Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters, I'm tired of this.

By the Hand of Jack Sparrow

Healing

I woke up alone. There was a tray of biscuits and fruit on the table, so I ate a little. I realized the ship was moving. I put on my boots and left the cabin to find Jack.

The sun was blindly bright as I walked onto the deck...

"Morning, luv!" Jack called to me from the helm. "Wonderful day for tea and sailing!"

I walked up the steps to join him.

"We're leaving Tortuga?" I asked, blinking in the sun.

"Figured we'd had enough adventures there. No need to stay longer," he said, smiling. He took a sip of his tea and scowled. He held the cup out to me, "Have some?"

My head was pounding from rum and crying last night, so I took the cup and had a sip. It was the most bitter, vile thing I'd ever tasted.

"Oh god, Jack, that is truly foul!" I said, trying not to gag.

He took the cup and finished it off, making a face.

"How much of that am I supposed to drink?" he asked hesitantly.

"Three or four cups a day," I replied sheepishly.

"Sorry, luv, but I think not," he said with finality.

"Where are we going?" I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity.

"It's a surprise," he answered mysteriously. "A little place I know of where we can have a little privacy, away from the prying eyes and ears of the crew." He smiled devilishly.

"Poor Mr. Gibbs! He looked so uncomfortable during our little argument at the tavern last night," I said, truly feeling sorry for him.

Jack chuckled, "Looked as if he would've happily jumped out of his own skin just to get away from the two of us."

I giggled as I thought of Gibbs squirming in his chair, with Jack and I completely absorbed in our disagreement.

"Now there's a beautiful sight to behold!" Jack said happily, looking at me. "I wasn't so sure I'd be able to make you smile again." He extended his arm and I moved beside him as he wrapped his arm around me.

I leaned close to him and hooked my finger in the neckline of his shirt, pulling it away from his body. I peered inside.

"Still find me irresistible, I see," he smirked.

"How's your wound?" I asked, ignoring his flirting.

"Just fine, luv," he said as he gazed at the horizon.

I grabbed his shirt and started pulling it out of his breeches.

"What are you doing?" he asked, clearly startled by my actions.

"I want to look," I said innocently.

"You only want to look, darlin'?" he teased, feigning disappointment.

"At your wound," I clarified, still tugging at his shirt.

He grabbed my hands. "Perhaps this is not the best place for that," he cautioned.

"To your cabin, then?" I suggested coyly.

"Yes, well," Jack cleared his throat, "Mr. Cotton, to the helm!"

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I walked into the cabin, followed by Jack. I heard him close and lock the doors. When I turned to look at him, he'd already taken off his coat and was working on his vest. Our eyes locked and I walked slowly toward him. He slipped his vest off and let it fall to the floor. He pulled the back of his shirt out of his breeches and slipped it over his head, also letting it drop to the floor.

I had been so focused on tending his wound, that I'd never really looked at him when he was shirtless before. He was lean and muscular, but not bulky. More like the way a cat is muscular. He had numerous tattoos and scars on his skin. I gently touched where he'd obviously been shot in the past, twice. The muscles beneath his skin quivered involuntarily. I looked up at him and held his gaze for a moment. There was an indefinable darkness in his expression. I reached for his right wrist to look at the P that had been branded on it. I lightly ran my fingertip over the raised skin, frowning, filled with hatred for the person who did that to him. This evidence of cruelty and brutality looked odd, so close to the tattoo of a delicate bird swooping over the ocean. I looked at Jack. His dark eyes held a plea, as if he were desperately trying to read my thoughts. He reached up to caress my cheek, then leaned close and kissed me with a tenderness I hadn't expected. I looked up at him, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes. I reached for his left arm, but he concealed it behind his back, whispering "No." I pulled away from him a bit and looked at him questioningly. "No," he repeated.

"Jack, no one gets through this life without a few scars," I said softly, "They're part of who you are."

"Aye, luv, damaged goods," he commented bitterly.

"It seems your scars are not confined to just your flesh," I said gently, "Who could've ever made you believe that?"

He was like a wild animal that had been cornered, edgy and desperate for escape. I reached for his arm and again he was evasive.

"Jack, it's your turn to trust me…"

He looked at me, uncertain and wary. Then slowly held it out. Nearly his entire forearm was covered in scar tissue that appeared to be the result of a severe burn. Curiously, the skin on his hand was untouched. I traced the filigree of scars, barely touching his skin with my fingers. I wondered how it happened, but I didn't ask him.

"Are there more?" I asked softly.

"Yes," he whispered, then suddenly asked, "Why haven't you asked me to tell you how I got each one of them?" He looked confused.

"If you want me to know, you'll tell me, but I'm not going to ask you to relive unpleasant memories to satisfy my curiosity."

Jack shifted his weight nervously. He wouldn't look at me as he asked in a small, quiet voice, "Do you think they're ugly?"

I was startled by his emotional vulnerability. He was being completely genuine and real, absolutely no traces of that "Captain Jack Sparrow" persona he cultivated so diligently.

"No, Jack, they're not ugly," I told him solemnly, "they're evidence of your strong will to endure." I touched his cheek and gently coaxed him to look at me. He was so vulnerable and so childlike. "I just hate the fact that you've had to endure so much pain and cruelty."

He looked away again. "Elizabeth thought they were ugly." He seemed very far away in his thoughts.

"Jack," I said somewhat abruptly, trying to quell the anger I was feeling toward a woman I'd never even met. "Don't make me pay for her faults and shortcomings," I warned him, "I won't allow it."

"I'm sorry, luv, that wasn't my intention. Just got caught up in some of those unpleasant memories," he said somberly.

"I won't hurt you, Jack" I said simply.

"I know, Eve," he replied, "You've consistently treated me with more kindness than I deserve."

"It's the least I can do, since you so courteously killed that shark before it had a chance to bite me," I smiled, trying to lighten things up a little.

The corners of hip lips started to curl into a smile and that sparkle returned to his eyes. "You thought I was going to shoot you. I could see it in your eyes."

"I did, for a moment," I confessed," I had no idea the shark was even there."

He smiled broadly, "It wasn't such a long time ago that mere mention of said beastie nearly caused you to fall into a swoon."

"Yes, well, thanks to you and all your shenanigans, I suppose I've been forced to become a bit of a stronger person," I told him, "and speaking of which, I still want to check that wound." I began to unwrap the gauze around his midsection.

"I'm sure it's fine, luv, barely even hurts anymore," he said casually.

The cut had fused together nicely. It was no longer red around it and the swelling was nearly gone.

"You've healed amazingly well, Jack," I said as I examined him. "I'll be able to remove these stitches sooner that I thought."

"Told you I'd be good as new in no time," he grinned, "after all, I'm…"

"Yes, I know," I interrupted, rolling my eyes, "You're Captain Jack Sparrow."

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A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, better than Halloween treats!

Hope you liked this one, kind of the sequel of ch.5. Oh, and Elizabeth is evil! There, I said it!