A/N: Thanks to the Swimming Door for the review and the feedback! :)

Thanks to all of you for your great comments last chapter. I really felt that writing a scene where Barbossa would shed tears was a risky one, but I really wanted to see if I could make it believable. From the feedback you all sent, I guess it came out alright! Hugs to all of you who have been continuing to send encouragement and enthusiasm for the story!

~o~

Chapter Fourteen

~o~

"You must stay," he said, echoing the message in a plaintive whisper. "You can't be his."

"No?" I asked, feeling the tears welling up in my own eyes as he tore at my heart with his distressed manner.

"No," he said, pulling me even closer and burying his face deeper in my hair. "Ye were meant to be mine, lass."

His voice caught again, and for one of the only times I would ever be witness to, the captain of the Black Pearl, Lord of the Caspian Sea and scourge of the Caribbean, broke down in my arms, and shed tears that fell hotly against my neck, before falling into a fitful slumber next to me. I held onto him, trying not to disturb him as I wiped at my own brimming eyes, and knew that my decision had just become even more difficult.

~o~

When I awoke late the next morning, a bit worn out still and slightly unfocused, it was to a sound that I wasn't accustomed to in the least. Gentle snoring arose from near my ear, and I suddenly realized that I couldn't move. I'd managed to turn onto my back sometime during the night, and evidently he'd managed to stay close, shifting to sleep with my arm under him and his head against my shoulder, and there he still slumbered, while I discovered the lack of feeling in my arm.

Debating if the loss of circulation was uncomfortable enough to risk waking him, I couldn't help but smile to myself. Waking up with a snoring, hung over pirate sprawled half on top of me was not typically the way I planned to start my day.

I waited a few minutes, hoping he might stir, but Barbossa was dead to the world, dreaming whatever it was he dreamt about, with one arm flung carelessly across my chest. Finally, deciding that I might have to remove my own arm if I didn't restore the circulation to it soon, I did my best to push at him a little and try to extract my numb limb. Evidently I disturbed him just enough that he surfaced a fraction, and feeling me trying to pull away, tightened his grip on me unconsciously, not realizing in his sleep that he'd groped me ungracefully, even when I emitted a small squeal of surprise and moved his hand lower.

Once more, I pushed at his heavy weight and tried to free my arm, finally getting him to roll off of me onto his back, and I triumphantly tried to rub some feeling back into my arm, while he continued to snore even louder. The sight of him lying there, rumpled, disheveled, hair across his face and snoring inelegantly next to me nonetheless tugged at my affections, and I couldn't help but start to giggle.

After a minute of me trying to unsuccessfully hide my amusement, he opened one eye and glanced at me. "What are you laughin' at?" he asked, his voice coarser even than usual from his overindulgence of the night before.

"You," I admitted, obviously amused.

"Wonderful," he said, managing the tiniest of sneers, but it held little enthusiasm. He raised his hands to his head, pressing his fingers to his temples.

"Merda!" he swore, softly, obviously dealing with the consequences of a lot of rum and little sleep. He decided to try and sit up, and then instantly realized it was a very bad idea and let his splitting head fall back against the pillow with an exaggerated groan. "Fuck me," he muttered, cradling his head with his hands.

I sat bolt upright. "Excuse me?" I said, appalled at what I mistakenly took for a most indelicate and outrageous request. I hadn't thought him to be that drunk still.

"'Tis an expression of displeasure only, May," he said, amused despite his hangover.

"Oh." The relief in my voice must have been of comical proportions, and he laughed at my misunderstanding and then grabbed his head, which evidently throbbed harder when he laughed.

"Bloody hell," he swore, and then groaned again. "What a complete ruddy arse ye must think me."

I smiled at his pitiful state. "I'd say we're even on that account, now," I replied. I suddenly wondered what Jonathan would have said if he'd ever seen me in the tipsy condition I'd been in two nights before. I doubted he would have been as amused as Barbossa was, and I highly doubted I'd ever see him in the condition Barbossa was in at that moment.

Barbossa groaned again. "Get my gun, lass, and shoot me now," he said, carrying on a bit dramatically. "Me head's about to split open," he whined.

"And whose fault is that?" I asked smartly.

He rolled his head on the pillow to gaze at me. "Yers."

"Mine?" I asked.

"Aye, yers," he said, wryly, "but I'll let ye make it up to me."

"Oh, thank goodness," I said back with good natured sarcasm, "and how shall I go about doing that?"

"Did I not offer a suggestion a moment ago?" he asked wickedly, and then laughed at the appalled look that momentarily crossed my face.

"Damn!" he swore, clutching at his pounding head even as he laughed.

"You are the most indecent scoundrel, Hector Barbossa!" I said, not nearly as irritated as I tried to make it seem, and then I soften my voice to tease him cautiously. "That is not anything a proper gentleman would ever say to a lady."

"I notice it's not yer proper gentleman ye'd be in bed with again," he said and then grabbed his head as he sniggered at his own audacity.

I grabbed up my pillow and hit him with it.

"Madeline!" he gasped, groaning at his throbbing head. "Are you tryin' to kill me?"

"Oh, stop whining like a child," I admonished him.

"Merciless wench!" he replied. "Have ye no sympathy for a dyin' man?"

"No," I said, amused but not quite over his previous outrageous comment. I hit him with the pillow again. "That's for calling me a wench."

"Blast, woman!" he cried, laughing just the same and then cringing at how his head hurt more when he laughed. "Some doctor ye'd be, yeh heartless witch."

I hit him again, giggling, as I knew he really wasn't suffering as much as he led me to believe. "That's for calling me...oh!" He moved rather quickly for someone as ill as he'd indicated and suddenly he'd grabbed my free hand, dragging me toward him.

"Hit me again, will ye?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eye despite the headache. "Harridan."

Of course he knew I'd hit him again even as I was laughing at the impolite things he'd labeled me, and he grabbed the other arm after I'd struck him with the pillow, causing me to drop it as I screamed lightly. Moving quickly for someone so hung over, he rolled to pin me against the bed and held me there by the arms as he leaned over me. "Ye'd be in a bit of trouble, lass," he said. "I'd suggest you apologize."

"No, not until you do," I said stubbornly, still laughing.

"Pirates do not apologize," he announced, "but I'd expect an apology from the likes of you...if you know what be good fer yeh."

"No." I'm not really sure what made me continue the game we'd ended up in, but somehow I couldn't resist.

"No?" he asked, feigning insult. "Then it's the plank fer you, Miss Gray...or maybe keelhaulin'...or..." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ah, yes, torture."

"Torture?" I asked, trying not to giggle girlishly. "Really, Hector, you're not scaring me in the lea...OH!" My declaration was cut off by the unladylike little squeal I'd let go when he'd dug his fingers into my side, startling me and confirming what he'd already surmised –that I was indeed ticklish.

"Stop!" I cried between giggles, trying unsuccessfully to pry his fingers away.

"Stop? Ye'll have to do better than that, lass," he said with a smirk, and he resumed tickling me and digging his fingers mercilessly into my flesh, causing me to scream again during my laughter as I fought, unsuccessfully, to free myself from his stronger hands.

He paused in his torment for one moment. "Do you yield? Will ye apologize?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes still.

"Yes," I said, breathless from his harassment.

"On this ship, I expect me wenches to say 'aye'," he declared, tickling me again for just an instant. "Do you yield?"

"Aye," I complied, breathlessly, and then suddenly I sobered as I found myself meeting his steady blue gaze, panting underneath him from being tickled, and finding that the feel of his weight against me was not unpleasant at all. I knew I was in trouble with as tangled together as we were, and for an instant I thought he was going to kiss me.

I admit to being both relieved and disappointed when his gaze came back up from where it had rested for an instant on my lips, and he smirked and let go, commenting smartly as he climbed off the bed. "I'm glad to see I still have final authority aboard me own ship."

I wasn't done after being treated in such an undignified manner. "When it manages to be your ship, and not Captain Sparrow's," I replied, giving him my sweetest smile.

His brow shot up at the audacity of my comment, but thankfully he took it as the jest it was meant as, and not as any form of actual insult. I realized an instant later, by the look that crossed his face that I was in deep trouble, and I leapt out of the bed, bolting for the main cabin with a scream that would have bested that of any schoolgirl, even as he lunged to grab me.

I made it to the center of the room next to the table, and debated for an instant whether I should risk trying to get to the door, as there were likely a lot of crewmembers on deck, but my momentary hesitation cost me my slight advantage, and Barbossa grabbed me from behind.

Not wanting to be subjected to any more forms of torture, I swung my elbow back to catch him in the ribs, hoping to free myself. He instantly let go of me and doubled over, holding his ribs and gasping. "Damn, lass!"

When I turned, he stood there wincing where he pressed a hand to his side, and suddenly I felt terrible, as I'd not thought I'd hit him very hard.

"Are you alright?" I asked, concerned, and he winced again and nodded without being able to answer. "Oh dear! Hector, I didn't mean to hurt you," I said, crossing the short distance between us to see about checking his injury. I never should have trusted him for a second, for as soon as I got close enough, he grabbed me, a triumphant smirk plastered across his face.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, even as I let out another startled scream and then started giggling. "Ye'll pay dearly fer that comment, lass," he said, trying to maintain his hold on me as I fought to free myself. By that point we were both laughing quite hard, and neither of us noticed the cabin door crack open.

Unfortunately, Jack had heard the commotion in the cabin, and being the clever little monster that he is, knew how to go about working the latch on the door. Once he caught sight of where we were engaged in mock battle, he shot across the cabin, screeching and intent on assaulting me. Thankfully, Barbossa reacted quickly, and spun us about so that he moved me out of Jack's trajectory, and Jack reacted by hitting his shoulder and then rebounding to the table where he continued to chatter angrily.

Jack did manage to disrupt things a bit, for when Barbossa had swung me away from Jack, we'd both managed to lose our balance a little, and when Jack pounced off of him, the monkey's weight and my simultaneous attempt at ducking added enough momentum that we toppled over together, and I found myself sprawled somewhat ungracefully on top of the pirate as he laid there laughing.

Neither of us could move for several long minutes, as hard as we were laughing, and things became even funnier when we realized that Jack had opened the cabin door enough that a number of curious pirates had begun peering in, wondering what the commotion was after I'd been screaming, Jack was screeching, and Barbossa and I were paralyzed with mirth, tangled together in a heap on the floor.

Barbossa was holding his still aching head in his hands as I tried to free my skirts from where they were tangled around us, revealing more of my legs than I was comfortable with, when Gibbs, once more, peered tentatively through the open door.

"Sir?" he asked, his gaze traveling uncertainly from his prone captain, to me trying to cover my knees, to Jack who was jumping up and down on the table in noisy agitation, back to where we were still laughing on the floor. "Everythin' alright, Cap'n?"

"Aye," was all Barbossa could manage, in too much pain and too amused to try and salvage his dignity as he waved Gibbs off.

When I'd given up fussing about my dress, I looked up to see Gibbs flanked by Marty, Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti, who started off looking a bit stunned, and were rapidly taking on the appearance of being quite amused. They shared a few looks among them that betrayed what they must have thought too be going on in the cabin, and I blushed furiously and sobered rather quickly.

"Off with ye," Barbossa commanded, finally regaining some semblance of control, "and take Jack with you." Amidst a round of smirks from the group in the doorway, Gibbs complied quickly, attempting to retrieve Jack, who bolted out of the cabin of his own accord, and he beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

I finally managed to haul myself to my feet, but even as I smoothed out my skirts and adjusted the neckline of my dress so it wasn't sitting askew and off one shoulder, Barbossa remained on the floor where he'd managed a sitting position, watching me as I fussed with my clothes.

"Rumpled or not, ye'd be quite fetchin', lass," he said as he climbed a bit stiffly to his feet, "and every bit as lovely as I remember ye."

I tried to diffuse the situation, dismissing his comments with a slightly impatient gesture. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain Barbossa," I said, scolding him lightly. "I'm a dozen years older than then."

"Ye'd hardly know," he said, approaching where I was running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to dislodge some of the tangles that arose from our encounter. "Would that I not be yet a dozen years older." I knew he referred not so much to the time that had gone by, as to the difference in our ages. I'd always known Barbossa to be at least a decade my senior.

"You know that never mattered to me," I said, watching as he came to stand very close to me. Indeed, it hadn't, and it was not uncommon for women I knew in both England and Port Royal to have been matched, voluntarily and involuntarily, with men with an even greater amount of seniority to themselves.

"I know," he said, "minha flora encantadora." He reached behind my head, under my tousled hair, and drew me nearer.

"What?" I asked, softly, not understanding the Portuguese he sometimes spoke as a result of growing up around a Portuguese native that was friend and mentor for many years. I was somewhat more preoccupied with the way he was looking at me and leaning closer. "Don't," I whispered, putting my fingers to his lips, just preventing him from kissing me. It wasn't that I found kissing him unpleasant, in fact, the problem was that I found it quite the opposite, and I didn't need anything else muddying the waters while I tried to decide what I needed to do.

Never one to be outdone lightly, he kissed my fingers that were against his lips and then let go of me, striding across the cabin and pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it onto the bed. Retrieving a new shirt, he shrugged himself into it as he spoke again.

"You know," he began, re-tying the green bandana he customarily wore around his head, "as captain of this ship, 'tis rare that I not get me own way, or have the things I desire."

"I imagine that's true," I said in reply, trying not to smile at the appealing arrogance that he was allowing back into his manner as he continued dressing, finally donning his frockcoat and weapons.

He swept his hat up from the table and headed for the door. "I imagine 'twill be sooner than later that I'll have that kiss," he said, wry grin in place as he perched his plumed hat on his head and swept out of the cabin, letting the door fall shut behind him.

I shook my head slowly, unable to keep from smiling at his roguish charm. I knew as well as I was standing there, that for good or bad, his words were more than likely true.

~o~

A/N: I've been challenged this week to a writing duel, and the challenger decreed that we would compete with Barbossa-centered smut. Yes, that's right, I said smut. You all know that this is not normally what I write, but I couldn't resist the dare. Tomorrow (Thursday 3/12) is when they are to be posted, so if you dare and you don't have tender sensibilities, check out The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness.