A/N: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST!!! I just read a historical novel called Kingston by Starlight or something like that. It was about Anne Bonny, Calico Jack Rackham, and Mary Read. I hated it. Why? First off, it was gender confused. Read is in love with Bonny, Rackham had an affair with the governor of Jamaica, and Bonny is just confused. Second off, it was miserably tragic. Calico Jack got hung, Read died, and Rackham and Bonny's child was miscarried. Now, most of that is probably historically correct, but I don't like it, so I decided to write the story of Anne Bonny and Calico Jack Rackham the way I would like it. Oh….and Jack is Jack…if that makes any since. It shall all be explained in due time! Anyways, it's NOT Sparrabeth, but it does assume that Jack was VERY in love with Elizabeth once upon a time. If any of ye are great respecters of historical accuracy, ye shan't like this tale! I've changed it all to fit my likings.

DID YOU READ THE A/N? IF NOT, PLEASE GO BACK AND READ IT!!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that anyone else owns.

DID YOU READ THE A/N? IF NOT, PLEASE GO BACK AND READ IT!!

The ship skimming lightly over the water, following the galleon, had black sails. Unusual, and yet somehow wonderful. The sails were full, the wind was perfect, and the sailors aboard The Hispaniola were panicking. It was a small galleon, carrying a relatively small shipment of gold doubloons. The ship with black sails was gaining on them.

"It's The Revenge! We shan't be able to escape! No one ever does!"

"Aye, but Calico Jack don't hurt 'is victims. 'les they fight, 'course."

"But the Boss'll kill us fer losin' 'is gold!"

"Men! Calm down! Some of you go down and hide half of the gold in the hidden compartment. We shall hand over the other half and declare it all we have. That way we will have something to take back. The governor can hardly blame us for losing some. It's his fault there's still pirates in these waters anyway!"

The men calmed somewhat at their captain's assurances. They watched the approaching pirate vessel with wary eyes. There was excitement in their faces as well. They, a humble crew of mixed-racial sailors, were going to view the great Calico Jack Rackham, the uncatchable, unkillable Pirate Lord of the Caribbean! This man was said to have defeated the entire East India Trading Company and Davy Jones almost single-handedly! Almost eagerly, they watched as the ship ran up the famous black flag, bearing a skull and two crossed cutlasses. As the two ships drew closer, they scanned the deck of The Revenge excitedly, looking for a legend. All eyes stopped on the man at the wheel.

Of medium height, he wore an incredibly worn tri-corn hat, and a ragged old sea-coat. A rough white blouse was crossed by a brace of pistols, and a cutlass swung from a belt at his waist. His dreadlocked hair was decorated by an interesting assortment of trinkets. As he sent his men over onto the victim vessel, he came to the rail, and the curious sailors were able to get a better glimpse of his face. They were all surprised by two things; he looked young, and he looked miserable. He looked no older than thirty; but that was how old he had been when the EITC was defeated ten years ago. Therefore, he must be at least forty. He didn't look it. His eyes were dark and sad, like those of a lost puppy. They had always heard that he was constantly smiling and scheming, but there was no trace of joy on this man's face. Even his mustache seemed to droop miserably. As his men tied them up, the Spaniards felt a vague sense of disappointment. This legend; this Captain Calico John (Jack) Rackham Sparrow, was nothing but a miserable, drunken pirate. He crossed over to The Hispaniola, twirling a black die idly in one hand. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and lifeless.

"Alright men, I'll give you a sailor's choice: be marooned on the nearest spit o' land, or come join me crew. Which o' you wants the first?"

Five brave men, including the captain, agreed they would be marooned. With one shot each, it was possible they might be able to hunt up some food and stay alive for a couple of weeks, during which time they may be rescued. The other fifteen men on the small vessel decided to join the pirates. The Revenge was a somewhat larger vessel, and they had recently lost some crew members to an on-ship illness. Therefore the new men were welcomed, read the terms of their "employment", and asked to sign the articles. The first mate, a swarthy fellow by the name of Gibbs, saw to the new crewmen, instructed them on their watches, showed them where to sleep, told them mealtimes, etc. The captain disappeared into his cabin. After realizing they would not be returning to Port Royal anyway, the sailors told about the hidden compartment in there ship, and the rest of the gold was retrieved. The next morning, the captain came out on deck for roll-call, but it was Gibbs who did the calling.

"Right then! Each of ye state 'is name and place o' origin! One at a time lads! Just give the name ya want ta be called by. Ain't got ta be your real handle."

"Corgan. Born in Scotland."

"Pierre. France."

"Francois. France. Pierre's my brother."

"Keegan. Ireland."

"Read. England."

"Pete. England."

"Louis. France."

"Palo. Spain."

"Rocky. Jamaica."

"Kent. I was born at sea, and I live at sea."

"Pablo. Spain."

"Seadog Richards. I think me parents wer' fro' Portugal."

"Cooky. Was from Africa, till the slavers catched me."

"Catfish. Born on some island somewheres."

"Ginger-snap. England."

"Good. A good mixed lot. Now, 'ave any of ya's got a disability or sickness we ought ta know 'bout? No? Good. Alright then, off ta your jobs!"

Gibbs turned to his captain and sighed at the glazed look in the once happy and eager brown eyes. It had been like this for so long. What Gibbs wouldn't do to see Jack as he had once been! He had been a genius; calculating, clever, and witty. Trouble had never fazed him. Death itself had not fazed him! But there was one thing that could ruin Jack Sparrow, and it had. At first, he had seemed fine; he had chased down the man who stole his ship, marooned him, and renamed the ship in honor of having done to Hector Barbossa the same thing that Barbossa had done to him. Then, he had gotten Gibbs and his old crew together and taken off for the fabled Fountain of Youth. It was on that voyage that Gibbs noticed the change. Jack started drinking more, spending long hours in his cabin. He let Gibbs do all the navigating. He stared blankly into space for long hours at a time and only ate enough to keep himself standing. Weight dropped from his bones at a frightening speed. He stopped doing the little things that had made him dashing; polishing his boots and hat, things like that. He asked that the crew stop calling him Captain Sparrow, and instead took on his mother's last name, Rackham. They took to calling him Calico Jack, because he had so many different characters locked up in the body of one man.

Gibbs had thought that Jack would get over the woman who was known in the pirate world as Lei. The Chinese name meant Thunder. And Jack hadn't gotten over her. It had been just over ten years since Jack bid her goodbye, and Jack had never regained his previous joy for life. He drank ridiculous amounts and wondered around in a glazed state of half-inebriation. The amount of alcohol that Jack had consumed in the last ten years would have killed him if he had not drunk from the Fountain. Apparently, it not only preserved youth, but made one invincible. Gibbs would never forget he the night Jack got dead drunk, sobbed like a baby, then shot himself through the head before Gibbs could stop him. When nothing happened except a small hole which healed immediately, Jack began drinking more than ever before. Unable to die, and unable to enjoy life. Ironic how close Jack came to being what Barbossa and his crew had been all those years ago.

Now, Jack was little more than a walking skeleton; bone thin, dressed in ragged clothes, eyes glazed and vacant, rum bottle as constant as if it were a fifth limb. When he did speak, which was rare, it was only to give some necessary order. His voice has lost all life, taking on the same blank vacancy as his eyes. Gibbs had never heard of a man so heartbroken that ten years could not heal the wound at least somewhat, but that was what Jack was. Gibbs sighed again as Jack drank a fourth of the bottle in one long gulp, smashed the empty bottle on the deck, then staggered back into his cabin. Captain Jack Sparrow was dead, and all that was left was Calico Jack Rackham.