A/N: A oneshot. These things happen.

The Cat and the Captain

Quite nothing was going on. Aboard the ship an unusual silence had fallen; the crew was half asleep, even the watch. On a clear night like this, they could see for miles, and no one would be able to catch them up before dawn. They weren't being followed by anyone; there weren't any more prices on their heads than normal; the maggots had been knived from the bread, the bread dipped repeatedly into the ale, and all was a pleasantly drunken stupor. If any civilians had wondered what pirates did in their time off, and come to investigate, they would have been seriously disappointed.

"Bounty hunters," muttered Ana sleepily, and Tommel glanced over at her.

"Yer insane," he said, and resumed snoring.

She arose and blinked, rubbing at her eyes and yawning simultaneously. "I had a dream we were attacked by a small boat with big guns."

"Yer insane," reiterated Tommel, and turned over on his other side, away from her.

"They didn't come for treasure," said Ana, almost to herself, staring blankly at the deck in front of her. She knelt and lay down on her stomach, caressing the wood with her calloused fingers. "Well, not real treasure anyway; not all treasure is silver and gold. They came for something else, with laces and hints of gold."

"Summat with laces?" muttered Tommel, slightly more interested and aware at this prospect. "There's a lass aboard?"

"I'm a lass, ye dolt."

"Nah, I mean a real lass."

"I'll turn ye inter one if ye like," Ana threatened absentmindedly, still stirring the wood with her fingers, following the grain. "D'ye think we could be kidnapped, off this very ship? All of us? All at once? By a small boat? With big guns?"

There was a contemplative, drunken silence.

"Yer insane," said Tommel, and went back to sleep. Ana laid her head down on the deck and reveled in the cold driftwood feel of the ship beneath her. So what if her captain loved his ship; she loved it more, she was sure. And she could take care of it, and wouldn't lose it to a new pirate every week like he did, and… gentle snores interrupted her thoughts, and she was vastly surprised to realize they were her own.

Somewhere behind them, a small boat, minus big guns, knocked gently against the hull of the Black Pearl. A small figure (also minus big guns) was attempting to scale the wood, and having a tough time of it.

Deep inside the small captain's cabin (which was nicely decorated using the old style, and teal accents at the corners, and an antique writing table with fluted legs that Jack had, surreptitiously, bought and, also surreptitiously, snuck on board when no one was watching, though a few passersby wondered at the spectacle of the vastly and angularly fat pirate weaving his way through an invisible crowd), the captain himself sat awake. He wasn't, in his own way, thinking of anything in particular; rather, his thoughts were an accumulation of emotions and ideas, run through with a bitter curiousity about the real and honest nature of turnips, because somewhere along the way his mind had just gone twisted. He found it impossible to speak seriously about serious things, and impossible to take lightly the issues of whether to drink a bottle of rum with supper, or two bottles. He did enjoy his rum, of course, but he very rarely got endrunkened from it. Endrunkened was of course not a word, he thought, perhaps endrunkenated? Such thoughts were silly, and he enjoyed them richly. He was also having a staring contest with his cat.

The ship heaved itself gently back and forth in a seaborne lullaby. The man and the cat should have followed with it. But their own natural, inborn sway carried on an inverse parallel to that of the ship, and they sat, as a result, upright and stock still. Nature, reasoned Jack Sparrow absentmindedly, had a way of evening these things out. He also mused on the dual nature of reality, or perhaps the real nature of duality, but this was irrelevant.

They sat and stared, as they had done and been doing for the past… what was it? A long time. Neither was willing to give up the battle of gazes. A number of small skirmishes were fought along the way, with the captain trying to distract the cat, pulling faces and pretending to pick his nose. He discovered, in this way, that his finger, though rather small for a man and a bit delicate, would not actually fit into his nostril, which was apparently even more small and delicate, and was a little bothered by this. He wondered if it meant he had some sort of disease.

Quite unexpectedly, something happened. The door to the cabin burst open, letting in a whirlwind of a dizzy figure, who turned about immediately and closed the door as quietly as possible.

"Jack!" called the figure in a hoarse whisper.

"Shhhh," said Jack.

The figure stood in dumbfounded silence, for which Jack loudly and appreciatively thanked it.

"But Jack…"

"Hush now."

There was one of those pauses that you find in your cereal boxes, just before you are asked to send the box top away to help fight cancer. The curious mind will wonder how, exactly, the tops manage to do such a thing. The imaginative mind will be filled with ungainly images of sword-wielding rectangles of cardboard.

"Jack," said the figure, and to its credit, it was hushed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm 'aving," said Jack, eyes narrowing slightly, "a staring contest with such beast as ye see before me. Not t' confuse ye, said beast is th' one just here, staring at me."

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Three hours or so," said Jack absentmindedly, "but methinks 'e's beginnin' to weaken a li'l."

The figure was an impatient figure, it seemed, for it advanced forward, swaying as though unaccustomed to walking on a ship, and clapped its hand over Jack's eyes. Jack was up at once.

"That wasn't a blink!" he said fiercely, to the cat. "I didn't blink! It's a draw, y'see?"

The cat sighed slightly, leapt down off the antique writing table, and meandered its way to the bed, where it took up a masterly position on the pillow, shedding hairs with wild abandon. Jack sneezed, and the figure removed its hand from off his face and frowned at it.

"That's disgusting," observed the figure, and wiped its hand off on Jack's sleeve, an action of which Jack took no notice, because he was too busy staring in obvious delight at it. Not the hand. The figure.

"'Lizbeth!"

"Its lovely to see you again, Jack," said Miss Swann, and smiled tightly, because that's how she was brought up. Always, even if you've gone searching for three weeks for a dirty pirate and expressly on purpose climbed a boat to put yourself in his presence, always act as though he's made an imposition and called on you at an inopportune time.

"'Lizbeth!" said Jack again, because he was greatly surprised to see her. His eyebrows arched beneath the bandanna that covered half his forehead, and he grinned a golden grin. "What are ye doing here, lass? How in God's name did ye reach here, anyhow, we're three weeks off from land an' the crew were supposed t' be on watch?"

"They're all asleep," said Miss Swann, and then, urgently, "No, don't wake them up, Jack! I came at night on purpose."

Jack took his hand from the door and turned to her, eyes narrowing as his elegant and slightly-too-small nostrils flared. "What purpose is that, luv?"

"Well," began Miss Swann, "it's a bit hard to explain, I must say. I have to tell you though that I will do my best, I will honestly try. You see…" she paused and took a deep breath. "When you left last, of course, I was about to become engaged."

"Ye were snogging Will," filled in Jack with a grin.

"I was about to become engaged," said Miss Swann.

"Ye were snogging 'im."

"I say I was about to become engaged to a man who, while fine and handsome and honorable…"

"Tongue and all," observed Jack with a wink.

"Hush, you horrible pirate!" said Miss Swann.

"Did you 'ave something t' say t' me?" asked Jack mildly.

"Fine and handsome and honorable and quite, quite boring, Jack, he just bored me to tears." She sniffed, in order to demonstrate, and wiped affectedly at her eye. Jack advanced on her with concern.

"Ahh now luv, I hate t' see a woman cry…"

She looked up at him, her eyes moist, and their gazes met. Jack reached out to grasp her shoulder, petting tenderly at the fabric and the skin somewhere below.

"So come on then," he said lovingly, "out of my cabin if yer going t' be snotting all over me possessions."

Miss Swann arched her eyebrows at him. "I did come here for a true purpose, Jack."

"And what'd that be, Lizbeth?"

The pistol that pressed to his throat the next moment was a good indication of what, exactly, said purpose was. He swallowed, but with difficulty.

"Ah," he said. "I see." Then he thought about it, and amended, "No, I don't bloody see, what's this all about, Lizbeth? What've I ever done t' ye t' make ye come after me like this?"

"You've been," she said through her teeth, pushing close to him and enunciating clearly into his face, "dead. Sexy. And sometimes, dead while sexy. Lets go. I'm kidnapping you."

Jack would have gaped, had his mouth not been otherwise occupied at the moment. When she let him go, he said wonderingly, "What on earth…"

"I love you, Jack," she said, simply. "I honestly do. Somehow, your drunken swerving and your blackened eyes just complete me."

Jack looked slightly embarrassed.

"I didn't know ye were partial," he said, as she nudged him from the cabin and walked him, hands around his waist and the gun still pressed to his neck, to the back of the ship. "But me ship…"

"Will be adequately taken care of by someone, I am sure," said Miss Swann firmly. "And in the event that you accede to my demands, which are many, I will return you to it, in good time. If, that is, your first mate hasn't taken off with it."

Jack tried to voice a complaint at this tactless callousness, but she overrode it with a strident command to begin climbing down the ship, and eventually he shut up and did as he was told. Secretly, he plotted revenge. Reaching the dinghy pulled up beneath him, he settled himself back, making himself comfortable and looking up at the white-clad figure of Miss Swann, who climbed awkwardly down behind him, still trying to threaten him with the gun but much more in danger of shooting herself in the foot. Revenge would clearly involve some sort of punishment, of course, but as to whether it would be marooning on an island somewhere or merely spanking repeatedly he couldn't make up his mind. Halfway between amused and infuriated and tending towards amused, he watched the young woman arrive, breathless and troubled, and tumble into a seat beside him.

Thoughtfully, he reached for the gun, removed it from her nerveless grasp, and tossed it overboard, where it made a quiet splash.

"Well," he said, "lets go."

The tight little well-bred smile was soon tickled into a broad grin as his grimy fingers traced graceful patterns on her neck, but he simply kissed her throat carefully and settled back once again.

She stared at him, and he stared back. Then, together, they stared at the oars.

"Look," he said, "yer the one doin' the kidnapping, missy."

Anamaria woke early the next morning with an inexplicable sense of loss. She soon discovered that the number of men onboard was downed by one, and, also, that the cat had taken over captaining the ship.

He had a long life and did a wonderful job, but he never could get that bloody hat to fit.