Disclaimer: The Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is owned by the Walt Disney Corporation. I, by no means, own any characters or storyline associated with the franchise.

AN: Hi! I found this on my hard drive and thought that it might be a fun and fabulous thing to post. Could be a long time between chapters as I'm working on several things at once AND I just moved, but if you're willing to be patient it will come in time.

WARNING: This story does contain explicit content - language, sexual content, alcohol references. NOT RECOMMENDED FOR UNDERAGE READERS.

Coming home ‘cause I want to

Hang out with a starlet

Stare out at the ceiling

Preview of a screening

Flashback of a feeling

Sick sense of a calling

~Satellite Mind, Metric

The irritating tinkle of an out of tune piano woke me from a dreamless sleep. My face felt puffy although I doubted that it actually was – it never was. I slammed a pillow down over my head and groaned. Why couldn’t he do this at night? In the afternoon? Some other bloody time other than when I’m sleeping soundly for once? He carried on like that for a while, the occasional crescendos knocking me awake as I was falling asleep again. I sat up, jumped out of bed, gripping my pillow ferociously and stormed out into the sunroom.

His back was to me, tattoos obscured by the tattered beater he wore. For fuck’s sake, did he have to be as sexually appealing as he was irritating?

“Morning Lizzie!” he said without turning. I bet he had his eyes shut, too. “Or should I say afternoon?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and thwacked the back of his head with my pillow. There was a satisfying ‘oof’ as the pillow made contact. I smiled, feeling justified as he finally stopped playing. He turned on the bench slowly, his expression calculatedly blank as usual.

“I was sleeping,” I said flatly.

He raised his eyebrows, his expression unchanged.

“I was sleeping,” I repeated with more emphasis.

“And I was playing, thank you. Now that we’ve stated the obvious, you might want to tell me why you hit me with a pillow.”
That was it, really. Why was I still with this infuriating man? I flew at him, pillow in hand, hitting him repeatedly. Eventually he disarmed me and I somehow ended up on my back on the piano bench. It was still exciting, this. It was still as arousing as it had been the first time, and the second, and the three hundredth. Would it ever get tiring, even if the rest of his habits had?

“Jack, I’m tired.”

He laughed then, smiling at my general malaise. “Elizabeth, it’s two in the afternoon.”

I rolled my eyes. So what? I was living the life of a super model, wasn’t I? Partying until five in the morning and sleeping until four in the afternoon? Alright, so I hadn’t yet reached super model proportions, but I lived with Jack. Surely that had to count for something, no? The man knew everyone. We were often out past even the most unreasonable of hours. Jack pulled me upright so that I was sitting on his lap as he returned to poking about absently at the piano keys.

“Can’t you get that bloody thing tuned?” I whined twisting so that I could hang over his shoulder and be miserable.

“No. It’ll lose its charm.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You’ve lost your charm.”

“Well that’s just not true, Lizzie.”

I scowled at him begrudgingly and he ignored me. “Jack, take me somewhere,” I whined into his shoulder.

He stopped playing for a moment to wrap his hands around my waist. “Don’t you have a shoot today?”

I sighed loudly and clung onto him a little tighter. “At four.”

“There’s only one place I can think to take you in that short period of time.”

I smiled into his shoulder and sat back so that I could look him in the face. He was darkly beautiful, his eyes constantly calculating some little scheme. And he was all wrong for me. Everyone knew it. But, three years later here we still were. I wasn’t sure if this was something I could be proud of or not. My parents certainly weren’t, so I took that as my cue to savour Jack as much as possible.

I supposed, as he carried me to the bedroom, that was all I really did: savour. At first Jack had pulled out all the stops, being suave, taking me out, showing me new things. Now it was just...sex. Sure, we partied, we watched TV together, we just lounged about sometimes, but really the basis was sex. But, hey, three years of monogamy from a man like him had to mean something. I gave up trying to convince myself that I was in love with him. I wasn’t. I loved parts of him, certainly, but I wasn’t in love with him. And he wasn’t in love with me. Knowing this didn’t make anything easier. Knowing this didn’t make me feel less attached. Knowing this doesn’t make the things he says hurt any less.

So, one excellent shag later, and like clockwork he was ready to piss me off.

“Are you working with Alexandra?” he asked nonchalantly.

Why did he have to do this? Why after we have perfectly good sex, which is all we really have, the glue that holds our relationship together, does he have to enquire after another woman?

“Why do you do that?”

“Whot?” he asked, feigning innocence. Fucking bastard.

“Why do you have to ask about Alexandra not five minutes after rolling off of me?”

Jack held up his hands and chuckled. “It was just a question, love.”

I shook my head at him and flung my legs over the side of the bed, stalking out of the room as quickly as possible. I went into the washroom, and slammed the door behind me. When I’d said three years of monogamy, there was of course one exception. Alexandra. I’d caught her kissing Jack once – yes, her kissing him – if Jack’s anything, it’s lazy. I knew him well enough to know that he had done nothing more than been Jack and she had gone in for the kill. Don’t think that means I felt that he was innocent. He certainly wasn’t. He had known exactly what he was getting into.

Anyway, I was, in fact, working with Alexandra. But Jack didn’t need to know that. He never needed to know that. The truth was that despite knowing that I didn’t love him, despite knowing that I never would, my pride wouldn’t be able to stand a knock like that. Jack leaving me for Alex would be one thing, but Jack cheating on me with Alex would make me absolutely nuts. It was a catch-22. I didn’t love Jack, but I was also totally unwilling to let him loose to find love. He wasn’t much better with me, but I assume that it was because he’d been mooching from me for the past year and a half.

I showered rapidly, finding Jack still in bed where I’d left him when I returned to the room.

“Lizzie,” he said softly.

I looked at him, frowning and half dressed.

“Come here.”

And I did. Why did I always do this when it would never change a thing?

Because it would make me feel better in the end. It always did.

My whole relationship with Jack was always about what made me feel good at the time. Hang the fact that five minutes later, he would likely make me feel like shit again. I crawled into bed and let him hold me.

“An old mate of mine is in town to see a band,” he started.

“Hm,” I mumbled.

“The concert’s tonight; at the Metro.”

I groaned and curled up a little more. “Do I have to go?”

“Of course not,” he paused, “Maybe Alexandra will go.”

“I hate you,” I hissed as I tried to jump out of the bed. He caught me around my waist and refused to let me go.

“No you don’t. Just say you’ll go.”

“Let me go.”

“Say you’ll go.”

“Why does it matter if I go?”

“It doesn’t.”

Ouch. “So then leave me alone.”

He let me go without a fight. “You just need to get out more, Lizzie. You know, meet some people. You’re turning into a hermit.”

I spun and glared at him. We went out all the time! I’d met so many new people that I couldn’t even remember their names. What the hell did he mean by that? I almost felt like he was pushing me away in that moment. But why would he? None of it made sense.

“Fine,” I said sweetly, smiling at him, “I’ll go. The Metro. Tonight. I’ll be there.”

I didn’t have a plan as I grabbed my scarf and bag at the door of our apartment; I just knew that tonight I would make him sorry that he had insisted that I come. Maybe I’d flirt with every available male in the room; maybe I’d embarrass him. I hadn’t decided yet, but Goddamn it, he would regret it.

---

The shoot finished at eight, according to my battered mobile. I had five missed calls, all Jack. Oh, right that concert thing. I sighed loudly and Jules, my steadfast, fabulous make-up artist/best friend, glanced at me with a wry smile.

“That good, eh?” he asked as he packed up his makeup. That’s when the idea hit me.

I interrupted whatever snide comment he was throwing out about my ridiculous mobile and Jack’s innate sexiness (Jules had some serious Jack envy).

“Jules, can you make me look fabulous?”

Jules stared at me for a minute, his face scrunched in confusion. “You know you do that well on your own,” he said slowly.

I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean,” I paused and thought about it, “Traffic-stopping fabulous.”

Jules blinked at me, glanced at his bag and then wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Traffic-stopping, huh? Give me half an hour, babes.”

I snuggled back into the chair I’d just been longing to leave. Formal wear shoots were always drab. I wondered, as I watched Jules’ reflection in the mirror, why he was doing such menial work. The man had serious talent. He could make a wallflower into a showstopper. Surely he could make Jack realize that I was something worth fighting for, couldn’t he?

I looked at my own reflection, my skin red and patchy from scrubbing off the day’s makeup, my hair in absolute shambles, and the rest of me sitting in worn jeans and a black bra. Somehow we had to make this work. Tonight would be a changing point in our relationship – for once, great sex wasn’t enough.

Jules turned his attention back to me and shook his head. “Well, at least I have the benefit of a good quality canvas. So, what’s this all about, sugar plum?”

I smiled. “Well...Jack, really. He just...well, we had a row and,” I hesitated on this bit. Dare I say it out loud? “I think I deserve better.”

Jules snorted as he started applying gobs of foundation under my eyes. “You do,” he paused in his movements to look me in the eye, “No offense, Liz, but you do have the typical model mentality. A delicious man is not the key to a good relationship.”

I rolled my eyes and Jules growled at me. “Sorry. It’s just, well, it used to be different, you know? He used to try to impress me. Now all he tries to do is annoy me. Or fuck me.”

Jules laughed sharply. “At least he still tries that!”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Yeah, I guess. I just...I want to make a point tonight.”

“And where are we going?”

“To some concert,” I said with a note of disdain.

Jules raised his eyebrows and smoothed powder over my nose. “Close your eyes, hun. So we’re not impressed with the band then?”

“Well, it’s not even that. I don’t know who the band is. I don’t care either. It’s probably some horrible, trite cack.”

“Oh you Brits,” Jules cackled, “You have the most charming expressions.”

“Well it is cack,” I muttered.

“Open your eyes and look up.”

“Yes, master.”

Jules applied mascara in silence, stepping back on occasion to survey his work. “There. Well, almost.”

He pulled out a lipstick and we went through the whole application and blot routine. Jules nodded and smiled. “There. Look.”

He stepped out of the way of the mirror and my breath caught in my throat. I was, in fact, stunning. But what was more shocking about it was that he’d hardly done anything to me. Neutral eyeshadow, a touch of mascara, barely there lipstick and a bit of concealer.

“Wow.”

“Yes, you do look that good. It’s true,” Jules said, eyeing my reflection, “Well, except for that hair and those clothes. Concert or not, you’re leaving here in one of these dresses.”

“I can’t!”

“You can and you will. They don’t pay us enough, Liz. The least we can do is steal a dress.”

Well, I really didn’t want to go in my holey jeans now. Especially since Jules was already breaking out the curling iron and bobby pins.

In the end, Jules had chosen a flirty cocktail dress in gold lame and sequins. It certainly was traffic stopping and I certainly had stopped traffic as I’d crossed the street. I arrived outside the club and automatically felt out of place. Everyone was in jeans, slutty tank tops, and sour expressions. I felt my heart race and a wave of self-consciousness wash over me. Then I reminded myself of one simple fact: I was a model. It’s how I always got through the worst of times – slap on a vacant half smile and walk with confidence. It was all a show. This was a show anyway, wasn’t it? A show for Jack. I took a deep breath, pushed my shoulders back, vacated my expression and went to open the door. What do you know? The bouncer opened it for me. I gave him my killer model smile, quietly cursing that I hadn’t slicked some Vaseline over my teeth before I’d left the studio. Oh well, I’d have to make do with my natural teeth.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust inside the club, but I spotted Jack easily. He was down the stairs, dead centre in the room talking to two blokes. Jack was facing me, but the other two had their backs to me. I didn’t recognize them. It was better that way – I could make a more dramatic entrance. I knew I was getting stares of disbelief so I held my head higher and applied the model walk. I wanted those stares to turn into stares of envy. I wanted every man in the room to be jealous of Jack and I wanted every woman in the room to be jealous of me. I made my descent perfectly and stalked towards Jack with model-like perfection. Hey, it’s what they pay me for.

Jack looked over finally, his eyes drinking me in from head to toe. I thought that this was it. I thought that this would be the moment that he would leave the blokes and wrap his arms around me and kiss me. I thought this would be the time that he would tell me that he loved me...or something of equivalent importance. I counted: one, tw- ...what the fuck?! He’d gone right back to his conversation without so much as faltering! Fuckwit! Oh, wait. He was turning back to me...to yell at me like a piece of meat.

“Lizzie! Where the hell have you been? You’re bloody late!”

Jesus. He was drunk. The other two men turned to face me and my confidence faded instantly. I looked at my feet, clad in strappy gold sandals, and wondered what the point of all this had been. I went to stand next to Jack, obediently, like a dog.

“Lizzie,” Jack said softly as his arm snaked around my waist. I glanced at him, my perfectly made up face glum. “I think you might have forgotten to take off your dress at the shoot.”

I looked away from him, suddenly determined to kick him out of my apartment, knowing full-well that I wouldn’t actually do it. And then, out of nowhere a voice that was as quietly disgusted as I felt, spoke up.

“That’s it?” the soft, lilting voice asked.

“Whot?” Jack replied drunkenly.

I looked up to find that the owner of the voice was an absurdly attractive man. His warm eyes met mine and made me feel worth it again. That was it. One appreciative glance from a stranger and I was fixed. But that wasn’t true, because all eyes in the room were on me. No, I’d never had the attention of one stranger affect me like this before. The man’s eyes flitted back to Jack.

“You’re not going to tell her how,” he paused, as though embarrassed, “beautiful she looks?”

I loved how incredulous his soft voice sounded. I loved that he was pointing out what I could not. I loved that he was doing it without so much as knowing my name.

Jack scoffed, which dragged me down again. “Mate, you need to get out more. She always looks like that.”

“Well,” he said very quietly, directing his attention back to me, “I think you’re...,” he seemed to struggle for the right word, “startling.”

Jack’s hand around my waist tightened giving me the first indicator...in...well...ever...that he was feeling a little possessive.

“Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner. And this is Bill Turner,” Jack said, redirecting my attention to the older man standing beside this Will fellow.

“Nice to meet you,” I said sweetly, years of polite conversation having been drilled into me during my childhood.

The truth was that all I wanted to do was talk to this fabulous Will character some more. He looked about my age, which incidentally is twenty-four, and had a sort of hipster-meets-punk style. His chin length hair curled wildly about his ears, which would suggest a similarly wild personality and yet his features were so soft and warm, it was hard to imagine that he had a personality as unruly as his hair.

I listened as Bill and Jack prattled on about how they’d met a thousand years ago or something. I tried to pay attention, but... Will scarcely said a word throughout their incessant yapping, but caught my eye again and offered a shy, half smile. I felt my lips curl upwards in response. There was something about his manner and the way he said volumes with his eyes that totally captured me. I wanted to know him and I wanted him to know me.

“Eh, Lizzie?” Jack muttered drunkenly in my ear, snapping back to reality.

“Huh? I’m sorry,” I said with an embarrassed smile, my eyes meeting Will’s again. “I wasn’t listening.”

Jack sighed loudly. He turned back to Bill and shrugged.

“Eh, Will?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Will asked.

I stifled a laugh.

“We were just saying it’s funny how we all ended up in the US. Elizabeth, where are you from?”

I smiled at Bill. Despite being a friend of Jack’s, which never really works in anyone’s favour, I got the impression that he was a good man.

“London.”

“Oh? Will and I are from London, too! Whereabouts in London?”

I felt my cheeks redden and I would have been embarrassed by their rosiness had we been in a better lit area. “Hampstead.”

“Hampstead?” Will asked incredulously.

I opened my mouth, not quite sure how to talk myself out of my wealthy heritage, coming up with nothing. Jack’s arm tightened around my waist.

“Lizzie’s family is absurdly rich.”

I felt annoyance wash over me. “Thank you, Jack,” I said crisply.

“Well- well how the hell did you end up with him?” Will asked, his eyes locking on mine.

That was a funny story, really. The truth was I’d met Jack at a party and I’d known instantly by my personal revulsion mixed with attraction that he was wrongest man for me in all of England. And then I promptly followed him to the States.

“It’s my good looks, isn’t it?” Jack said to Will, finally releasing my waist. “And obviously I’m completely the wrong choice for her.”

He turned to me with a debonair smile. “Makes daddy mad, doesn’t it?”

I blinked at Jack and pulled in a deliberate breath. I’d never once said to Jack how I’d really felt about running off with him. I’d always assumed that he had assumed that I had been in love with him. Perhaps I’d been wrong all these years. I was so lost in my thoughts, despite the fact that Jack and Bill had resumed their conversation that the sound of Will’s soft voice shocked me from my reverie.

“Oh, thanks,” I heard him say to someone.

It gave me an excuse to look at him. When I did, I saw that a pretty, blonde girl had brought him a bottle of beer and was attempting to chat him up.

“Ricky said that you should tune your guitar,” the girl said, smiling broadly. Obviously she was quite taken with Will and who can blame her, really.

“Oh, he did, did he?” Will said with a smirk as he looked over his shoulder.

I took the opportunity to take him in fully once more. He was wearing jeans and a red graphic t-shirt of some sort. He had a ball chain necklace around his neck which sported several different coloured, rather worn guitar picks. Oh, so he must have been with the band. A roadie maybe? Whatever. He glanced at his watch, which was set in a wide, leather band.

“I guess I should,” he said to the girl at last. The girl bit her lip and attempted to look fabulous. Unfortunately for her, I was in the room.

Will turned back into the conversation, lightly touching his father’s arm. “I have to go,” he said nodding towards the stage.

Bill smiled. “Alright!”

Will’s eyes met mine. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” I managed to whisper after he’d already turned his back.

Jack was using both his hands to make a point to a couple of blokes who’d joined in his conversation with Bill. One of them was leering at me. I cringed and looked away, towards the stage. Will was up there now, picking up one of the guitars, plucking strings randomly and tuning the guitar. It was then that I realized that Will might just be part of the band that we were here to see. A couple more girls came over to talk to Will. He seemed to answer them absently, more concerned with his sixth string than their amply displayed breasts.

Jack bellowing some nonsense behind me caused Will to look up to see what the commotion was about. He smiled slightly, in an embarrassed sort of way, and then went back to his guitar. I found that I couldn’t tear my eyes from him and I really didn’t know why. Sure, he was awfully nice to look at, but I was in the modelling industry – I’d seen better. No, it was something else. Something more. Maybe it had to do with the earnest way he did everything – the concentration on his face as he tuned his guitar, the soft seriousness that was in his eyes when he’d first spoken to me. There was something there.

Another dark haired lad hopped up on the stage and started speaking to Will. I watched the pair curiously. The newcomer had a rougher appearance than Will, his face was more rugged, his body more solid. He was carrying a pair of drum sticks – a band mate. In any sense, both their faces became serious and concerned. They argued quietly with one another, the drummer seemed to be trying to convince Will of something. At length, Will paused in his argument, his brow furrowed. He nodded once, tersely, set down his guitar calmly and then fled the stage, his face a little green.

That’s when it happened – my indecision seemed to melt away and my feet moved of their own accord, taking long steps towards the hallway he’d just disappeared through. Why, I don’t know. The hallway extended beyond the stage, leaving the smoky bar behind for a dimly lit hall that smelled faintly of three hundred year old piss. There were three doors in the hall beyond the ‘staff only’ door. There was the ladies’ room, the men’s room and the exit. Judging by the hideous retching I heard behind door number two, I took my chances. I pushed open the door without another thought, startling a man standing in front of a urinal and causing him to piss on the wall. I ignored him and looked in stalls for Will, following my ears. I found him kneeled on the ground, clutching the toilet seat and attempting to hold back more vomit. He sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with his arm and pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of his back pocket. He was trying to write something, but his hand was shaking so violently that he wasn’t able to.

I walked up behind him, blocking out his light and causing him to look up at me.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed shakily.

I crouched down beside him. “Will,” I said, smiling sympathetically, “Need a hand?”

Will attempted to smile but it was simply pathetic. I dropped to my haunches quickly, balancing myself perfectly on my stilettos. I think the movement was simply too quick for Will. He stared at me for a moment, the wheels of his brain turning slowly. He narrowed his eyes at me before speaking.

“How did you find me?”

I looked away, embarrassed. Actually, legitimately embarrassed, and then I reminded myself that it was all a show. I drew my eyes up to his with a confidence I didn’t feel, but it seemed to hit him full on anyway.

“I was watching you,” I admitted without apology.

Will smirked unexpectedly and attempted to write again. I had rarely experienced such level-headed indifference and I had to admit that it intrigued me.

“What are you doing?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Trying to write a play list.”

I felt my brow furrow in confusion. “Are you the singer?”

Will looked up at me disbelievingly and scoffed. “No.”

“Then why are you writing the play list?” I was genuinely confused.

“Because apparently I’ve been promoted.”

I had no fucking clue what he was talking about. “What?”

Will ignored me as another bout of nausea swept over him. I took the paper and pen from him gently. With my free hand, I covered his. The movement was incredibly intimate and unexpected by either of us, but I left my hand where it was. Will stared at my hand in wonder and I realized that I was exactly the kind of distraction that he needed from his illness.

“So, where’s your singer then?”

Will scowled. “Not anywhere I’d like to repeat, I’m sure. Sodding bastard.”

“And, what are you, his back up?”

Will smirked again, a little laugh escaping his lips. He focussed his attention to my hand, twisting his underneath of it to catch my fingers between his own. He examined our pair of hands as though they were a precious treasure. A focal point.

“Not until today,” he whispered gravely.

“Why doesn’t someone else do it?”

Will’s face split into a beautiful smile as he finally looked at my face. “Yeah, right. Ricky sounds like a dying calf and Evan is totally useless verbally.”

Will must have caught the questioning look on my face because he cut me off as my mouth opened to speak.

“There’s an agent out there tonight. This is pretty much our one chance to impress him and Lucas let us down. Again. It’s do or die. And I don’t do dying.”

“So why the colourful bathroom pyrotechnics?” I asked with a slight grin. Just trying to keep the mood light.

Will shrugged. “I’m a little shy,” he admitted.

I laughed.

“What?”

“Well,” I said pointedly, “You’re holding hands with a girl you met twenty minutes ago. I don’t know if I’d call that shy.”

Will looked at our hands as though he’d forgotten about them. “That’s different.”

I smiled a little to myself. “Oh?”

“Well,” he said smiling, and entwining his fingers with mine even more. I felt my heart race. “Sometimes you meet someone and it’s just like the pieces fall into place, you know? It’s as though you’ve known each other for years. There’s this comfort...,” he paused and looked at my dazed face. No one had ever spoken to me like that. No one. “I’m talking crazy, aren’t I?”

I shook my head, too crushing to even speak. “I think I know what you mean,” I said, airily. Did I? Maybe not exactly, but there had been something about Will that had made me follow him into the washroom. Will looked away from me and started writing rapidly.

“Are the songs yours?” I asked quietly.

Will glanced back at me, his face surprised. “Not all of them,” he said slowly.

I peeked at the list. “Any of them?”

Will smiled slightly. “Tell you what,” he said, a smooth smile stretching across his features. He was back to his easy self. “I’ll play one of my songs for you. But I make no apologies for my relatively untested singing voice.”

I smiled easily and Will stood up, extending a hand to help me to my feet. Although I didn’t need it, I took it greedily.

“Deal,” I said softly.

We walked hand in hand to the door to the washroom. We paused for a second, disentangling our hands unwillingly. I was just about to gush some nonsense about how I’d never felt this way before, just to fill the empty space, when the door flew open. I turned, surprised and found myself face to face with Jack.