Chosen Path

Barbossa huddled in a dark corner of Tortuga’s cleanest tavern, Jack Sparrow’s tricorn tilted low over his forehead, Billy squirming on his knee. His unoccupied knee bounced of its own accord as he sipped – slowly – a steaming mug of spiced rum and aided Billy with his small beer.



Barbossa sighed. He was not the sort of man who took to clinging to shadows or hiding in disguises. But there were circumstances beyond his control, and people who were counting on him. His preferred technique for dealing with adversaries – bargaining first, then, failing that, storming in with guns blazing – wasn’t an option now, so he was skulking in darkened corridors, wearing clothes that weren’t his own, and hoping to high heaven that Sparrow and the Pearl stayed put.



A woman’s screams echoed down the corridor from a room above the tavern. Barbossa bounced Billy on his knee, hugging the lad closer. “S’alright, lad. Yer ma’ll be just fine.”



“I know, Daddy. You said that already.”



Barbossa scratched his newly-trimmed beard and pressed his lips to the boy’s head. “Aye. She’ll be fine.”



* * *





Two weeks after leaving the mainland, the Pearl docked in Tortuga. While the crew was eager to enjoy their newfound youth, along with the spoils of nearly two years hoard, Barbossa had other matters to attend to.



At nearly five months along, it was impossible to hide Elizabeth’s condition, and he kept her and the boy at his side, his Jack perched contentedly on his shoulder, as they followed Sparrow into the Swan and Dolphin Inn. They had just found a table when Sparrow leapt up, waving at a buxom redhead across the tavern.



“Ah, Scarlett!”



Barbossa grabbed Sparrow’s sleeve. They were not here to find him a whore; they were here to deal with Elizabeth’s increasingly pressing condition.



“Sparrow. Yeh said ye knew someone here who could help Elizabeth. They’ll be no runnin’ off until you find them.”



“I is finding them, mate.” Jack made shooing motions at Barbossa’s fingers. “Scarlett. She can help. Wait here.”



Barbossa sighed and sat back down. Elizabeth had already caught a serving girl and ordered wine and supper for the table; he pressed his lips to her neck in thanks. The last time they’d sat together in a tavern, she’d shunned his advances, whispering about discretion. Now she accepted his kiss with a pleasant little sigh and said nothing about word eventually getting back to Turner. For all her promises of love and devotion, he couldn't silence the small voice in the back of his head that insisted she'd return to Will Turner the moment he stepped on land.



For now, though, she was his. And he had six years to persuade her to remain so.



Jack returned shortly with a tankard of rum and painted redhead on his arm.



“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Hector Barbossa. I ain’t seen you ‘round these parts in a dog’s age. Heard you was dead.”



Barbossa peered over the top of his wine glass at the girl. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d had her, perhaps, in his younger days, but it felt like something a bit different. No matter. He flashed his best grin. “Well, as you can plainly see, miss, I be very much alive.”



Her hand flew across his cheek before he even saw it coming. “I sees that.” She flopped down into the chair Sparrow had vacated.



“By the powers, woman!” Barbossa rubbed his stinging cheek. “What the blazes was that for?”



“You,” she leaned forward, chin resting on the back of her hand, “owe me a dress.”



Elizabeth nearly choked on her wine. So that was why she looked familiar…



“He stole your dress?”



Scarlett scowled. “Aye, he did. Finest dress I ever owned, it was. Plum-colored satin and black lace, was a gift from a wealthy merchant what appreciated my company.” Barbossa’s goblet was emptying rather rapidly. “Unlike your husband here, if he had the decency to marry you, which I rather doubt, who left me naked in my room, and didn’t even leave a tip!”



“That’s because the ‘company’ weren’t precisely satisfactory.” Barbossa spoke through clenched teeth. His encounter with this woman was becoming clearer in his mind. The tip he’d intended to leave had been a piece of Aztec gold, which could only mean…



“Well, it weren’t my fault you couldn’t get it up.”



Damn it all to Hell. And bloody Elizabeth was giggling! “Why did you take her dress? What good could it have possibly done you?”



“Well,” Scarlett leaned in conspiratorially toward Elizabeth before Barbossa could manage to speak. “Rumor is he just likes wearing it. Gets his jollies that way, I hear.”



Slander! Lies, vicious lies!



“He was wearing a dress when last we were re-acquainted,” Sparrow piped up. Bloody hell. If Billy weren’t present, he’d have pulled his pistol on Jack the moment this scarlet siren starting weaving her tale.



“See?” Scarlett’s grin was all too smug as Elizabeth dissolved into a fit of laughter.



“Enough!” He slammed his goblet onto the table. “Never wore that dress!”



“No, it wouldn’t fit you, would it?” Elizabeth snickered into her wine glass.



“Course not, s’much too small.” Barbossa frowned. That hadn’t come out the way he’d meant it at all. “But that’s not the point! I’d never – s’not why I took it – I – mmph - ”



Elizabeth’s lips covered his with a lingering kiss. “Alright Hector, we get the point.” She settled onto his lap and turned to Jack’s lady-friend. “He’s only worn a dress once in our acquaintance, and that was under duress.”



“Under de dress?” Elizabeth fought to still his hands as he struggled to respond to Jack’s soft quip.



Rolling her eyes, she continued. “Duress. Against his will. And as you can plainly see,” her hand drifted over her swollen belly, “he hasn’t had any problems in the bedchamber lately.” Barbossa made a mental note to thank Elizabeth for that later. The last thing he needed was for her to speak the truth of the matter in present company. “Which brings us to the reason we’re here. Jack said you might be able to help.”



“Did he?” Scarlett leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I might be able to help. It’ll cost you.”



Elizabeth tilted her head. “Supper?”



“As a start.”



Elizabeth nodded, slipping into her own chair, and when supper had come for them all, she began to divulge that which she knew.



“Midwife’s name’s Trudy. She lives down the way some; I’ll take you later, introduce you, Miss – what did you say your name was?”



“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Swann.”



Scarlett’s eyes widened. “Well keep your voice down! You’re the Bonny Swann, aincha? Lizzie the pirate wench?”



Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “I suppose I am. What of it?”



Scarlett sniffed. “There’s a price on your head, that’s what of it. Both of you.” She nodded her head in Barbossa’s direction. He glanced over his left shoulder, and spotted a poster tacked to a column. He rose to snatch it off the wall and handed to Elizabeth, who broke out grinning.



The poster depicted both of them, looking as menacing as they ever did. “Wanted,” it read. “Hector Barbossa, alias Captain Blackheart and Elizabeth Swann, alias The Bonny Swann, alias Captain Lizzie Barbossa.”



“Well, now, I never went by Lizzie Barbossa.”



He felt his stomach twist at her words. He lifted a loose strand of her hair and twined it about his finger. “Yeh might.”



She ignored this, and turned to Scarlett. “Where did this come from? The Navy?”



Scarlett shrugged. “Aye, Navy’s been sniffin’ ‘round Tortuga. British East India Company, too.”



Elizabeth shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. We defeated them.”



Scarlett choked a laugh. “Hardly. They was real quiet for a time, but things are pickin’ up. You two caused quite a stir in the Orient, or so I hear. Go after Company ships, did yeh?”



Barbossa exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, who shrugged. “Merchant ships.”



“English merchants?”



They nodded together. “Some.”



“Then they was Company ships, like as not.” Scarlett swallowed a bite of potato. “You ain’t gonna be safe here for too long.”



Barbossa speared a chunk of meat. “They’re not here now. When will they come back? Navy or Company?”



She shrugged. “No idea. They come ‘n go as they please. But you’re, what, four months along?”



“Five.”



“Then you’re predictable. You’ll be back in August. They find that out, they’ll be here too, rest assured.”



Barbossa leaned forward on the table, hand grazing the hilt of his sword. “But they won’t be findin’ out, will they, Miss Scarlett?”



Scarlett quirked an eyebrow. “Make it worth my while and I won’t tell. But I ain’t the only one who’s seen yous, and tongues wag in Tortuga.” Barbossa felt his fingers twitch, but Elizabeth’s hand on his arm stilled his motion.



“Scarlett, I appreciate the warning. I’d still meet this Trudy, was it? There’s hardly another port that’s safer for us than Tortuga. We may need to return regardless.”



They stayed in Tortuga for three days before making sail. This time, Jack did come with them, but Barbossa wasn’t about to relinquish Captaincy. Unfortunately, neither was Jack.



The first night back on board, Barbossa happily allowed a grinning Elizabeth to drag him into their cabin, where her belongings once again resided. The Dead Man’s Chest was nowhere to be seen. She insisted it was safe, and that he needn’t concern himself with it. He saw no reason to argue.



He’d worried vaguely that Elizabeth’s condition might limit their nocturnal activities, but he’d discovered that it had in fact had the opposite effect. She was more insatiable than he’d ever known her, and he was more than happy to satiate her. He was preparing to do just that when he pulled back the bedcurtains to reveal a far-too-contented looking Sparrow.



“What the blazes do yeh think yer doin’ in here?”



Jack’s eyes widened in a parody of innocence. “What? My ship means my cabin, which in turn means my bed.”



“Not your ship. Out of me cabin, Sparrow.”



“Well, now, Hector.” Elizabeth slipped a hand beneath his shirt, walking her fingers up his chest. “I’m sure there’s no need to argue. And certainly,” she pressed a kiss to his collarbone, “no need,” another kiss, slightly higher, “to stop.”



He caught her quick wink. Of course. If they continued what they were doing, Sparrow would be sure to vacate the premises post-haste. Barbossa certainly would have, had their positions been reversed.



But then, Sparrow was always a queer one. Elizabeth pulled Barbossa’s shirt over his head, barely breaking contact with his mouth to do so, but still, Jack didn’t move. Elizabeth was already down to her shift, having done away with breeches when her belly got too big. Under no circumstances was he going to remove it in Sparrow’s presence, but his fingers ached to touch her skin.



“Jack. Why are yeh still here?”



“What? She didn’t say nothing about my leaving, and I don’t mind you in the least.”



“Jack, leave.” Good girl.



“No. Persuade me.”



Elizabeth sighed and slipped from Barbossa’s arms, perching on the corner of the bed. What the blazes did she think she was doing? There would be no persuading Jack!



Elizabeth, apparently, had other ideas. “Jack.” She tucked her legs under herself and leaned against the far bedpost. “Why are you doing this?”



“Was late. Got tired, went to bed, as would be the typical behavior expected - ”



“No, this.” Elizabeth spread her arms wide. “Being in here. The Pearl. She’s not yours, Jack, not anymore.”



Jack sat up and folded his arms. “’Course she is. I had her first.”



Barbossa couldn’t resist interjecting. “Well I had ‘er longer!”



“But you died, leaving her to me.”



“Aye, but then you died and bloody well took her with you!”



“That’s because she’s mine.”



“Alright, enough!” Elizabeth insinuated herself between them, holding Barbossa an arm’s length from Sparrow. “I’m tired of listening to this bickering. It’s bad enough hearing it from Billy; I will not sit here and listen to two grown men act like children arguing over their favorite toy.”



With a sigh, Barbossa sank down onto the settee, massaging his temple. “What do you propose, Majesty? There be no compromise as can be reached here. We can’t share ‘er.”



“No, you can’t share her.” Elizabeth sat down again, on the bed beside Jack, who lounged with his arms behind his head. “What is she to you, Hector?”



“The Pearl?” He was practically spluttering. She had to ask? “’Lizabeth. She’s home.”



“Home.” Elizabeth smiled, one hand closing around the pearl hanging between her breasts. “She is, at that.” She turned to Jack, resting her hands lightly on his knees.



“Not gonna ask me?”



Elizabeth shook her head. “I know what the Pearl is to you. Freedom. But, don’t you see, Jack? This is our home. It’s the only home m – our son has ever known, truly. We had our first kiss here, in this very bed. I’ll refrain from discussing what other firsts happened in this bed.”



“Thank you.”



“But Jack, you could be free on any ship. I cannot simply walk away from my home. I can’t ask Hector to.”



“Lizzie, it’s not up to you.”



She straightened. “Yes it is. King.”



Barbossa shook his head. She should know better. “Captain gets voted in.”



Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, who do you think this crew would vote for? Most of them hardly know Captain Jack Sparrow, except perhaps by reputation.”



Jack swung his legs off the bed and staggered to his feet. “Alright, alright, I get the picture. I know when I’m not wanted.”



“Jack.” Elizabeth took his arm. “It’s not that you’re not wanted. I am glad you’re here, it’s just - ”



Jack shook his head. “Can’t have it both ways, love. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, and I won’t come second to anyone.” He shot a pointed glance in Barbossa’s direction. “Or third.” Barbossa felt his arm hair stand on end. She had best be correcting that statement.



Elizabeth heaved a great sigh. “What happened to us, Jack?”



“Us? There was never an us to happen to. Or have happen. Or something.”



She rolled her eyes. “We were friends, though. Weren’t we?”



Jack inspected his fingernails. Dirty, no doubt. “Interesting definition of ‘friend’ you’ve got there.”



“Well, I’d like to be friends. Again. We are, after all, very much alike, Jack. You and me. I and you. Us.”



Jack shook his head. “I used to think so. But we’re not so much alike after all.” Jack nodded his head in Barbossa’s direction. “You’re just like him. You two deserve each other.”



Elizabeth grinned. “Thank you, Jack.”



Jack sidled around her and headed for the door. “Weren’t a compliment, love.”



“Thank you anyway.”



The moment the door closed, Barbossa sprang to his feet. Elizabeth whirled around, just as he reached her with mouth open, argument at the ready.



She held her hand up to his chest. “Don’t even start.”



“And I suppose you think you know exactly what I was going to say.”



She flounced to the bed, fluffing the pillows. “I do, in fact. You were going to argue about Jack coming third in my heart.” Barbossa snapped his jaw shut. “Well he doesn’t. There is no first or second in my heart.” She turned down the covers, and sat, reaching for his hands.



“Hector, there is only you. There is no room in my heart for second or third choices. I care for Jack, but I don’t love him. My heart belongs to you. And Billy, of course. And this child. My family. Our family. I really thought you knew that by now.”



Barbossa nudged her over with his hip as he sat beside her and unlaced his boots. “Why didn’t you argue the point with Sparrow?”



“Honestly, Hector, have you ever tried to argue two points with Jack at once? It’s hard enough keeping one straight with him!”



She made a fair point. He offered a shrug of agreement, kicked his boots off, and pulled her close. The Fountain of Youth had offered more gifts besides just the healing of his wounds, and Elizabeth had been quite eager lately to take advantage of them.



When at last he had no more to offer her but the comfort of his arms, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, drawing her against him. Her body was different now, all curves and softness where she had once been angles. He’d never objected to the round belly of a well-fed woman, but her roundness held so much more.



He rested a hand on her abdomen, letting it drift across her skin. A child grew within her. His child. It still amazed him.



Elizabeth covered his hand with hers and stilled his motion. “He’s moving again. Can you feel him?”



Barbossa turned all of his concentration to the palm of his hand. A moment’s stillness brought no sensation. But then, something, almost like a heartbeat, but stronger, sharper. “By the powers. Was that him?”



“Yes.” Elizabeth grinned, squeezing his hand. “You feel it.”



“Aye.” Another thump greeted his hand. “Ooh, my boy’s got fight in him!”



Elizabeth laughed. “Of course he does! Would you expect any less of your son?”



Barbossa shook his head. His son. Not even born, and already putting up a fight. Good lad. “Have yeh thought of a name?”



“For the baby?”



“No, for the freckle on yer left shoulder. Of course for the baby.”



“Well, you don’t have to get all snippy.” She reached down to pull the covers up over them, chewing her lip. “Actually, I had, possibly. What do you think of ‘James?’”



James? Why was that familiar? “That yer Navy man?”



“James Norrington. He was a good man. He’d have made a fine pirate, if he’d lived.”



Barbossa sighed. “Not sure I want all of our children named for your former loves.”



“They wouldn’t be! We haven’t got a Jack.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh. Right, we have got a Jack, haven’t we.”



His boy Jack would be curled up with Billy about now. “Aye.”



“Well, what would you name him?”



What, indeed. Barbossa hadn’t given the matter much thought. Elizabeth, however, clearly had.



“I’d considered Weatherby, but it’s such a long name for such a small person.”



“Weatherby Barbossa?” He choked a laugh. “Where the blazes you come up with that?”



Elizabeth huffed and folded her arms. “It’s my father’s name. I suppose you’d like to call him Hector.” Barbossa frowned. It hadn’t occurred to him to do so. “I would, but it would get awfully confusing, don’t you think?”



She would call their son Hector? There would be no passing off such a lad as a Turner in that case. But she had a point about the inevitable confusion. One Hector Barbossa on a ship was quite enough. “I suppose it would, at that.”



“His middle name will be Hector, though. That much I’m sure of.”



“Aye?”



“Of course.” Barbossa felt a slow grin spread over his face. His boy would bear his name, then, his entire name. The child would be a legend in his own time, and there would never be a doubt as to his parentage. Perhaps he could concede the first name, then.



“James Hector?”



He felt her smile in her words. “I think it’s a fine name.”



“Agreed.”



He relaxed, preparing to let sleep claim him, but Elizabeth fidgeted in his arms. He waited for her to find the words she sought. “Hector?”



“Yes, cariño?”



“As long as we’re still awake…do you think we’ll be alright in Tortuga?”



He sighed and hugged her closer. “I don’t know. But I don’t see as we’ve much choice.”



“Well, I was thinking of another place we might try.”



He couldn’t think of any port in the Caribbean where they would be met with any less trouble than in Tortuga. “Yer not thinkin’ of yer Port Royal, are yeh?”



“No.” She ran her hand lightly along his chest, tickling slightly. “Ireland.”



“Ireland?” Barbossa twisted onto his side to face her. “The little country west of England? That Ireland?”



“Is there another?” Elizabeth fluttered her eyelashes the way she often did when she wanted something. “You promised me we could go there after we found the Fountain, to find Mack’s wife and son. Remember?”



By the powers. She was right; he had. But he hadn’t known then that she had a baby coming. And “after they found the Fountain” was a decidedly indefinite period of time.



“Elizabeth. I don’t dare attempt the crossing with you in yer present state. Too dangerous. I’ll not risk it.”



“I crossed the Horn in my ‘present state!’ Besides, I rather think giving birth under the very nose of the Navy and the Company both might qualify as ‘dangerous.’”



Barbossa let his hand drift over her bare abdomen. “Won’t have you giving birth in the open ocean either.”



“Hector, I’m four months from giving birth. It takes half that to cross the Atlantic.”



Barbossa sighed. There was no reasoning with her when she got like this. He kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll think about it.”



But what Elizabeth wanted, Elizabeth got, and a few days later, they found themselves in Nassau, provisioning the ship for a two-month journey. Two days sail from Nassau the seas started kicking up vicious waves, and the wind blew westward something fierce. An unseasonably early hurricane sent them racing for cover, but the rain reached them first.



Barbossa was just deciding they were going to clear the worst of it when he heard the ominous cracking behind him. He turned around just in time to see the mizzen straining off the boards, leaning precariously to starboard. Bloody buggering hell! Damn ship survived a maelstrom, and she was going to lose her mizzen to the tail end of a hurricane? Damn it all.



He barely avoided the sails as they crashed around his head while he maintained his death-grip on the helm. Elizabeth inevitably appeared on deck a moment later, ducking out of the cabin where he had insisted she remain.



“What’s happening?” Her voice was barely audible over the wind.



“What’s it look like? We lost the mizzen!”



There was nothing to be done but weather the storm until they could find a place to make their repairs. Barbossa knew just the deserted island on which they could do so.



“I know this island.” Jack and Elizabeth stood together, arms folded.



“So do I. It’s not really all that big, is it, Governor Sparrow?”



“Don’t like this island. All the rum is gone.”



Jack sank to the ground and began to tug his sodden boots off. “Not so fast, Jackie. Need yer hands to help make repairs.”



“Wouldn’t’a happened, if I was Captain.”



“Not havin’ this argument.” He held his hand up in time to halt Elizabeth in her tracks. “Don’t need your hands. Rest. Tend our boy.”



“I am not your wife to be ordered around! The Pearl is my home, and if my hands can see her repaired faster – ”



Barbossa turned around, laid his hands on her arms. “A woman of yer condition won’t be wieldin’ no hammers! Would you harm our child?”



Her eyes held anger, frustration, and he dug in, prepared for a long fight, but she curled her lip and acquiesced. “Fine.”



Barbossa had always made a point of keeping spare timber on board, which proved most fortuitous, as this spit of land had naught but palm trees, and half of those had evidently suffered some fire damage. But though the repairs were straightforward enough for him and his crew, they were inevitably time-consuming, nixing all plans of a trans-Atlantic crossing before the child was born. By the time the Pearl was sea-worthy, Elizabeth was too close to her date to consider traveling such a distance.



They made for Tortuga when she was just past eight months. She insisted she was certain of the date, but they’d spent so many nights together in November and December, Barbossa couldn’t pinpoint the night that must have done it. Besides, he’d seen often enough with his own mother that sometimes babes came early.



He was at the helm, squinting toward the horizon, when Jack beside him snapped his spyglass shut with a muttered “bugger.” Elizabeth’s head snapped up from where she sat, playing pat-a-cake with Billy.



“What’s wrong?”



“We’ve got company.”



Elizabeth was at his side in a heartbeat, snatching Jack’s spyglass, as Barbossa pulled his own from his coat pocket. Company, indeed. Navy ships, three of them, dancing along the horizon, making straight for Tortuga.



Billy scrambled up onto a crate, reaching for a spyglass. Barbossa passed his to the lad and slipped an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Be alright, my girl.”



“Of course it will. We’ll try Nassau.”



Barbossa cleared his throat. “Remember when we sacked them to provision for a journey to Ireland?”



“Oh. That was three months ago.”



“Aye.”



“Alright, not Nassau.” Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. “Surely we can find someplace that would welcome us. What about Shipwreck Cove?”



Barbossa shut his eyes. It was so bloody obvious he should have thought of it when first she told him she was to have a child. “If ye’d but mentioned that a month ago, then aye. We’re too far out. Won’t make it in time.”



“I’ve got three weeks, surely.”



“Not riskin’ it.”



“Tortuga,” Jack straightened from aiding Billy with the spyglass, “is still your most opportune port of call.”



“How, Jack? We can’t just sail in like we’ve not a care in the world. They’ll know the ship. They’ll recognize us.”



“Then you’ll just have to make certain they don’t.”



So it was that three days later, Barbossa found himself wearing Pintel’s shirt, Mullroy’s breeches, Jack’s own coat and hat, with his hair tied back in a tight plait, courtesy of Elizabeth, and his beard trimmed. Elizabeth had let down her hair and dressed in the simple garb of a merchant’s wife; she held Billy tucked under one arm as Barbossa rowed the longboat away from the Pearl, lit only by moonlight, to the docks of Tortuga.



He hated to leave his Jack, but if he carried the monkey on his shoulder, he might as well announce his name for all to hear. Besides, he could count on his Jack to give Sparrow hell if the latter should decide to disappear with the Pearl. He hated leaving the Pearl with Sparrow, but he’d not see Elizabeth give birth unaided in the middle of the ocean; this was the only way.



It was late; they hoped for darkness to cover their arrival. It would be easy enough to blend in once they reached the streets, but if they were stopped on the docks, coming from no more than a longboat, they would have a harder time explaining their presence.



He tied up the boat while Elizabeth helped a sleepy Billy to climb out. “Shh, both of yeh.”



The moon was low tonight, darkness favored them. They crept through the shadows of the few ships that were docked. The three naval vessels dwarfed the brigantines, called, Barbossa noted, the Painted Lady and the Lady Mary Ann. They had just stepped onto land when footsteps came running down the boards. “Halt! Who goes there?”



He had never been a man to turn tail and run from a confrontation. He might have now, for the sake of his family, but neither Elizabeth nor their son was in any condition to run. A uniformed officer approached them.



“May I see your papers, sir?”



Barbossa put on his best submissive smile and turned to the man. “I’ve no papers, sir, I be naught but a humble merchant sailor.”



“Where’s your ship, sailor?”



“I sail on the Lady Mary Ann.”



“She docked three days ago.”



“Aye. Me boy wanted to see ‘er.” He rested a hand on Billy’s shoulder.



The official produced a stack of papers and flipped through until Barbossa saw the name “Lady Mary Ann” across the top. “Name, sir?”



Barbossa sighed and hoped to high heaven that the name he gave would show up on the roster.



“What’ll you call yourself?” Jack lounged in a chair, rum bottle dangling at his side, as Barbossa carefully trimmed his painstakingly curled and forked beard while Elizabeth stood behind him and combed out his hair.



“Hate this sneakin’ around. Smith, I suppose, will cause the least suspicion.”



“No good. Quite the opposite. Give the name Smith, they’ll know your lyin’. Gotta be something common, but not too common. Lizzie, what was your mother’s name, before she was Lady Swann?”



“Abigail. Abigail Bennett.”



“Hmm. Abigail’s fine, Bennett’s no good. More common than that, or it won’t show up on the roster.”



Barbossa frowned. “Brown?”



“No better than Smith.”



This was ridiculous. Common, but less common than Smith or Brown? “Jones?”



Jack choked down a mouthful of rum. “A sailor named Jones? Unlikely.”



True. Will Turner’s legend had not yet taken hold, and no sailor forgot the menace of the sea called Jones. No sailor would keep that name, even were he born with it.



“You’re overlooking the obvious.”



Barbossa snarled as Elizabeth caught a tangle in her comb, pulling his head back. “And what would that be, my dear?”



Her upside-down face appeared above him, and she dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Turner, of course.”



Barbossa wrenched himself free of her grip and slammed his straight-edge on the table. “Woman, there be no way on this green earth that I will ever, I mean ever, allow meself to go by the name of Turner.”



Jack crossed his ankles on the table at knocked back some rum. “She makes a fair point, mate. It’s common enough, like to show up on the list.”



“He’s right, Hector. And what if someone asks Billy? He won’t understand to lie. If he gives his name as Turner, he’d give everything away.”



“Not goin’ by Turner.”



“It’s Turner, sir.” Elizabeth saved him the humiliation of having to speak the name himself.



The officer’s eyes flicked up. “Not William Turner?”



“No, that’s - ”



“That’s me!” Damn kid needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.



The officer raised an eyebrow, reaching for his sword. He’d better have backup if he thought to best Barbossa. He would, of course, the moment he engaged Barbossa, they’d no doubt have the entire Navy on them.



“Named for your father, were you, lad?”



“He was named for my father.” Elizabeth kept a firm hold on Billy’s hand. “My husband’s name is John.”



Barbossa bit his tongue and nodded. So much for that part of the plan. If they could have avoided giving a first name, it would have dramatically increased their odds of the lie working.



Barbossa’s hand inched toward his pistol as the officer’s finger scrolled down the list. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They couldn’t afford to be on the run any longer.



“Ah, here we are, J. Turner of the Lady Mary Ann. My apologies, sir. But you are on the docks awfully late.”



Barbossa shut his eyes for a moment, as his heart ceased its rapid-fire pounding and returned to its normal, steady pulse. He opened his eyes again and flashed the officer his most winning grin. “Aye, well, you know how children are. Won’t be calm until they get what they want.”



The officer chuckled. “That I do. Good luck with the second, Mrs. Turner. On your way now.”



They took a room in a quiet, clean (for Tortuga, at least) inn, staying out of sight as much as possible. It wouldn’t do for the real J. Turner to meet his supposed namesakes, nor for anyone to recognize them in the full light of day.



It took Barbossa two nights to track Scarlett down, and another to find Trudy the midwife, who shooed them both out of her house with orders not to return until there was something for her to do.



Some three days later, there was, and Barbossa tore himself from the bedside of a whimpering Elizabeth and half-dragged Billy through the late-afternoon crowds in his haste to find the strumpet who doubled as a midwife’s assistant.



“Now? I didn’t think she’d go for another week at least.”



“Well, she’s in awful pain. If it’s not now, then something’s wrong.”



Scarlett sighed and slipped from the arms of a disappointed ruffian. “I’ll go see ‘er. Could be now. Sometimes they come early.”



It was now, but six hours later, the babe still hadn’t come, and Barbossa could do naught but sip wine, and then rum when the wine no longer had an effect, and try to comfort Billy, who dozed fitfully on his lap. The poor lad must have been worried sick for his mother, after all this time.



She was thin, too thin for babies. She’d had Billy alright, but his son would likely be larger than the child of Will Turner. He couldn’t recall how long the process took, but surely this was too long. Things went wrong in childbirth, far too often; Tortuga was not the best place to give birth. He should have taken her to Ireland, or Shipwreck, risks be damned. Nothing was worth Elizabeth’s life. Not even the gift of a son.



She would get through it. She had to get through it; he’d never forgive himself if she spent her last breath forcing his own spawn from her body. How could he ever love a child who stole his beloved away?



“Cap’n Barbossa?”



His head snapped up at the soft voice; he hadn’t even heard Scarlett’s approach.



“You can come upstairs now.”



Elizabeth’s screams had stopped; there was only silence on the other side of the door. He hugged Billy close. How could he tell him if something had gone wrong? How could he explain what he had done to kill the poor lad’s mother?



Scarlett bustled inside, and there she was. Elizabeth, alive, if a bit worse for wear, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. Alive, she was so very much alive, and radiant. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her face glistened, but she was smiling, cooing softly into a blanket.



“James?”



“No.” Elizabeth’s eyes flicked up, her smile bright. “It’s a girl. We’ve a daughter.”



A daughter? Barbossa sank into a chair, settling a sleepy Billy in his lap. What good was a daughter? Blast it, but even Will bloody Turner managed to sire a lad, and a fine boy he was becoming. And all he’d managed was a female? What would he do with her? He’d have to take care of her all her life; no chance of finding a good marriage for the daughter of a pirate. She’d likely end up walking the streets of some decrepit port town like the very one in which she was born.



A daughter. He’d been so eager for a son that he’d never even considered the possibility that he might wind up with a girl child.



“Hector? Do you want to hold her?”



“No.” He shook his head. A daughter?



“Are you certain? It’s alright, I’ll help you.” She turned to the bundle, unfazed by Barbossa’s doubtless pained expression. “You’ll be good for your daddy, won’t you princess? She’s our little pirate princess, isn’t she? Daughter of kings. And she’ll be positively the most fearsome pirate to ever sail the sea.”



Barbossa blinked as Elizabeth’s words washed over him. Of course. Elizabeth’s daughter would be just exactly like Elizabeth herself. No blushing maiden, this little girl! He felt a slow grin spread over his face. She’d be ferocious, wicked, brilliant. His daughter. The perfect heir to the Lordship of the Caspian Sea.



He shifted Billy on his knee. “Don’t reckon I can hold ‘em both.”



Scarlett bent down, beside him. “I’ll take the lad.” Blessed girl, was Jack’s Scarlett.



Barbossa shifted the chair closer to Elizabeth, who carefully transferred her bundle into his arms.



She was heavy, heavier than he’d expected, and very red. And then she opened her mouth, and what a howl! For such a little thing, she certainly made quite a racket!



“She supposed to be this loud?”



“Well,” Elizabeth smirked at him. “She is your daughter.”



His daughter. His pirate princess. “She got a name?”



“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of her being a girl.”



“Nor I.” He rocked the tiny infant, slowly, steadily, and she quieted, hiccupping and gurgling. “She misses the sea. She was born for the sea. Call her Grace.”



“Grace?”



“Aye. Ye’ve heard o’ Grace O’Malley?”



Elizabeth grinned. “I have. The Sea Queen of Connaught. Hector, it’s perfect.”



“She’s perfect, ain’t she?”



Elizabeth’s hand drifted over his arm as she leaned closer. “Grace Abigail Barbossa.”



At the sound of her name, the babe’s eyes blinked open. “’Lizabeth! She’s got me eyes, did yeh see? Blue eyes!”



“Don’t get yer hopes up, there, Cap’n.” Trudy looked up from where she had begun to collect soiled linens and rags. “They’ve all got blue eyes to start. Don’t always stay.”



“No, hers’ll stay. She’s got the sea in her eyes, she does. Don’t you, me girl?” He bent closer, feeling a strange urge to nuzzle his face to hers. He touched his nose to hers – she was so tiny! So tiny, and so perfect. “Where’s my baby girl? You’re Daddy’s girl, you are, yes you arrrrrrghh!”



A sudden pain in his right ear gripped him. The babe’s fist had closed around his shark’s tooth, and was pulling with surprising force. Her own howl joined Barbossa’s; his head tilted awkwardly in a vain attempt to ease the pressure.



“’Lizabeth! Make her let go!”



“Alright, give her here.” Elizabeth pried Grace’s tiny hand away, releasing his ear, and drew the babe to her breast.



Barbossa rubbed his ear and frowned. “Bloody hurt, that did.”



He was met with three identical glares. “Don’t you dare talk to me about pain, Hector Barbossa. I just gave birth!”



Fair enough, he’d heard birthing babies was something of a painful process. “Apologies.” He bent over Elizabeth and crooked a finger beneath her chin. “Thank you, cariño, for such a gift.” He pressed his lips to hers, gently, softly.



He sank back into the chair, allowing Scarlett to deposit Billy back into his arms. If only his Jack were here, their family would be complete.



“Now, Cap’n,” Scarlett leaned in conspiratorially. “You go easy on ‘er, eh? Give ‘er time to heal up afore you go getting all romantic with ‘er, if you catch my meaning.”



He did. He dug in his belt pouch for the coins he owed them for both their services and the bassinet in which little Gracie now laid, and pressed a few extra into Scarlett’s palm. “Reckon I owe you a dress.”



Scarlett grinned, as she and Trudy took their leave. “Call it even.”



Sleep was slow in coming, for if the Navy had caught wind of their true identities, they would never find the Pirate King and her consort more vulnerable. But they failed to attack, and Barbossa at last allowed himself to crawl into bed beside his Elizabeth, holding both her and Billy close, and close his eyes.



Calypso, he whispered, a prayer seldom heard from his lips. She had called it a price, bringing this child into the world. But now he had not one child, but two, and a woman who, for the time being at least, seemed to love him. And it was nothing less than a blessing. Thank you.