**Author's note: Here's your reward for tolerating several short chapters; it's one a bit longer than my usual. And here's the kicker, faithful readers… it's the last. Well, very nearly. It's the last full chapter, but because I love a bloody good tale just as much as the rest of ye, there's an epilogue coming. I can't express enough how incredibly wonderful, flattering, and constructive your reviews have all been, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**
It was too bloody quiet.
Jack prowled the deck of his ship, waiting for any sign of her. He'd be hanged like the pirate he was before he would let her have the last word on things.
He'd expected her to take a bit more time to recuperate, at least a little more time before she was back to being… shrewish. He was trying to do the right thing, for once in his life, and the blue-stocking wouldn't even let him do that.
"Gibbs!" he shouted, stopping in front of the wheel of his ship. It seemed to take an inordinately long time for Gibbs to appear, and when he did he looked decidedly unconcerned that his captain had called for him.
"Yes, cap'n?"
"You know, Gibbs, I was just wondering where, precisely, nearly every single member of my crew has disappeared to this early in the evening. Though it has, on more than one occasion, crossed my mind that it would be nice to give them all a long soaking in the Caribbean, I've not done so, and so it behooves me to ask where they've all gone." When Gibbs merely stared at him for a long moment, Jack threw his hands in his air, his eyes widening. "Welcome to the Black Pearl, sir," he said mockingly. "Is it a tour ye'd like, then?"
Gibbs eyed his captain darkly. "Aye, that'd be nice," he grumbled. "Keep your petticoats in place, cap'n, I's only tryin' to figure out how to phrase it to ye."
"I've an idea, Gibbs. You phrase it in your ordinarily delightful way, and I'll translate in my head." His patience was wearing thin, and he couldn't fathom Gibbs's attitude.
"Well, sir, the men are all over checkin' on the Larksong. Ye know, seein' as it's sound an' all. It looks like a right heap, it does, and so they're figurin' things out fer the missy." Seeing Jack's face turn an unusual shade of red, he added, "They'll be back."
He wondered how he was even capable of surprise anymore. They'd gone, without orders, to check on the ship for Amelia. Closing his eyes, he turned so the slight breeze blew in his face. "That's a mighty fine liking ever' man on this crew has taken to her, then," he said, the muscles in his jaw tight.
Gibbs smiled wickedly. "Aye," he agreed enthusiastically. "She's a corker."
"I'll be sure to take note of that, Gibbs, since the last opinion of yours I heard—and did not ask for—stated she was bad luck."
"Ye didn't hearken to me then, either," Gibbs grumbled, walking away with an uneven step.
As soon as he was gone, Jack let his shoulders sag and his eyes open. What would he do with a ship back in order, anyway?
~~~
She emerged less than an hour later, never facing him, walking briskly toward the several crewmen waiting to row her to the Larkspur. One of the crewmen handed her a hat he'd apparently dug up from below, and she tied it on quickly, several strands of dark hair teasing in the wind.
He clenched his fists at his sides, debating on whether or not to approach her. Though she'd told him not to, it hardly mattered. He'd things to say to her, and she'd by God listen.
He at least wanted to see her face one more time before she sailed away from him.
"Hold," he called striding across the ship. Instead of doing so, however, his men loaded her into the boat and began to lower it.
"Cap'n, sir, I have a question fer ye," the cook, almost always confined to the kitchen, stepped in his way. "About mess fer tonight."
"Move aside, Parker," Jack said, trying to get past the large man. He stepped to his left just as Parker stepped in the same direction, then reversed himself just as Parker did the same. "Move!" he finally bellowed, storming past the cook. But the boat had already hit the water, the men rowing in long, fast strokes.
She kept her head down, refusing to look up at him even as she grew farther from the ship where so much had happened, and Jack struck a blow at the side of the ship, cursing loudly for his entire crew to hear.
"I've a question," he said suddenly, his voice deceptively pleasant as he turned to face the men on his ship. "Is my voice loud enough? Can ye all hear me quite well?" When all he got were nods, he spread his arms far in the air. "Good!" he exclaimed, nodding his head enthusiastically, the tricorne bobbing up and down. "In fact, I think that's wonderful. So why is it that just now, when I gave an order to hold, every last of ye acted like 'twas no more'n the braying of an ass?"
"Because 'twasn't any more than that." Small, even steps neared him, striking a pattern of noise on the otherwise silent deck. "You know, I'd hoped, at the very least, you'd fling yourself into the water after me. But perhaps you can't swim."
Jack stood where he was, his back to the impossible voice, his fingers stroking the butt of his gun. He'd shoot her, by God, and not pause to think about it. He turned then, raising sparking, dark-rimmed eyes to cool, light brown ones.
It was the second time she'd made a fool of him in front of his crew.
"You might want to go ahead and shout 'you're welcome' to Anamaria over there." Amelia nodded her head in the direction of the Larksong. "As you've just given her a ship and the beginning of her very own crew." A smile played about her lips as she brushed her hands down the men's clothing she'd traded Anamaria for. "What a fool you are, Jack."
"Captain," he grated out, completely at a loss for words.
"You wanted me to leave, aye?" She stood in front of him, hands on hips, eyes flashing even as she smiled. It had been satisfying, so completely satisfying, to see him scamper across the deck of his own ship, trying to say good-bye as though she were a dim-witted strumpet who'd have obeyed his commands.
"Now more than I did," he said negligently, the words popping out before he could stop them. He stood hipshot, one foot braced to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her expressionlessly.
She stepped toe-to-toe with him and eyed him thoughtfully, aware of every crewmember's eyes on her. They had helped her, down to the last man. It was they who had readied things not just for Amelia, but also for Anamaria. It was they who agreed to help keep Jack away for just long enough to get Anamaria to the Larksong.
Amelia had made her a trade, coming to a gentlewomen's agreement in the stuffy wardroom below decks.
"You take the ship," Amelia insisted. "And the clothes, and the Donne. In exchange for a promise."
"Ye mean in exchange for Jack," the pretty pirate had said, laughing as Amelia's color rose.
Ignoring the jibe, Amelia had continued with her terms of the trade. "Sail it when you'd like, take her wherever you want to, Anamaria. But go to shore, get a job." With a flash of inspiration, she grinned. "There's a bookshop on the main thoroughfare. The proprietor's a friend of Jack. Maybe you can do something with that."
For the first time in a long time, Anamaria felt a small glimmer of hope. "Aye," she had whispered. "Maybe."
Now, standing in front of Jack and all his crewmembers, she did what so many others before her had done.
Amelia reared back her hand and slapped Jack across his hollow cheek, knowing she deserved the stinging in her hand just as much as he deserved the pain in his face. He hissed but did not move, bringing his eyes steady back to hers after his head had rocked back.
"That," she said, ignoring the murmurs from the crew, "Was for trying to make me leave."
She stepped again, standing on her toes to brush her lips over the reddening spot on his cheek, and then over his lips. "And that was also for trying to make me leave."
"Aye, and with my face throbbing like a bitch in heat, I can't possibly see how 'tis I'd have wanted to send you away 'tall," he retorted, being fully honest even in sarcasm. This was the woman who had snuck onto his ship, and the woman who had followed him on shore to make sure he wasn't doing anything wayward.
This was the woman he'd bedded, and the same woman who had killed her brother. Nothing had been taken away, only added, and he couldn't think why he'd feared otherwise. A fool he'd been, indeed.
"So it's not askin' me to stay yer doin', then?" she asked, slurring her words and adopting his affected pose. "Even though ye loves me, surely 'nough."
Jack tilted his head down, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I beg your pardon, love, you'll have to repeat that last part, as I'm quite certain you didn't say what I think I heard you say. It's a presumptuous lass y'are, and though that surprises me not, presumptions can easily be carried into inappropriate territory." He held up a finger as though counseling her and immediately regretted it when she grasped it in one of her small fists and bent, making his eyes pop wider.
"Do you never stop nattering?" she asked exasperatedly. "You kept me aboard, you kept me in your cabin." Steeling herself against the blush she knew would come, she pressed on. "You kept me in your bed, Jack Sparrow, and you killed my tormentor for me… with me. If you're not a smart enough man… if you're not a trig enough captain… to know that you've feelings for me, and I for you, then you're not the man I thought you were, savvy?" She released his hand and shoved, this time succeeding in making him stumble, if only a bit.
"Foul-mouthed shrew!" he exclaimed by way of a response, trying to hold back the grin that wanted to come.
"It's keepin' 'er y'ought to be doin', cap'n," Gibbs exclaimed from the back of the crowd, pausing to spit on the deck.
Trying to ignore the fact that the man had clearly just spit on his Pearl, Jack turned and addressed the man pleasantly. "I'm sorry, Gibbs, be a good man and repeat what you just said."
"Keep 'er," he bellowed. "We've not ever had the Pearl without a woman aboard, not since you got 'er back from Barbossa. Could be they're good luck."
Jack nodded, satisfied with the conclusion, tired of pretense, and snaked a lean arm out, pulling Amelia flush to his body. The man's clothing she wore, tight in places it oughn't have been, was doing a great deal to improve Jack's mood.
"You've made a grave mistake, love," he said, looking down at her. "For I'd sooner have my tongue cut out before I would ever admit you were right about anything." Grasping her hair in his hand in a gesture quickly becoming familiar, he lowered his face to hers. "Is it passage yer wantin', love?"
"No," she said steadily, relief all but flooding through her.
"I'm a pirate, Miss Hamilton." He echoed his words from the first night on the docks, liking the symmetry of coming full-circle, of sailing at least once into the port where he started from. He lowered his voice for her ears only and watched as the blush masked her freckles. "A woman on a pirate ship doesn't ride like a queen. Though she would, in fact, ride quite a bit."
"I do love you, Jack," she said, tilting her head back a fraction of an inch further so her eyes could meet his. "For some reason."
He let go of her hair, smoothing his hand down it, and grinned then, charming and quick, feline and satisfied. "I know," he said simply, sliding his lips across hers teasingly. "And that's Captain to you."
~~Stay tuned for an epilogue…~~
