DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

AN: EXTREMELY IMPORTANT! READ FIRST! This is a project between lionessrampant84 and myself. We have decided that she writes Liz well while I write Will well and hence we should join forces and write the ULTIMATE modern AU.

So, this is how this works: I will write all Will chapters (i.e.: all odd chapters) while lionessrampant84 will write all Liz chapters (i.e.: all even chapters). If you want to read Chapter 2 you must go to lionessrampant84’s profile. The story will be under the same title.

WARNING: This story is rated M for swearing, violence, and explicit sexual detail. Anyone under the age of 16 should vacate the premises immediately

So, it all started about a month ago when I was looking for a CD for Katrina. Bloody Katrina. I had made the grave mistake of asking her what she’d like for her birthday. I suppose I really didn’t have a choice, we had been dating for six months. Anyway, of course she wanted some barefoot-lesbian-Lilith Fair-woman power-Jewel-meets-Sarah McLachlan shite. And, naturally I could only find such trite nonsense at a ridiculously overpriced posh record store in Central-bloody-London. Regardless, being the chivalrous bloke that I am, I ventured into the busy, capitalist dungeon that is Denmark Street. Just being there, with giggling teenage girls who idolized pop stars, made me die a little on the inside. All for bloody Katrina.

I walked in with a look of distaste plastered on my face and stared in horror at the looming floorspace, towered high with manufactured, over commercialized “music”. Sighing, I looked around in vain for a sign that said “Crap Your Girlfriend Listens To”. I had absolutely no desire to linger here so I looked for the first available salesperson. I caught sight of the back of a tiny girl with long blonde hair helping some lost looking mother-type find the latest brainless boy band sensation for her hapless preteen, no doubt. I waited as patiently as I could, but honestly the store was getting to me with its bright white, futuristically rounded walls and red, shiny racks. I prefer dark, dirty, gritty shops with worn wooden shelves, crammed with every type of media imaginable and stinking of fifty year old vinyl.

I didn’t even realize that I had started tapping my foot impatiently as I looked around, waiting for Miss Tiny Blonde. She turned around and shot me an irritated look. If anyone else had given me that look, I would have walked right out of that store and bought Katrina some decent forty-five that I would force her to enjoy by constant, repetitive playing. However, when Miss Tiny Blonde shot me said look, instead of being offended, I was intrigued. This is a fairly rare occurrence. I don’t know why, but instead of feeling justified in my foot tapping, I felt ashamed and promptly apologized under my breath.

Finally, the mother-type was finished, quite satisfied to feed her preteen sexually explicit lyrics sung by a group of American bleach-blonde gits. Another one bites the dust. I expected Miss Tiny Blonde to turn around and finally attend to Mr. Impatient-One-Of-These-Things-Just-Ain’t-Like-The-Others (re: me), but alas she walked away from me instead. It took a moment for this fact to register in my brain as I was enjoying the view. I shook my head quickly, reminding myself that I was here for Katrina and not to watch the ass of a tiny blonde salesperson as she walked away. Bloody Katrina. I chased after the girl.

“Excuse me, Miss,” I called. She paused and I watched her shoulders slump. She clearly did not want to deal with an impatient punk boy. She turned on her heel, her eyes on the ground, and slumped again almost imperceptibly before looking up.

“Yes?” she hissed in a falsely pleasant way, “Can I help you with something?”

It was that moment, really, when this Miss Tiny Blonde looked up at me with thinly veiled irritation. The first thing that ran through my mind was not Katrina, in fact Katrina was far off somewhere else, hiding in the recesses of my brain. The first thing I thought was ‘how can I get her number?’- ridiculous really. She clearly felt I was an insufferable prick. I gave her the smile. Yes, the self-same smile which has charmed ladies, young and old, since I was five. The smile that made old ladies forgive me for hitting my baseball through their stained glass window. The smile that made teachers give me that extra mark. The smile that made Katrina forgive my clumsiness when my beer tipped all over her silk blouse. Yes, that one. The disarming one. No woman in the history of my life has ever been able to resist the smile. To my great shock and alarm, her expression didn’t budge. My God, these Central London women are cold.

“Sorry,” I said, keeping the smile going all along, “I was just looking for…”

Was I really going to tell her that I was looking for that trite garbage, and even worse that I was looking for a CD for my girlfriend? Her eyebrows shot up as my conscience raged a major battle within.

“Looking for?” she prompted, looking even more irritated.

“Uh…suggestions,” I said. Sure, I could go with it. I mean, what better way was there to find out what kind of music she appreciated? She looked a little confused and then smiled slightly.

“You were waiting there that impatiently for…suggestions?” she asked sceptically. Aha, so the foot tapping had gotten to her!

“Uh…yes.”

When did I become so lame? I think it’s the fact that the smile hadn’t worked on her. She was staring at me with this really amused, adorable sort of expression. It really occurred to me then how very “my type” she was, and how very not-my-type Katrina was. Bloody Katrina.

“Ooookay. So, what kind of music are you looking for?”

“Whatever you like,” I said quickly. My smile deepened into a real smile purely out of embarrassment and I stared at my shoes before looking up at her again. She was smiling at me now, genuinely.

“That was really lame,” I said, biting my lip.

She laughed and I noticed her name tag. Elizabeth. “Yeah, yeah it was.”

She laughed a little longer before looking me up and down. At length she said, “I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”

I already have. “Why not?”

“I think you know. What are you even doing in here? Looking for a CD for your girlfriend?” Bingo. Did she read minds? I should have said ‘yes’. I should have picked up the girly garbage and ran. Instead I said something rather foolish.

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”

Elizabeth, or Miss Tiny Blonde, snorted derisively. “Right.” She nodded at me once and disappeared two racks over, returning promptly with a CD in hand.

“I think this is what you came here for,” she said with a note of premature triumph as she handed me the CD. I looked down at it. Damn, she was good.

“Right,” I muttered. Elizabeth smiled amusedly and started to walk away. “Hey, listen, enough about my girlfriend. Let’s talk about your boyfriend.”

She stopped and gave me a quizzical look.

“Like,” I started, shrugging casually, “does he exist?”

She laughed again. “He does. As much as your girlfriend does.”

I had no answer for that, really. I mean, as little as Katrina meant to me in that exact moment, she still existed fully and completely, and was likely waiting at my flat for my imminent return.

“Do you own any horses?” I called after her. Several nearby customers sniggered in response. I walked up to her as she turned.

“What?” she asked, smiling. “You’re a very strange man.”

“No, I’m a blacksmith,” I said, finger a business card from my wallet and passing it to her. “In case you need horseshoes…or…a sconce…or any random metal thing that you may desire.” Or, in case your boyfriend ceases to exist. She looked up at me and smiled as though she couldn’t quite grasp what I was about. I couldn’t blame her. I couldn’t grasp it either.

“I didn’t know blacksmiths still existed.”

“Someone has to make horseshoes. And, where would we all be without sconces?”

She looked at my card and back at my face. “Well, Will, if I ever need a sconce…”

“I’m your man.”

She laughed quietly and bit her bottom lip. “You better get out of here before your girlfriend turns lesbian on you.”

I couldn’t break eye contact with her. “That would be a shame.”

“Mmhmm,” she said with a nod, “I’m sure you’d be heartbroken.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said nodding as unconvincingly as possible. Elizabeth shook her head at me, took the CD from my hand and rang it through.

“Have a good night, now,” she said smirking, viciously.

My ride home on the Tube was full of inner turmoil, to say the least. In my hand I held the defining gift of my relationship with Katrina. I had actually ventured into the tragic world of capitalist consumption, and sadly had not returned unscathed. Visions of Miss Tiny Blonde Elizabeth danced in my head, or rather smirked mockingly in my head. What was the point anyway? Since she had a boyfriend anyway. I decided to let tonight be my defining night, and silently I prayed to whatever gods were out there that something definitive would happen tonight.

When I reached my flat, it was dark outside and strangely, dark inside as well. I came in quietly and flicked on the light. Nothing was on, but I could see Katrina’s Jimmy Choos on the doormat, and I noticed her Gucci coat flung carelessly across my worn little couch. What on earth was I doing with this woman? She was the exact picture of what I did not want in a mate. Then I heard it and paused. A giggle, a thump, the low vibrato of a male voice. Jack. And, Katrina. Girly, nonsensical CD still clutched in my hand, I crept up the stairs silently, listening with each step. I stopped on the third from the top step and almost laughed when I heard bedsprings.

Jack, flatmate and best friend. Did I trust him to pay half the rent? Absolutely. Did I trust him with my life? Barely. Did I trust him with my girlfriend? Absolutely not. Surprisingly, after wasting six precious months on my materialistic girlfriend, her betrayal didn’t even faze me. I walked up the remaining step and pushed open the door to Jack’s room. There was a moment where the world stopped. Jack stared at me as though daring me to throw a punch, and yet looked adequately guilty. And, Katrina, well, she screamed and wrapped herself in sheets and slapped Jack across the face. I laughed because, really, what else is there to do in this situation?

“Katrina,” I said crisply, cutting through her dramatic hysterics. I knew they were fake because as soon as I started speaking, she shut her mouth and the tears dried up. “Happy Birthday,” I finished, handing her the CD.

She blinked at me. “You’re not angry.”

“Surprisingly not.”

Jack laid back and shrugged. Sometimes I hated him so much, but not today. In fact, he’d just made my day.

“So…,” Katrina started, glancing at Jack as though contemplating something crass, “Care to join us?”

I laughed, honestly. “No thank you, Katrina. Jack’s all yours and vice versa.”

I turned to walk away. “You’re breaking up with me?” she asked incredulously.

“Did…you honestly think that I’d want to stay with you after this?” I asked.

“But…”

“What?”

“I…you’re not even going to try to win me back?”

“HA! Oh, Katrina. Why would I want to?”

For some reason this sent her into actual hysterics and two hours ago, I might have cared. Instead, I smiled and closed the door behind me, despite Jack’s desperate expression. “She’s all yours, mate.”

I had bigger problems. Like, how was I to get Miss Tiny Blonde Elizabeth to break up with her assumed prat of a boyfriend and date me?

AN: Wanna read Liz's perspective? See lionessrampant84's profile of awesomeness!!