Disclaimer: I hope thee who want to sue me can read French: Je ne possède pas des Pirates des Caraïbes! If not… well, it's not that hard to understand.

A/N: See, I was right! If you've seen the final instalment of the P trilogy, you'd know what I mean when I say that I knew that music box was worth more than DMC let on. Who's good, who's good? – victory dance –

Commandeer the Stowaway

The floating motions from bobbing with the swollen waves brought me around peacefully and slowly. We were three rough, wooden long boats rafted together and floating in the middle of the ocean once more. Yet this time, it was voluntary. Nothing is worse than being stuck on the Flying Dutchman with the devil breathing down your neck, a whip cracking at your back and the ship's own personal storm cloud that permanently follows it around raining heavy sheets of water every second of every day. Having escaped this fate and now floating meaninglessly on the bright aquamarine blue water of the Caribbean was a relief to every head on the bumpy boats around me.

I looked bemusedly around myself, having the feeling that one gets upon first rising, the feeling that everything is A-ok, but then remembering the task ahead: We had to find Jones's music box… without a single lead as to where it lay, and no way to get there.

Contradiction is one of the world's most utterly unforgivable subjects, for there on the horizon, a single ship's sails billowed with the rustling sea breeze, their off-white colour barely visible from the palest blue sky back-dropping it.

I glanced around me in search of a sign of movement, indication of a woken or waking man. Being that it was extremely early in the morning – the sun just touching that pale horizon – and we'd been floating on our little boats for about a day and a half now, most of the men lay at the bottom of the boats, coats draped over their heads and bodies for both warmth at night and protection from the sun during daytime.

Movement caught my eyes as a cloth-shrouded figure's head popped up from behind the farthest boat's side. The familiar tricorn hat became visible as the head's owner swished the coat away. The head of black, bead-drowned dreadlocks followed and then the face and upper body, as Jack raised himself from the corse wooden planks. He was not looking at me though, he'd spotted the ship and it was almost as if a new light shone upon him.

Jack stood quickly, rocking the boat and disturbing his slumbering portion of crew, but no matter. He was jumping up and down, waving wildly at the ship, for three full minutes before stopping abruptly. He turned around slowly and looked at me. I immediately understood the meaning behind his glance.


The HMS Discovery passed by the starboard side of the three adjoined longboats. The Captain called the command, the anchor was lowered and he looked down at the group of sick sleeping men and sole, bruised, battered and bloodied woman. The captain felt nothing but pity and it showed in his eyes as he surveyed us.

He turned to look at Jack, who was especially ugly yet the only man aboard the boat who looked regal enough to command the others. "What hast befouled thou?"

"What?" Jack replied, faking bland unintelligence.

"I mean," the portly captain began again, his voice growing in volume. "Where's your ship?"

A look of pain flashed across Jack's face for less than a heartbeat but he stowed whatever misconceptions lay. "Sunk!" Jack replied jubilantly.

"My condolences."

Some of the men had begun to stir. Gibbs' head appeared above the side of his boat and was quickly followed by his upper body. "Cap'n?" he said, looking at Jack. Jack made a swishing motion with his finger under his neck then jerked his head in the direction of the ship alongside us. "Oh," Gibbs sighed in realisation. Up came the canteen and he took a hearty swig. I was amazed that the liquor lasted so long.

Meanwhile, two of Discovery's crew stood either side of the ship's Captain. They looked to be the Captain's First and Second Officers, judging by their attire. The three men quickly exchanged conversation in hushed whispers facing away from us across the port side and out to open sea before the Captain turned back to Jack.

"My men say there are enough bunks below to house you and your crew. Gather your belongings and board quietly." He was about to turn away again, when something occurred to him. "Oh, and Mister…"

"Smith," Jack supplied quickly.

"Right. Mister Smith," he paused again, contemplating the curiosities of Jack's alias, "a word in my quarters, if you please. Lieutenant Sanay – he gestured at the man on his right – will show you the way." Once again, another thought occurred to him and he added curtly, "Bring your mistress too."

He left.

I looked at Jack, whose expression matched mine: both of us were about to spit nails at his kingliness.

The slow procession onto the Discovery reminded me somewhat of boarding the Flying Dutchman. It took ten minutes to get us and all our belongings onto the trader ship. The crew assembled bumbling on the deck. Once again I had a flash back to our boarding of Davy Jones's ghost ship.

The other officer, ­­­ Lieutenant Gregory, gathered the assembled pirate crew and showed them to the galley, where a copious amount of stew had begun preparation.

The Captain's Cabin was located to the rear of the ship, comprising of the space beneath the wheel. First Officer Lieutenant Sanay accompanied Jack and me to the Captain's Cabin. He rapped on the door smartly and after the small, quick bark of approval from the still-to-be-named Captain, let us in.

Sanay closed the door quietly and arranged himself in front of it, barring exit and preventing any entrance.

I looked from the Lieutenant to Jack, back again, and then at the Captain, who was standing behind a rather neat desk. Some maps were arranged in exact positions, the ink well and quill stood precisely at a corner of the desk, some wax securing it from further motion.

The room had one window, stretching across and entire – rather small – wall, the glass frosted and could not be penetrated by the human eye. Candles littered the room, throwing flickering light in some areas, leaving others in shrouded darkness. You'd never had known it was midmorning.

A bookcase stood adjacent to the desk, the coloured spines ranged from old to new, large to small and expensive to economical, covering a range of topics, all in relation to the economy, sailing and the sea. Overall an impressive collection yet I found myself comparing it to that of Jack's which was not as refined but, of course, there were extensive texts on pirating.

On the other wall, a four-poster bed stood; scarlet velvet hangings of expensive orientation draped across it, shielding the presumably white sheets and matching scarlet blankets from view. Evidently, the Captain lived well-off at sea.

Jack caught my eye and we both suppressed snickers at the wealthy Captain's taste.

A small, polite cough sounded and we turned to face our captain-host.

"Strange to come across a longboat so far out in open water, let alone three," he remarked dryly. I did not miss the unasked question behind it.

"Oh, it was just a turn of Fate," Jack replied, equally as dry.

"Mmm…" There was a pause; the captain seemed to be wanting something.

"Do you have a name… captain?" Jack cut in. A look of pain flashed across his face as he bit out the last word.

"Yes, of course. Starling, Captain Rupert Starling." It was a mark of how bad the situation was that I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at such a typically English name.

"Right, well, Captain Starling, with all due respect – Jack performed a small, almost mocking bow – why do ye need my mistress? What's she to you?"

I kicked Jack in the leg. Protocol stopped him from looking at me but I could swear I saw the corners of his mouth quirk.

Starling failed to see our silent, somewhat violent transition. "Oh, well, I find it interesting that you have a woman amongst all you rough-and-tumble men. One would think that it's not a woman's place on a ship. And there's the point about women being bad luck on board a vessel of the sea."

Shame on him! He stabbed me in the back thrice and while I was there. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," I said, playing the timid housemaid and curtsying elegantly – a feat for one wearing breaches, "but isn't the sea a lady herself?"

Jack didn't seemed to be taking it too well either. His face held no clue as to what he was truly thinking – such a godforsaken hard man to read – but his gorgeous brown eyes had turned stormy, tumultuous, angry.

"Ah, but that's lady enough for all the ships in the world," the Captain replied, unaware of what was coming to him.

"Well, if your ship has been thrown into disorder because of my presence, I shall take my leave of your cabin and this ugly company." I smiled briefly at Jack to show I didn't include him. "I will not be insulted to my face as though I was an ugly statue!"

I know I couldn't let Jack fight my battles for me, but I thought that it was the right time to leave. I stormed out of the dingy room with my dignity still intact and the precious knowledge that the captain would be the much-needed outlet for Jack's anger. Technically, I was fighting Starling. Setting your best friend, who just happens to be 'Captain' Jack Sparrow, on an unsuspecting victim, is sufficiently roguish in my opinion. Just think of it as using Jack as the potential weapon for my comeuppance.

Surprisingly enough, Sanay didn't try to stop me. In fact, he'd disappeared quite well. What's Starling got him in here to do, be a stuffed statue? As far as I've seen, both the ship's officers are completely useless pretty boys.

As I strode the deck, I took inventory of all our weapons, counted the crew that the Discovery had working for it. The plan Jack and I had discussed worked to a minimally-sized crew's advantage. Jack would settle the Captain and his First Officer in a moment, and I quickly scanned the deck for my target.

Second Officer Lieutenant Gregory was at the wheel. Although he wasn't steering, he was standing there hounding out orders to the rest of his little minions. He was burly man of average height with dark hair and eyes. He didn't scare me. Nearly no-one did.

I walked purposefully up to him, taking the stairs one at a time like any normal person, all the while schooling my expressions into that of a poor, mistreated, captured woman on board a ship of men with the manners of pirates – not that they weren't, but he didn't need to know that. I spoke to him in quick, breathy words, trying to appear both sexually pleasing and tortured at the same time.

It was all nonsense; stroking his arm, leaving lingering touches here and there, trailing fingers across his broad shoulders. Wearing men's clothes didn't help matters. A white, loose, linen shirt isn't the best way to display either cleavage or curves, although it did wonders to hide the expensive yet simply designed dagger tucked into the back of my belt.

I basically explained to the Lieutenant that he was needed below deck for some unexpected reason, and made an idealised excuse as to why I wanted to accompany him. All in all, I think he looked rather excited at the prospect of being virtually alone in the company of a reasonably attractive woman. Oh dear God don't let Jack ever find out exactly how I got the man to follow me, my insides would find themselves outside in no time.

When we burst through the door to Gregory's cabin, I gave a breathy giggle and looked distractedly around the room. The Lieutenant must have been hungry for his patience had dwindled to nothing.

He slammed me against the wall before I could see what colour the curtains on his four-poster were. His mouth was hard on mine, his tongue trying to break through the barriers of my closed lips. I slid one hand onto his semi-grinding hip and he placed one on the back of my neck, pulling my head closer to deepen the kiss, and the other went towards my back. I guided my alternative hand to his roaming one, entwining our fingers and raising them.

Damn! I thought. So close.

I knew that if he hadn't had his hands roam so much, he'd be dead quicker than this. Now both my hands were full and I was stuck in a clinch with a really… not so bad kisser.

I let go of his hand and placed my own on his arm, pulling away from his kiss.

He looked surprised as he opened his eyes. He was panting a little and his eyes were bright and shiny.

Oh, what the heck, I thought, as my mouth descended on his. I gave for a moment, regretting for the first time that I would still have to kill this man.

I wrapped my arm around his back, pulling him closer to me, and he put his arm around my shoulders, the other hand tangled in my hair.

Good, both his hands are full in a distinctly not-southern area.

I reached around and felt the black leather of the hilt at the small of my back. Cold blood runs freer than warm.

He never saw it coming. The steal slid into his stomach, parting the sinews as if the body were its sheath, like it belonged there.

I felt the life leave his body like wind whistling through the leaves of tree on an autumn day. It was sad, yes, but it was necessary. A lot of people kill because they like it. I am both one of these people, and not, because I know and remember every soul I ever took. How could I forget?

I heaved the body over to the bed, I cussed and muttered "Bloody heavy body," regret fringing my words like lacy snow, forgetful and fluttery, inevitably going to melt.

"Now, I never liked you," I told the inanimate, not-breathing body. "Don't let it get to that I was only using you."

If he'd replied, saying, "I was using you, too," I would have fainted. Fortunately, he didn't.

The cold steal handle felt good under my hot hands. I turned it quietly; praying it wouldn't squeal with rust, and pushed the door open with awareness fit the fifteenth sense. Thankfully the hall was empty, and a conveniently placed piece of dark cloth lay over some barrels.

Making my way out of there, a strange feeling washed over me. I suddenly had the inkling that I was most definitely not alone. In fact, as I drew nearer to the group of barrel, I heard breathing.

I wiped my dagger quickly and methodically and left the breathing thing to do what is apparently does best – which is either nothing, or, technically, breathing.

I took the stairs two at a time, thinking to myself Well, I'll send Jack down there later. Him or Gibbs. Between the two of them, they can settle a "breathing thing" in no time.

On deck there was uproar. It wasn't full blown pandemonium as there was some sort of order on the pirate side, but the lonesome crew were battling the oncoming pirates with anything they could get their hands on, rope, buckets, mops, brushes. Some brandishes daggers, a few even hefted a cutlass, although not as many as I'd have hoped. A nice bout would have finished my day right well.

Since Jack was on deck hollering orders to his part of the crew, I assumed that Starling and Sanay were dead. I descended into the fray in full pirate regalia, yelling insults and charging at the first enemy I saw.

The fight ended quickly. We dumped the living men into the longboats we had so recently left and hauled the bodies of the dead overboard. The whole place stank like the Examples piers harbours favoured so dearly. Blood was spattered everywhere and men from the Pearl were already scrubbing hurriedly at the stained planks and the bases of the masts.

It was only a quick scuffle, not many died and the men in longboats weren't complaining as we lowered them to the frothy sea. A distant island hovered on the horizon, the wispy clouds hazed across it, pulling it to and from view. I was position at the helm, standing in front of the wheel and overlooking all of it.

The sun was setting; casting the sky into pinks and oranges and, in some areas, a deep crimson arced across the skyline, looking very much like the blood. I felt a presence at my back and turned, expecting to find Gibbs or Cotton at the wheel. We hadn't pulled anchor yet so the fact that there was a presence there confused me.

I hid my confusion as I looked on at a not-smiling Jack. His brow was furrowed and slight concern edged his beautiful eyes.

"The sky's bleedin'," he muttered, the first word lost amongst the rest.

"Mm." I sighed and glanced back at the crimson arc. Not a good sign.

We both stood there for a few moments, staring at the sky as if expecting some ill fate to strike us down. Surely killing a total of five people couldn't be that sinful. We were pirates after all. Five dead men who were incredibly useless in life can't be too bad. You'd think we were doing the world a favour, ridding it of idiots like them.

I almost convinced myself. Almost.

"Oh, Jack," I began, remembering the 'breathing thing' once more. "There's a 'breathing thing' below deck. Near a bunch of barrels."

Jack smiled snidely and replied slowly, as if he was making sure he got the words right, "A 'breathing thing'?" emphasising my lack of scientific language.

"Shut it," I snapped. "If I don't know what it's called, I may as well call it what I know it for, which is breathing. Come on." I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs.

"Mister Gibbs," Jack called. The grey-haired man looked up from sewing a split in some canvas. "Accompany us below, if you'd be so kind."

Gibbs leapt to attention, bounding across the deck in strides that a man of his age shouldn't be capable of.

When he opened his mouth to ask why we were going there, Jack simply cut in, "Apparently, there's a 'breathing thing' near a group of barrels." He looked at me superiorly.

I simply rolled my eyes and pinched him on the arm. Jack winced and extended the other in the fashion on would use to escort brides down the aisle. I obliged and placed my own arm atop his.

"Lead on," he said, gesturing ahead with the other – wounded – arm.

I rolled my eyes and ushered the men into the bowels of the ship. Surprisingly, both men were silent, but I saw the look on Gibbs' face when he realised whose cabin was across the way from us. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead, full of knowing superiority and I hurriedly shook my head, glancing at Jack.

"Over there," I mouthed at them, pointing at the barrels. Sure enough, the gentle, steady breathing could be heard amongst the swishing of water around the walls of the hull and the yells of Pintel at Ragetti above us.

We crept towards the barrels, each of us aware that anything could happen. Jack was in the lead. He bent his head towards the first barrel, listening. He shook his head ever so slightly and moved to the next barrel. The procession continued and Gibbs and I exchanged worried glances.

Upon the forth or fifth barrel, Jack's reaction changed. He drew his dagger from a concealed sheath on his body and stabbed the lid of the barrel. A loud "bang" sounded and muffled gasp erupted from the barrel. Gibbs and I walked towards the barrel with baited breath as Jack drew away the lid.

A sort of whimpering noise ascended from the crouched girl in the barrel. She had black-brown hair and dark brown eyes that were welling up with tears fast. A dirty rag was the best description for what she was wearing.

The look on Gibbs' and my faces was of pure shock, but that was nothing compared to Jack's. His face had hollowed, drained of emotion as he extended an arm towards the girl and a shaky pale hand took his. She stood with his help and he launched her out of the barrel only to shove her gruffly into Gibbs's hold.

As Jack stalked across the room in almost angry thought, the girl sort of wilted in Gibbs arms. He was muttering assurances to her in his friendly voice but it was like her hearing had shut down. Tears flowed openly down her faces, running down lines that seemed to have already been gouged into her skin.

I was completely nonplussed as to what I should do. I grabbed a barrel and pushed it onto its side. Sitting heavily on the rough wood, I sank my head into my hands in thought.

Jack returned quietly, his emotions in order and only a slight bit of disquiet mixed with a rare appearance of anger could be seen in his eyes, the rest of his face was blank.

"Andrea," he began awkwardly. She nodded. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged stiffly and I would have snorted, had the situation not been completely devoid of mirth.

"Take her to the Captain's Cabin," Jack told Gibbs. "See to it that she has warm clothes and food, too." Gibbs hurried to obey and Jack copied me, lounging on a barrel.

"Rian…"

I looked at Jack expectantly. A moment later he took a double-take. It was like he'd forgotten he'd ever spoken.

"Uh, tell Mister Cotton to set a course for Port Royal, Will's daughter is on board our ship."

"Aye Captain, as you will." I bid him farewell and hurried off to find Cotton.

We're going to Port Royal, I thought as I hurried along the hallway. We're going to Port Royal!


A/N: Yeah, there's a fair bit of story to go, and Jack's going to have to wait even longer to get his precious Pearl back from the depths of Davy Jones's Locker. Poor him – sniff. Eh, oh well, I've got worse planned for the both of them. Why do you think that Jack's reaction to Andrea is so… un-Jackish?

Well, I've also decided that this story is still set Post-AWE except now it has to be in another universe where Jones and a few other characters don't die. Okay? Okay.

Reviews, thanks to RumQueen, SilviaX, Jacqueline-Marie-Sparrow, Giver of Roses and a few other for reviewing constantly and there's going to be a chapter dedication next time. Don't forget to review!

Oh, and by the way, was I the only one having to trouble determining whether the kid at the end of AWE was male or female?

Damn, I had something else to say... oh well, you guys should note that:
1. the rating is now changing from whatever it was to M or T.
2. This chapter could change in the next week or two because my other editor is currently away.
3. I'm completely losing it, is Rian still Rian or is she changing?

Review please, and there will be TimTams to all who do! Not exactly sure how that's going to work but oh well, you will get something... like a chapter dedication or whatever else I think of.

Oh yeah, how's that romance scene for someone completely inexperienced?

BYE