A/N: A little bit of mostly-harmless fluff that I did trying to quench my Jack Sparrow addiction. Needless to say, it didn't work especially well.

It wasn't how she'd imagined it would be, had she imagined any such thing. Which she hadn't, she told herself firmly. There had been that one time, on the island--when he had showed her his scars under the bright Caribbean sun and his dark, dancing eyes had stilled for a moment--No truth at all--and she had almost crossed the distance between them and...

But then he had shrugged and rolled the bottle to her in the sand, and the moment was lost.

It would, as he had said, never have worked between them anyway. There had been Will, sweet Will, but she wouldn't think of him now. That wound was still too painful.

She never would have imagined this. Not in her wildest fantasies, not even in the half-formed delirious dreams just before she went to sleep, when she had still been young enough to dream of pirates. She still did dream of pirates. One of them, at least. But he was no ordinary pirate and the dreams...were no child's fantasy. She snorted.

Under her cheek, Jack shifted a little, and his hand came down on her hair. She smiled into his bare chest.

"Something funny, love?"

"I was just thinking," she said softly, not wanting to break the stillness that surrounded them, the lapping of waves and the flapping of sails and the distant creaks and shouts as the crew worked.

His fingers found her cheek, blindly seeking, and she turned a little to kiss them. His chest quaked a little as he chuckled. "About anything in particular?"

"You. Will. That night on the little island..."

"Before you burnt the rum, you mean."

"Jack!" She turned to face him, laughing. "That was nearly ten years ago!"

He tugged at a lock of her hair. "Pirates have long memories. Bloody daft thing to do, anyway. Waste of good rum."

"It got us rescued," she said without rancor. It was an old argument, as familiar and comfortable as a well-worn boot.

"It got you rescued," he corrected. "It got me arrested."

Elizabeth sat up, pulling the sheet up with her. "Were you very angry?"

"Furious." Jack waggled his eyebrows at her. "Come back here and I'll show you just how angry I was."

"Jack!" Half laughing, blushing, she stood up, wrapping the sheet over her smallish breasts. "You are shameless."

"That I am," he admitted cheerfully. "What're you getting up for?"

She flipped a corner of the sheet over her head like a cowl, knowing full well how absurd it probably made her look but not caring, and went to the window. For a long moment, there was nothing but the silence and the gentle rocking of the ship. The cabin was full of sunlight, golden on rich, dusty brocades. Stretching out in front of her was a glowing green ocean.

"What..." she started, then stopped, not sure how to ask it or even what, exactly, she wanted to ask. Last night had been so much easier. Rum and sweat and warm skin, tearing cloth, heat...now, having to think about it was more difficult than actually doing it had been. Jack, perhaps sensing her turmoil, kept his mouth shut for once.

"What were you thinking on that island?" she asked finally, turning to face him.

His face twisted comically. "This is a bit out the blue, love. Why do you ask?"

Elizabeth pulled the sheet off of her head. "Curiosity, I suppose. I always wondered how you thought of me then. What would have happened had you not drunk yourself to sleep." She almost blushed saying it, but now, with her clothing scattered across the room and Jack Sparrow sprawled on the bed in nothing but his golden skin, was a little late for maidenly pretenses.

Jack shrugged fluidly, the skin around his scars stretching as he moved. "Nothing."

"What?"

He patted the warm linen next to him and she sat down, sinking into his embrace. His hands were on her waist, resting gently in the curve of her hips, and he coaxed her down until her head was on the pillow and her back pressed against his chest. Only then did she feel him sigh against her neck. "Nothing would have happened, love. You were too young and there was dear William to think of."

"Oh." she muttered, and could think of nothing more to say.

"Oh," Jack mocked. "Now if we're quite through with this ridiculousness..." And before she could say anything else, his nimble hands were peeling the sheets away from her shoulders and his mouth was warm and wet at her throat and after one halfhearted protest, she didn't even try to stop him. *

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