A/N: The challenge for this fic was what took place during the time of the mutiny aboard the Black Pearl. The usual disclaimer applies, wherein I own nothing and Disney does.

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Jack ran his hand tenderly over the wood paneling that made up the wall of the cabin. There was no wry smile or amused look on the captain's face as he did so. There was only a look of loss. Too late had he learned what Barbossa had been up to and there was no way to turn back now. Out in the middle of the ocean, there was only one escape, and that provided a good an ending as the one he was about to receive.

Jack, I heard the two of 'em today. At first, I thought they were talking about something as childish as a prank, but then…Jack, they're going to maroon you. You have to kill Barbossa, he's at the head of this. If you kill him, then they'll know you're bloody serious about this ship and her crew, enough to put down a mutiny. Don't think it over, Jack. Just do it.

He hadn't. Barbossa had betrayed him and he refused to kill the man in cold blood. But there was something else; some thought that had yet to reveal itself. There was a greater purpose to this event that would later appear. Jack rose to his feet and returned to the seat at the head of the table. He grabbed an apple before he sat down, placing one leg up on the table. Relaxed and easy.

It wasn't long before they broke down the door, calling for his blood. They expected him to fight back, but he went without a hand on him. The crew that had once been his parted like the Red Sea before Moses when he strode out. The numerous lamps and torches bathed him in a golden light, illuminating him in the darkness of the night. He didn't break stride, walking down the gauntlet that they had created. Not a man reached out to touch him or do injury. By code, mutiny was dastardly enough on its own without the added shame of being beaten or mocked. They simply followed him with their eyes.

Some seemed quite glad to be rid of him, small smiles on their faces, knowing and cocky as all hell. Jack resisted the urge to stare at them as he went by, to memorize the faces that smirked at him for a later time. Instead he stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the plank. Some of the faces he caught a glimpse of peripherally were neutral. They would give nothing away for fear of being called a sympathizer and forced to join Jack on the island as well. The very few that were left looked displease with the crew's treatment of Jack. Years later, when Jack fought to regain his beloved ship, he would notice that he never saw those faces among the cursed crew. They had sympathized with him and had paid dearly with their lives.

The last man to his right was the only one who could not, would not look up, to see Jack's long walk. He held his torch out to illuminate the way, but his head was down, eyes closed. Jack knew quite well that he only held himself still at Jack's command. Otherwise the fool would be likely to take on the entirety of the traitorous crew on his own. In the flickering light of the torch, his knuckles were white as he gripped the wooden handle. He prayed that his heart would not win out over his head. When the time came, Jack would need his help.

He came to a stop at the end of the gauntlet, standing before his first mate, head held high. Barbossa stared back at him for a long moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Jack…"

"No, you're not." Jack interrupted. "Please drop what formalities you think still exist and get this over with."

"We didn't want you as our captain anymore, Jack. To that effect, I sentence you to mutiny." He held out the pistol, loaded with the customary one shot, as if he thought Jack would ever need make use of it on that island.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jack asked, smiling calmly, as he took the pistol and stuck it in his belt. He lowered his voice as he spoke the next. "I bet it was harder to convince the men of your lies."

The smile on Barbossa's face faded slightly and he grabbed Jack's arm, pushing him towards the plank. Jack stumbled at the sudden movement, steadying himself by the rail on either side of the plank. He looked out over the stretch of open water, eyeing the great black shape in the distance, most likely the island he would make his new home. He held himself straighter, but his right hand never left the rail. Instead he squeezed tighter, fingernails making small indents on the underside of the wood.

"I'll be back for you, love." He whispered to the night air. "Just wait for me." He turned on the plank to gaze at Barbossa and those who had betrayed him.

"Your deed this night will come back to you, as mine have tonight." He announced loudly. "But know this. I pay for them this night as well. Yours are still carrying a debt." With that, he turned and dove off the plank before he could be pushed off.

He carried some certainty with him as he swam away from the Pearl. Some feeling within him that said he would not lose the Pearl for good, nor would he use that pistol on himself. It was that feeling that tempered his anger at the betrayal that bade him to wait for the right time to attack, when he would stand a better chance of survival. Much better than being one against seventy. No, make that two or three against seventy at the least. There were still a few loyal to him.

Jack climbed up on the shore and turned back to the ocean, wind blowing the hair back from his face. There, framed by what little of the moon there was that night was the Pearl, black sails flapping in the wind. There was an ache of loss as he gazed at the sight, at his ship.

And that she would be again one day.