A/N: Sorry this took so long. I'm out of the country, far far away this time, and it's damn hard to find internet here. Anyhow, I'll update again as soon as I find a computer…

Barbossa and Willie locked eyes for a long moment, both frozen stiff by shock and dismay.

And then the spell was broken by a deafening crash on the pier. Barbossa whipped around reflexively to it and saw that the crane-load of crates reading RUM-6 BOTTLES had smashed down to the ground, shattering beyond all hope of drinkability.

He didn't even think to mourn the rum, though, because if the soldiers had been shooting at the ropes and pulley, then that meant…

"You're not shot." He said it almost as a challenge, willing it to be true, and swung back around to face the boy behind him.

He jumped – while his back was turned, Norrington had approached and was now standing six inches from his face. "Correct," Norrington put in quietly. "Consider it a repayment of all the times you've shown my men your peculiar brand of mercy wherein you leave them naked and humiliated, rather than dead." His lips quirked in a brief, bitter smile. "I see you realize what a good deal you're getting."

Barbossa's breathing was still quick and shallow. He cursed himself for it and ordered himself to calm down. "That rum was naught but an innocent bystander, and did not deserve to die," he said. "Willie: we're leaving."

He turned towards the Pearl and then stopped short, realizing that the shattered rum bottles made it impossible to go any further without shoes. Norrington gave a patient sigh. "See? You're trapped. Now come along with me – and if you resist, then my men will shoot you. And the boy."

Barbossa took one look at the way the waves were driving up against the pilings of the pier and decided that swimming was out of the question – he had no wish to be battered to death. Going quietly with the peacock was, of course, also out of the question. That left only one option. His jaw tightened as he held a brief conversation with himself over whether this was really necessary, and then he turned his back on Norrington and started walking down the dock.

Willie stared after him, shuddering at the sound of glass and wood crunching beneath the captain's bare feet, but the logical response didn't even occur to him until Barbossa paused, turned, and held out his hand. "Comin?"

Oh. Willie shouldered past Norrington and went for it before he could change his mind.

Sheer disbelief at what he was doing carried him for a few steps, but it wasn't long before the pain really hit him and he jerked to a stop. He looked down and saw-

Barbossa's sleeve. "Don't watch," the captain ordered, forcing Willie's head up. "Just run." His voice was cold and tight and not at all encouraging as he pulled them forward.

Willie seized his wrist and squeezed for all he was worth, but got moving. When he was yanked in one direction or another he went, he stepped when he was told "Here," jumped when he was told "Careful," and finally there were a few paces with no fresh horrors and he realized that they were through it.

He let go of the captain's hand and went to his knees, taking the weight off his injured feet and trying to gasp in enough air to scream.

Barbossa looked back and saw that none of the soldiers had dared follow him. Norrington – the only man wearing his shoes – was too busy chewing them out to do anything useful himself. "-OBVIOUSLY COUNTS AS RESISTING!" he was shouting. "Why didn't you shoot?!" Some of his men were already loading their guns. Others were starting to sweep debris out of the way.

The captain scuffed against the ground to rid himself of some of the bigger pieces of glass he'd picked up, then tapped Willie on the head and growled, "Escape's first, nursin's later. Let's go."

Willie stumbled, trying to favor first one foot and then the other. "Wait - I can't do it," he gasped.

The captain was already halfway up the ramp. "You've done the hard part; now shut up and get to the ship!" he called over his shoulder.

"I mean it! Help me!"

Barbossa stopped - out of nowhere came the thought of those cables that let you walk. He stormed over and without a word went down to a knee to feel for the vital spot behind the ankle.

It was intact, on both legs.

Now more annoyed than concerned, and most especially annoyed at being concerned, the captain snapped, "Well, what d'you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't know," Willie snapped right back at him, "I can crawl or you can carry me, which do you think is faster?"

While he began suggesting a third alternative involving his belt, Willie grabbed him. The scuffle was brief – his father had always been an avid fan of horseplay and so Willie was adept at riding piggyback on even the most uncooperative of hosts. Barbossa soon realized this, gave up trying to detach him, and trudged up to the Pearl. He dumped the boy down on the deck and tossed him an axe. "Cut the mooring lines. I don't care how; you can walk on your head if you have to. I'll do the rest. And stop the snivelin or I'll throw ye back onto that dock myself, you whiny little brat."

Willie didn't deem it a good time to argue, so he just did what he was told.

The two of them got the Pearlmoving on their own. They were soon joined by the rowboat of pirates who, fortunately, had not forgotten the captain's coat and boots. They sailed out to where their friends waited for them.

It was time to untangle the crews and send everyone back where they belonged. The discussions took place on the Pearl. This was convenient for Barbossa and Willie - they were in no shape to go anywhere, and were just sitting knee-deep in buckets of seawater when the others came aboard.

Jack and Will immediately demanded to know what happened, while Elizabeth just covered her mouth and tried hard not to attack her son with a barrage of hugs and kisses.

"It's nothing. We're bleedin a little, is all," Barbossa answered for the both of them.

Willie nodded towards the gory footprints that crisscrossed the deck and managed to crack a joke. "And this after I just killed myself scrubbing her down." He lifted a leg from the bucket to show them, intensely proud of the way he was holding up. "Norrington thought a few cracked-up rum bottles could stand between us and the Pearl."

"Turns out you were right, Jack," Barbossa added. "Kid would crawl over broken glass for me."

Willie fended off his worried parents gracefully, but when even Jack came to check on him it was too much to bear. He wasn't a baby anymore, for Heaven's sake!

He shot a look in Barbossa's direction. "If you're not going to fuss over him, Captain Sparrow, don't fuss over me," Willie snapped. "We walked over the same stretch."

"Yes," Jack said patiently, "But he was walking on a set of scars so thick he hardly felt a thing, whereas you-"

"What was that?" Barbossa glared first at Jack and then at Will. "I distinctly recall forbidding you-"

"I didn't say anything!" Will protested, voice jumping higher than Willie's. "I swear."

"There be a very limited number of people in possession of that particular piece of knowledge, Turner. Considerin the rest of 'em are mostly dead... that leaves you."

"I didn't," Will repeated. "Come on, Jack, tell him I didn't tell you!"

"Oh, all right," Jack sighed. "Leave 'im be, mate - I found out for meself."

"What is everybody talking about?" Willie asked. "Well? Hello?"

He was ignored by everyone except Davy, who laughed at him. "Aw, is the tyke getting a little crabby?" he teased. "You've had a rough day. Show me."

Willie looked around for help and got a nod from his mother (Jack and Will and Barbossa were still too busy glaring at one another), so he let Davy see what was wrong with him and Davy sat down to clean out the wounds himself. His sticky hands could get at splinters that Willie could not, and while everybody found the sight of his suckers at work disgusting, it was rather difficult to look away from. Jack finally spoke up to end the awkward silence.

"It was nigh ten years ago now," Jack said in Barbossa's direction. "You and I were in Tortuga wenching, and you stole the one I was after."

Barbossa chuckled despite himself. "I do that whene'er we wench together, Jack."

"Well. This time I got a little annoyed. So once you were snoring in that special way that says you've had one or three too many, I decided to get me a spot of revenge. So." Jack settled back against the railing, enjoying himself now because it looked like he would get to tell the story without Barbossa killing him halfway through. "So I stole your shoes right off you - and your socks, because I needed something to carry the mud in."

"Mud?" Barbossa repeated.

"Yep, mud. I got some from outside and slopped it around on the hallway floor. Then I went on down the hall and found a nice married couple, woke the lady up, and worked me charms on 'er."

"You did what?" Elizabeth demanded, scandalized even though she knew she should know better; it was Jack Sparrow for Heaven's sake.

"A married woman? How?" Willie was fascinated enough not to mind that Davy was now leaving a coating of fishy goo over his cuts to close them.

"I dragged her out into the hall and went down on one knee to propose to her - figured I'd try the element of surprise, eh? Oh, and by the way, I must admit she wastruly hideous. Think, Gibbs in a dress. Gibbs before he had scales, that is… but anyway she liked me and I seduced the dear old thing right then and there. Lizzie, cover your ears."

Of course Elizabeth did no such thing.

"So," Jack continued, looking terribly proud of himself even though he'd already confessed that his damsel looked like an old fat drunk pirate, "We went for it right there in the hallway, mates - up against the wall and plenty noisy. The banging woke up the husband - all part of me plan - and when I heard him get up I took off. Ran back down the hallway, leavin a trail of Barbossa-sized footprints that led straight back to dear old Hector himself, still sound asleep o'course. I stuck the shoes back on his feet and hid in the corner..."

"And I woke up," Barbossa finished, remembering the incident now, "To the beatin of me life, with no idea what was happening nor why. Twas a fat old farmer as I recall, who'd grabbed up a poker for use on me kidneys." Suddenly he turned to Jack, looking horrified. "I thanked ye for pullin him off!"

"As well you should have," Jack agreed. "After all, mate, I saved your life - that poker could've killed you. Anyway," he added, changing from one dangerous subject to another, "That's how I knew about your scars." He turned to Willie for the conclusion. "And that is why I'm fussing over you and not over him. The end."

"The end," repeated Davy. He stood.

Willie followed suit, pleased to discover that walking around was now possible, if painful. And who had ever said that Davy Jones was heartless! "Thank you very much." He nodded towards Barbossa and added, "Do him next, would you?"

Davy laughed. "Him? I don't think I will. I like to see him suffer."

Willie thought that was pretty mean already, but then Barbossa shot over a glare that seemed aimed at both of them. Davy smirked as though he'd planned the whole thing, and Willie thought that perhaps it was right to call him heartless after all.

TBC. Happy? No cliffie this time!

Just Jack being Jack. Next chapter is more plot-ish and I'll post it as soon as I can.