Title: A Sparrow's Flight

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all of its characters are property of Disney. The interpretation of Captain Jack Sparrow is property of Johnny Depp, god bless the man.

A/N: My first attempt at fan fiction, let alone PotC. Have fun with it kiddies, constructive criticism, plot suggestions, flames of hellfire. Whatever floats your boat; just give a hungry girl her feedback. It will be full of action and whatnot; this is just a bit of eye-candy to start off with.

The Early Bird Catches the Worm

The ship was close. Jack Sparrow stood on the dock, eyeing the vessel with a gaze that was equal parts dementia and calculation. His presence was the antithesis of the oiled rigging and polished brass buttons that surrounded him; even his stance, like a blade of grass curved beneath the pressure of wind, seemed to suck the sheen from the boots of the soldiers collected near the boats.

What was the phrase? The early bird. it started like that, he was certain. He was flamboyantly disheveled, like a peacock drowned in dirty water. A bony finger was propped against his lip, the remaining digits splayed over a defined chin. A quantity of rings glittered garishly, so many that it seemed he had no place to put them save his fingers, though the voluminous quality of his garments rendered the idea quite impossible. The early bird. bloody hell. The tanned brow furrowed.

He was plotting something. The change of expression was enough to solidify the suspicions housed permanently in the ambitious brain of the young lieutenant, who like all his comrades had been casting furtive glances at the man since he had sashayed onto the dock some ten minutes ago. Staring was for cabin boys, they were above such obvious displays of interest. They continued to bob their heads between their allotted posts and the man in an ill-fated attempt to remain officious. The young lieutenant nodded to himself and drew up his shoulders, moving briskly towards the felon he was about to catch in the act of planning his crime. His eyes were fixed on the profile, or rather the promotion that gleamed like a badge on the faded scarf the man had tied about the mess of matted black atop his head.

The bird catches something. What do birds catch? Quite a few things come to think of it, mice, snakes, rabbits other birds. Depends on the type of bird, really. The early bird catches the rabbit. Curses, that wasn't right. The lips frowned, the angle of the 'v' of his mustache becoming more acute. Jack Sparrow had all but forgotten where he was, the docks, the soldiers, and the sea giving way to circles of bunnies and mice and other animals victimized by birds hopping and skittering about his head.

"State your business!" The lieutenant's voice was what some might call authoritative, save a clumsy undertone of command without wisdom or experience. It was like being interrupted by someone who had tripped and used the nearest person to steady themselves, rather than the brisk, clean, tap of a military voice.

"Pardon?" Sparrow turned toward the officer with half of his body, a motion that gravity shouldn't have allowed. The eyebrows elevated slightly, the frown giving way to an expression of bleary surprise, like a drunk revived by a slap to the face.

The officer couldn't drag his eyes from the man's chin. The bejeweled hand dropped, revealing twin bunches of ornamented hair. They stayed militantly straight, defying the constant circular motion the man embodied. He had just begun to ponder what exactly could make them so rigid when the glint of the rapier sheathed at the man's side brought him back to his task. With a feeble clearing of his throat he resumed his discarded tone.

"State your business!" It was too forced; the officer was scrambling to retain the pride that was leaking away beneath the placid amusement of the man's gaze. He felt like he was attempting a foreign tongue and having a bad time of it.

"Are you going to be ill, mate?" Sparrow's eyes were doing all of the smiling, though the glint of gold that accompanied his speech seemed to suggest an offensive grin.

"Were you or were you not intending to steal that ship!" The lieutenant abandoned formality, flinging his pointer finger dramatically at the vessel bobbing near the dock. He felt tarred and feathered by the man's dark eyes, clutching at the last of his dignity by delivering the accusation he had planned to surprise with.

Ship? Sparrow swiveled again, and the officer fought the urge to reach out and steady him. Oh yes, that ship, that very pretty ship. The early bird catches the very pretty ship. That's how the phrase went, he was certain. It was well past early, but he was a bird, the ship was very pretty and he was going to catch it. He turned back to the officer, speaking in a way that was melodic in an intoxicated sense.

"Well, lad, steal isn't really the word I'd use. See I wasn't planning on stealing the ship. I was planning on-"

"Commandeering?"

This time Sparrow's turn was so violently inebriated that he nearly fell. He hadn't heard that voice for some five years or so, the measured cadence disguising an amusement revealed only to Jack. He squinted over the shoulder of the confused lieutenant, the dark luminescence of his eyes disappearing, lashes blending with the years of charcoal collected on his lids.

Will Turner smiled. "I'll take care of this one." He nodded dismissively to the lieutenant, who gave him a look of bewildered deflation before skulking back to his comrades in an absurd imitation of a disciplined march. The blacksmith turned back to the pirate, who he knew was shocked despite the scant change in expression.

"Captain Jack Sparrow. It's been far too long."