Dead girl floating...adrift in open ocean, with nothing to cling to save a broad piece of floating driftwood that had once been a part of the ship she'd been aboard. That vessel had sunk several days ago. Sadly, this sliver of wood she clung to wasn't broad enough though for her lanky limbs and glistening torso. She'd surrendered her confining dress long ago, and was clothed only in knickers. A lone shark circled her, making her heart skip too many ragged beats. She was going to die, she thought, as more seawater filled her briny mouth. Her skin was shriveled. How many days did this one make since the barque she'd sailed on had gone down? Five days? Ten? Possibly fifteen? It was difficult for her to remember with any accuracy. She was cold, hungry and very waterlogged.

The thought of enduring another storm, coming out of nowhere mattered little now.

She was at death's door and unless some passing ship came along, she surely would die. That desperately hoped for ship needed to materialize soon, because in the next few moments, she would become shark food. She raised her head as high as she could manage, lifting her eyes to the cerulean blue skies and sighed her desperate plea.

"Oh, dear God...please, please. Save me. I sorely need a miracle."

Her accent, an exotic whisper, a cross between French and Spanish, hung heavily in the salty air.

"I'm not your faithful servant, although, I've tried to live my life as honorably as possible. Despite my failings." Her eyes dragged her down to the salt-sotted wood and the tears in her eyes mingled with seawater. She closed her eyes tight, murmuring. She prayed the shark wouldn't be the answer to her tearful prayer. Upon the breeze, she thought she heard...

"There, off the bow!"

It was a man's voice; the cry of an Englishman, or so she thought. She wasn't entirely sure if she'd truly heard that voice, or merely imagined its august sound. Until...that stalwart voice was joined by other raucous voices.

"It's a woman, Captain!"

The strident, agitated voices of the rabble swiftly drew nearer. With each breath, she hovered between gratitude and rabid fear as the sea pitched her back and forth. The shark, not fearing men, might decide to finish her off before they could get to her. The nearer the ship...a black-hulled vessel with dark, billowing sails, glided to her, the steadier, and more confident she became that they'd get to her in time. She closed her eyes, continuing to pray even more fervently, her breaths leaving her in puffs.

"Miss! Miss! Ahoy!"

She lifted up her head, alerting them that she wasn't carrion. There was still life in her clammy body that'd suffered countless shocks and strains, at the mercy of fickle tides and errant gales. Her teeth chattering, weakly, she spoke, "Yes. I'm alive. Thank God! You're here! Thank God! I'll never stop thanking him!"

She'd muttered those words, lacking enough breath from little energy and being dazed.

The ageless sea grew calmer...her salvation in the form of this ship sat upon the drink like a merciful beacon, filling her with hope as all hands, lined up at portside, craning their necks to get a good look at the beautiful survivor with her frilly underwear plastered to her lovely form and her light auburn glistening like opals in the stark light of day. They watched as the Pearl came alongside her splinter of timber and gawked, seeing the female Jonah press the palms of her hands into the Pearl's barnacled hull. All eyes nearly popped and quite a few of the crew gasped as they observed her level her mouth even with the side of the ship and she planted her lips on a less rough portion of hull to kiss the tried and true war brig.

Even Jack, surveying the curious goings-on with rapt attention was moved to exclaim, "Quick, fetch her up!" She'd kissed the Pearl! The daftest thing!" She's gone mad, I daresay. But, then again, who's to say one of us in her situation wouldn't do the same, eh?" He sped down the brace of steps from the poop deck, his eyes affixed to the winsome, gamely castaway. Soon to be relieved of that wretched condition as he lent a hand to haul her over the gunwale and onto the deck that had been exhaustively swabbed just a half hour ago.

Scrum, looking her over with an appreciative eye commented, "Aye. She's the worse for wear, but the sea didn't souse her. Master Gibbs, your eyes were never truer to spot her from such a ways off. And not even with a spyglass."

"Well done, Gibbs," Jack readily joined in praising and didn't hesitate offering the girl his coat. He hadn't given what he'd done a second thought as she covered herself up with his trusty garment. Thanking him with her eyes, she gratefully accepted his arm for support. Seeing his crew had the bedraggled girl hemmed in too close for her comfort, he stepped into their midst and was beside the partially-nude girl. Even in this pitiable state, she recognized immediately what her rescuers were.

Pirates, flashed through her befuddled brain. Dear Lord save her, again, from their deceitful, rapacious hands. She held herself and her tongue; her present circumstance dictating that she offer them her deepest gratitude. "Sirs, one and all, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for not leaving me in the sea to die. All I have is my indebtedness with which to repay you. I know, in this world, not...not much..." Her head swam, the faces around her seemed to gel before her eyes that stung and were growing cloudy. What she wished to say stalled on her tongue; she could only offer a trembling smile that took much effort. She raised her eyes to gaze at the swaggering fellow, with his magnetic eyes and teeth that glinted in the sunshine, who was colorfully clad. His tri-corn hat sat jauntily atop his head. Beneath his hat, a bandana sheathed his forehead and impressively long dreadlocks with beads, feathers and other unusual trinkets stuck in them.

He wore a ring on each of his fingers, she couldn't help but notice. His vest was cinched by a long red scarf; she saw it was silk. His breeches were dark and sort of baggy and disappeared into his worn, tall boots. The man's face, his eyes were so large, made that way by the smudged black liner shading them, drew her eyes. Each time their eyes met, she warmed that much more. His groomed moustache and goatee, along with braided beard, lent him memorable distinction. She'd often read about pirates and their ne'er-do-well exploits, but to be standing in the presence of one the likes of this dashing specimen, made thinking clearly that much harder.

Imbued with renewed vigor, she kindly submitted, "Might I have a bit of water? I've neither eaten, nor drunk fresh water in so long..."

"Immediately." Jack ordered Pike to get her some. "No worries," Jack said, then asked her what her name was. What the name of the ship she'd been on was. Candidly, he offered, "The sea isn't usually so kind, dear."

His questions seemed too difficult to handle by all the squinting and frowning she did. But, hearing him call her 'dear' made her blush. She was quite the toothsome sight when she did.

Before she had some of their water, she tried hard again to remember what her own name was at least. Failing, the girl looked even more done in, on the verge of spilling tears.

"Not to worry, dear. You'll remember soon enough," Jack comforted softly, marveling how even in her bedraggled state, how comely she was. How easy it was to set his eyes on her and couldn't take them off of her. He stared openly, several times already, forgetting what more he had to say to her, thoroughly engrossed in her face.

To her left, the big Jamaican, Pike, standing right on top of the rescued young miss, whispered close to her ear, "Drink a bit down, gyal. Will do ya more good than trying to think of what your name is." He winked at her by way of encouragement. "That's a good criss ting." He'd paid her a large compliment by the mere flick of his tongue. It was no exaggeration; the girl was breathtaking despite her wretched condition.

His presence and Jack's were comforting and the feminine stranger in their midst lacked adequate words to express how much she appreciated all that they'd done for her thus far. Before she could get her hands on the deeply scooped-out dipper that held the water, she swooned. She ached all over, now, more than when they'd first hauled her aboard. All at once, the sunlight became all too bright as it meshed shadings and colors together into a confusing mishmash. Reeling badly, the girl fell back against Pike as Jack's great coat fell away from her beautiful body.

All hands on deck gasped as one man. Jack stood mesmerized, the contrast of the girl's pinkish, alabaster skin against Pike's dark brown complexion held Jack spellbound. The Jamaican caught the girl as soon as she fainted dead away, and he felt he had to remark, "Where will ya have her, Captain?"

"Why, in my bed, of course," he fired back in a bark, making no secret of it that Pike take her to his quarters without further delay. He breathed in sharply and on Pike's heels said, "The poor dear needs robust looking after, which it's my duty to see to personally, being captain."

"Why, of course, Jack," Gibbs snidely rejoined, tossing Sparrow an impudent, wiseacre eye. "And you won't want to be disturbed, now would you?"

He threw the first mate's guff back in his face and retorted for the benefit of all his men, who made it obvious that they were thinking the same thing Gibbs was, "I want lots of food and rum brought to my cabin straight away. Savvy? As soon as she comes to, she needs to regain her strength. I'm taking charge of that personally." He chuckled, thrilled with the prospect of having her all to himself. He hoped that she wouldn't find him distasteful just because he was a pirate. She hadn't acted as though being rescued by them was a fate worse than death.

But, then again, females were known for their unpredictability. He certainly knew that. Every woman he'd ever known fit that mold.

"Of course you will, Captain," Gibbs mumbled, watching Jack go ahead off Pike, who toted the bonnie lass securely in his powerful arms. "Aye, Jack. You, and your wenches and your rum...that will never change, for as long as the seas have waves." The meaty-handed man clapped those calloused hands of his together and ordered the crew to get back to work. Shipboard labor never got done by itself. He stationed himself back at the boat wheel with a caressing wind tousling his hair and the pristine ocean before them as it beckoned the Pearl to navigate propitious currents that would carry them to At World's End.