Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, Disney and such do, and if some crazy lawsuits happen this story will sneak out of the Internet like a finely trained rogue.

A/N: Ha! A bit of a cliffie on this one. I've had this last scene in my head since before this story was fully developed. I couldn't not have it and there's a bit of a time skip. James is really proving a hard man to find! But he is in the chapter. Kinda. This will be unbeta'ed until my beta gets back from camping and if anything is horribly amiss I'll fix it then. It's camping time all around apparently. I hate tents. So enjoy and drop me a line about what you liked and what was terrible so I can keep getting better!

---

The storm was going to kill them all.

Waves pounded against the sides of the ship, twisting it in the water so that it listed heavily towards port. The mizzenmast was lost, fallen taking a third of the crew with it. Thunder pounded overhead as the rain slammed down onto the deck with a force that rivaled a cannons shot, bowling over midshipmen and lieutenant's alike. The force was tearing the Dauntless apart and the speck that was the Black Pearl was long out of site, sailing peacefully in the eye of the storm.

The Lieutenant gasped, her fingers digging into fallen rigging, so that she wasn't swept off deck into the sea. The other men weren't so lucky, flashes of blue, a cry, grasping hands that seemed to melt right through her fingers like mist as wave after wave pounded across the decks.

Her hair had come loose and the wet strands slapped against her face. Her coat was gone as well as the sword, washed away, she would follow soon enough. We'll follow them soon enough. Her head snapped up, this wasn't the right memory. She had been with James when the Dauntless had come apart, she had been with him as he he went into the sea and she was with him when he was picked up by a merchant ship along with the two other survivors. She'd been with him, in her scabbard, not hanging onto knotted rope with aching fingers at the bow. The storm eased, momentarily, but that was all she needed to untangle herself and run pounding towards the quarterdeck. That was where he'd washed off, hadn't he? He'd been slammed off the ship in a tangle of splintered wood and rope. But what took him off decks was what had saved him though; tangled in the rigging he'd floated.

A wave crashed across deck and took her with it. She scraped her fingertips along the deck until she caught onto a rope and hung on. Water was everywhere, soaked into her clothes, in her boots, up her nose and in her ears. Was that roaring the sea? Or was that in her blood? She spat saltwater and staggered to her feet.

He did not travel a straight path.

This was Sparrow's fault. It was his fault for coming to Port Royal, for being a damned pirate, for a sailing into that hurricane. Should have shot him on the dock with his own ruddy pistol.

Not in life and not in death.

This was Turner's fault. It was his fault for not keeping his station in mind, for loving Elizabeth, for his damned bloodline. He should have left him to the sea.

So your path will not be straight, child.

This was Elizabeth's fault. It was her fault that he had lost so much of himself. It was her fault that he loved her. It was her fault...

The Lieutenant blinked and looked up to the words that swelled and crashed upon the deck like the waves. It was the same achingly bitter tone that had greeted her when he'd returned to Port Royal. It had softened into silence after a time but... She shook her head, a futile effort to get some of the water off. The voice seemed to echo in her head, to vibrate in her very bones. She remembered waking to the same vibration, James, having a conversation with others or just himself. Lieutenant Gillette had always joked about that. He said that talking to oneself was a sign of madness. He had gone down when the mizzenmast crashed to the deck, head tilted high as if to beseech the heavens.

The Lieutenant shook her head again and lurched across the deck, catching onto the railing. She pulled herself along, bracing herself against the waves and debris alike. It was another wave carrying bits of what used to be a longboat that sent her tumbling along, wrenching her arms and tossing her onto her stomach on the quarterdeck stairs. Which turned out was exactly where she was trying to be.

James was crouched at the top of the stairs clinging to the railing and shaking his head slowly as the storm tore apart his flagship. His wig was gone, so was his hat and... The Lieutenant blinked, she knew that coat. The admiral's coat of the EITC. But he had been a Commodore still when the hurricane... Slowly, in the midst of the fury and the raging storm the Lieutenant reached out and brushed her fingers across the top of his boot.

He was solid.

“James.”

Her head shot up as he looked down and green eyes met with gray in a clash of surprise. The sorrow and anger in his eyes quickly melted into confusion as he reached down and tapped, a bit distrustfully, at her cheek.

The Lieutenant blinked as his eyes widened. No, this was a dream? Wasn't it? She was... He was...

“Are you real?”

It was his voice, with the same tremor that had been in it since his confidence had been dashed upon the sea.

“Last I checked.”

Confusion still, but a hint of amusement now, his fingers hadn't left her cheek and she reached up to grasp at warm fingers.

Without warning the ship lurched and they both looked to the mainmast as it cracked and swept across deck. She wasn't sure who said it, or if it had been the both of them but all she heard was,

“Bloody hell.”

And then they were both swept off the deck in a tangle of rigging and sails. She tried to keep ahold of his hand and the last thing she felt was him grasping her sleeve just as they hit the water and the knocking woke her up.

---

Will frowned as the Lieutenant walked into his cabin, pinning her hair up with a vicious look in her eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“I was just having a good dream. What's going on? Have we been called? Half the men are still on shore leave. I asked Norse here, but he shut up like a clam once I opened my mouth.”

Will looked up at the pale cabin boy who was standing stiffly behind the Lieutenant with her coat over his arm and her sword at arms length. She must have been having some dream.

“Um, yes, about that. It appears that some of the younger men got into trouble on shore. Norse here came to tell me about it since he couldn't find my father and since I have no idea where the Dutchman's gotten off to...”

“You need me to go ashore and suss out this mess?”

He grinned, confidence brimming, “If you'd please.”

The Lieutenant sighed and nodded at her captain as she took the sword from the boy, buckling it on smoothly, and then slid into her coat. There was a moment of silence before she raised an eyebrow at the cabin boy.

“Well? Lead on.”

There was shuffle and she rolled her eyes as she followed him out of the captain's cabin. Will shook his head as he slipped behind his desk and leaned back, watching the sunset. The boy had been on board for three years now and still hadn't gotten used to her.

---

“Am I supposed to bloody believe that?”

The Dutchman looked up from the longboat he'd been napping in. The Lieutenant was dragging two crewmen behind her, Rounds and Keene, with young Norse keeping up behind them. He had heard there was a fuss going on. All the more reason to go back to sleep with the most lovely bottle of brandy he'd had in a long time.

“What do you mean he just kind of glossed over the rules? You were playing cards with a self proclaimed demon and you didn't hear all the rules?!”

Oh hells. The Dutchman peeked over the longboat's side as they came up the gangplank. The pair looked relatively unscathed, mostly ashamed and well, if the Lieutenant looked at him like that he'd look a bit peaky too.

“Go on and explain yourselves to the Captain. You're bloody well lucky that thing settled for your boots instead of your skin.”

The Dutchman grinned as the barefooted sailors slipped into the Captain's cabin as the Lieutenant nodded at Norse who disappeared below deck.

“It's always an adventure with you.”

The Lieutenant spun around, “There you are! Captain Turner was looking for you!”

“Exactly the reason I hid, bluebird.”

She shook her head and glared at him while he grinned. She'd been losing some of her snark over the years. It was pleasing to see some of the fire back,

“Come on, ye took care of it.”

“You're bloody well lazy. The Captain needed you.”

“Pfft,” he waved his hand in the air as he laid back in the bottom of the longboat, “Captain was just trying to figure out who was still on board. He would have made ye go ashore anyway, second mate an' all.”

The boat swayed a bit as the Lieutenant crossed her arms and leaned against it,

“I should put you out to sea.”

“Good thought but I locked it at the rigging, ye'd have to climb halfway up the foremast to undo it, an' I'm not quite drunk enough to not notice ye.”

“I'll just have to wait then.”

“That's a good girl. Just what's gotten into ye? Ye sounded like ye were going to skin those crewmen and even Norse was edgy. I thought he'd gotten used to yer remarkable personality.”

“It's nothing.”

The boat shifted again as the Dutchman sat up and looked over the side,

“Stop lying and get on with it already.”

“Do you dream?”

“Do I what?”

“It's no use, you're drunk and...” She pushed off the boat to go.

“No, no, no,” The Dutchman motioned her back, setting his brandy aside, “It was just a strange question that's all. I mean we don't really have to sleep.”

“I know, I just... I got bored reading and nodded off. I had a dream.”

The Dutchman frowned and tilted his head,

“I don't really dream. Not the purple monkey and candy mountain kinds of dreams. I just seem to remember what's already happened.”

“Well, I know, that's what usually happens. I thought this was the same. I was on the Dauntless as it came apart in the hurricane, nothing new. But well, James was there.”

The Dutchman narrowed blue eyes, “Well, it was his flagship, bluebird.”

Her look told him he was being a git as she shook her head, “No, I mean he was there, in his admirals uniform and he... He touched me, and he asked if I was real.”

That was... Strange. Even for a dream. The Dutchman was quiet as he leaned down a took a pull off his brandy.

“I can't tell ye anything about that. I mean, some dreams are like here and the World Above, a different kind of place.”

The Lieutenant nodded, “It's probably nothing. It was just odd, that's all.” She straightened up and shook her head again, “At least tell the captain you're still alive. Before you end up passed out in the bottom of your longboat.”

The Dutchman grinned, “Will do, bluebird. Go take a nap, maybe ye'll see yer admiral again.”

She laughed, forced, and waved, dismissive, as she walked towards he cabin.

The Dutchman's smile faded as he sat in the longboat and watched her shadow disappear. So the dreams had started, took them long enough to start calling out to one another. He looked up at the sky, stars hidden by mist and he tried to find one. At least one to wish on.

---

A week later had left her dreamless and sullen as she sprawled on an array of barrels that were lashed to the maindeck. They had made the crossing to the World Above, they had to do that sometimes to get the souls that had gotten caught in between worlds or to scour wrecks filled with dead men that refused to pass on. But that wasn't what they were doing tonight. The Lieutenant sighed and looked up at the stars, brilliant and numerous, and tried to ignore the boning of the corset digging into her hip.

Oh no, tonight she had to dress up like a ruddy doll and go see the captain's wife.

Bloody brilliant.

Her eyes rolled when Conlon shouted that they had sighted land. But she pushed herself to her feet anyway and padded across deck in too soft slippers and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. Black velvet with white feathers fluffing around the edge of the hood. She looked like James' dress hat. But it hid the silly blue corset and the silly black skirt so she supposed that the cloak was the least silly of the entire ensemble. At least she still had her sword. She thumped down the quarterdeck stairs and came to stand by Captain Turner.

“Remind me again why I'm the one doing this.”

He smiled at her and she sighed, “Well, I trust you to do it with the least amount of trouble. You are the most... personable member of the crew...”

“Personable here having the meaning of 'not a pirate'.”

“Exactly, and besides, you know your way around Port Royal.”

“If she's even there.”

“And if she isn't, you'll know how to find that out.”

The Lieutenant swallowed as they rounded the port, still far enough out to not be spotted by the fort. So Mrs. Turner had returned to Port Royal. The Captain had learned of her location from a group of pirates that they had pulled up around Montserrat. As it turned out, dead men do tell tales. Tales about the Pirate King leaving Shipwreck Cove, tales about her year long reign, and, this was what she was certain the Captain was most interested in, tales about the Pirate Kings son.

“Right, and why can't I wear my normal clothes?”

“Because we don't want you getting into any trouble with the Navy.”

“So I'm to be a single unescorted woman?”

“You've brought that up before. Yes, slightly suspicious, but you won't be ashore too long and you can take care of yourself. You are, after all, a member of my crew and a sword.”

The Lieutenant fiddled with the feathers on the edge of her hood, “I really don't have to talk to her?”

“Nope, it's just a bundle of letters. Find out where she lives and just slip them through the slot. It's late enough, she'll be in bed.”

“Last, question then.”

The Captain looked over the helm at her to make sure she meant it, “Go ahead.”

“Why did you have this outfit in your cabin?”

Captain Turner grinned, “It was leftover from Jones' things.”

The Lieutenant screwed her eyes closed as she raised her hand to her temples.

“I shouldn't have asked.”

---

Her hood was up and her arms were crossed as Bootstrap rowed her ashore. The bundle of letters, she swore they were all love letters not sailing missives or anything else Captain Turner claimed they were, were tucked in a pocket in her cloak. She would make this as fast as possible, check the taverns, or the night watch at the docks might know where she was. If not, she could try the militiamen, hells, if all else failed she could beg the vicar.

“Ye a'right, Lieutenant?”

“I will be wonderful as soon as I'm done with this.”

“T'was th' ships idea t' send ye.”

“I am quite aware of the reason for his sudden disappearance after the Captain asked me.”

“Don't know why he thinks it 'ill be good for ye. Jus' don't kill 'er.”

The Lieutenant widened her eyes, “I am not going to run her through or anything! What on Earth...?”

“No brawlin' either.”

“Oh for the love of...” She tightened her arms across her chest, “I may not like her that much but I'm not going to make a damned fuss about it. I am perfectly capable of maintaining a civil...”

“Did'ja tell that to the Spanish?”

“He touched a very improper place and forgive me for not knowing the words 'please remove your hand from the inside of my coat' in Spanish.”

Bootstrap chuckled, deep and throaty as the boat scraped against shore on the far side of the fort.

The Lieutenant leaned over, “Look, I do not want any trouble. I don't even want to talk to her. I'll just get in and get out. Easy.”

Bootstrap smiled, “There's a lass. Go on, ye've got a couple o' hours before I start getting' tetchy.”

She stepped out of the boat, focused now, and nodded as she picked her way up a small path that she seemed to know was there in the dark.

Bootstrap watched her go and shook his head. His silly boy was making a lot of fuss for the little thing. The Dutchman should have gone. Don't know what had gotten into his damned head...

---

The Lieutenant bit her bottom lip as she made her way around the small path by the fort. There would be patrols but she had peeked around and saw that they were making the far circuit currently. Perfect for her as she slipped past the torches of the fort and onto the small beach path that led to the shops.

He used to walk this path.

She paused, just a bit as she turned and caught the darkened window in the fort. He could see the beach from his office. She closed her eyes for a moment and the sound of the sea brought to mind the scent of mangoes and the feeling of a loosened cravat. Memories that weren't yet haunted by blame and failure, where hurt feelings from a goodfriend hadn't yet magnified into heartbreaking loss.

The Lieutenant scurried along, James' face from the dream still flitting in her mind. It had been three years and if that had been him and not some ridiculous fancy of her own imagination then... He was still chained to the Dauntless? Still bitter? Still guilty? She didn't like that one bit. The Lieutenant nibbled at her lip a bit more as she climbed up a gravel path, emerging behind what still smelled like the bakery. Taking a deep breath she slipped down an alley and emerged onto the streets. There was the bakery, the tailor, the Bit 'n' Stirrup, and just down around the corner facing the docks was the Whale and Waterspout with golden light still pouring out of it's doors.

Not much had changed. Well, maybe the smell.

She sighed and looked at the stars. She was here, now all she had to do was find the woman.

Which turned out to be far easier than previously imagined. The barkeep had known instantly who she was going on about and after a few moments of discussing just how terrible piracy was as well as sailor drivel and how Singapore was this time of year, she had apparently answered all his questions correctly because he had given her a look and sent her down a most familiar street.

She tried not to think about it, but her feet were headed to a very recognizable, very comfortable, very prim little white house at the end of the lane. The Lieutenant shook her head as she came to the white washed gate. It couldn't be. The woman wouldn't have the nerve. But a small sign with a little gold bird on it and the name 'Turner' in flowing script hanging from the front porch told the Lieutenant otherwise.

The woman had moved into James' home! The very home she'd have been living in if she'd married him!

How the hell could she have had the gall to...!? The Lieutenant closed her eyes trying to calm herself down. It didn't matter. In fact it made things easier for her. The lights were all out, she knew all the boards that squeaked, where the letter slot was, she could be on and off the porch in a matter of seconds, it was just that... It was James'...

There was a moment of indecision as she looked at the white washed gate and before another moment had gone by she'd swung it open, lifting it up so the hinges didn't squeak and quietly started towards the gardens in the back of the house.

There was going to be a rather nasty note left if she'd gotten rid of the wisteria.

---

It was the same as it had ever been. The Lieutenant made her way through the garden. The paths had been kept neat, probably not as strictly neat, as they had been for James but he was very particular about things. At least he had been at the time. He'd lost the fussiness after he'd come back from, well, wherever he'd been. Those memories were hazy and far off, like the ones from before he'd had her, there but not there. That lattice was new, with such a sad little climbing rose twined around it. The Lieutenant brushed at the closed blossoms, if the woman wanted it to thrive, she'd put it on the sunny side of the house.

There wasn't a sound at all from the house. This time of night the light in the study would still be lit, or James would be up and pacing his bedroom or the gardens thinking of a thousand things at once. He was always a bit of an insomniac. Hopefully he'd be catching up on sleep now.

The Lieutenant took a deep breath and stared at the darkened home as her fingers crept up the pole to reach under the bird feeder by the back door. A rather ridiculous grin broke through her lips as her fingers brushed metal and pulled away the spare key.

She shouldn't feel this giddy about what she was about to do.

The key turned smoothly and the knob with it. The Lieutenant's smiled was just a bit smug as she slid into the kitchen and closed the door carefully behind her and tucked the key into her bodice. James would not have approved of breaking and entering. Well more like entering, she hadn't broken anything. It wasn't her fault if the woman hadn't changed the locks.

She swallowed as she quickly made her way across the kitchen and peeked into the servants quarters, musty smelling, the doors were closed. No servants? Perhaps they had separate homes or there really weren't any. The front hall was lit with moonlight as she padded in carefully, suddenly grateful for her slippers, glancing quickly towards the parlor and then up the stairs. The parlor confirmed she had the right house. Who else was going to have a portrait of Governor Swann over their fireplace? Pity that had been, his death had hurt James almost as much as the Dauntless. The Governor was one of the first ones the Captain had brought aboard. He was in the London Below now, with his wife, she supposed. The Lieutenant had been much too shy and nervous to even approach him. It was daft now that she thought about it. She should have at least said hello.

The letters were left on a side table at the bottom of the stairs. They'd be seen when the house woke. Then without a sound she slipped up the stairs, skipping the sixth step that had a squeak and turned quickly to the right making her way to what she still hoped was the study.

Her eyes were tight as she pushed the door open just a crack and then grinned when she opened them. The woman hadn't touched it! Well, that wasn't entirely correct. She could see new paintings in the moonlight. That couch by the fireplace was new, as well as that rather hideous wooden dragon that practically dominated the desk. The Lieutenant stepped in, leaving the door open a crack so she could hear out into the hallway as she scanned the shelves. All his books were still here, along with some new ones. There were two crates behind the desk that looked to be full but not open yet, she ran her fingers over the markings on the wood. From Singapore then? There was Asian touches all over the house, obviously the work of the pirate king. Was she going to stay that? That didn't seem too wise with raising a child and keeping house. The Lieutenant scanned the charts that had been left out on the desk. They seemed to chart all the major naval routes as well as the merchant routes, with different markings for how well defended the routes were. The woman was raising a pirate child and keeping a pirate house then. Well then she didn't need to feel that bad about rifling through the library. After all most of the books really had belonged to James and it wouldn't be stealing if it was from a pirate. King, lord, or not.

The Lieutenant grinned as she located and slipped a thin book of familiar poetry into her pocket, after that came the last three volumes of Paradise Lost, and she left the study with a rather large bound collection of essays and short stories that James had been particularly fond of tucked under her arm.

She should really be going. She really, really, should have been getting out of that house as soon as possible but there was one more thing she had to check. Mustering all the quiet she could, she made her way down the hallway where the bedrooms were. There was a wooden ship lying on it's side in the hallway in front of a door that was half open. The Lieutenant took a quick peek; what had been a guest room was a nursery now, full of toys and the large guest bed which still remained had a small motionless lump in the middle of it topped with a fluff of light colored hair. She smiled a bit, the Captain was going to be a bit full of himself when he found out that those stories were true.

The door to the master bedroom was open a bit as well and the Lieutenant was painfully quiet as she slipped past it, noting the not familiar scent of lavender and moon reflecting off a new vanity covered in bottles and brushes. She had to hurry, she was a stranger and there was a very good chance that if Mrs. Turner woke up she was going to end up shot.

Maybe it was because she had been around pirates too long.

“That has to be it,” she thought as she knelt down at the end of the hall.

Quickly she flipped up the end of the carpet and wriggled the loose board that was under it. It finally came up after what felt like forever and a bit of fiddling. She braced herself against the floor as silently as possible as her hand felt around the space that had been revealed. What had the Captain said? She grinned and pulled up a small silver jewelry box. A pirate was completely obsessed with treasure, that was it. She slipped it into the other wide pocket of her cloak hearing the contents jumble around as she replaced the floorboard and carpet and dashed to the end of the hallway.

She might have made it too. She had been on the third step down when a noise had made her freeze. She slipped the book she was carrying around her and tucked it into the back of her skirt and then she turned. The Lieutenant's eyes widened.

The nursery door was open and standing right at the top of the stairs, barely a foot from her, was the littlest Turner. All done up in a rumpled nightshirt with a woolly lamb tucked under his arm, currently engaged in rubbing his eyes. He was blondish like his mother, hair sticking up everywhere, but when he looked up at her she saw immediately that he had the Captain's eyes. He was little, tiny, didn't children of that size not like strangers? They would cry or scream or...? But he was still staring at her, he didn't look afraid. In fact he looked like he was sizing her up. Another moment went by that felt like an hour and all of a sudden the child smiled,

“Are you an angel?”

Oh bloody sodden mess...