Adrift

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Thank you to everyone who has been following my tale...I have so enjoyed it and I hope you are getting some pleasure from it as well. It truly has been a labour of love.

A big shout out to RF who, once again, caught all the stupid mistakes I made (working on the story late at night will do that!)and asked all the right questions. A lot of the credit for the flow of these last several chapters belongs to her, and its a better story for her input.

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They might have been lacking proper weapons, Hector reflected as he shoved another lifeless Centurion out the door, but there were many ways to kill a man if one was desperate enough. A shard from a broken bottle worked nicely as a knife when one end was wrapped in strips of cloth...lengths of rusty wire made excellent garrottes...chair legs could easily substitute as clubs and a plank with a nail in the end, well...a single carefully aimed blow to the temple would instantly dispatch a foe. It was fighting in its truest form – face to face, eye to eye. Personal and deadly, it was the only honourable way to do away with one’s enemies.

He’d reached the point, however, where he’d have happily given up all vestiges of honour in exchange for a single pistol and the ammunition to go with it. The Centurions were relentless, wave after wave of them breaking against the little hut...gunfire for a time, then loud, clumsy rushes by those with more brawn than brains. True enough it was that he and Jack had been able to hold them off when the lumbering idiots made it as far as the door or windows, and sent them back down the ladder either dead or dying. But while the two pirates might be close to immortal, they weren’t inexhaustible, and the unremitting attacks were slowly but surely draining their reserves of strength. It had reached the stage where they were grateful when the Centurions began shooting once more, for it meant a chance to crouch down and catch their breath.

For Jack, it was worse – his wounds were still healing and every blow he received was taking its toll. At least he was fighting like the man he’d always claimed to be...and if Hector had been in a charitable mood, he’d have conceded that while Sparrow might run from a clash whenever possible, he was dangerous and deadly as a Bengal tiger when cornered.

Erratically at first and then in loud bursts, the Centurions began to pepper the exterior of the shack with bullets again, and Hector dodged behind the haphazard barricade that he and Jack had assembled out of bits of furniture, crates and chests they’d kicked down the stairs. Sparrow joined him shortly thereafter, the dark bags beneath the younger man’s eyes and the perspiration dotting his brow clear signs of his weariness and pain.

They rested their backs against the barrier, each gasping for air and trying to recover enough to face the next onslaught. Conversation, had it even been possible over the racket, would have been pointless. There was no strategy they could discuss as would save them from their doom. As reluctant as he was to do so, Hector had to admit that it was merely a matter of time and circumstance before they fell and their cause was lost. But they’d not go down easily, and Calypso could surely ask nothing more from them than to sacrifice themselves in her name.

Hector’s heart twisted hard, knowing the despair and grief his death would bring to Elizabeth. She’d blame herself, of course, and hate him for having sent her away to safety…would hate herself, too, for not taking the time for one final goodbye.

If what Jack said of the power of the mirror was true, though, and Beckett was able to go back and skew events to his liking, then it might be that what Hector had shared with her would be lost as the sands of time shifted and he met his end at the hands of the East India Trading Company. He wasn’t sure which was worse...that Elizabeth would mourn his passing or that their love would never have bloomed at all.

Although not generally a man given over to tokens of sentimentality, Hector now wished he’d had the occasion to acquire a photograph of his beautiful girl, one that he could hold and gaze upon to buoy his spirits in the final moments before the crushing grey mists rushed in to take him again. He let his lids close for a heartbeat or two and tried to call to mind the scent of Elizabeth’s skin, the shimmering colour of her hair, the taste of her lips. Instead, the smell of blood and cordite nearly smothered him, the odour hot, sickly and cloying, and it spoiled any hope of a last, lovely daydream.

He felt something nudge his arm. Cracking an eye open, he saw Jack wiping at his mouth and holding forth a rather foggy bottle of rum. Giving the other man a wry smile in exchange, Hector took the rum and tipped it back in a silent toast to his life...his death...his love. The liquor was disgusting but it burned its way down his throat nevertheless, a familiar warmth spreading through his gut with each swallow. He grimaced against the hideous aftertaste and passed the bottle back to Sparrow, who in turn gave it a quick wipe with his sleeve before lifting it to his own lips again. After draining the remainder of the dark liquid and licking at the last few drops before they fell from the rim, Jack tossed the bottle across the room and the both of them watched as it smashed to bits against a post.

“Thought ye’d lost yer taste fer rum!” Hector hollered over the din.

Jack grinned and yelled back at him. “Seems we find ourselves short of fixings for a last supper. T’was the best I could do!!”

Hector chuckled and reclined against the crate behind him. Funny old world, as Jack had once remarked. Who would have predicted that they’d end up one another’s best company...of course, there were damned few others to choose from, but the fact remained. They’d hated one another so long that he wondered if either would know what to do without the rivalry.

He was back to enduring the ceaseless gunfire as it gradually occurred to him that the bullets were no longer hitting the front of the house...or any part of the place, for that matter. Hector tilted his head, listening carefully and saw that Jack had noticed the change as well. Signalling the other man to follow, Hector crept back around the edge of the barricade, wary of a potential trap – might be that the bikers had redirected their aim so as to get a larger party of Centurions closer to the door without a fight.

After minutes slipped away and no one attempted to kick in the door or fire a shotgun blast through what little was left of the front window, they crawled their way over to take a chary look out of one of the shattered panes. Below them and across the brook Hector could see the Centurions firing, but the direction of their assault had changed – and better yet, someone was firing back.

A booming explosion marked the introduction of a grenade into the mix, and the volume of the volley fell for a time, allowing the sound of a man screaming in rage-filled pain to drift up towards them.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Guess your Elizabeth was right after all, eh? Best prepare yourself, Barbossa - you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hector raised his chin proudly and smirked at Jack. “And every word she so utters will seem sweet as the peal of a silver bell, lad. Our hope is restored.”

“I’ll dare to hope when I can put my back to this wretched, stinking bog and do so knowin’ that Beckett won’t be around to plant another bullet between my shoulder blades,” Sparrow groused, squinting through the dirty glass at the war being waged beneath them.

The sudden discharge of a machine gun startled them, the heavy crackle of its rounds prolonged and loud. The burst seemed to have caught the attention of the combatants in the marshes, for an eerie silence followed until a voice boomed out from almost directly beneath Tia Dalma’s hovel.

“All of you! Drop your fucking guns or I’ll take your heads off with the next sweep!”

Jack’s eyes grew large in recognition. “Bloody hell…it’s Norrington. Thought for sure we’d seen the last of that one.”

Hector clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked. “Ye will have once I get me hands on him,” he sputtered furiously. Unmindful of the risk of getting caught in one of the Centurion gunsights, he stood and stormed towards the door. He’d have been out on the porch and on his way down the ladder if Jack hadn’t kicked out a leg to trip him up just as he passed, bringing him down with an undignified and painful thud against the filthy floor.

Jack’s ebony eyes flared with frustration even as he brought his hands up in front of his face, ready to stave off Hector’s retaliation. “What, did you leave your damned brains back on the ship? He’ll have you laid out before you get to the last rung, you moron! Won’t be enough of you left to put back together...and where in blazes will that leave me, eh?!”

Hector saw red and grabbed Jack roughly by the neck, drawing back his fist to deliver the first in a series of lessons in respect when they heard Norrington let loose with another barrage. “Weren’t you listening?! EVERYONE! Centurions, too! Drop…the…GUNS!!!”

Shoving Jack away and scrambling to his feet, Hector peered out of the window to see both of the factions looking around in confusion, but complying reluctantly with the order. Movement on the little jetty below caught his eye and he saw the top of Norrington’s head as the man moved out from beneath the porch. Hector’s blood went cold as he realized that the marshal wasn’t alone; his arm was draped around Elizabeth’s neck and he dragged her along as he made his way to the end of the rickety boardwalk.

“Steady…” muttered Jack, cringing only slightly at the look Hector gave him in response. “Unrequited though it might have been, he loved her once himself. There’s more going on than we know.”

“Beckett!” hollered Norrington, carefully keeping the bedraggled and seething men across the brook in line with a steady hand on his weapon. “We’ve been had!”

“I think it more likely,” echoed Cutler Beckett’s imperious retort, “that you’ve been had, Deputy Marshal. Once again, you allow your heart – or maybe an organ a bit further down – to blind you to the stupidity of your actions.” Beckett came striding out of the trees and into the open as though his very arrogance provided a shield impervious to bullets. “Fortunately, some of us can see past Miss Swann’s rather transitory charms.”

“Your precious antique mirror isn’t here,” Norrington answered, mimicking the same snotty tone.

The proud look on Beckett’s face faltered and he practically ran to the edge of the water, his teeth bared and his composure strained. “Of course it’s here. Or do you think these cretins are fighting with such enthusiasm because they’re trying to protect their property values?”

“I think,” crowed back the fallen agent, “that I caught Elizabeth sneaking across country on her way back to the dock so she could sail off and retrieve the mirror from its actual hiding place. And these few men were left to keep up appearances so you’d stay here and occupied while they made off with the prize.”

“Jim, you bastard!” Elizabeth screamed, squirming and clawing at him as though trying to free herself. “How can you do this?”

Despite knowing that what was happening was only a ruse, it took all of Hector’s self-restraint not to storm the dock and free her from Norrington’s grasp, especially when the man laughed disdainfully and Elizabeth burst into heart-rending sobs. Watching the drama unfold was nearly more than he could stand, but he had to let her gambit play itself out.

“And leave her lover to his fate?” Beckett sneered, his eyes narrowing sceptically as he glared up at the shanty. “Not likely.”

Norrington shrugged. “Believe what you like. But doesn’t it make you wonder that there are only half a dozen men here defending this supposedly priceless object while most of the others remain at the pier? Besides,” he added snidely, “I don’t see your men doling out much ‘fate’ at all. The Blackhearts still hold their position in the hut and you...well, all you have is a steaming pile of dead Centurions.”

Beckett’s mouth gaped open for a second or two before he snapped it shut again and puffed out his chest. He raised the pistol he’d held in his hand all along and pointed it at Norrington. “And where, pray tell, are the gentlemen that Mr. Villanueva placed in your charge? It was your job to ensure that Barbossa’s people were...dealt with…instead of here, joining in our private party. One wonders how that might have all gone awry under your command. A less trusting man may even believe that you’re playing both sides against the middle.”

“As I said…I spotted Miss Swann making a break for it and chose to follow. I believed that six well-armed bikers would be able to keep a handful of pathetic, tired and defenceless miscreants under control. Clearly, I overestimated their intelligence and ability and for that, I am eternally sorry.” Norrington sounded anything but apologetic.

Villanueva huffed angrily, his beard quivering as he shook his finger at Norrington. “Son of a whore! You shut your mouth, or I’ll rip off your head and shit down your throat!”

“Assuming you, unlike your men, could find your ass with both hands…” laughed Norrington.

There was a collective, incredulous gasp from members of both crews and all eyes turned to the leader of the Centurions to see how he would respond to the insult. Infuriated past the point of answering coherently, Villanueva’s eyes bulged out and he fumbled to retrieve a handgun from beneath his leather jacket. Before he could draw a bead on Norrington, though, Beckett calmly turned and shot him between the eyes. Stunned disbelief flashed across the biker captain’s face before he fell over backwards onto the lush vegetation to stare sightlessly up at the bright blue Florida sky.

The gesture wasn’t heroic, Hector understood; Beckett had no interest in saving Norrington’s life. He simply couldn’t risk having Elizabeth accidentally shot before he could find out whether or not Norrington’s story was true. But just as when he’d shot Jack, the murder had been cold and utterly without emotion...and all the more chilling for that.

Villanueva’s men gawked in astonished silence at Beckett, seemingly unsure how to react to the loss of their leader. “You have two choices,” intoned Beckett, glancing dispassionately around him at the remaining members of the Centurion Motorcycle Club. “Either you can discharge the duties agreed to by your late captain – in which case you’ll reap his share of the reward, not to mention those of your many dead comrades – or I can order Deputy Marshal Norrington to open fire. If you choose the second option, you may consider our contract…terminated.”

“Was about time for a change anyway,” growled one of the biker lieutenants, and his remaining brothers nodded and murmured their swift assent.

“Excellent perspective,” stated Beckett smugly, turning his attention back to Norrington. “I must say, you surprise me with your change in attitude. Despite your rather egregious transgressions on my behalf, I had you pegged as something of a ‘stand up’ fellow in the end.”

“I have come to understand,” said Norrington, his voice cold and pitiless, “that being a respectable human being has never brought me anything but grief. If I have to lie and break a few rules to get what I want, then so be it. There is no profit in decency.”

“Indeed,” Beckett said slowly, seeming to ponder the marshal’s change of heart for a second or two. “And what about you, Miss Swann? Are you going to finally give me what is mine or shall I burn your friends alive in their charming little tree house while you watch?”

Elizabeth didn’t have to pretend to be upset at Beckett’s propensity for brutality; Hector could see her face harden in hatred for a moment before she reined in her emotions. “You’re going to kill us whether you get your hands on the mirror or not. Find it yourself, you dickless little troll. You won’t be getting any help from me.”

Beckett’s façade of control shattered and he screamed at her from across the water. “There’s dying, you bitch, and then there is dying! When I get my hands on you, you’ll beg for the chance to tell me where it is, just for my promise to end the torment…”

Elizabeth snorted scornfully. “Oh, I’m simply aquiver in terror at the very thought! Aren’t you brave from the other side of the creek? Have you found a pair since our last encounter? Because as far back as I can remember, you’ve only ever behaved like every other pompous, prissy English lord…you sit back and pretend at civility while you get real men to do your bidding.”

“You are DONE!” Beckett shrieked, his face turning a deep red as his blood pressure rose.

“Is she trying to give him a stroke, do you think?” murmured Jack, barely suppressing a laugh.

“Nay,” Hector said, his jaw tensing painfully. Elizabeth was taking too great a risk for his liking. “She’s layin’ the bait fer a trap.”

They watched flabbergasted as Beckett stepped into the shallow, murky water, his gun carefully trained on Norrington and Elizabeth as he crossed the narrow stream towards the tiny dock. While he waded across, the Centurions tried to covertly retrieve their weapons, thinking everyone too distracted to notice. Norrington cleared his throat loudly, though, and once he shook his head and waved the Uzi in their direction, they abandoned the attempt and stood straight again. The menacing glares continued, however, and it was clear that Beckett’s belief that he held their loyalty was, at best, premature.

Dragging himself from the waist-deep water up onto the broken-down jetty with some considerable effort, Beckett finally lurched to a stop in front of Norrington and Elizabeth. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide as he stood before them, his sodden hair slick against his head and brackish water dripping from his clothes. The walk through the brook had done nothing to cool his temper, though, and he shoved Norrington out of the way as he reached past him and seized Elizabeth by the hair.

Her cry of alarm tore at Hector’s heart and he couldn’t help but charge out the door and down the ladder, Jack’s last minute grab to stop him notwithstanding. He only descended a few rungs before he jumped to the dock, deftly avoiding the heap of biker corpses sprawled over the decrepit boards. He had time to take but a single stride forwards when Beckett backhanded Elizabeth across the face with his gun, the sound of blow sharp and startling. Her head snapped to the side and she fell to her knees at her assailant’s feet, letting out a single angry sob as she brought her hand up to tenderly touch her jaw.

Rage darkened Hector’s vision and he’d have torn Beckett to pieces on the spot, gun or not, but for Norrington. “No!” barked the marshal as he stepped into Hector’s path, a pleading expression on his face as he tried to convey more to Barbossa than he obviously felt he could say. “Stay back!”

Hector might have ignored the entreaty but for Elizabeth’s face when she raised her head to gaze up at him. Her expression wasn’t one of fear; despite the trickle of blood that flowed from her swollen mouth and the furious tears that rimmed her eyes, she looked triumphant.

“Get up!” screeched Beckett, his voice shrill as he yanked on her hair. Elizabeth cried out again, grabbing Beckett’s wrist with one hand to relieve some of the painful pressure on her scalp as he attempted to drag her to her feet again. Beckett’s head whipped around and his maniacal glare settled on Hector as he began to raise his gun. “How does it feel to know that you’re helpless to stop me, pirate? That anything you have can be taken away at my whim?! Are you going to watch me beat the life out of her or are you going to tell me where MY FUCKING MIRROR IS?!”

Hector roared and lunged for him, but Norrington stepped into his path and held him back. “For Christ’s sake!” screamed Norrington, struggling to block Hector’s advance while continuing to hold the gun on the Centurions, “Do something already!”

It suddenly dawned on Hector that Norrington was not addressing either him or Beckett, but Elizabeth. The glint of a blade in the late afternoon sun caught his eye…his dagger, swung in a wide arc from where Elizabeth had hidden it in her boot. With a sickening thunk, it was imbedded in Beckett’s chest, Elizabeth’s thin, dainty fingers wrapped firmly around its thick black hilt.

Beckett’s eyes bugged out and his breath gurgled as his lungs filled with blood. Elizabeth grabbed him by back of his neck and pulled him close, slowly twisting the knife as she did so and drawing a squealing gasp from his gaping maw. “You are a weak and worthless coward,” she hissed, her face only inches away from her attacker’s. “Nothing more than vermin...an insect...one that I felt I had to squash personally. Before you die, though, know this…you were right, the mirror was here all along. You allowed a callow girl to best you, Beckett.”

He coughed as though trying to reply, but all that came from his shivering lips was a surge of bloody bubbles, dribbling down his chin and painting the front of his shirt a brilliant crimson. Pushing hard with both hands on the dagger’s hilt, Elizabeth forced Beckett to the end of the dock. He staggered and flailed his arms backwards, the gun falling from his hand and into the bog as his eyes rolled back in pain and a steady, burbling groan came from deep in his throat.

“You lose, you slimy prick,” she muttered harshly before yanking the dagger from his heart. He doubled over, clutching at his chest as though trying to stem the red tide that now gushed out in a pulsing torrent. Beckett wavered but before he could fall to his knees, Elizabeth lifted her foot and pushed him backwards into the muddy brook. Cutler Beckett was dead before he hit the water, his arms and legs outstretched as though he was simply enjoying one last cool dip on a hot summer day.

Elizabeth was still glowering down at the body when Hector approached her carefully from behind. “It’s over,” he said quietly, reaching to take her hand and pull her away from the edge. “Come away with me, ‘Lizabeth. Let me see to yer wounds.”

She didn’t move, though...didn’t even turn. “I was right,” she whispered, so softly that he almost didn’t realize she’d spoken. “Surely you can see that now?”

“Right…about what?” he asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand...”

“Norrington, you idiot, you’ve let down your guard!” shouted a panicky Sparrow from his perch on the veranda. “They’re going for their guns!”

Caught up in the horrific drama, the three of them had almost forgotten the men standing on the opposite bank. Both Blackhearts and Centurions scrambled in the grass and bushes for their weapons, distracted from their goal only when a vicious fistfight would break out. The disgraced marshal screamed and even fired the Uzi over the bikers’ heads, but his threats went either unheard or unheeded. It didn’t take long for bullets to start flying again...and those standing beneath the house were left completely vulnerable.

Hector seized Elizabeth by the shoulders and hustled her back towards the hut, determined to find shelter for her in the midst of the chaos. Despite the return of his men, his arsenal remained frustratingly out of reach. Norrington, the lone armed man on their side, charged past the couple, trying to take out whatever enemy bikers he could catch in his sights without blowing away Barbossa’s men in the process.

The two of them ran hard as bits of the dock disintegrated at their feet, a combination of artillery and age finally catching up. Elizabeth stumbled as she tried to scramble over the bodies of the Centurions sprawled on the dock and Hector all but threw her onto the ladder so she could climb to safety. Bullets shredded the tree trunk beside them and he covered her body with his, feeling one of the shots graze the side of his calf. Biting down against the pain, he held his position until he was certain it was safe to move again and he began to pull himself higher. Problem was, Elizabeth no longer seemed inclined to do so.

“Only a few feet more, girl...we’re almost there!” he grunted, wrapping an arm around her waist and trying to persuade her to scale the remaining distance as quickly as possible. She slumped against him, though, and would have fallen had he not been holding her.

It was then that he felt it – hot, wet and spreading fast against his arm. His breath caught in his throat and a flash of fear froze him in mid-ascent. He’d not been able to protect her...whether through accident or an act of expert marksmanship, she’d been shot. And now her lifeblood was coating his hands and making her body too slick to hold, impossible to move...

“Sparrow! She’s hit...God help me, ‘Lizabeth’s been hit!” he bellowed desperately, trying to prop her up on the ladder, trying to lift her higher so he could get her to the top. He needed to tend to the injury...needed to make sure she was going to be okay. She had to be okay; he couldn’t abide any other thought.

Jack wasted neither breath nor time with a reply; he skidded over to the opening and reached down, grabbing handfuls of Elizabeth’s blouse and pulling her up. There was blood everywhere, but no way of knowing which was hers and which was Beckett’s...they would need a closer look before they could staunch the flow, every minute counted...

By the time Hector clambered up onto the veranda, Jack had already carried Elizabeth into the house. He was crouched beside her on the floor of the bedchamber, tearing at her top and desperately searching for the source of the bleeding. Hector dropped to his knees at her side, his hands trembling as he helped check her over.

He spotted it first...the brightest of the blood welling from beneath her arm and when he lifted the limb, he could see the edges of the tiny, round hole that marked the entry wound. The bullet had gone in above her ribs but so far as he could tell, had not exited her body. Elizabeth was fighting to stay conscious and her breathing was somewhat laboured, each inhalation causing new tears to spill from her frightened eyes. She reached out for him, weakly clasping his wrist, but he had no time for reassurances – he had to stop the bleeding.

The shots were no doubt still ringing out, but Hector could hear nothing over his own heart, its thunderous beat fuelled by profound terror. Carefully he rolled the girl onto her side before bunching up her discarded shirt in his hand and pressing it against the hole. The injury was deceptively small, but he didn’t doubt that the projectile had wreaked all sorts of internal damage. He only needed to get her stabilized long enough to get her some help and then it would all be fine. It likely looked worse than it really was, he tried to convince himself. She’d be all right.

Damn it, though, if she didn’t seem unbearably fragile, lying half-naked and trembling upon the floorboards. Jack walked over to the where the blasted mirror was propped against the wall and pulled away the threadbare sheet covering its surface, wordlessly handing it to Hector so he could cover Elizabeth and restore to her some small dignity. Thin as it was, though, it seemed to do little to alleviate the chills wracking her slender form, a clear signal of excessive blood loss. Hector sat down beside her, pulling her halfway into his lap so he could wrap his arms around her and warm her with his own body heat. The move caused a hitch in her breathing but she didn’t protest when he tucked her into his embrace, resting her head against his thigh. He readjusted the compress, making sure he was putting enough pressure on the wound as she gingerly settled against him.

“Barbossa,” Jack murmured, getting down on one knee in front of them. “You have to talk to her. Say what needs be said.”

Hector glanced up and was at once shaken by the sombre knowledge he saw on Jack’s face. The pity and sadness in the younger man’s expression made him inexplicably angry. “And ye need to learn to keep yer trap shut, Sparrow. Talk like that and ye’ll scare her to death. She’s not hurt so bad as all that.”

Jack dropped his head. “You’re right, of course. Apologies for speaking out of turn.”

“If yer inclined to help,” Hector said peevishly, “perhaps ye can find one as can get word to me men back at the docks – tell ‘em to summon a Medivac. She’ll be needin’ a surgeon and sooner than later. Ain’t a cellphone that will work close to the shack, but the radios on board our ships will do just as well.”

Jack sighed heavily and slowly got to his feet. “I’ll do what I can.” He made his way towards the door, giving them one last misery-filled look over his shoulder before he ducked out and left them alone.

“Hector,” Elizbeth gasped faintly, her hand reaching up for him. He took it and held it against his face, and was alarmed to find her skin was clammy and cold. “I was right...not to say goodbye...”

“I’m here, my love. We’ll get ye taken care of; don’t ye fret.” He turned his face to kiss her palm, and brushed his lips across her fingertips. “I know yer hurtin but it won’t be fer long. The docs will fix ye up, right as rain.”

The thud of weighty footsteps could be heard on the ladder, more than one set to judge from the racket. Hector hunched himself protectively over Elizabeth, but it was only Pintel and Flaherty who burst through the door, chattering excitedly. “Cap’n!” cried Pintel, “The Centurions are done for, sir. Weren’t much of a contest at all, in the end...”

The two men stopped short of entering the tiny room and their foolish grins faded the instant they took in the scene. “Miss ‘Lizabeth, is she...” Flaherty began hesitantly, wringing his hands.

“Aw, poppet...”chimed in Pintel, putting a hand over his heart. “No...”

“If either of ye say another word, I swear I’ll rip out yer gizzards with one hand an’ feed ‘em back to ye with the other,” Hector growled, his fury making it hard to get the words out. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, glaring back and forth between the two men.

“Aye,sir...sorry, sir...” they muttered, exchanging looks heavy with meaning as they stepped into the bed chamber and stood with their backs against the wall. Pintel bit at his fingernail anxiously and Flaherty crossed his arms over his chest, pointedly staring anywhere but at what was happening before him.

The cloth that Hector held against the wound was quickly growing wetter, darker, tackier...the bleeding refused to slow and he could only hold on and hope that a physician could be dispatched quickly. The colour was draining from Elizabeth’s face and her lips were a pinkish shade of white, making the lacerations and bruises she’d received at Beckett’s hand stand out harshly.

He hadn’t even realized that Sparrow had returned until he heard the man speak. “Norrington had a broad band radio concealed in the trees. He’s called for help and is watching the skies, ready to signal our location to them.”

“Da doctah cannot help her, Barbossah,” came Calypso’s softly rhythmic voice from beside the mirror. “You know dat.”

Hector’s fists tightened and his pulse throbbed in his temples as his anger seethed. Had Elizabeth not been lying across his lap, he’d have jumped to his feet and throttled the goddess, consequences be damned. “That be a lie and I’ll thank ye to keep it to yerself,” he said through his teeth, trying to keep quiet for Elizabeth’s sake. “Such talk ain’t gonna help anythin’...”

Calypso’s skirts rustled against the floor and she came to rest on her knees before him. When he looked up, she’d changed...no more ethereal gown, no more perfect skin. She was Tia Dalma again, raggedy dress and tattooed face, her dreadlocks dull and frizzy. Only the faint glow in her eyes gave a clue as to her true nature, and in those dark depths he saw something he’d never seen in all the years of serving her... compassion and concern.

“Dis her fate,” the goddess said gently and quietly. “Her gonna die...dat ye cannot change.”

Hector shot out a hand and grabbed Calypso by the wrist, squeezing hard in desperation. “Mebbe I can't – but if ye so wish, ye can help her. Save her now. Whate’er bond ye want from me...whate’er promise I can render, whate’er service I can give to ye, ‘tis yers fer the askin’. Just...please...” He knew he had nothing left to offer but it didn’t stop him from trying to make a bargain. There was no way that he could lose Elizabeth...not after so long, not after all they’d fought for...

Slowly Calypso shook her head. “Dis body be broken...it cannot hold her spirit and I not have da magic anymore to alter dat. But you, Hectah...” she said, the glint sparking in her eyes and a slight smile forming on her dark lips, “you can go back. You can see her live again...but in da past, when da both of you was mortal.”

“Go back...” he said, his attention drawn to the mirror...the cursed mirror that had robbed him and Elizabeth of their chance for happiness. His eyes narrowed as he turned back to look at the witch. “She weren’t mine in the past,” he spat resentfully. “She belonged to Turner – never once did she look at me then with anythin’ more than loathin’ or disgust. It was this Elizabeth who loved me...not that one. Never that one.”

“She did not know den dat she would love you in da future,” she said impatiently, tugging her wrist from his grasp. “Da body, it be a container, is all...no diff’rent dan dose bottles dat used to hang above us. But da soul...dere be only one for each person. If dey live life as dey should, den once...it is enough. If dey lose der way...if dem follow da wrong pat’...den the soul, it is sentenced to purgatory on Eart’, destined to repeat da same mistakes over and over again.”

“And yer sayin’ that the way that her life turned out back then...the path that ‘Lizabeth chose...it wasn’t the right one?” he said sceptically.

“I’m sayin’,” explained Calypso, slowly and calmly as if speaking to a child, “dat if she dies now...dies here...den her soul is caught forevah in dis loop. But if you take her back t’roo da portal, her will have a chance to find her way. To change dat destiny.”

He looked back down at his beautiful girl...beautiful but dying...and stroked her hair with bloodstained fingers. “If I take her back...will she remember? Will she know that she loved me?” He’d had to give her up once to Will Turner...to have to do it again was beyond what he could stand, not after they’d shared so much.

“I cannot know dat, for da past is clouded and I can no longer see,” she replied with a shrug. “But her soul – it knows you, knows her love you. And her made a vow...”

“Ye said that before. What vow do ye mean?”

Calypso smiled slyly, smoothing her hair back off her shoulders. “When first you took her a-ridin’, don’t you recall? Her pledge her loyalty to you and no udder...she swore dat you were da capt’in of her heart.”

His spirits fell, all hope dashed. “She said that in jest...it was a joke to her then and nothin’ more.”

Calypso huffed and frowned at him, settling her small fists on her waist. “All da same, it was a vow! How often since den has she called you her ‘cap’tin’, hmm? Every time her say dem words, da bond...it grow strongah. It come from da deepest part of her self, da truest and purest piece of her bein’. Nevah did her give dat vow to an udder man. Nevah.”

“But there ain’t no guarantee, is there?” he challenged. “Even if some part of her remembers what we had, the Elizabeth of old...she might never know it.”

“When did men like us ever believe in guarantees, mate?” Jack said, stepping closer. “What you know for certain is this...if you don’t try, if you don’t take her back, then she’s a goner for sure. Any chance, however small...don’t you think it’s better than none at all?”

“Before you decide, Hectah,” warned the goddess, her visage sombre once more, “dere is a cost must be paid, and not just from you. If you take her back, you give up dat immortal life I gave to you. You will be a mon...but just dat. Mortal again and as frail as any udder humon. And the same it must be for all dose given dat gift so long ago. You...Witty Jack...your crew. All must return wit’ her.”

“We’d go, Cap’n!” exclaimed Pintel, and Flaherty nodded vigorously in agreement. “We hate it here! We hate it now, I mean...you know, the here and now. Facin’ danger, disease, death...that was better than this half-life we got. Ain’t a man on yer crew who’d say diff’rent.”

He’d known his crew was loyal, despite enduring his abuse and being subjected to his ill-blown temper at times. But the depth of their loyalty...never could he have expected it. He felt ashamed that he’d considered leaving them – they’d not abandon him, even when so doing would have meant living forever. It was humbling and not just a little disconcerting.

Jack sighed and looked heavenward. “Hate to say it, but I grow tired of this eternal drudgery myself. Besides, next time I kill you, Barbossa, I’d like to think it will take.” He smiled enigmatically. “We don’t belong here, Hector. It’s not our time...these are not our people. Going back is no hardship; it’s the staying here as will drive a man to madness. Give me a ship and bring me that horizon. I say we go.”

“No...” Elizabeth moaned softly, squirming in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open...they were dark and filled with pain, but also with anger. Taking in a shuddering breath, she propped herself unsteadily on her elbow and glared hatefully at the goddess. “You can’t do that to him...I won’t...allow it. Dozens of lives for mine, just so...I can try to fix the mistakes...of my past. The price is...too steep and you have no right to ask...it of him. Of them.”

The goddess looked shocked at Elizabeth’s hostility. “But him love you...for love, what sacrifice be too great?”

“NO!” Elizabeth cried again, and then began coughing. Blood oozed from between her lips and she raised a shaky wrist to wipe it away. She fell back against Hector’s thigh and stared up at him, her breath rasping as she grabbed his hand fiercely. “If you go back, then...what we had...could be lost. Do you...want to see...me with...Will again? Can you watch...him kiss...me? Would you...be able...to make yourself...marry us...again? I would rather...die now...than...hurt you...like...that. I’d rather you...have only a memory...of what time...we had...than...know that...you’d have to face that.”

A tear fell from his cheek and dropped into her hair before he even knew he’d begun to weep. “I would not let ye go so easily, lass...I’d not give ye up to Turner again without a fight. But even if I can’t have ye...‘Lizabeth, if doin’ this can free yer soul... if circumstances mean that ye don’t end up lovin’ me, then I’ll have given ye that at least. T’is no small gift, that kind of peace.”

“What he sez is true, missy,” sniffled a sobbing Flaherty, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Pintel was trying to remain stoic, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyes glistened brightly. “Besides, ye said ye love the cap’n...if ye do, then ye gotta let him try and win yer heart a’gin.”

“It’s only fair!” burst out Pintel before pushing past the others and stomping from the room. Flaherty followed after him, no longer able to watch the heartbreaking tableau.

“You would lose...your immortality...” Elizabeth argued weakly, tears of her own now coursing unchecked and her voice thick with anguish.

“I’d rather face life and death as an ordinary man than live a thousand lifetimes without ye,” he whispered, bending to press his lips to her forehead. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, caressing his hair and crying softly against the hollow of his throat.

“Barbossah...if you are to do dis t’ing, it must be now. Her aura is fadin’ and she must still live when you step t’roo da door,” cautioned Calypso, rising and stepping back towards the mirror.

“Do what you have to do,” Jack prompted. “We will gather the men and follow.”

As Hector slid his arms beneath Elizabeth’s legs and stood, his heart felt as though it had been shredded in his chest, so intense and all-encompassing was his agony. He wanted to throw back his head and howl like a wounded animal, to protest the injustice of his loss and the fear that squeezed his chest so tightly that he could hardly draw breath.

“I love you, ‘Lizabeth Swann...death cannot touch that,” he choked out, burying his face in her hair to capture the scent of her, to engrain it in his memory for an eternity in case it was the last chance he’d ever have.

“I...love you...Hector Barbossa...my...captain...always,” she sighed, clearly too weak to say much more. Her arms were slipping from around his neck even as her life began to slip away.

Calypso crouched in front of the mirror, chanting as she spread her hands over the thick, carved frame. As she spoke, the tiny figures etched there slowly came to life, moving and flowing into one another as the pace of the goddess’s spell increased and the passion of her words grew. The silver surface of the mirror began to ripple outwards from the centre, the waves smooth and slow. The undulations gradually diminished and Hector saw the captain’s quarters of the Black Pearl materialize before him.

“You are returnin’ to da very night dat her will decide her fate,” the goddess murmured, gesturing to the scene on the other side of the looking glass. “Your one chance, Hectah, to change what is to follow for Elizabet’ Swann.”

“What night is it?” he asked. “If I knew that...”

Calypso laughed, a tinkling sound like chimes in the wind. “Won’t be doin’ all your work for you, mon. Some t’ings you need to figure out yourself. But always have I said...you a bright one, Barbossah.”

He pulled Elizabeth as close as he could and took a deep breath. Before he stepped into the portal, though, he paused and looked back at Calypso.

“Why?” he said, puzzled. “Why are you doing this? What’s in it fer ye?”

“Perhaps,” she replied with a smile, fussing with one of her braids, “I, too, long for a time when I was more den I am now. Worshipped, feared...I was Calypso, de bane and de boon of every sailor as took to da watah. Loved, hated, desired, reviled...I miss dat time and dose men.” She grew serious again and moved towards him, resting a tiny hand on his arm. “Well have you served me, Hectah Barbossah. Be da mon I know you to be...go back to your time...find your love. Live da life you deserve.”

Without further hesitation, Hector stepped into the rift between worlds. As he moved into the darkness and beyond the shimmering light, he heard Elizabeth whisper faintly, “I will remember...I will...”

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Please, if you read...rate or review! Next chapter takes us a step back, so to speak...;)