Summary: What if Elizabeth wasn't the woman Will married during the battle? What if he didn't meet her until 200 years after the third film? AU, Post-AWE, Modern Willabeth. Slightly OOC?

Disclaimer: If I owned Pirates of the Caribbean, I would be rich, this story would be a movie, Keira Knightley and I would be texting each other right now, and Orlando Bloom would be mine. MINE I TELL YOU!!

Prologue – Will's POV

Angel. Somebody who is kind or beautiful. That was how I described Victoria Hamilton the day I met her on the crossing from England in 1714. She had rescued me from death after the passenger ship I was on was attacked by pirates and left to burn and sink. I was merely floating on a piece of wood half-dead when she spotted me and the crew of her ship pulled me out of the water. When I opened my eyes, the first person I saw was Victoria, and I thought she was an angel.

Love. To feel tender affection or desire for somebody. We were best friends since she rescued me and playmates until I worked as a full-time blacksmith apprentice and she grew up in high society. But I fell in love with her. It wasn't supposed to happen, and it wasn't proper, but it did. I loved her, and it wasn't until I was barely the age of twenty and risked my life to let a pirate captain go free from the gallows that she told me she loved me back. Her father wasn't pleased with it, society wasn't pleased with it, but I couldn't be any happier.

That is, until our wedding day got ruined by the bastard who saw fit that Victoria and I should be put in jail because we had allowed a man wanted by law to escape.

I risked my life again to go out and get the damnable key from Davy Jones for his chest because Captain Jack Sparrow wanted it and wouldn't even let me consider having his "broken" compass unless I got it. I needed that compass to set Victoria free and was determined to do so only to find she escaped jail herself and ended up with Jack on the Black Pearl while I was a slave to the Flying Dutchman.

I accepted what happened to me only because I was doing it all for Victoria and for us. Little did I know that she would go behind my back to kiss the infamous Jack Sparrow and led me to believe she loved him instead of me. Little did I know that we wouldn't speak to each other unless it was absolutely necessary and until Jack had openly expressed that dear Victoria Hamilton had left him for the Locker.

But I forgave her. I know I did because during one of the worst storms I have ever seen in my entire life and during one of the worst pirate battles I had ever fought in, I married her. I proposed again, and we married shortly afterwards. I could've set my father free from the Dutchman, as he was slowly becoming part of the ship, but I didn't. I chose her. And I was happy. So freely happy despite the fact that I was fighting for my life.

Fate. Destiny. Tia Dalma—or Calypso, as she is truly called—told me I had a touch of destiny in me. People have told me that fate can be the cruelest of all things. I never realized how true that was until Davy Jones ran a sword through my chest and pierced my heart, leaving me to die. Everything was hazy and blurry, and I knew I was dying, but I also knew what my destiny was: to become captain of the Flying Dutchman. My fate—our fate—was to be separated from my wife for ten long years only to see her for one day. One day to spend time with her and show her that I loved her.

But she got tired of waiting.

1735 was the year I was to return and reunite with my beloved. I walked in the town she was at and asked for a Victoria Hamilton only to hear that Mrs. Victoria Jackson was on the beach with her husband and five children for the day. I had no choice but to confront her. She felt guilty—sorry—when she saw me. The green eyes I used to admire and fall in love with her all over again stared at me as if I was only a figure before she parted her red lips to speak.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" Stupid question, I know, but I wanted to hear it from her and no one else.

Victoria bit those lips and glanced back to where her family was playing in the water and building a sandcastle. "I couldn't wait," she said. "I tried and tried, but Robert came two years after you left. And, well, I fell in love with him. He was there, Will."

I understood. I understood completely. Ten years was a long time, but one day was not enough for her. Robert Jackson was a good man, as I met him before I left. I gave his wife—my ex-wife—my blessing for her to be happy and be with who she pleased. She was grateful, and he was relieved about how I dealt with the matter, but my heart felt like it was ripping in two and I wanted nothing more to end my life.

Calypso had other plans. My heart continued to beat in that bloody Dead Man's Chest that helped start the mess I call my life. I stepped on land once every ten years even though there was no need for it. I never saw Victoria again face to face, but I heard of how she safely delivered two more children. I heard of how Robert passed away and how she did shortly afterwards. I caught glimpses of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren before I decided to never return to Port Royal or to the Caribbean for my one day on land.

My name is Will Turner, and I'm the captain of the Flying Dutchman. Some people fear me; some people say I'm crazy. My response? It's all Victoria's fault.


28 August 1995

I had vowed to never return to Port Royal or to the Caribbean after seeing Victoria's great-grandchildren playing on the same beach Victoria and I used to sneak away to as both children and adults. But after over 200 years, I was tired of revisiting Europe, the Americas, Africa, and Asia over and over again, so I reluctantly allowed my crew to take us to the Caribbean for my one-day stay.

They picked Port Royal. Of course they would, although I had a feeling that my father had something to do with the arrangement. I didn't mind it, though. There was no reminder of Victoria in that town, no sign of any of her descendants, and the beach we used to sneak off to without chaperones was occupied by families and college students on Spring Break. I was more than happy to see the now modern town and was more than happy to let the past disappear.

However, that same, memorable beach was still there and left unchanged except for the tourists wanting to get a tan. I avoided the crowds and instead walked near the rocks that no one bothered to hang around, wanting peace and quiet. No questions, no stares. Just me and, well, rocks.

Or so I thought.

"Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me."

I froze on the spot when a heard a girl's voice singing the song I learned so long ago from Victoria during the many, silly games we played as pirate captains. The crew of the Flying Dutchman would sing it all the time—especially in a drunken state—but I hadn't heard if from a girl since Victoria left me.

"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"

The girl was young. When I finally caught the sight of who was singing such a song, I realized that she had to be no older than nine or ten years of age. She was petite too, drawing sloppy designs on the sand she was sitting on. I didn't know if her parents were nearby or not, but she certainly didn't seem to care.

"We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!
Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me."

I allowed myself to sing with her until she glanced up at me and gasped, obviously startled. I smiled in an attempt to apologize for intruding, but her light brown eyes were still opened wide. I sighed and finally decided to speak to her, "Hello."

The girl blinked, staring up at me. "Are you a pirate?" she asked boldly.

I took a step back, not expecting such a thing to come out of a little girl's mouth. "What makes you think that?" I asked hesitantly.

"'Cause you look like one."

Truthful answer, I suppose. But damn, she had no idea how accurate her answer really was. "Well," I answered. "I work at one of those themed restaurants, if that's what you mean."

The girl wrinkled her nose. "They look fake," she said matter-of-factly. "But you don't." Really, where were her parents? "Did that hurt?" she continued innocently.

I frowned in confusion. "Did what hurt?"

The girl pointed to my chest where a long scar rested on my skin. "Did it hurt when you got that?"

Yes, little girl, it did. Worse than any pain you'll probably ever experience in your lifetime. I sighed. "At the time," I admitted. "But that's okay. I'm fine."

"Oh." She paused, tapping her chin as if she were thinking. "Well, what happened?"

I chuckled. "It's a long story."

"I have time."

She was too cute. I gave her a crooked smile. "I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll return to Port Royal ten years from now. Then I'll tell you all you need to know."

The girl twisted her eyebrows in confusion. "Ten years? That's a long time." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "How will I know you'll keep your promise?"

I paused to think about it before I slowly lifted the necklace I've had around my neck ever since I was a blacksmith-turned-pirate. I don't know how it lasted nearly 300 years, but it did, and I was willing to give it up. "Here," I said, handing it to her. "Keep it. That's my promise to you that in ten years I will come back."

The girl took it from my hand hesitantly before pulling it over her head and tucked it in her hot pink bathing suit. "Okay," she agreed. "Don't forget."

I smiled, briefly glancing at the sunset that warned me to return to the Dutchmen. "I won't," I promised. "I won't."

Author's Note: So this is my first attempt at writing a POTC fan fiction. I published it because SaveroftheMoon made me, so we'll see how this goes. Besides, there's a first time for everything, right? *waits for rotten tomatoes to be thrown* Also, I'm not sure about the title. I might rename it later on once I think of a better one, but right now, this little story is going to be called Heartbeat. So... Review? Please?