The Crow's Nest
Jack regained his consciousness, finding himself in a rowboat with Gibbs.
"Oh bugger." he murmured quietly.
"Oh, good, you're awake." Gibbs said cheerfully. "We're off to the witch's house." Jack sat up, frightened, as he heard this.
"No! No! Not good! I don't wanna see her again!" Jack shouted frantically, searching for a way to get off of the rowboat without falling into the apparently rather mucky river. He was trapped by his newfound squeamishness. "Oh bugger." he said again, slumping back on his seat.
"Jack, you're not afraid of her, are you?" Gibbs asked, teasing him. Jack shook his head, insulted.
"I most certainly am not!" he said, crossing his arms around his chest and cocking his head to take on the shape of a picturesque 'brave man'.
"Then act it." Gibbs scoffed. "We're almost there, anyway." Jack bit his lip and relaxed his arms as he heard this. He really didn't want to see that witch again. Not after the way she stared at him as he drank that rum. It was good rum, though, quite strong, seeing as his hangover had lasted for nearly a week. Jack jumped like a startled rabbit when the boat gently bumped against a small pier, and Jack scrambled out, running into the foliage. Gibbs sighed, rolling his eyes, and got up from the boat, tying it in place, and slowly walked in the direction Jack had gone.
Jack was sure he was about to get away when his ankle got caught in a root and his face had an unexpected introduction to the dirt, which Jack spat out, rubbing it off of his face. As if things couldn't get worse for him, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and hoist him onto a pair of shoulders. It was Gibbs.
"Let me go!" Jack screeched, flailing his arms and legs like an infuriated child. "I'm your captain and I command that you let me go this instant, Mr. Gibbs! NOW!"
"You're only captain of me when it pertains to our duties, Jack. And this is for your own damn good." Gibbs said calmly. Jack went limp and became submissive.
"I don't like that witch. The way she kept grinning at me while I drank that rum of hers was eerie...that was good rum, though...good, strong rum. Not watered down like at those sleazy taverns..." Jack was starting to ramble.
"What makes you think it was strong rum? Or, god forbid the likelihood, that it was even rum at all?" Gibbs asked.
"In reverse order: I know good rum when I taste it, and I can tell rum from any other drink out there...as for the other question, I've been having this hangover for nearly a week." Jack said with a brutally matter-of-fact tone. Gibbs scoffed.
"I know one of your hangovers when I see 'em, Jack. I've known you forever. This just doesn't seem like a hangover..." Gibbs said mysteriously. Jack gulped. Then gasped anxiously when he felt Gibbs come to a stop (Jack was draped over Gibbs' right shoulder in such a way that he could only see what lay behind the pair of them) and heard the eerily familiar creaking noise of an old door.
"Well hello, Captain Jack Sparrow..." a dry and slightly sinister voice crooned. Jack gulped again and slowly rolled over in Gibbs' grasp, finding no relief in what he saw. The witch was a tall, skeleton-like woman with papery skin and bony fingers, precisely as any witch would look. What was unnerving was the way she dressed, which was tattered elegance, whereas most witches would settle for filthy and ugly rags. "...it's so good to see you again..." she said, with no break in the scary tone of her voice. Jack was absolutely shivering, a jingling, rattling, cowardly nervous wreck.
"It's...lovely to see you again too..." he lied, stammering heavily(1).
"How are the two of you?" she asked. Jack leaned heavily on Gibbs for support. This woman scared him to distraction.
"Me, not so good, but old Gibbs here is-" Jack squeaked before the witch interrupted him.
"Not him. You and the other one." she hissed. Jack looked around, quivering.
"But Gibbs and I are the only ones here besides you...you live...all...alone..." Jack stammered. That irritating, knowing smile crept across the witch's lips.
"Come inside." she said, gesturing for the two of them to come in. Jack turned on his heel and tried to make a break for it, but Gibbs, getting used to this behavior quite quickly, had grabbed one of Jack's overly numerous belts. Jack sighed and slowly stepped inside.
The interior of this house was eccentric enough to rival that of Jack's friend, Tia Dama, who was also a witch of sorts. Bones littered the floor and beetles had apparently built an empire on the kitchen table.
"I don't believe I ever caught your name." Jack said, starting to gain courage as the mere exposure effect(2) kicked in. The witch turned her head, flicking her algae-green hair out of her eyes.
"Miranda." she hissed, sweeping the beetles off the table with her bare hand. "Sit down."
"Yes'm." Jack said, obeying. He knew this witch well, in spite of not having known her name for so long, and he knew well that to make her become cross could be potentially fatal. Gibbs hesitated.
"SIT DOWN!" Miranda shrieked. Gibbs practically threw himself into the chair at the command. Miranda lifted her bony, long-fingered hand, and gently lifted her hair out of her eyes, her mood having suddenly changed. Jack gulped as her mad, vampiric eyes in that piercing shade of blue fixed on him. "So...Jack..." she whispered gently, a motherly tone starting to creep into her voice. "...how are you feeling? Be honest, be brutal, I need to know if it worked."
"To be perfectly honest with you, ma'am, I'm downright terrified..." Jack gasped, Miranda's eyes starting to make him feel cold. Miranda looked away, and Jack sighed with relief.
"How about now?" she asked, her voice getting ever more caring and sweet. Jack didn't mind her when she was like this.
"Relieved." Jack said calmly.
"Now, in terms of your physical self, how are you feeling?" Miranda pressed, picking up a dagger and fiddling with it in a way that made Jack want to scream bloody murder.
"Ill." Jack said, unable to get much more than a single word out at a time. "Miranda..." he began. Miranda looked up from the dagger and the little holes in her fingertips.
"Yes, Jack, dear?" she acknowledged, cocking her head.
"Please...put...put down the knife...it's...making me...uncomfortable..." Jack said, twitching his hand in the direction of the table (upon which the beetles were starting to crawl again). Miranda stabbed it into the wood of the table with the calm collection of a prudish and stereotypical psychopath. Jack gagged as the bodily fluids of an unlucky beetle seeped onto the table.
"As we were saying...what kind of ill, Jack?" she said, prompting for everyone to get back to their conversation. Gibbs had long since been fiddling with the canteen in his hand.
"I've had a hangover for the past week and a half. I've had bad hangovers before, and this is no exception. I'm not worried. But old Gibbs here had to drag me to see you again cause he says he knows one of my hangovers when he sees it, and that this is different." Jack explained, resting his feet on the table. The movement made him feel slightly dizzy but otherwise was not problematic for him. Miranda thought about this, sweeping a few more pesky beetles off of the table as she did so.
"He has every reason to worry." Miranda said, pulling herself out of her chair and going into the other room. The sound of a few pots, bottles, plates, and goodness knows what else being rummaged through could be heard. "When was the last time you had any rum, Jack?"
"When I was here last, of course! I haven't needed to drink any ever since then, I feel far too tipsy...that was right good stuff you had." Jack said, grinning. The rummaging sound suddenly stopped. Not a good sign.
"I don't keep rum in my home." Miranda said, a hint of concern beginning to take control of her voice.
"'Course you do, I know rum when I taste it!" Jack protested. Miranda appeared in the doorway, hanging from the side of the frame.
"I don't keep rum in my home. I don't drink rum. I drink tonics of my own making. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't work." she explained, trying to get her point across.
"Is that why your hair's green, by any chance, girl?" Gibbs asked. Miranda shot him a warning look.
"Yes." She hissed. She turned back to Jack. "I don't drink rum, and I don't keep any in my home."
"But that was rum, I know it, I know rum when I taste it!" Jack insisted, sliding his feet off of the table and starting to flail his arms.
"That wasn't rum, Jack. That was a tonic." Miranda said, deciding that she wanted to be in this room and sitting down again.
"But it tasted like rum! It was unmistakable!" Jack shouted, getting scared.
"It was a tonic. And it was a fertility tonic." Miranda said, trying to calm Jack down.
"I don't see how that explains my condition!" Jack snarled, getting up. Miranda signaled that he should sit down again.
"Jack, please, calm down. You're having a sudden change in moods. It's normal. Sit down." she said quietly, getting up and grabbing Jack by the shoulders, then gently forcing him back into the chair. "Stay seated." she added, trying to calm Jack. After Jack had calmed down and closed his eyes, he opened them, about to ask a question:
"So what is wrong with me?"
"You're with child, Jack." Miranda said calmly, a bit of a grin flickering across her face.
"No I'm not." Jack said, looking up at her. The expression on his face made it seem more like a question.
"Yes, you are." Miranda verified, slowly backing away in case Jack had another mood swing.
"No I'm not!" Jack sobbed. Gibbs rolled his eyes.
"Jack, we just addressed the issue. The second step is facing facts. You are expecting a child. No two ways about it." Miranda insisted, still amazingly calm about all of this. Gibbs was beginning to question the sanity of everyone present, including himself.
"No, no, I'm not, I can't, there's no way it's possible..." Jack protested, tears starting to brim at his eyes.
"I just told you how...you drank that tonic, and it worked..." Miranda explained, putting her arm around Jack to try and comfort him. Jack curled up into an unreceptive ball at the human contact.
"You took advantage of my love for rum!" Jack snarled at her. Miranda jerked her arm away, as if Jack might bite her. In the mood he was in, he very well could.
"No, Jack, I didn't. You helped yourself to it and I tried to stop you but by the time I opened my mouth to speak, you'd downed the whole thing!" Miranda explained to him, edging away again. Jack lifted his head.
"Are you serious?" he asked. Miranda nodded and Jack groaned at his stupidity, uncurling at last. Gibbs, disturbed, was standing just inside the door to outside. Miranda and Jack were basically ignoring him, and Gibbs was glad to have an easy escape. He gingerly opened the door and stepped out.
"Jack, what you've gotten yourself into is difficult and could very well be dangerous..." Miranda said. Jack rubbed away the remainders of his bad mood off of his face.
"I don't care." he said. "This may very well be quite interesting."
"I think you should get back to your ship. Don't tell the crew anything unless you absolutely must. And if your good old friend Gibbs seems like he's going to tell anyone, slit his throat if need be." Miranda said, listing her recommendations to Jack. Jack nodded, listening intently.
"Anything else?" he asked. As he said this, he noticed a little spark in Miranda's eye.
"Ever since I was a little girl I've wanted to be a pirate." she said. Jack realized what she was getting at.
"Well, you'd be a good pirate, I suppose...you can work on the ship on one condition." Jack said, thinking hard.
"And that would be..."
"Get a better dress for seafaring. Men's clothes wouldn't flatter you at all, it should be a dress or nothing..." Jack paused at the grin this thought had triggered from Miranda. "I mean, you should wear a shift-like dress...of thick and sturdy fabric, savvy?"
"Aye." Miranda said, giggling at her use of pirate jargon. "You know, I'm not as old as you think." she added irrelevantly. Jack seemed confused. "Never mind." she said, shaking her head a little bit and heading into the other room to find a dress that fit Jack's description. Jack slumped his head on the table and sighed, ignoring the beetles that were starting to crawl all over him. This went on for 5 minutes (during which Jack had gotten annoyed by the beetles crawling on him and had started to brush them away) and Miranda reemerged, dressed to kill. Literally. She fiddled with the pistol in her hand and tucked it back into her belt.
"Off we go." she said, grinning and brushing a few beetles off of Jack.
(1)So much so that I couldn't stand to write it all out.
(2)The "Mere Exposure Effect" is a neurological thing, which, in a nutshell, causes people to feel more comfortable in a familiar environment, regardless of what's in it.