. “This is enough.”



* * *





In the morning, Billy proved somewhat irritable, but otherwise undamaged. Barbossa had evidently determined which crew member had given him rum and set the man to the worst possible tasks on board the ship.



When it came time to pull out her charts, Barbossa materialized at her side. “Need to restock. Head for port here.” Barbossa’s finger indicated a spot on the mainland. “Santa Cruz. They be familiar with pirates, but we should be able to get what we need without any trouble.”



“If the winds keep up, we’ll get there by morning.”



“I know. Our heading?”



Elizabeth nodded and found it.



After the fervent activity of Cape Horn, the day sailing the calmer Atlantic waters passed slowly. Elizabeth fell easily into her old routine of playing with Billy in the morning, passing him to Ragetti or Song while she worked at noontime, taking him back for lunch, then handing him to Hector so she could take her turn at the helm.



Her stomach, oddly, protested at the lack of rolling waves nearly as much as it had when they’d first entered the Horn. She nibbled at hard tack and forewent rum and wine in favor of water, and it seemed to help.



The stores of beef were surely rancid by now, though, for even Ragetti’s skills couldn’t quell roiling in her belly at the smell of the stewed meat. Although the other crew members managed to choke down the stew without complaint, Elizabeth excused herself to eat her biscuit in the fresh air on deck.



Resting her head on the rail as she sat on the steps, Elizabeth nibbled at her paltry supper. She could scarcely remember the last time she’d felt this ill for this long. She still entertained thoughts of Captaining the Horn, but if she was doomed to seasickness in the waters below the fifty, perhaps she would have to rethink her plan.



“Mama, watch me!”



Elizabeth’s head snapped up to see Billy balancing on the rail, clinging to ropes as he navigated the rigging. “Hector, what are you letting him do?”



“Gotta learn sometime.”



“He could fall!”



“Then he’ll learn what not to do.”



Billy ducked a rope and leapt into Elizabeth’s arms. “Oof, you’re getting heavy, love. Did you eat a good supper for the Captain?”



“Better ‘n you.” Barbossa answered for her son. “Y’alright?”



Elizabeth nodded. “Still a little queasy. But I’ll survive.”



“We make port in the morning. Yeh might feel a little off on land too. Happens sometimes after a rough patch.”



Elizabeth shifted Billy in her lap. “Good to know.”



“I’ve something in the cabin for ye to wear tomorrow.”



Elizabeth rolled her eyes. As instrumental as Hector had been in turning her into a proper sailor and true pirate, he certainly enjoyed seeing her look like a lady. “Scrounge up a dress then?”



He grinned. “An entire trunk full of gowns, as it happens. We might sell a few, but we’ve enough swag to keep the crew in food, wine, and other pleasures for a good long time. None would dare begrudge ye a bit of finery.”



Elizabeth fingered the pearl around her neck. “Indeed. If I can find one that doesn’t restrict my breathing, I’ll consider it.”



Unsurprisingly, the morning found her laced as tightly as she allowed into a peacock blue frock Hector had procured. She had to admit, it was lovely, and for all that she loved being a pirate, she sometimes missed dressing like a lady.



They planned three days shore leave, and Elizabeth spent the first roaming the town on Hector’s arm, with Billy in tow. They took a room at an Inn where Elizabeth settled into a table with Billy. A serving girl arrived, speaking halting English. Elizabeth managed to convey that she wanted supper and wine.



“And for your husband as well?”



Elizabeth choked. “Oh, Captain Barbossa isn’t my husband.” Elizabeth glanced to the foyer, where Hector was arranging for their accommodations. “He’s just…a friend.”



The girl frowned. “But supper?”



“Yes, three please.”



“Si, Señora Barbossa.”



Elizabeth sighed as Hector slid into a chair beside her, pressing a kiss to her neck, nudging her new gold hoops with his nose. “Captain…perhaps a bit more discretion is in order.”



“No one’s watching. They already know anyway.”



Elizabeth glanced around to the other crew members mingling about the tavern. “It’s just…perhaps we ought to be a bit more careful is all. You told Tai Huang about us.”



She heard the frown in his voice. “So? Tai Huang be dead. Who’s he going to tell?”



“Oh I don’t know, maybe Will? He died at sea, remember?”



“If Turner knew, he’d have come after us by now. As he has not, I’d say it’s safe to assume that Tai Huang failed to relay the message, as it were.” His hand slid down her back, letting it hover just above the curve of her bottom.



“Hector.” Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “You know, you really can’t keep doing this.”



“Doing what?”



“The serving girl just referred to you as my husband. Did I not mention discretion? We can’t have the entire world knowing about us!”



“I got us one room. I think they’ll figure it out.”



Elizabeth sighed. “The innkeep, perhaps. But all the customers don’t need to know. Please. Just, keep your hands to yourself, in public at least?”



His expression darkened. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mrs. Turner, but what makes yeh think that be a hardship?”



Her eyebrows struggled to meet her hairline. “You can’t keep your hands off me!”



A slow smile spread across his face as he slid his chair away from you. “Oh, I can. I’ll not be laying a finger on ye, until such time as yer beggin’ me for it.”



“Then you’ll be waiting a very long time.”



He smirked as their server brought food, wine, and a cup of milk for Billy. “Fancy a wager?”



She raised her chin. “Name your terms.”



“Whoever gives in and starts touchin’ first loses. When I win –“



“If you win.”



“When I win,” He looked her up and down, “you wear nothin’ but dresses. For a month.”



A month. She had already tripped twice in one day in the long skirts to which she was no longer accustomed. But only a month? Reasonable enough, and if she won, it wouldn’t matter.



But what could she ask of him for her winnings? Her lips twisted into a wicked smile when inspiration struck.



“When I win, you will do the same.”



“Beg yer pardon?”



She grinned. “I win, you wear a dress. I’ll even go easy on you. Just one day.”



“Absolutely not.”



“Not feeling terribly confident, are you? Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”



He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “Well, since I don’t plan on losin’, won’t much matter. Agreed.”



She held out her hand. “Shake on it?”



He started forward, then pulled his hand back suddenly. “Nice try.”



She smirked, and turned back to the meal in front of her. “You’ll never make it.”



He lifted his wine goblet in mock salute. “Just wait. Ye best get used to those corsets!”



* * *





Elizabeth hung a hammock in the cabin in order to keep close to Billy without giving up her sleeping space. It was far less comfortable than Hector’s bed, but after two nights, she managed to get to the cabin first and claim the bed. She smirked to see him in the hammock in the morning, groaning about a sore back, but he would have had to touch her to get her out of bed, and he was far too proud to give up that easily.



Although she had returned at first to her breeches and vest, after two days, she decided, in light of his requested winnings, to try wearing a dress again. She was rewarded with his apparent inability to take his eyes off her whenever she drifted past him. The dresses she found in his stolen trunk were reasonably comfortable, and allowed her to move well enough to do her duties. It irked her that she was offering his reward without having lost, but it was really more a matter of pride, and besides, the salt water and sun-drying seemed to have shrunk her breeches slightly. The dresses did not pinch her waist when she tied them.



It wasn’t long before the game escalated. As she bent over the ship’s log, she noticed him leaning over her shoulder, hands at the back of her chair, just barely not touching her. His eyes lingered over her breasts, and if she tied the dress a bit tighter the next day, it was only to ensure her own victory.



When she returned the charts to their cabin after checking the noon sun, she found him lounging at the table, contemplating an apple. “Aren’t you going to eat it then?”



He smiled, closing his eyes in anticipation of the first bite. He sank his teeth in slowly, satisfied smile spreading over his face. He flicked his tongue out to capture the juice that trickled down the apple, swirling across the skin of the fruit as it so often had along her own skin. She watched him, transfixed, remembering the feel of his tongue in her mouth, on her breasts, between her thighs.



He opened his eyes to catch her longing gaze and chuckled softly. With a huff, she turned and fled his presence.



At the helm later that day, a snippet of conversation wafted up to her.



“’Ow long they been at it?” Was that Marty?



“Three days now.” And Pintel?



“I give ‘em a week.”



“A week total, or a week from today?”



“From today.”



“Two silver says it’s sooner.”



“You’re on.”



A third voice chimed in. “Three silver says it’s Barbossa what gives in first.”



“I’ll take that bet.”



“Reckon he’ll wear the dress?”



“If he knows what’s good fer him.”



Elizabeth laughed to herself. So the game had stakes for everyone then. When her shift was up, she skipped down to the galley, stomach finally feeling up to eating. She found most of the crew huddled around Murtogg, who was scribbling in a small notebook as the men and women announced their wagers.



With a grin, Elizabeth fished through her pouch and pulled out a coin. Joining the fray, she dropped her coin on the table.



“One gold says Barbossa breaks first.”



She’d expected shock or apologies, but Murtogg merely pocketed the coin and recorded her bet. “Barbossa already made his bet. Two silvers each that it’s within the week and it’s you.”



She laughed. “Did he now? Well. I wouldn’t bet on it.”



The days grew warmer as they continued their journey north. The crew seemed to watch her more closely as she moved about the ship. She entered the galley, interrupting Song and Mack, who abruptly ended their conversation, grinning at each other as though sharing some secret. Soon, there seemed to be whispers everywhere she went. She shook her head and pushed her concerns from her mind. Surely there were just discussing the bet.



Snug or not, she switched back to her breeches, but they didn’t have the same effect on Hector, so after two weeks, she tried a dress again, this time letting her hair fall loose about her shoulders. He seemed to like that.



She joined him as he stood on deck, leaning against the rail beside him. “We’re moving at an excellent pace. We should see the Caribbean next week.”



“Aye. Be glad to see those waters again.”



“As will I. It’s quite warm today, isn’t it?”



She breathed deeply, but the air was growing stifling. She hadn’t thought she’d laced her dress up particularly tightly today, but breathing was a bit more difficult than she’d remembered. It was surely just the heat to which she was no longer accustomed. Or perhaps it was his nearness, and the lack of touch. She hadn’t expected him to hold out this long.



He looked her up and down. “Yer not sick are ye?”



“Beg pardon?”



“Yer not eatin’ much. Yeh look pale. Are ye ill?”



There was genuine concern in his voice, but she shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a touch of seasickness, from Cape Horn.”



“Been three weeks since the Horn.”



“The heat then. I’m not accustomed to it anymore. I’ll be fine in a moment.”



He shook his head. “Loosen yer dress.”



“That’s most inappropriate.” She wanted to say more, but breathing was growing difficult. He was speaking again, and his voice buzzed in her ear, though she couldn’t make out the words.



“Elizabeth!” More buzzing. “…not fine!”



She wasn’t. The heat was too much, and her grip on the rail faltered. Her legs were weak, she was falling, and then everything was black.



When she opened her eyes, she was in Hector’s arms, his hand on her chest, laces sliced open and dress slipping from her body. She blinked. Had she fainted? She hadn’t fainted in years. His gaze suddenly reached her now-open eyes, and he pulled her a bit closer. “Yer not alright. Yer ill.”



Realization of her position dawned slowly and a smile spread over her features. “I won.”



His face pulled back. “Yeh fainted.”



“And you caught me. So I won.”



He frowned. “That’s cheating.”



Elizabeth smirked. “Pirate.”



She suddenly became aware that most of the crew was gathered around them, watching her worriedly. It was Ragetti who spoke up first.



“I reckon she’s right, Cap’n. You did touch her first.”



A chorus of “ayes” agreed with him.



She grinned. “Shall we find you a dress then, Captain?”



He glared around at the crew, then helped Elizabeth to her feet. “Go lay down for a bit.”



“I’m fine now, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.”



Hector lifted her into his arms and kicked open the cabin door. “We’ll discuss it later. Don’t want you on deck if yer ill. Might fall overboard, and I’m disinclined to swim this afternoon.”



At Hector’s nod, Song hurried in after, Billy in tow. Elizabeth found herself stripped to her shift and stuffed into bed, despite her protests.



“Stay here.” Hector touched his thumb to her cheek. “That’s an order, Swann.”



Elizabeth grabbed his hand and drew it to her lips, reveling in the touch she had long missed. “Stay?”



“I’ve a ship to run. I’ll be back tonight.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and took Billy’s hand. “Come on, lad. Try you at the helm today. Mrs. Mullroy?” Song’s head snapped up. “Keep an eye on ‘er?”



“Yes, Captain.”



Billy skipped out the door with the Captain, and Song perched at the edge of the bed.



“Really, this is quite unnecessary. I’m fine. I’m just not used to the heat, or corsets. I’m not ill!”



Song’s smile was that of a child with a secret. “Congratulations.”



Elizabeth frowned. “Whatever for? Not being ill?”



Song laughed. “The baby of course!”



“Oh, no no. I’m not. I mean, it’s not possible.” She explained Calypso’s bargain, the price the sea goddess had exacted for her lover’s life. When she finished, Song merely shook her head and smiled. “You think Barbossa lied?”



“I think…” Song cocked her head. “I think it is not for us to understand the ways of the gods. Perhaps he did not understand the price.”



Elizabeth fell back against the pillows. “No, that can’t be. It can’t be, I can’t!” She covered her mouth with worried hands. “Will…Calypso…”



There was a change in the air, the scent of the sea. A breeze. A gust. A whisper.



“De price...”



Elizabeth sat up at the new voice from the shadows. “Calypso?” Song gripped Elizabeth’s hand.



The goddess had taken the familiar form of the voodoo witch Tia Dalma, and strode slowly into the soft candle light of the cabin. “De price is a child. Interestin’ dat he chose you.”



Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t understand. He said the price was that he couldn’t have a child.”



Calypso laughed, the sound of seashells playing against rocky shoals. “Him not understand. De price is to have a child wit’ de woman he love. Make him better man. Did not expect him to choose you, Elizabet’ Swann.”



Elizabeth shook her head, as she tried to process the words of the sea goddess. “It’s Turner. Elizabeth Turner.”



“You sure about dat?”



“Yes! Of course. I married Will, I’m Elizabeth Turner.”



Calypso glided across the floor, smiling at the ceiling. “You love William, but you also love Hector Barbossa.”



“I do not!”



Calypso ignored Elizabeth’s protest. “You cannot have dem both. You will have to choose.”



“Well, I chose Will.”



“Dat not what you said when de child was made.”



Elizabeth closed her eyes against her tears. “How long?”



“Six months hence, de child be born.”



“Calypso. You ask much of me. You took my husband to serve your purpose. Now you would have me bear this child. The least you could do is offer me something in return for all I have done.”



Calypso leaned over Elizabeth’s bed. “What would you ask of a goddess, Elizabet’ Swann?”



“Hector’s curse. You fixed the monkey, didn’t you? Reversed the curse for Jack. Can you fix him?”



Calypso shook her head. “Dat curse not of my kind. I cannot.”



Elizabeth nodded. “Then help us find Jack Sparrow.”



Calypso pressed her lips softly to Elizabeth’s forehead. “I find you witty Jack. You bear de child. He will have both mother and father.”



Elizabeth shuddered a sigh. “How do I tell him?”



“Barbossa or Will?”



“Both!”



Calypso rose. “You chose to lie wit’ Barbossa. You find de words to tell dem both.”



Elizabeth felt her fury build. “This is your doing! It isn’t fair! You ask too much of me, Calypso!”



Calypso rounded on Elizabeth, eyes blazing. “You question me? You chose Barbossa. I did not make you love him, nor him you. Leave me my ferryman.”



“Never.”



Calypso shook her head. “You play wit’ hearts, Elizabet’. A dangerous game you play. You will choose, in de end. Not my doing. I give you Jack, and you t’ank me for it. I owe you not’ing.”



Elizabeth chewed her lip. “When we find Jack, I will thank you. We need those charts.”



Calypso nodded. “I tink you made your choice already.”



“Yes, I chose Will.”



Calypso shook her head, and her form grew watery. As she shifted and melted back to the sea, her last words hung in the air. “You keep telling yourself dat.”