Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing this. Sorry.

AN (3/26): Lucky you. I've finally decided to put this story up. This is about what happened during those ten Pearl-less years Jack had. And its not going to make much sense for a while. There's going to be all sorts of flashbacks. In fact, I plan on having half of each chapter except for this one with flashbacks.

I hope you enjoy the prologue. I don't really like it...which is why it took me so long to decide to put this up on Shame on me. Anyway, please read and leave me a review. I like reviews. And I give out cookies to reviewers. Maybe Easter candy this time, though, since tomorrow is Easter. Don't you want a lovely chocolate bunny?

Prologue: Cognac

It was a noisy tavern. Brawls over women and ale made the atmosphere one of almost organized chaos as blows were exchanged and egos bruised. There was so much to see going on, actually, it was quite hard for anyone to concentrate. Especially if they'd never been in a tavern before. Of course, everyone had been in a tavern before unless they were filthy rich because taverns were the only place to gather new information. Newspapers were unreliable, not circulated, and not many could read them anyway. It was only natural that one of the best places to drink was one of the best places to spread the word of change or scandal or whatever.

There were two men sitting at a table in the tavern. They appeared to be companions of some sort, for they were speaking to each other on occasion and laughing about something every once in a while. One of the easiest places to find a new friend was taverns...of course, they'd known each other longer than that. "You really think that, eh?" one of the men questioned with an almost amused expression dancing in his dark brown kohl-lined eyes. His companion nodded slightly, completely comfortable with talking to a man that wore women's make up. That alone indicated they'd known each other for at least a week. Who could expect a man like Jack Sparrow to be normal, though? The kohl had distracted his companion at their first meeting...but he had inevitably gotten used to it and the trinkets littered in the infamous man's dark hair. He'd made quite the name for himself in the Mediterranean over the past two years. Rumors of his various excursions (one, apparently, with an African princess) with women and his daring exploits were all the rage to discuss in taverns across the vast internal sea's numerous ports. Especially in this tavern, since he was actually physically there. "Tha's interesting." Jack smirked lightly at his companion and prodded his shoulder with a finger wearing a silver ring with a green gem peering out at the world. "I really do think the wench is interested in ye, however. Why don' you at least say 'ello t' her?"

His companion suddenly looked quite pale as he glanced down at the mug of ale in his hands. Obviously he didn't mind telling Jack to go after another "conquest"...but how was he supposed to go talk to Aphrodite? It was like telling a newborn to walk, really, and getting mad at them when they merely cried. It was also quite hypocritical of him. But he could be a hypocrite. Everyone is at one time or another. "No thanks, Jack," he muttered almost darkly before taking a quick swill of ale. "She's more yer type."

"Now, mate, tha's where yer all wrong," Jack replied, glancing from his companion to the vision of beauty standing next to a table about fifteen feet away. She was a goddess, especially to eyes clouding over with the thrall of alcohol. Her hair was red like fire and pulled back to keep it off her tempting face and full lips. The woman's very voluptuous body was covered in an almost skin-tight blue number that showed all the right places off handsomely. Her milky white bosom contrasted rather sharply with the blue, as every man in the tavern had already noted. When she noticed Jack's eyes on her, she smiled temptingly, motioning her over with her tempting sapphire eyes. She was obviously in the mood for a companion tonight. However, Jack slowly shook his head and motioned towards his companion with his eyes. She didn't look away in disgust-always a good sign-and motioned for his companion to head over, though there was just the faintest hint of dismay visible in those eyes of hers as Jack glanced back at his slightly drunk companion. "She's no' me type at all. I prefer blondes." Well, that was quite a fallacy. Jack really had no preference with willing women. As long as they had mostly straight teeth and at least one alluring quality, Jack was more than willing to increase his reputation as a ladies' man for their sake. What woman could resist the devilish good looks and silky voice of Jack Sparrow when he was in the mood for a soft and willing companion for the night?

The man stared at Jack dumbly for moment and then sighed. His face was contorted in an awkward way as he tried to muster that hard earned courage necessary to go and talk to something so perfect and apparently refined. Now, Jack's companion wasn't entirely unattractive and out of the fiery strumpet's league. He had rather enchanting blue eyes that could captivate any but the most cruel women for hours on end. Of course, first he had to learn how to look at them in the eyes. His dark wavy locks were short and suited his oval face quite nicely. Obviously a working man, he had a tan face and almost permanent furrows from hard manual labor and thought (they were much more prominent at the moment because of the look of uncertainty and fear he was trying to conceal from Jack) and had calloused, strong hands. Fairly tall, he had yet to start filling out after his rapid growth sprouts from his tender teenaged years.

It was difficult to say who was older, Jack or the other gentleman. Jack had timeless good looks. He was the sort of man that could pass for age 20 at age 40 and had definitely been able to pass as age 40 at 20 (not that he'd wanted to). It was a good thing because it helped him seem just that much more unbelievable and helped people swallow his slightly embellished tales of his illustrious past like honey. How could a man with a definitive age actually escape from seven agents of the British East India Company, after all? His companion seemed to be in his early twenties, even though he did almost have permanent furrows on his brow. Age would not be kind to his companion...but he was in the prime of his life now. "Jus' go," Jack said, frowning slightly. "Carpe Diem."

His companion gulped slightly until Jack prodded him a bit harder on the shoulder. "All righ'. Bu' ye 'ave t' buy me a drink if she turns me down," the man muttered darkly, shakily standing up and weaving his way towards where the redhead stood. She seemed almost bored until he started talking to her.

Wow. It had worked. Jack grinned smugly to himself as his companion took a seat next to the vicarious redhead. "Some people," he sighed to himself, chuckling, "never learn. Obviously 'e's not some people." Content, he leaned his chair back against the wooden wall of the tavern and sat musing for a long while. Thoughts could be a lot more interesting than drunken conversations, after all. Though...those were funny. Jack figured he ought to keep his drunken musings to himself, though. The more people knew about him, the less mysterious he was. The less mysterious he was...well, people would ask him about his past.

He did not want to go there. Ever again. It had taken him five years to work up the courage to resume his piratical career after he'd been abandoned on that godforsaken spit of land. Even then, he'd had to have a fresh start on the other side of the world. Who needed the Caribbean, anyway? There...well, he had a very high chance of running into his former first mate. That would not be pretty. Jack liked to avoid conflicts at all costs, you see...

"Bonjour, monsieur," a seductive voice said dreamily as a pretty little number slipped into the now cold seat that had been vacated by the no-longer-nervous friend of Jack's. "Ça va?"

Jack smiled as he stopped his mind from wandering and glanced at the young lass. She was rather pretty, especially since she could speak in the language of love. Of course, they were visiting France at the moment. Captain Harvey had been sailing along the Mediterranean coast of France and Spain for the past few weeks...it was only reasonable that they stop here at least once. So, it made almost perfect sense that the woman sitting across from him could speak flawless French. Since Jack could speak the language admirably well, he could converse with her in her native tongue. Lovely. "Ça va bien...et tu?"

She smiled lightly and brushed a strand of her golden locks behind her ear. "I'm fine, Captain."

Jack's heart paused for a horrifying moment. How in the world did she know he was a captain? He surely hadn't told anyone over here...no. The memories he'd gotten from that island were much too harsh for him to lightly toss around the title captain. He'd been deposed, after all. Clearly he wasn't meant to be a captain. He couldn't argue with an evil man like Hector Barbossa. Word from the Caribbean said that the Black Pearl was a menace in the normally playful waters. Everyone was afraid to see those black sails Jack had loved so dearly...

That seemed like ages ago. "What?" he asked sharply, nearly knocking his drink off the small table. It was ages ago. No one should know that. He didn't even want to be reminded of the fact that being a captain wasn't for him.

She grinned mischievously. "I'm fine, Captain Sparrow." There was a seductive accent on the word Captain, there. Maybe she was from the Caribbean. But how did she speak French with such accuracy? They were conversing in that euphonic language, actually. Maybe she was from one of the French colonies in the Caribbean, but her accent was much too French for that to be the case. Moving away from the mother country tends to pollute the language into something else. Case in point, the general accent in a town like Nassau. Only the stuffy aristocracy spoke with a real English accent. The rest of the populace had a mishmash of different cultures influencing how they spoke and so didn't really have an accent that belonged anywhere but their little island.

"How do you know my name?" Jack asked softly this time, glancing anxiously from side to side to make sure that no one was listening.

"Everyone knows your name, Captain," she replied, a light smirk gracing her rather attractive features as she grabbed his mug of alcohol and took a quick drink. "At least, everyone who is anyone."

Jack smiled slightly as she began laughing at her odd little joke. This was seriously worrying him. No one was supposed to know who he really was...Captain Jack Sparrow did not exist any longer. He'd died on that godforsaken spit of land seven years ago. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence, Captain," she replied softly. "Now, drink up, my sweet. It'll all be explained in due time." She smirked seductively and handed Jack a bottle of cognac. Which was very weird. Why would a woman who was probably a strumpet be carrying around a bottle of cognac? Especially when she was in a tavern and they didn't even serve something so fine here...

Jack smiled reflexively and slowly opened the bottle. If she was going to explain everything if he drank this, he'd probably even go through the hassle of drinking soap that had yet to solidify. Jack was dreadfully curious as to what this was all about. Upon her urging, he took a deep swill of the fine and expensive liquor. As he set the bottle of cognac back down, Jack felt the room start to spin as the sights and sounds and smells meshed together in a very unpleasant way...and then everything went black.