Adrift

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The second last chapter, my devoted readers...I will add an epilogue in order to wrap things up. Thanks again to Scarlett and Conni for keeping me motivated with their reviews; I can't tell you how much they mean. Another shout-out to RF, who seems nearly as sad as I am that this story has finally run its course. Enjoy this addition, dear Barbossa fangirls, and please let me know what you think.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It took all of Barbossa’s restraint not to reload his musket and shoot Joshamee Gibbs directly between the eyes, so irksome was the expression of stupefied incredulity on the man’s face.

Mister Gibbs wasn’t scratching his head over the fact that they’d survived what should have been a hopeless battle with the most nefarious and deadly foe of their era...nor was Jack’s first mate taken aback by seeing the Flying Dutchman suddenly surface from beneath the waves. He hadn’t even blinked an eye when Barbossa’s monkey and his oily namesake had clambered aboard after lofting to safety like sailfish upon the thermals. No, it was seeing Elizabeth attempt to distract Hector with a stirring kiss while she yanked a chunk of jagged wooden from her captain’s thigh that had utterly robbed Gibbs of his senses.

It wasn’t until Jack meandered up to the quarterdeck that Gibbs was moved to break his dumbfounded silence. “Jack!” he muttered, the corner of his lip twitching as he watched Elizabeth pick what splinters she could out of Hector’s thigh. “Miss Elizabeth...she was...that is, she was kissin’ Cap’n Barbossa! Like she really meant it, too!”

Jack took off his hat and shook water from its brim. “Aye, Mister Gibbs, a deeply troubling sight to be sure. The way I hear tell, though, lovers tend to do that quite a lot.”

Elizabeth paused in wrapping strips of cloth around the deep gash to gaze coyly at Hector through the fringe of her eyelashes and grant him a lascivious grin. “Any chance I get,” she purred loudly enough for Gibbs to hear. “That and much more.”

“Miss...have ye lost yer...? No, that’s...lovers? Ye can’t be tellin’ me...them two?” sputtered Gibbs in disbelief, shaking his head vehemently as though to undo what he’d seen with his own two eyes.

Had his leg not been aching with such throbbing intensity, Hector might have hobbled over to where Gibbs stood and beaten the man unconscious. As it was, he settled for rolling his eyes and sighing heavily while Elizabeth tended to his wound.

“But...but what of Will?” pressed Gibbs.

The playful smile faded from Elizabeth’s face. “What of Will, Jack?” she asked, suddenly serious. “What happened on the Dutchman?”

Sparrow cast a glance towards the ragged fluyt approaching from off the Pearl’s larboard side. “He stabbed the heart just as Jones would have run me through. Saved me life, so he did, knowing he’d then have to forfeit his own. Fortunately, Will shares my desire to see Lord Cutler Beckett thoroughly repaid in kind for his actions and so has agreed to lend us assistance to that end.”

Elizabeth stood, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “And… Will’s heart?” she asked tremulously.

Jack shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the memory. “He...he cut it out himself, using that blasted knife of Bootstrap’s. And all the while, Jones’ men were standing around him, chanting, ‘part of the ship, part of the crew’ as they waited for him to finish off the job. I thought I’d best take my leave before they decided perhaps their undead captain could use an undead first mate.”

Gibbs’ eyes bulged out and he paled slightly. “Cut it out hisself? What kind of madness would possess a man to do that?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head as horror dawned on her face. “I thought...if I took a different path, then he would, too. Now he faces an eternity of servitude as captain of the Dutchman...”

“Cap’n, pardon fer interruptin’...” interjected Flaherty, approaching them cautiously.

“Aye?” Barbossa and Sparrow responded in unison. Hector glared pointedly at Jack before turning his attention back to his man.

“The Endeavour is comin’ up on us fast, sir. What be yer orders?”

Jack whirled around and glared over the deck of the Pearl. “Full canvas, Mister Gibbs!” Although he remained hopelessly perplexed about nearly everything going on around him, Gibbs was finally prompted to action by virtue of his captain’s order and made his way down the stairs to rally the crew.

“Aye! Full canvas!” Hector echoed, compelling Flaherty to follow close on Gibbs’ heels. Barbossa struggled to his feet and winced as pain lanced through his leg. There’d be no more supernatural healing for him and the nature of this latest injury would likely see his limp return for good. It was a small price to pay, though, for what he had gained in return. He took a firm hold of what was left the Pearl’s wheel and barked at Jack, “Same as last time, then?”

Jack looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Beckett is nothing if not predictable. You think you can manage the helm in your present condition, Methuselah?”

Hector huffed. “I be a better captain old an’ lame than you be on your best day, ye mouthy whelp! I’ll do me job – ye best take care of yers!"

“Most assuredly,” Jack said. He flashed Barbossa a wicked, lopsided grin before turning back to oversee the attack.

It was then that Hector noticed Elizabeth standing stiffly by his side, her eyes searching the water, but her mind clearly on something other than what awaited them on the waves. “’Lizabeth,” he said quietly, reaching down to take her hand in his.

“Ten years was bad enough,” she uttered despairingly, squeezing his fingers back. “But knowing that he has lost all hope, that’s he’s trapped forever between the worlds of the living and the dead...”

“Young Turner did take a different path, girl. The first time, he had no say in the matter – command of the Dutchman was thrust upon him. Today, he chose that destiny fer hisself. Freed his father as he promised, but kept Jack from being slain, too...and when it comes down to it, most likely the rest of us. T’was a noble sacrifice and ye mustn’t diminish it by grievin’ his decision.”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly and he reluctantly let go of her hand so that he could steer the Pearl on its course towards Beckett’s comeuppance. Despite what he’d said, Hector knew that she’d always carry a measure of guilt over the boy’s dark fate…he could see it on her face as she stared at Turner’s shadowy silhouette on the wheel of the Dutchman. There’d be time enough after the battle to help ease her sorrows; for now, he needed to direct all of his attentions to blowing Cutler Beckett into bite-size chunks for Calypso’s crabs.

Cries of alarm from the Endeavour rose over the waves as the Pearl and the Dutchman quickly closed the distance to their enemy. The sound of their panic was like an intoxicating elixir, particularly for Hector’s crew. It had been far too long since they’d fought for anything more than their own amusement and they’d caught the scent of blood in the air. Their teeth were bared and their eyes glinted with remorseless anticipation. In the midst of the excitement, little Jack scrambled up the back of Hector’s coat and perched on his master’s shoulder, wide-eyed and screeching his own primitive bloodlust at the enemy ship.

As the Pearl and Dutchman approached, some of the Company’s less courageous men threw themselves overboard in hopes of escaping the inevitable reckoning. Certainly in their hearts, the East India crew knew better than to even try to flee, but perhaps the thought of a long, cold and watery death was preferable to fiery oblivion for a cowardly few. The Blackhearts shouted insults and curses at them, firing their pistols into the water and laughing sadistically.

“Captain?” Gibbs called out nervously. They had sailed within range of the Endeavour’s guns and Hector braced himself at the helm, half expecting that this time around, Beckett would have the sense to at least attempt a salvo. Over one hundred black holes stared benignly throught the shutters at the pirate vessels, though, and Barbossa knew that Beckett’s end was at hand.

Jack narrowed his eyes and smiled in vicious triumph. “Fire!”

Sparrow’s order was immediately echoed by everyone on the Pearl’s quarterdeck but their voices were quickly drowned out as the world exploded before them. The air was suddenly thick with shattered wood and torn canvas, rope and steel, smoke and blood, raining down around them. Each gun sounded a death knell for every soul remaining aboard the Endeavour, the relentless booming of the cannons like the toll of some great hellish bell.

Those men left aboard the doomed ship now abandoned their posts with all haste, and only those already dead or well on their way to becoming so remained behind. Cutler Beckett was the exception, barely visible through the haze and wreckage as he summoned some dignity amidst the pandemonium. It was almost as though he had determined that if he didn’t acknowledge the attack, it simply couldn’t be happening – all evidence to the contrary. Failure had clearly bewildered him or addled his wits, but Hector knew that likely wouldn’t remain the case for long. Death had a definitive way of dissipating confusion.

Both Barbossa and Turner barely cleared their ships of the Endeavour’s bow when the flames finally reached her magazine and ignited the powder kegs within the battered vessel. A massive wave of heat and sound buffeted their craft from behind, the burst of warm air briefly filling their sails and propelling the Black Pearl and Flying Dutchman further towards the now-leaderless armada.

Perhaps it was that short burst of speed, with the threat of another attack, that ultimately frightened the enemy off…or maybe it was enough to see the once-mighty Endeavour, a first-class ship-of-the-line, collapsing in on herself and sliding silently beneath the briny depths. Whatever the reason, there was no question that the pirates had won the day. The voices from the renegade ships joined in a discordant but jubilant crescendo that carried across the water, nigh on loud enough to awaken the gods.


*-*-*-*-*-*

Distracted as he was by the chaotic revelry that had erupted on board the Pearl following their decisive victory, it took Hector some time to realize that Elizabeth had disappeared from his side. Dodging congratulatory exclamations and increasingly inebriated offers of rum from his triumphant crew, he’d searched much of the deck before it occurred to him that she might simply have sought out a place of solitude and comparative quiet. As much as his leg hurt him, the spiritual wound she had sustained upon learning of Turner’s fate went far deeper. Knowing her as well as he did, he was almost certain she had chosen to nurse her pain in private.

He found her in his quarters, sitting on the starboard window ledge with her knees drawn up to her chest, gazing blankly out the whorled windows at the empty horizon. The boots, black leather armour and intricately embroidered coat she’d worn during the battle had been abandoned on the floor in a sodden heap, and she was clad in only a simple black shift. Her hair framed her face in a tangled, honey brown halo and her nose and cheeks were smeared with greyish soot, making her appear as bruised and battered as he imagined she felt. Although Elizabeth graced him with a soft smile when the door closed behind him, her eyes were sad and haunted.

Words seemed inadequate at that moment and so rather than speaking, he opened his arms wide in silent invitation. Stifling a sob, she slid off of the sill and quickly closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him as though she feared being torn from his embrace. Hector had seen her fight, had witnessed her courage and ferocity firsthand throughout the day, but now she seemed as frail and vulnerable as a child.

They stood together in silence for a time, Barbossa stroking her back gently as the celebrations outside grew ever more boisterous. The carousing would doubtlessly continue unabated as they slowly limped their way back to Shipwreck Cove to carry out repairs – although the Black Pearl had fared better than the Endeavour, she hadn’t come out of the fight with the Dutchman unscathed and they’d need to careen her for at least a fortnight before she’d be fit to sail any real distance at all. Before they could depart for the pirate fortress, though, there was one last matter that needed addressing.

“’Lizabeth,” he said quietly, reluctant to cause her more distress but knowing he had no choice, “Ye must go ashore and face Turner fer the final time.”

She drew back suddenly and stared at him wide-eyed. “I can’t! My God, how can you even ask that of me? It was bad enough to see him like that once; now, I can’t even offer him the promise of a future.”

Hector took hold of her hands and held them to his chest. “Unless ye make yer peace with the lad, there’ll be none fer us. He might ne’er understand yer choice, but ye can’t let him leave with naught but bitterness in his heart.”

She pulled free of his embrace and turned away from him, hugging her arms around herself. “As in the heart he tore out and stuffed into a wooden chest, you mean?” she gasped angrily. “There is nothing I could say to him now that he’d want to hear!”

Grasping her by her shoulders, he forced her around to face him. “Would ye have him end up like Jones, then? Hateful and wild with eternal rage, condemned to be another scourge upon the sea until the next man is left with no choice but to slay the monster and take his place? Ye’ll not ever fergive yerself, my love, if ye let him go now without so much as a farewell. What life can we expect fer ourselves beneath the weight of such a burden? Ye know what I say to be true.”

Elizabeth’s head fell forward and she buried her face in her hands. “You’re right,” she rasped, her shoulders drooping in defeat. “I have to talk to him, but where do I even begin?”

“Ye must decide that fer yerself,” Barbossa answered quietly, pulling her close against him again. He was relieved that she had accepted the unavoidable task but it pained him greatly to see her upset again. Had there been any way, he’d have happily taken the responsibility upon himself and spared her the agony. “Ain’t right fer me to put words in yer mouth. Tell him the truth as much as yer able, though, and perhaps that will be enough.”

She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “Will you come with me?”

He kissed her dusty brow. Despite his misgivings, he was helpless to refuse her heartfelt entreaty. “I’ll row ye ashore but I shall have to wait in the gig fer ye. Young Turner won’t welcome an intrusion by the one he believes stole yer love away and I’ll not give him the satisfaction of a confrontation. What ye say must belong to the two of ye alone, ‘Lizabeth. I’ve no place in this.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

It took a while for them to get underway after Hector signalled the Dutchman of the need for a meeting. He’d disappeared beneath decks in order to assess the damage done to the hull, leaving Elizabeth with plenty of time to agonize over what she might say to Will that could possibly reach past the deep anger and rejection he was surely feeling. As hard as she tried, though, nothing she came up with sounded right.

As they rowed across the expanse, she sat with her back to the island so she wouldn’t have to see Will standing there, anticipating her arrival. Each stroke of the oars in the water sounded like seconds counting down on a clock, and by the time the bottom of the small boat scraped against the sandy shoreline, her gut was tied up in painful knots and her legs so shaky that she was unsure she’d be able to walk the hundred yards to where Will waited.

Before Elizabeth disembarked, Hector grabbed her hand and gave her a sombre look. “Courage, girl. ‘Tis no easy thing but it must be done. I’ll have ye back aboard the Pearl before sunset and then you an’ I can put the past where it belongs.”

She nodded wordlessly and tried to swallow back her nervousness. Hector’s fingers were so warm and his touch so welcome that it took all of her fortitude to release his hand and step into the tepid, shallow water. She was still barefoot, unwilling as she had been to put her gore-spattered boots back on, and her feet sank into the fine, wet sand as she began her long walk down the beach.

For the first few strides, she kept her eyes lowered and watched the lapping tide splash over her toes. It wasn’t long, though, before she could feel Will’s gaze as she made her way towards him and she finally looked up, making contact with those familiar brown eyes she’d once found so irresistible. There was no warmth in them now, only ineffable sorrow and disappointment, and she hated knowing she was the cause.

A fresh, jagged scar cut crudely across Turner’s chest and the shadows on his face were reminiscent of someone recently-deceased. He’d tied his long hair back with a kerchief, but strands of it had come loose and blew across his face as the breeze from the sea tickled the shoreline. Elizabeth came to a stop a few yards away, wondering who should speak first. Words utterly failed her so instead, she stood waiting for his recriminations and accusations to begin.

“This is my one day, you know, for the next ten years,” he said quietly, looking away from her towards where the Dutchman was anchored just past the shallows. “Despite everything that has happened between us, I’m grateful that I get to spend at least part of it with you.”

“Oh, Will,” she replied, the ache in her chest growing and her throat constricting painfully with unshed tears. “I never wanted this for you. What you’ve done…what you’ve given up…”

He shook his head brusquely. “You were right…what you said about me before the battle was true. I was so focused on hating Jones, hating Beckett – hating Barbossa, for that matter – that eventually, there was nothing but hate. And the love that I had to give, the love I’d been given…it all ceased to matter.”

“You’re a good man, Will Turner,” Elizabeth insisted, her voice thick with grief. She hesitantly took his hand and squeezed his strangely cool fingers. “You might have lost sight of it for a while but you proved yourself today through your actions. You sacrificed yourself so that others might live. I can think of no greater show of love than that.”

Will gave a short, bitter laugh. “Yes, Calypso thought so, too. She said that mine was an unselfish gesture, done with no thought of personal gain. As a reward, she told me that at the end of ten years, if I can find another to take my place, she will set me free.”

More capricious cruelty from the goddess, Elizabeth thought angrily. “What reward is there in a promise like that? Who would willingly take that responsibility from your shoulders?”

He hesitated and then looked down at her, his eyes softening with warm emotion. “My father has already agreed to do so,” he informed her hopefully. “He told Calypso that he wanted to redeem himself for all his years of selfishness...for not being there for me when it really counted. He felt that the very least he owed me was a chance to reclaim my life.”

What he left unspoken was Bill Turner’s hope that Will might also have another chance to reclaim her love as well. Elizabeth let Will’s hand slip from hers and took a step back from him. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy and relieved I am that you won’t be bound to the Flying Dutchman for eternity, Will,” she said hesitantly, “but that doesn’t change anything between us. I’m sorry, but I love Hector. My future is with him.”

“Can you even hear yourself?” he demanded, his voice rising and his expression suddenly darkening. “This is Barbossa we’re talking about! A murderer and a mutineer! Thieving, lying pirate scum! Do you forget what he used to be? When you lie with him, do you not remember the way his flesh sloughed off of his body, or how his bones gleamed beneath the moonlight? I know he’s always had designs on you, but what in God’s name do you see in him?”

Her own rage began to simmer but Elizabeth knew that no good would come from being drawn into a fight. She took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “I won’t defend him to you; nothing I could say to you would change your very firm opinion. But there is much you don’t know about him and much you don’t understand about me. Suffice it to say that I know he is most worthy of my love and I can only hope that during whatever time is granted to us, I can prove myself worthy of his as well.”

“I can’t believe this!” he spat, stalking away from her as his hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. “After everything we’ve gone through, you would spurn me for a man who prides himself on his ruthlessness and brutality? What kind of life can he possibly offer you? A home, children, security...you act as though none of that means anything to you anymore!”

“That’s the life YOU wanted!” she shouted back hotly, unable to keep her temper in check despite her honest efforts. “And you’d likely have seen me dressed in lace and bows, holding dinner parties and darning your socks before the hearth. But that’s never what I wanted and that’s not who I am! Hector may be an outlaw, but his is the life I want to share. He is the man that I love!”

Will gaped at her in disbelief before stumbling a few feet away and dropping heavily to sit upon the sand. “You sound so certain,” he muttered with chagrin, shaking his head. “I wonder what your father would say if he knew of your choice.”

It was exactly the question that Norrington had asked her on the Morgan LeFay and the coincidence made her smile faintly. She sank to her knees and sat back on her heels in front of the man to whom she had once been betrothed, waiting until he met her eyes once more. “He’d likely think that I’d lost my mind by taking up with pirates,” she said with rueful humour. “But in the end, my father would want me to be happy, Will. He would want me to follow my heart and take as my mate a man who would cherish me as much as I cherished him. Life is so short, so precious. To accept anything less would be a terrible waste.”

He lifted her hand from where it rested on her thigh, gently caressing her fingers as he fought for words. “Are you sure?” Will said hoarsely, his eyes moist. “Maybe once ten years has passed by, you will feel differently…”

His hope tore at her heart but she had to be honest. “I won’t, believe me,” she murmured gently. “But after ten years at sea, you will have another chance to build the kind of life you always wanted for yourself...to find the woman who was meant to share that future with you. You must understand, though, that this has to be our goodbye. Please… you have to let me go.”

Will nodded and released her hand, but made no reply. Elizabeth stood up and brushed the sand from her knees, a sense of calm gradually settling over her. Hector had been right; she had needed to do this, had needed the finality the reunion had given her. She could only hope it would eventually give Will the closure he needed, too. Turning away, she started back down the beach to where she knew Hector waited for her return.

“Elizabeth!” Will called out, and she turned with no little trepidation to see him jogging towards her with a chest in his hands...the chest, as a matter of fact. She paled and her blood ran cold at the sight of it, and Will must have seen, for he stopped short at the horror on her face.

“Will,” she began in dismay, “I can’t...” She remembered exactly what it had been like to stare at the chest, to hear the faint thumping of the organ but not having the nerve to look upon it. It was neither an experience she was keen to repeat nor one she felt it was right for him to expect of her.

“No, please, just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I’m not asking that you keep it with you. But there is no one else I can trust and far too many people who would seek it out for their own gain.” He held it out towards her. “If anyone could think of a safe place to hide it, it would be a pirate. If you and your...if Barbossa could find a place to bury it where no one else would think to look for it, then at least I’ll have some peace of mind while I’m at the helm of the Dutchman. Elizabeth, I swear that it will be the last thing I will ever ask of you.”

“But what happens after ten years?” she said, knowing that she was incapable of refusing him this one favour, distasteful though it was. She had, after all, loved him once.“How will you know where to find it?”

He smiled enigmatically. “Rest assured, I won’t need to track you down to retrieve my heart. No matter where I am, I can always hear it beating – calling out for me. When the time comes for me to rejoin the world, I will know where to go.”

The thought of listening to a distant heart beat, every hour of the day, chilled Elizabeth through to her very soul. Regardless, she nodded her agreement and carefully took the ornate wooden chest from his hands. She could feel it trembling slightly with the slow but regular rhythm of its contents, and she shivered in mild revulsion at that with which she’d been entrusted.

When she looked up at Will again, tenderness had replaced the sorrow in his dark eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her chastely on the cheek, his lips soft but cold against her skin. “I wish...” he whispered longingly before drawing away.

“I know,” she sighed sadly, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Will Turner had vanished and the Flying Dutchman was nowhere to be seen.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Read on for the conclusion...