Disclaimer: Ruthie is mine. Her family is mine. I'm holding them hostage till Jack comes to get them...anything to have him within ten feet of me...

A/N: This happens about ten years before the whole thing with Barbossa and about twenty before Sins of the Father. You don't have to read Sins to understand this, but I recommend you do, b/c it's a bloody good read. ;)



"Jack, I'm pregnant."

Jack Sparrow, possibly the most collected man on the seven seas, spun to face the speaker, spinning the ship's wheel violently in the process. Sails turned crazily, causing the vessel to turn and buck as if it would tip over. Jack amended this crisis quickly, clasping the wheel in strong, long-fingered hands, and ordered his crew back to work with a somewhat strained voice.

During all of this, the speaker that had so shocked her captain had stood calmly by, gazing at him quizzically. Now, she stepped to his side; no one would see it amiss. Ruthie and Jack were a well-known item aboard the Pearl. Besides, Jack was the captain. He could do what he liked.

"Care to repeat that, lovey?" Jack said quietly, keeping his face composed.

"I'm pregnant. With child; expecting a bairn," her Scotts accent made her voice harsher than she wanted.

"Mine?" Jack murmured. Ruthie took a step back and stared at him as if he'd stated he was giving up alcohol. Blue-green eyes narrowed; red hair blew briefly into her eyes, relieving him of her deadly glare.

"Of course yours!" she hissed. "What did you think; that Bootstrap and I crawled off into a dark corner somewhere?" Her face was turning crimson with anger; Jack sighed. Once again he'd provoked her Celtic temper, and pregnant women were notoriously moody. The young pirate turned to look into her eyes. He didn't want to ask this next question, but it was a necessity. At least, in the position they happened to be in.

"You're going to keep it? I mean, carry it to term?" His voice held the slightest waver, the tiniest indication of the fear he felt at her answer.

"Aye, you ruddy twit. T'wasn't the bairn's fault is was conceived. More than that, I'd have done with it before now, otherwise."

Jack breathed a private sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was the blood of an unborn child –his unborn child, no less- lingering on his hands.

"Does anyone else know?" Ruthie sighed and rolled her eyes; she was quickly tiring of his interrogation.

"Only Bootstrap. He's the one th' helped me confirm it, having seen the signs in his wife an' all."

"Best thing for now, I think. Savvy?"

The last word was an inquiry, not an order for her silence. He hadn't made her first mate because of her looks, though those would have given her a running start had Jack only wanted a figurehead. No, Ruthie was level-headed, clever, and a wonderful navigator; all in addition to being a paragon of Celtic beauty. Jack reached out and wrapped his arm about his beauty's waist, steering the ship one-handed. She relaxed into him ever so slightly, still keeping an outward veneer of cool thoughts. These were the moments both treasured most, even above the moments of shared passion. Being able to stand together, each with his own thoughts, yet irrevocably one. Suddenly, Jack turned to Ruthie and grinned his shiny grin.

"Y'know, I've always liked the tradition of namin' a boy after his father," he said reflectively. Ruthie regarded him coolly.

"What if it's a lass?"

"We could call her 'Jacquelin,'" the captain slurred, the look on his face for all intents indicating he was serious. Ruthie poked him unmercifully in the ribs.

"Easy on the goods, darling!" Jack exclaimed.

"No!" Ruthie exclaimed back, and captured his clever mouth in a kiss.



Sparrow...Spaaahroow. SPARROW!

Jack spun around to face the speaker, kohl-lined eyes wide.

"Ay?" he said calmly. The speaker smiled, his lips pale, his teeth rotting.

"Jack Sparrow," the figure hissed. Jack sighed heavily.

"Captain, it's Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? One of these days my reputation will spread..."

"If you live that long," the figure answered. Jack snorted in amusement.

"Ye're nary the first, nor the last I'll wager, to lay that threat on me, mate. It's the oldest cliché in the book. Honestly, you'd think you'd come up with something a bit more original..."

"Oh, do shut up," the figure said forcefully. Jack opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He was as good as mute. Once again the figure smiled, and stepped into the light. Jack's heart sped to a run as beads of sweat gathered at his hairline.

Captain Samuel Sangre. The most evil man Jack had ever met. And the pirate he and his mates had stolen from. But this was not the Sangre that had nearly keelhauled Jack and his cohorts. This Sangre was a man possessed, driven mad and decaying from within. Sun-brown skin had turned sickly grey; dull grey eyes were totally black, the whites having turned a putrid yellow. His frame was skeletal but wiry, holding fast to some unnatural strength.

"You want to know what happened to me," Sangre murmured. The man moved closer to young Jack.

"You did this, young captain. You and your Scottish floozy and that leather man... You did this when you boarded my ship, and took what did not belong to you." The man stepped closer again, and Jack could smell the stench of decay. If he could have moved, he would have gagged.

"Do you know what my penalty is for such things?" Sangre murmured, then stepped to the side. Behind him was a figure, vivid in color. It was a woman in a green dress, her brilliant red hair drawn artfully away from her face. Her head was bent over something she held in her arms.

"Ruthie..." Jack whispered, his speech suddenly restored. The woman looked up, revealing that she was indeed Ruthie the Ruthless. And the object she was holding was a child. Their child. Sangre pulled his pistol from his belt and pointed it directly at the infant's head, which was over her mother's breast. The bullet would kill them both, Jack knew, the thought forming just as Sangre squeezed the trigger...

Jack sat bolt upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat, tears of fear threatening his eyes. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest any moment, as only one thought coursed through his mind. That was a portent, not a dream...Not a dream...the future...

Then something else occurred to him.

"Sweet muse of the ocean, it's a girl!"

Ruthie, sleeping soundly next to him until now, rolled over groggily. "What?"

"The baby...our child. It's a girl."

"What the ruddy blazes are you talking about?" Ruthie reached out and turned up the side lamp, squinting to see him in the shadowy room. Jack slithered halfway under the blankets and looked his first mate in the eyes.

"I had a dream, just now. Except, I don't think it was a dream, savvy? I think it was what could come in the future..."

"Ye're daft," Ruthie stated simply. Jack gripped her shoulders gently to keep her attention.

"No use statin' the obvious, love. But, just now, I had a dream about Sangre. He-he was changed...like a ghost, but still alive. And you were in the dream as well...you and our whelp. And he..." Jack gulped. "And h-he shot you. Both of you. In cold blood."

Ruthie sat up now, her face serious at the mention of Sangre.

"He's found us again," she whispered. A hand went immediately to her abdomen. She looked up, and for the first time since Jack had known her, she looked afraid.

"I can't stay here," she whispered. "We can't stay here."

Jack's hand covered hers gently. "We'll get you on dry land. Then Bootstrap and I will sail as far away as we can, to lure Sangre away. When it's safe...I'll return for you." Ruthie wrapped her arms around Jack's waist, nestling against his shoulder.

"I want your solemn promise, you raccoon-eyed oaf, not some lick in the wind!" Jack held her to his body, one hand still firmly on her stomach. It was rounded ever so slightly.

"I'm never solemn, and I think the kohl looks quite dashing, but you've got my blood promise, love. You've got my blood within you, and my pledge that I'll come back to see it birthed." For the first time in the all the years he'd known her, Ruthie lay in Jack's arms and wept.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Bootstrap muttered. Jack straightened his greatcoat and looked in the mirror. Ruthie had insisted he do something with his hair, so he'd untangled the worst of the knots and rebraided the beads into place. Why she'd given him a longsuffering look when he'd presented himself to her, he had no idea.

"Sure I'm sure, mate! We can't let the poor lass go back to her house alone...she mightn't strictly be welcome, savvy?"

"We mightn't strictly be welcome, Jack! I know Branwen would welcome Ruthie with open arms; young William is apparently the energetic type. And, my girl could tell yours what to expect," Bill held his hands up, placating; the wedding band on one finger caught a glint of light from the porthole.

"Frankly, I agree wi' ye mate," Jack said very quietly. "But Ruthie doesn't. If her family refuses t' take her back, perhaps we can talk sense to her. But...it's her decision, really. All other opinions are rather superfluous."

"Superfluous," Bill muttered, butting Jack away from the mirror so that he could study his own reflection. "You and your ruddy impressive vocabulary. How do I look?" J

ack studied the man. Bill Turner was a bit taller than his captain, with long brown hair he liked to tie back. He had the sort of look about him that made every move seem charming, and an almost pretty face that attracted women like flies to honey. He was muscular, though, and brown from days at sea. At present, he wore the best clothes he owned; black trews, a new white shirt and a blue vest.

"Ruddy impressive mate!" Jack said, slapping him on the shoulder. "But you'll never outdo me!" The younger man struck a pose that sent Bill into convulsions.

"Nonsense!" came a third voice. "I chose you for your personality, not your good looks!" Ruthie came up and twined her hand in Jack's. She wore a simple, blue linen dress that fell gracefully over her expanding tummy. Her hair was caught up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She looked...like a woman, not just a female pirate.

"Come now! You know I'm the more handsome!" Jack teased, and for some women, this held true. Chocolate brown eyes lined with black kohl and shoulder-length jet hair complemented high cheekbones and a ready grin. Add to that his perpetual swagger and penchant for charm, and he was irresistible.

"Ah, well, I'm biased," Ruthie murmured, and looked to the door. She bit her lower lip and gripped Jack's hand, suddenly looking much younger than her twenty-one years.

"No worries, love. We'll be with you the whole time." The frightened look didn't dissipate.

"I know."


"My God! Ruthie! Ye've returned to us!" A woman of middle-aged years ran from the door of the tiny cottage to take the younger woman into her arms. She bore a striking resemblance to Ruthie, and well she should. It was her mother that held her now.

"What's gone on with ye, lassie? A bairn on the way?" The woman's eyes flickered to Bill and Jack. "And...a husband we've not met?"

Aisling MacOwen looked so worried, so doubtful at her last statement that Jack gave up his resolve of total honesty. After all, totally honest men are prone to do something incredibly stupid.

"Aye, madam! And a luckier man never existed to have such a wife!" Jack swept a graceful bow, ignoring Ruthie's stunned look. He took Mrs. MacOwen's hand in both of his.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, my lady!"

"Oh! A captain! How old are you, lad?"

"Twenty-one, madam. Young for it, I know, but true talent isn't measured by age, savvy?"

"Indeed! And who is your silent friend?"

"William Turner, good lady," Bill said, if a bit stiffly. "A friend of the family."

Aisling smiled grandly, twenty years flying from her features.

"Please, come inside. Ruthie's father should be in from the field soon. I know he'll want to meet you."

No wonders where Ruthie got her good looks! And charming to boot...

Jack felt slightly ashamed of deceiving this kind woman. But only slightly. If allowing her to believe that her daughter was happily married to a merchant captain kept Ruthie and their child safe, that was all that mattered. Bill followed behind, his face twisted in a slightly sour look. Branwen had never had any illusions as to who he was or what he did. They loved one another, and their tiny son; everything else was relative. But, Jack was so young yet; perhaps he'd learn.

Aye, and the King's my uncle.



A/N: Hope you like! Please review, and I'm open to suggestions about the plot!