A/N: I do not own any POTC characters or plot lines and I have not read the young Jack Sparrow series that is out, so details may conflict with that.

The last crash of lightning echoed down into the nether-regions of The Golden Queen, but Oria barely noticed it, the liquid from her body trickling down her legs and peppering the ground. Pressing her back into the hard bulkhead of the ship, she let herself slide down, already feeling her heartbeat outside her chest. Where was everyone? No tempest could equal the crisis going on right underneath them.

"Miss Oria? Miss Oria, you're soaked!" Mason gasped, halting right in front of her.

"Mason, you…you'll have to help…oh!" She pouted her lips, sweat dripping down her back.

"I'll go get the captain."

"He'll be at the helm," was all she could spill out of her mouth before another cramp tightened every part of her.

Mr. Mason knelt down and crawled over to the slim legs spread in front of him. His throat dry, he licked cracked lips while he rumpled her skirt up to her waist. Taking her shoulder, he helped her scoot to a dry spot on the floor, a trickling trail following her.

"Captain'll kill this freebooter when he sees me spyin' ye, Miss." He forced a smile while trying to summon up just a drop of spit in his mouth.

"Mason…" she grunted, "I, I have the Joneseys, to quote all of you." Never before had it been so hard to turn the corners of her mouth up into a smile.

"Ye won't be goin' to the Locker any time soon. I promise ye that."

XXX

Above, the ship swayed, nearly toppling into the towering waves running from the thunder. Men scattered every which way, like balls of dust being blown over the cover of a tome.

"Save the futtock shrouds!" someone screamed over the crashes of the waves.

The captain's dry hands, nicked with cuts at the knuckles, spun the helm, no expression on his face. His eyes, black as expensive licorice, squinted the salt out of them. Bad luck having a woman onboard, he thought to himself. Must be a smaller one in that belly of hers what caused this storm. He wiggled his nose and shook his head at his braids and dreadlocks blew across his face. The rain spliced away at his cheeks, cutting him with its razorblade cold.

"It's the Dutchman for us all!" he heard down below.

"Shut it, ye picaroons!" he bellowed down to them. "Ye sign up to be pirates and not expect to get wet?"

"Captain! Captain!" he heard behind him. The whistling wind finally took his hat and blew it back towards the voice that had dared call him a title of authority. No captain deserved the title in a tempest such as this.

"It's Miss Oria, Captain! Ye'd best come at once!"

"It'd be in the best interest of said captain, said miss, and the crew if I stayed right in this spot, Mr. Mason!" A nauseating roll almost made him lose his footing, a wave covering the deck in sea water. He thought he heard running behind him.

"Request permission to trade spots then, captain!"

Guess no one did run off behind me, the captain thought. Turning his head, he inhaled at the sight of a sticky-looking bloody substance on his first mate's shivering hands. The wee one. There could be no other explanation. Well, Captain Father would just have to guide this ship through and make it to port.

"She alive?"

"Yessir, screamin' and a'hollerin' like she should be."

"You'll have to go back down then."

"But…"

"I have every faith in your ability to catch something the size of loaf of bread, Mr. Mason. Get going!" As if his orders weren't enough, a deafening crash of lightning resounded. Maybe his senses were jumbled up at the thought of what was happening below at a time like this, but his nostrils flared at the scent of burning.

"The sail!"

The sail on the mizzen shriveled, heaps of ash pouring onto the deck. The men ran to it, climbing up with buckets of water that had previously covered the deck to put out the flames. They all froze at the blinding sparks flying out into the dark green sky. The rain put out the rest. Letting go of the helm with one hand, he reached for one of his braids and tugged. The one braid loose, he now held the Piece of Eight in his hand. Boy or unlucky girl that would have to accumulate her crew with a sword, he had planned on passing the Piece of Eight onto the bloody, squirming creature down below decks. Now…no, he thought. Don't you know who you are? This will just be another song for drunken nights at Shipwreck Cove, about his heir or heiress completely unaware of this storm heralding the birth.

"John!"

How could that be? How could he hear her from up here?

"John!"

"Tomlinson!" he shouted down to the cabin boy. "See to Mr. Mason. Do whatever he tells you." Hold together, girl, he thought, and then glanced up at his sails. You too, girl. Hold together.

XXX

Oria closed her eyes, turned her head, and vomited into the cracks of the floor. Why was this taking so long?

"You may have to push, miss," Tomlinson said, standing over her with a wet rag draped over her forehead. "Me mum's a midwife, see, and she tells the ladies to push at some points and relax at others, not that I know which points is which, miss. I's just tellin' ye what she tells me. She don't let me watch. Is the rag cool enough, miss?"

"Tomlinson." She gripped his hand. "Why don't you talk about something else, dear?"

"Oh, certainly. 'Fore I ran away, we kept some goats in our barn and raised those. Right sporting animals they are, miss, not nearly as bullying as they say. Downright gentle so long as the horns don't get ye. The nicest one was May, gave us Jonah, she did. He was a right cute kid. Came to us late at night. Ye should have heard the bleating comin' out of May, miss. Never would ye have thought such loud sounds could come from such a small little…"

"Just, just hold my hand, Tomlinson," Oria interrupted. Suddenly, she felt like someone lifted an anvil off her torso. Taking in a deep breath, her mouth twisting into a smirk at this newfound energy, she gave a push.

"Holy Virgin!" Mason screamed, jumping back. His head bobbed to and fro while he coughed. It reminded Oria of a cat struggling to rid itself of a hairball.

And then a screech.

"He's so bloody," Tomlinson gasped, bending down next to Mason.

"He?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," Mason said. "It's a boy."

A boy, she sighed, feeling the last few contractions of her labor. She let her head lean back, her eyelids heavy already. She saw the two men pick up the pink, wet creature and carry him off. Her boy would be in her arms soon enough.

"So," she heard a voice. "I steer ye to safety in the worst storm since the ancient gods ruled the seas and here you are sitting, probably poppin' candy while you're at it." But his face had a smile and his arm slid around her. She could lay her head down on his shoulder, a shoulder that smelled of the sea and was so cool from the elements, she could nearly feel her cheeks go from blood red to a tranquil pink.

"This is why the men should have the babies," she sighed. "Just think—the virile Captain John Teague waddling about his ship and spilling out a baby."

"Speaking of which, what have these nitwits done with our child?"

"Our son."

"Son?"

Almost on a cue, Mason and Tomlinson returned with a bundle tucked into Mason's arms. Oria locked eyes with the shimmering black ones peeking out of a blanket. Already black. She cocked her head in amazement. They were like two orbs of onyx stuck on his smooth pink face.

"His eyes are already brown."

"Brown? The pain of childbirth has ravaged your vision, my darling," Teague said. "Those are black if I've ever seen the color." His lips brushed her cheek. "I do love ye, ye know, more so now than ever."

"More than the day I told you we would have this?" She lifted the baby up to him.

"Ah. Well, this does rank up there. Just don't curse him with such a name as John. It does nothing for the imagination."

"Well, then you name him," she said. "You have to have some excitement after sailing through a short drizzle."

"Drizzle? Darling, you can't be serious." He could hardly suppress his grin. "Although I suppose you went through your own storm here." There was a pause. Those onyx eyes did a quick pan of the ship, mouth open in awe before it discovered its source of food for the next few months. The eyes closed, letting the mouth take over and take in some milk after a hard day's work of being born.

"Jackie."