Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Disney.

A/N: Curiosity always managed to make a mangled mess of the pretty little cat that supped at its bowl. Jack was well acquainted with this little proverb. Drabble, J/E.

Curiosity, or One Dead Pussycat
By: Sinnamon Spider

Curiosity always managed to make a mangled mess of the pretty little cat that supped at its bowl.

Jack was well acquainted with this little proverb, and although he bore a few impressive scars that spoke of curiosity's admirable attempts to do him in, he had always escaped relatively unscathed.

He could, then, draw the only logical conclusion: he was not the cat. He didn't know what that made him, but the fact that he was not the feline so marked for death was quite obvious.

But here, now, was the prettiest kitten he'd ever laid eyes on. All gold and brown, with huge innocent eyes and a thirst for curiosity that he had not seen in anyone other than himself.

Here was the cat that curiosity would kill.

Elizabeth Swann would taste him, taste curiosity, and be rewarded with the cold bite of death. Perhaps that would appease curiosity, and leave him free to take anything and everything he could without fear of cosmic retribution.

As he observed her lovely face, lifted to his with breathless anticipation for his touch, a pang of guilt struck through him. But his guilty moments passed by faster than those in which he had the chance to do the right thing. After all, he wasn't the cat. Curiosity had spared him too many times.

She stood behind him, watching him trail his fingers over the careworn surfaces of his beloved ship, and when he turned to her, he saw sorrow and pain reflecting in her eyes. She stepped closer, speaking quiet words, and when their bodies came in contact, Jack took advantage of his invincibility and returned the fierce kiss she pressed against his lips.

Poor little kitty, she'd finally succumbed to him and curiosity.

Then the manacle clicked shut around his wrist, heavy and cold in the summer warmth, and she hissed and spat like a war-torn street cat.

Then she turned and left him without a second glance, climbing down into the longboat, safe and sound and no doubt purring with self-delight.

Chained to the mast of a ship that would soon be ravaged by the sea monster, Jack Sparrow licked his lips and tasted the faint whispers of curiosity still lingering there.

"Me-ow!"