A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please be nice… but feel free to give constructive criticism! And please review :) it would mean a lot to me!

Disclaimer: I don't own PoTC. I'm just borrowing some characters…

Chapter 1: Desperate and Hardened

The ragged hem of her once well-made dress clung to her ankles, soaked with the rank bilge water that pooled on the floor of the cell. Mercy Taylor shivered slightly, for no warm Caribbean sunlight found its way into the damp, dark belly of the pirate ship Zephyr.

In the dim light provided by a single lantern, Mercy could barely make out the chains that bound her feet to the floor, but she could feel the pinch of the cold metal on her ankles, a constant reminder of her predicament. Miserably, Mercy contemplated her bleak situation. When would they bring her some food? How long would they keep her here? Loud voices and the sounds of a struggle woke Mercy from her stupor, and she raised her head to examine the hatch at the top of the ladder, down the hall from her cell.

Light briefly illuminated the girl's face, as the hatch above the ladder was wrenched open, and what appeared to be a body was kicked down from above. Two men followed, descending the ladder into the muck. One reached for a key, opening Mercy's cell door, while the other dragged the body from the floor, and tossed it like a sack of potatoes into the filth.

"'Ello, doll. We brought ye a playmate." The burly pirate addressed Mercy, giving her a blast of his foul breath and a rather nauseating view of his rotten teeth. He added with a dark chuckle, "'E be in a bad way, so don't be too rough on 'im. 'E's got valuable information that we be needin'."

As the men retreated, Mercy cautiously approached the body on the floor. Kneeling as well as she could manage within the constraints of her chains, she examined the man on the floor. She noted with relief the shallow rise and fall of his chest, but the pirate wasn't lying when he said that this man was in bad condition. Even in the poor light, she could tell that his white shirt was stained dark in several places with blood, and he sported a great gash on his forehead, in addition to a brilliant bruise across his cheek.

As she studied him, the man groaned, softly, and his face tightened with pain. Reaching down to her ankles, Mercy ripped a large strip from the shift she wore under her dress, then tied it tightly around the wound on his forehead to stop the bleeding. She lifted him as well as she could from the floor, on to the bench along the back of the cell. Dragging him up, she noted the blood soaking through his shirt. Once she got him into a more-or-less comfortable position, she undid the buttons on his torn shirt, carefully removing it to examine the damage it concealed.

Though this man was a complete stranger to her, Mercy winced at the bruising on his torso. His sides looked as though they'd been kicked repeatedly, and she would wager that he had more than a few broken ribs. The blood on his shirt was seeping from a bullet wound in his side, where it appeared a shell had entered in the front and passed through his back.

As she fixed him up the best she could, Mercy took time to examine her cellmate. He appeared to be young, no more than thirty, and though he was marred by injuries, she could tell he was very good-looking. His appearance was very eccentric, and Mercy wondered if he was a pirate, for no run-of-the-mill sailor she knew of had trinkets woven into his dreadlocks. She rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to check his wrist, which confirmed her suspicions. A pirate.

Mercy wondered why he had been thrown into the brig. Was he a mutineer? Did he argue with the captain? Was he a rival pirate? The man remained unconscious. Frustrating Mercy's curiosity. At any rate, he was badly injured, and he required what little help she could provide, imprisoned in the brig of a ship.

Having done what she could for the pirate, Mercy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, again contemplating her situation. Perhaps this man could help her escape. Preferably sooner rather than later, because she didn't really want to wait around to see what her fate aboard the pirate ship was to be.

Several minutes passed (or hours—it is difficult to judge time when the only available diversions are self-reflection and counting the bilge-rats that scurry by) before Mercy heard the man begin to stir.


The first thing Jack felt was the burning pain in his side. He reached down to touch the makeshift bandage around his torso, and vaguely recalled the sound of gunfire, and the white-hot pain that followed. He tried to sit up, which only caused him to let out an involuntary groan of pain, so he settled for simply lifting his head to look around. The lack of adequate light and the smell of bilge water confirmed that he was imprisoned in the belly of a ship.

"I was wondering when you'd grace me with your presence."

Jack gave a slight start as a soft voice interrupted his reflection. He turned slightly to face the source of the voice, making out the shape of a female speaker in the corner of the cell. He squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the dim light to make out her features.

"'Ello, love. I didn' see ye there. Captain Jack Sparrow at your service. And your name be?"

"Mercy." Her response was short and direct, offering him little insight.

"And what brings ye to the fine hospitality of a pirate ship, Mercy?"

"The ship I was traveling on was attacked by the Zephyr. I'm being held for ransom. What brings you to this cell, Captain Sparrow?" Though soft, her voice contained an edge that indicated to Jack that she had no desire to offer any more information.

"Me? I was just innocently enjoyin' a bottle o' rum at the pub, when all of a sudden, I found meself hit over the head and dragged to this lovely ship."

"You're a pirate." Her accusation left little room for question.

"Aye, but a pirate captain. Afraid, love?"

"You've a bullet wound in your side, several broken ribs, and a great bloody head wound. You can barely sit up. So, no, I'm not afraid of you."

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the hatch. Jack slumped over, appearing unconscious once more, though he kept one eye slightly open. The same burly pirate who had delivered Jack's body to the brig approached the cell, bearing a tray. He unlocked a grate at the bottom of the cell's door, sliding the tray under, and giving Mercy a lecherous grin. "Eat up. If ye're lucky, ye can finish it before 'e wakes up." He winked at her, departing.

Jack gathered his energy, making himself sit up, and suppressed a groan. "Ladies first," he said, nodding toward the tray. It contained a bowl of gruel and two pieces of hardtack, as well as a cup of some sort of beverage.

"Excellent ploy. If it's poisoned, I'll be the one to fall victim." She appeared not to care, however, as she knelt to grab the tray anyways.

"They won't poison it. 'ey need information from me, and if you're to be ransomed, theys needs you alive, savvy?" Jack pointed out. He re-assessed his cellmate. Mercy seemed less naïve than he originally thought, though from her voice, he guessed she was about seventeen or eighteen.

Mercy ate a few bites of gruel and one biscuit, chasing it with a swig from the cup. She assed the tray to Jack, saying, "I can't eat any more. You take it."

Jack met her gaze, taking the tray. "Much thanks, love." His ribs protested as he chewed and swallowed. To take his mind off the pain, Jack attempted to converse with his quiet cellmate.

"I suppose it's you I have to thank for the bandages."

She gave a small nod of assent.

"Much thanks for that as well, love." She shrugged slightly, giving no other response to his words. Jack studied her again. Who was she? Was she noble? That the pirates were demanding a ransom for her return indicated that she came from wealth. She spoke with an educated accent, definitely originating in England. Jack could discern nothing from her clothing, or what he could see of it in the poor light, for while it might have once been well-made, it was certainly in shreds now.

Finished with the meal, Jack set the tray on the floor. He took one last swig from the cup. "Weak ale," he announced, "is never a proper substitute for good Caribbean rum." With that, he stretched himself out on the bench, and closed his eyes, contemplating his situation until he dozed off.


Mercy actually could have eaten much more. After taking a few bites, she passed her tray to the pirate, reasoning that he was injured and therefore in greater need of nourishment. As he ate, she felt his gaze pass over her. She avoided his gaze, opting to count the floorboards of the cell. When he dozed off, Mercy returned to plotting her escape. Perhaps this Captain Sparrow would be an asset to her plan.

Eventually, boredom and the motion of the ship overcame her, and Mercy too surrendered to sleep's beckon.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Review, pretty please!! Let me know what you think, and if I should continue this…