Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, none of Pirates of the Caribbean is mine. I only borrowed the concept and characters to have fun (but gain no profit) writing this story, which is mine.

Archive: If you're not FanFiction.Net, then please ask first via submitting a review (leave your email address & I'll get back to you - and most probably say "Aye!").

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Author's Note: This is a sequel set right after my story 'Marooned'. It would help if you've read 'Marooned' first, as then you'll know exactly what Jack has just been through.

However, I'm hoping this fic will just about stand alone. Nonetheless, to recap -

What happened in 'Marooned':

About a month after the events of 'The Curse Of The Black Pearl' a fierce storm threw Captain Jack Sparrow overboard. Stranded on an all too familiar "godforsaken spit of land", the injured pirate captain spent the night with only haunting memories and nightmarish hallucinations for company. Anamaria and Gibbs found him in the morning, burning up with fever. Jack's temperature was dangerously high for a while, but eventually it dropped and the worst was over.

Or is it? The infamous pirate may be healing physically, yet what kind of state is his mind in?

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Pirates of the Caribbean:

Trust

by

Starzangel

***

Part One: Phantoms of the Mind

In the mist somewhere between waking and sleeping, Captain Jack Sparrow heard shouts from the Black Pearl's top deck. He couldn't tell what his crew was yelling about, but he could just make out the closer tense voices outside his shut cabin door.

"Bring the ship hard t'port, now!" Anamaria's voice ordered, sharply.

"Should I inform the cap'n, ma'am?" a male voice asked.

"No!" she replied, furiously. "You fool! Get back on deck!"

Both their voices left with their hasty footsteps. . .

.

The air was thick with chill and fog that slowly soaked into Jack's shirt, as he stood on the Black Pearl's plank. Behind him the foreboding dark shadow that was Isla de Muerte loomed. In front of him above the heads of the crew, the dim morning sun was kept back and smothered by the heavy layers of cloud. Cold black waves churned below the narrow board of wood under his feet.

"I really had hoped we were past all this," Jack said, facing his mutinous first mate.

"Jack, Jack," Barbossa jeered, wrapping a mock-friendly arm around Jack's shoulders and turning him to face the dark, rocky island. "Did ya not notice? That be the same little island we made you governor of on our last little trip."

"I had noticed." Jack winced at the sight.

Suddenly, a lone but loud voice spoke up, "This isn't right."

Jack turned carefully in his precarious position to see Will Turner stepping forward.

"I'll deal with ye later, whelp!" Barbossa spat, glowering at Bootstrap Bill's son.

"It's not by the Code!" Will protested, but the men dragged him back and gagged him.

The mutinous first mate turned to Jack and her grin slid back into place.

"Perhaps you'll be able to conjure up another miraculous escape. But I doubt it," Anamaria said, raising her sword to his throat. "Off you go now, Jack. Take a swim."

"Last time you left me a pistol with one shot."

"By the powers, you're right." Anamaria lowered her blade. "Where be Jack's pistol? Bring it forward."

Gibbs broke out of the gathered crowd of crewmen and handed her Jack's effects. Anamaria smiled cruelly as she cocked the pistol and raised it, aiming between Jack's eyes.

Jack fought against the tight bonds around his wrists, causing the rough rope to dig further into his flesh. Dizzying waves of panic rose within him and widened his eyes, as he stared past the gun barrel and into Anamaria's emotionless dark eyes.

The pistol's trigger clicked. . .

.

"Jack. . . ?"

Captain Jack Sparrow's dark-brown eyes opened, slowly dropping the last vestiges of sleep. There was someone leaning over him. . .

Anamaria!

His pupils sharply dilated and he half sat up, bolting backwards and whacking his already sore head against the ornate headboard. The little colour he'd had, drained from his face and he stared at his first mate with something akin to terror.

"J-Jack?" Anamaria cautiously moved forward again, having jumped backwards in shock. "Jack, it's ok. You were dreaming. It's me, Jack. It's Anamaria."

Concern filled the female pirate's face. She dreaded to think what he had endured while stranded on that island. His belongings had been scattered all over it, indicating that he hadn't found shelter and stayed put. When they had found him in the morning, he had been in the throngs of a raging fever with a bleeding gash on his forehead.

Jack Sparrow must have taken a step into Hell that night.

"Sorry." he muttered, relaxing and gradually gaining control of himself.

She reached forward to press a hand against his forehead and he unintentionally flinched at her touch.

"You're a little hot . . ." she said, worriedly. "Do you feel feverish?"

"Maybe. . ." he replied, vaguely, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. "What time is it?"

"Just after midday."

"Are we still on course?" His eyes were fixed on her face and his expression unreadable.

"Yes," Anamaria assured him. "We haven't altered course since we picked you up from that island yesterday morning."

"You're lying," he said, softly.

"What?!" Anamaria sharply moved back, staring at him with astonishment and outrage.

"I heard you order the ship hard to port," Jack told her, his words carved from bitter ice.

"Only to avoid passing another ship!" she cried, her hands on her hips. "I hardly thought it right to go looking for trouble without my captain on deck."

"I couldn't have stopped you. . ." was the weak mutter from the pirate captain, as his head slid back down to his pillow.

"Jack, what's got into you?" Anamaria asked, concerned, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "What's wrong?"

"On the island. . ." Beads of sweat broke out on Jack's brow, catching fragments of the sunlight that drifted towards the darker side of the cabin where he lay. "I saw. . ."

"What did you see on that island, Jack?" Anamaria pressed, gently but urgently.

"Barbossa. . ."

"Barbossa's dead," she pointed out, quietly.

"I know. That's what Will said. . ." Jack's ashen features contorted with mental pain and his knuckles bleached as he clutched the bed's sheets in his fists. "Oh God! He thought I killed her!"

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Elizabeth," he rasped in reply, his voice strained by his distress and the heat rising in his body. "I. . . she. . . None of it was real, I know, but it seemed so real. . .I didn't know. . ."

"You were dreaming? Hallucinating?" Anamaria frowned, trying to piece everything together.

Jack nodded, dazedly. "Barbossa. . .Barbossa, he said you. . .you wouldn't come! He, he. . . mutiny. . . wouldn't come!"

"Easy, Jack, easy. It's ok," Anamaria soothed, wiping a damp cloth over his forehead. "I did come for you. I will always return for you, Jack, always."

His soulful eyes desperately searched her face, fighting to keep back the fever.

She took hold of his hand. "Do you remember when we first met? Jack, ten years ago, do you remember?"

"Aye. . ." His weak fingers gently squeezed hers.

To be continued. . .

AN 2: Ah, it feels good to be back to angst after my little break. And, oh, I've sure jumped back into the thick of it, eh? Hehe! I hope you've enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it!