Disclaimer: I still don't own anything from Pirates, unless it's a character I created (like Helen). But everything else belongs to Disney.

Chapter Nine

The crew set up a bonfire on the beach when the sun began to set. Jack, however, wouldn't have any part of it. He sat well out of the warm circle of light that jumped from the tall flames, while the rest of the crew hurried about preparing a rude meal of slaughtered roosters and hardtack. The only movement he made was to climb back on the Pearl and to return to his place on the beach with a few bottles of rum in hand.

After the first bottle was finished, he took out his compass and set it open on the sand, watching the arrow rest placidly pointing to the north-east. "My heart's desire, my arse." He uncorked the second bottle, a satisfying, hollow pop!

Cotton appeared wordlessly at his side and offered him a leg of one of the roosters they had roasted. Jack leaned away and shook his head, automatically falling mute himself out of habit or respect. But Cotton grabbed his hand and forced the greasy leg of meat into his grip, then walked away, the parrot on his shoulder squawking irately. Jack sniffed the leg – it smelled safe enough – and took a bite.

The sun having set more than an hour before, the sky was dark, and there wasn't even the barest hint of light to the west. The only light now was from the dying bonfire; the men were hard-pressed finding more firewood, as palm trees tend not to die and magically divide into log-sized pieces, and they were all feeling rather sorry for themselves after the disappointment earlier in the day. It was all just an excuse to lie about, of course.

Jack heard muted footfalls in the sand behind him, and he half-expected Cotton to silently hand him another chicken leg or something equally tasty – for even though he was busy feeling sorry for himself as well, he was still hungry. But there were no chicken legs. He could tell that someone had sat down next to him by the shadow that had fallen over his still compass; his eyes darted quickly to the side. Without turning his head, he knew it was Helen.

The rum was gone. He thought he'd had two more bottles, but when he felt to the side for them, he came up with three empty ones. Obviously, his crew was punishing him, playing a trick on him after he led them on that fruitless treasure hunt during the heat of the day. He started trying to stand, but fell back down immediately when the world tipped wildly to the side. Never mind – he did drink it all.

His over-balanced attempt at standing sent him falling against Helen's shoulder. She pushed him off, and he rolled over gracelessly. Jack didn't move to get up, just reached down to get his compass and hold it up in the light from the fire.

Finally, the silence becoming unnerving, Jack said, without turning around, "I suppose I know what it is that you want."

"Did your magic compass show you that, just as it showed you where the Heart was?" Jack didn't laugh. "Jack." She stopped, began again hesitantly. "Jack, I have some rum."

He rolled over, trying to separate the definite shadow of the stout rum bottle from her more indefinite form, backlit by the fire. "Give it," he said, reaching his hand out.

The rum sloshed against the glass as she held it away from him. "I'll give it if–" Jack groaned an unintelligible complaint. "You'll get this rum if you tell me about the Heart."

He glared at her, but realized that she might not be able to see it, so he said, "I'll tell you about the Heart if you give me my rum."

She shook the contents of the bottle. "No. We have no deal, if that's the case. Either you tell me, or – I pour this out. I'd like you at least slightly sober for this, thank you very much."

Jack stood suddenly – staggering – intent on storming away and leaving her in the dark for a while longer. But as he began to move away, his compass, fastened always on his person by a worn leather thong, hit his leg with a dull snap and swung slowly at his side, hanging nearly to his feet. He sat down again, a little bit up the shallow rise of the beach from Helen, and he could hear the sharp click-clack-click of the lazily twitching disk. He pulled the thong loose and made to throw it away from him – but stopped and handed it to Helen. "You want to know about the Heart?"

She placed the compass on her lap. "Yes."

Jack lay back down again, pillowing his head with an arm. "There isn't much to tell, really," he said after a moment. He heard Helen sigh behind him. And then he heard the cork. He looked over his shoulder – she had the cork out. The next came in a rush: "Really. It's Davy Jones's heart – he cut it out ages ago, the crazy bastard – and so anyone who finds it and gets a hold of it basically controls every ocean imaginable. He has something of a personal vendetta against me – debts, you know how it is. I need that Heart, or else his little sea monsters are going to snap the Pearl in two."

"Davy Jones?"

"You know." Jack wiggled his fingers around in a feeble attempt to mimic an octopus's tentacles. She stared at him wide-eyed. "Well, of course you know. Davy Jones. Captain of the Flying Dutchman. The ghost ship. You know."

"I wasn't raised by the sea," she said.

"Ah." Jack shrugged. "Not that important, anyways. I just need to find me that Heart, or else I might have to find a different employ – something safer, on land, away from the beasties." His eyes were gradually adjusting to the low light; he could see her face better now than before. She was frowning. "Does that quench your thirst for knowledge? How about if I quench my thirst with that rum, hm?"

She ran her thumb along the side of the compass box. "When are we going back to port?"

"That's a bit sudden, isn't it?" He was pleased to see that she set the rum bottle down next to her – safe. "I haven't heard one peep of complaint out of you the past weeks – well, I have actually–"

"You're planning on dropping me at the nearest port, aren't you?"

Jack couldn't tell exactly where she was staring because of the dark, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was right at his face. He closed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You have no use for me anymore, do you? You have the letter – an unexpected bonus for saving my life."

"Yes, well– what's this all about, anyway? I thought we were talking about the Heart. And in that vein, where's the rum you promised me?"

She handed him the bottle without a fight. After he had taken one swig, she said quietly, "I heard the men talking. You're going to leave me at the next port."

Jack's thoughts immediately went to Gibbs. "I don't see–" Her stare stopped him. Someone had finally gotten up to get more firewood, and the flames licked high enough that the light reached them again. He would be honest with her, now that he could see her; it was so much easier to lie in the dark. "It's true that we don't usually tolerate women aboard this ship. Distractions, all of them. And, yes, you won't be staying aboard much longer, but–"

"The minute you leave me on land, Beckett will find me." Her face was hard, determined, shifting strangely in the firelight. "I know he will, because he knows I took the letter; if he isn't certain yet, that won't stop him from detaining me until I confess. I've met him once, just a minute's glimpse, when he had me put aboard that goddamned merchant ship. He won't stop until he has the Heart, and now that I'm part of this–" She snapped open the compass and snapped it closed again, restless movement. "Even if I know nothing, I'm part of this. I'm as dead on land as you are at sea, if he finds the Heart first."

Jack's hand had remained still while she spoke, resting beside him in the sand, his fist clenched around the neck of the bottle. His stare seemed to unnerve her; she opened the compass again and looked down at it. The wooden disk inside clicked quietly against the box, then stopped. He leaned over and looked at the face of it – the arrow pointed north-east.

Jack sat back, propping himself up with one arm. "You want to stay on?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she mumbled.

"Of course you do. We always have a choice." She stared down at the compass which spun quietly around. "Anyway, you remind me of someone."

This got her attention. The compass lay forgotten in her hands, and she stared curiously at him. When he fell silent, she said, "Who?"

Jack waved his hand dismissively. "It's not important. All the matters to you is that you get to stay on the Pearl. Don't question acts of kindness." He finished the rum and let his hand slide back so that he was lying on the sand again, looking up at the bright stars. Helen lay a few feet away from him, curled so he could only see the top of her head.

"What do you do now?" she said.

Jack shrugged. "Wait for Fate to intervene."

She rested her cheek against the forearm that pillowed her head. "That's all?"

He smiled, eyes closed. "Well, I didn't say we would sit around waiting for Fate, did I?. We're going to actively force her hand." He stopped when he heard the clicking of the disk in his compass moving again. He observed, "You seem to be very indecisive." And then to himself, "Just like a woman."

"I hate sailing. I hate the ocean." She stared sullenly at the swinging arrow. "But I can't step foot on land without it getting shot off by the Royal Navy." Helen fell silent abruptly. Her expression grew hard again, and she closed in on herself – he knew what she was thinking of.

Jack still couldn't really believe it; Norrington wouldn't let himself be bested by a woman. Even if he did let Elizabeth get away with so much, he had learned his lesson. Probably. "Is he really dead?"

Pause. "I suppose."

"That's a relief, I guess." But he still wasn't sure. He would believe it when he saw Norrington's grave. He had himself convinced they were talking about different men.

"Poor James." The gentle whispers of the waves nearly drowned out her voice entirely.

Jack turned his head slowly to look at her. The fire was almost completely dead again, most of the men peacefully asleep, lying in the sand around its warmth. He could see the barest reflections of her staring eyes. "You knew him?"

Her face tiled up slightly to his. There was a moment of quiet contemplation, and then she stood, brushing what sand she could off her dress. "I'm going back to the ship."

"Hey!" She didn't stop, and if he wasn't mistaken, she walked a little faster.

Of course, she wouldn't be able to get onto the deck all by herself, but he didn't get up to stop her. Jack turned his attention back to the sky above and the gradually brightening stars. This was what he always missed when he was on land: the time to just stop everything and lay down and absorb the world and think.

And tonight he certainly had a lot to think about.