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Chapter 10

"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship."

Needless to say, Captain Jack Sparrow was not having a good day. First, his mutinous first mate locked him up in the brig; and now, the woman he loved, after a brief reunion, was in some ungodly condition of pain while he was marooned for a second time by Hector Barbossa. In the very least, he supposed, this time the company was infinitesimally better.

Good God, he needed a drink.

Rum. Rum was good.

Wavering slightly as his legs sunk into the sand, Jack Sparrow trudged grouchily up the beach and towards a patch of weathered palm trees.

His partner-in-being-stuck-on-this-godforsaken-spit-of-land, Elizabeth, followed in pursuit. "But you were marooned on this island before, weren't you? So we can escape in the same way you did then." she protested.

"To what point and purpose, young missy? The Black Pearl is gone and unless you have a rudder and a lot of sails hidden in that bodice – unlikely – young Mr. Turner will be dead long before you can reach him."

'And Rachelle will be long lost,' he added to himself. 'Again.'

Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could be reunited with her in less than ten years this time.

"What about Rachelle?" Elizabeth challenged. "She cares for you, Captain Sparrow! She told me how you were captain of the Pearl before Barbossa mutinied against you. She told me you were a great captain and good man, Jack. She obviously loves you in return because even if I was swaying on the line of unconsciousness, I wouldn't let you undress me in the manner that you did to her." Her voice softened. "She's my older sister, Jack. If we just let her die, I don't know what I'd do knowing that we didn't even try to help her."

She paused, waiting for a response as he ignored her and knocked instead on a tree trunk. "Honestly, Captain Sparrow, it's obvious you have feelings for her in return."

Instantly, the man shot back. "Stirrings. Perhaps. Perhaps, I may have once had stirrings of fe—I may once have cared for her a little." Jack paused, catching sight of the skeptical look on Elizabeth's face, and exclaimed, "Alright, yes, I may very well love her. Yes, I'd probably kill myself if we got off this island and let her be killed. But we're not going to get off this island, love."

Turning a complete about-face, he took four steps before jumping up and down a few times.

"But you're Captain Jack Sparrow. You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Trading Company. You sacked Nassau Port without even firing a single shot. Are you the pirate I've read about or not? How did you escape last time?" Elizabeth demanded.

"Last time, I was here a grand total of three days, alright? Last time,"—He opened a secret cellar door—"the rumrunners used this island as a cache. Came by, and I was able to barter a passage off. From the looks of things, they've long been out of business. Probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that." Jack said bitterly and climbed out of the cellar with two bottles of rum in his hands.

"So that's it then? That's the secret grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow? You spent three days lying on the beach, drinking rum?" she exclaimed.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, love." he said nonchalantly and handed her one of the bottles.

By the glint that he caught in the opposing woman's eyes, he knew her thoughts were racing and, soon enough, would have some half-brained, womanly scheme to attempt an escape. But it wouldn't work. It could never work.

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As Jack Sparrow marched away with a bottle of rum, a pair of eyes watched his back as he settled down into the sand.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, love."

Elizabeth Swann could just slap the condescension of his face! With a final glare of contempt, she turned in the opposite direction and stormed away, seeking respite on the other side of the half-mile wide piece of land.

Staring at the waves as they lapped uncaringly, rhythmically upon the shore, the governor's daughter knew she had to get off the island to save her friends. And Jack Sparrow would be no help. She knew that. He was a pirate. And a man.

The only man a woman can depend on is her father.

The phrase surfaced in her mind and she vaguely recalled agreeing with the friend that had said that to her.

Her father.

It hit her instantly. Weatherby Swann was the governor of Port Royal. Surely he would be searching the entire Caribbean for his two daughters! Not to mention the Commodore had just recently proposed to her! Elizabeth only needed a signal—a fire, maybe—to flag down one of His Majesty's Ships, and she was off this wretched island. Then, they could all go to save Rachelle and Will!

Elizabeth glanced down at the bottle of rum in her hand. So long as she got Jack drunk enough, he would need a very long, undisturbed rest to sleep off his hangover. And if there was enough alcohol left over, a fire would be easy enough to keep burning.

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"We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs. Drink up me 'earties you ho! Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me!" the marooned pair sang loudly as they galloped in circles around their fire.

"I love this song! Really bad eggs!" Jack exclaimed before falling to the ground. "Ooh. When I get the Pearl back, I'm gonna teach it to the whole crew, and we'll sing it all the time!"

"And you'll be positively the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main." Elizabeth drawled, leaning towards him as she collapsed beside him.

"Not just the Spanish Main, love. The entire ocean. The entire wo'ld. Wherever we want to go, we'll go. That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keep and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ships needs, but what a ship is—what the Black Pearl really is—is freedom."

"Jack… it must be really terrible for you to be trapped on this island."

"Oh yes," the pirate sighed, draping an arm around her shoulders. "But the company is infinitely better than last time, I think. The scenery has definitely improved."

"Mr. Sparrow, I'm not entirely sure that I've had enough rum to allow that kind of talk." Elizabeth chastised him, exuding false drunkenness.

"I know exactly what you mean, love."

The governor's daughter sent up a prayer of thanks that the pirate was already drunk enough to fall for her act.

Jack curled the ends of his moustache as Elizabeth held her bottle up to toast him. "To freedom." she announced.

"To the Black Pearl." he corrected before downing the entire bottle and slouching over in a vegetative unconsciousness.

Smirking victoriously, Elizabeth leaned away from the man and his putrid stench of alcohol. She tossed her near-full bottle of rum into the tongues of the fire, which licked around the bottle curiously; its contents burst into flame as she stood.

In the dark of the night, the woman set to work hauling crates of rum from the cellar and organizing them in a perfectly flammable arrangement. When she was finally satisfied, and had set plenty of crates aside to keep the blaze alive, she carved a shallow seat in the sand and laid down to sleep. In the morning, she would light her signal fire and saving grace.

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The stench of an ill-conceived plan awoke Captain Jack Sparrow from his slumber the following day as the sun was nearing its peak in the sky. Or was it smoke? Yes, yes, most certainly the smell was eminating from a cloud of smoke. Likely, that pillar filtering into the sky. Sitting upright, Jack followed the column with his gaze until a fire, bright and consuming half of the small island, caught his eye.

"No! Not good! Stop! Not good!" he yelped, flying over to Elizabeth, who tossed a final crate onto her blaze. "What are you doing? You burned all the food, the shade! The rum!"

"Yes, the rum is gone." the woman stated.

"Why is the rum gone?"

Turning on her heel, Elizabeth snapped, "One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels." Jack looked slightly offended. "Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high." she continued. "The entire Royal Navy is out looking for Rachelle and me; do you really think that there is even the slightest chance that they won't see it?"

"But why is the rum gone?"

Elizabeth sat down assertively to stare at the horizon. "Just wait, Captain Sparrow. You give it one hour, maybe two; keep a weather eye out and then you will see white sails on that horizon." she told him.

The gall of that infuriating, vile, rum-burning wretch! Jack withdrew his pistol and took aim at the back of her skull. No, Rachelle would not be pleased. Even if he would never see her again, he could not bear it. Decidedly placing the gun back in its holster, he stalked off down the beach, imitating Elizabeth as he went. "'Must've been terrible for you to be trapped here, Jack. Must've been terrible for you.' Well it bloody is now!" he exclaimed, whirling around to yell in the general direction of her presence.

Glancing over the sea, he spotted a speck of white on the horizon – the Dauntless had arrived. "There'll be no living with her after this." he scowled.

A half-brained, womanly scheme indeed.