Letting the paper slip a bit, Jack's eyes wandered to the waxing moon suspended over a dark, dark ocean. Its reflected light glittered off the calm waves, and he wondered how like his blood they churned beneath.

He must've been resting or in a trance, for the next thing he knew, a hand was at his elbow and a voice in his ear. "Jack?" it queried in a proper young English accent. "You there?"

The captain let his head fall back a bit, the motion carrying his glance to Will, who stood uncertainly, watching him, not centimeters away. "Whatcha need?" Jack asked, speech lazier than usual from the four tankards of rum -- not grog, but pure, spiced dark cloudy distilled sugar -- at supper.

"You seem quiet."

Jack allowed himself to drift in those large, dark eyes, caressing worry and apprehension, seeking guidance from the older and wiser. He had the urge to tell Will it was all an act, that while he was eighteen years older he was really no more savvy than the blacksmith when it came to what to do in this particular hostage situation. Or any hostage situation, really; he simply kept true to his name and winged it when such things occurred. "Contemplative," Jack corrected.

For the first time since they'd boarded the French ship, Will smiled.

Something inside Jack shifted. Melted. He swallowed, wanting to laze within the curves of those wide lips, wanting to turn and slide his fingers up into chestnut-gold hair, to nibble at the square chin just below the small goatee, feel Mr. Turner's proper throat muscles bob uncertainly and his voice hitch and pitch a little before surrendering to Jack's questing tongue. He dropped his eyes to half-mast, openly studying the blacksmith's slightly parted lips, but in the dark he was fairly sure it went unnoticed for all the time it took him to flick alert eyes back up to Will's. "An' ow's David?"

"Out like a candle. You're right, that half-tankard of rum really put him under. May be the best thing for him, if he's scared."

"'Intrigued' is th' word I'd use, mate." Jack turned back to his study of the paper against the moonlight streaming into the open cabin window. "In fact, 'e's so wound up wit' wantin' to scurry 'round this ship an' see all what's goin' on tha' we may 'ave a time an' a half makin' 'im concentrate proper on 'is duties to ye."

"He'll listen."

"Aye," Jack agreed with a nod. "'Cause you're 'is newest hero, an' it wouldn' be fittin' for 'im to dis'point ye, Mr. Piratey Blacksmith." Jack turned once more, grinning cheekily, the beads and metal in his hair clinking with the swing. "Ye've quite an influence goin' on that boy, Will."

"Nothing I asked for, Jack."

"Makes it better, don' it?" He didn't wait for an answer, turning his attention finally back to the map he held unrolled. "This'd be a simple matter to redraw, given th' proper tools an' charcoals," he thought out loud.

"Why don't you just tell Francois you know how to draw maps?" the smith suggested, sotto voce. It was night and they were probably alone in the "guest" cabin, but one never knew what ears poked aboard a pirate ship, or where. "You could get your charcoals and things, you wouldn't have to hide … and I'm sure you could convince him of something to your advantage."

"Nay, you're wrong," Jack shook his head. "Far better 'e thinks me a mostly ignorant bedbug who only knows 'ow t' drink an' sing at me helm. Why you think I've worked s' hard to cultivate th' reputation?"

"Well, you *are* mad," Will reassured him dryly.

"For doin' this, I mus' be," Jack agreed. "See, what I do is lay 'nother skin o'er this, skew it just so, an' trace the 'riginal map through." He felt Will lean in to examine what he was doing, his chest pressed into Jack's shoulder blade, nearly holding the captain upright from behind, the man's breath warm against his temple. He closed his eyes briefly, wanting to sway into that hold, turn into those arms and nuzzle at that sinfully long column of skin he called a throat. "Sends e'erythin' a bit to th' southeast, is all. Hardly noticeable."

"Well, until you end up in Guinea instead of Spain," Will pointed out.

"That could be noticeable, I s'pose," Jack conceded. "Important thing is, *we* won' be th' ones endin' up in Guinea." He turned questioning eyes on Will, who smirked and volleyed back, "Savvy."

"Entirely too smart for me own good," Jack muttered, pleased the smith had picked up on his plan as he lay the map out on the nearby table. "Now we jus' got t' figure a way off this tub, where we don' drown or turn into shark nibblies." A small noise from across the room drew both men's attention, and they turned in unison to regard the boy curled up on the only available bunk, knees tucked up into his midsection, arms curled around himself in slumber. "Or get him killed," Jack added quietly.

Will nodded, hands on his hips, brow furrowed in what the captain suspected was his usual serious thought. The man seemed incapable of having a flighty idea -- which was probably good, given how many times the *Pearl's* commander tended to fly off at most anything shiny or even halfway appealing. Gods above knew someone needed to balance out Jack Sparrow. "Oh well … I s'pose takin' o'er the helm's out o' the question," he sighed.

"Jack!" Will hissed.

"Come on, mate. It'd be fun, we didn' have t' worry 'bout small fry, there. Admit it, jus' you an' me upendin' those Spanish bastards o'er the side? Don' say it doesn' appeal to ye somewhere in there."

"Well …" The smith hedged and turned to lift an eyebrow. Jack would've cackled if he knew it wouldn't awaken David.

"Now that's th' son William Turner produced." He grinned briefly, then shook his head. "I'll come up wit' somethin'; you two jus' keep 'em occupied, find out what ye can roamin' th' ship to make repairs an' bring it back t' me."

"What, and you'll make a map of the ship?"

"Not hard t' do, mate."

Will shook his head ruefully, apparently amused. "I just can't picture it. Jack Sparrow -- excuse me, Jonathan Sparrow -- confined in some back room-"

"Jackson," the captain corrected.

"What?"

"Me name. It's Jackson. Hasn't been a John in th' family for goin' on five gen'rations, now."

"I see." Will stroked his small beard. "And the last name?"

"What of it?"

"Is Sparrow your real last name, Jack?"

"What, are ye writin' an epic poem 'bout me?"

"Uh-huh," Will nodded. "I figured as much." Then the younger man paused, grinning; even in the semi-dark, Jack could see the light flicker behind those brown eyes. "What's your nickname?"

"Kind of question is that?"

"All the infamous pirates have nicknames, Captain. What's yours?"

That drew Jack up short. "Are you implying, sir, that I'm not famous enough for a nickname?"

"Not at all -- and you're stalling." When Jack hedged and dissembled, Will nodded. "You don't have one."

"No … I'd just prefer not t' tell it."

"Liar."

"Ship or no ship, I'm still th' captain 'ere, son."

"And I'm calling your bluff -- what's your nickname?"

"And if you don't shut up, I'll give *you* a nickname! How ye like that?" By this point, they were facing one another, Will's arms crossed at his chest, Jack gesturing wildly, tilting forward into the other man's personal space, nearly growling out his whispers as a counterpoint to Will's hint of a smirk.

As the smith was about to reply, a rustling stopped them both. They looked at one another guiltily, then over to the bunk, where David was sitting up, head down on his knees. "Aw, shite," Jack muttered. "Look wha' we did." Will started to move toward him, but Jack's hand went out, settling on his arm. "Let 'im be for a moment; might jus' be sleepwalkin' or somethin'."

David's head bobbed a bit, and he raised it to look around, but didn't seem to be comprehending what he saw, though his eyes were wide and seemingly alert. Finally, he muttered something and fell back against the pillow, shifted a bit, and turned onto his side, curling up once again. "What was that?" Will whispered in the darkness, glancing at Jack.

"You've ne'er seen a sleepwalker?"

Will spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Mum didn't move around like that; neither'd my father, what few times I saw him home. Nobody on the *Pearl* does … that I know of."

"So what you're sayin' is you've not slept wit' 'nough people to quite find tha' out yet, eh?" Even in the dim conditions Jack knew Will was blushing, by the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. "Well, that's sleepwalkin' -- only with Davey, seems there's not a lot o' walkin' to it. Some people walk, some of 'em just get up an' move 'round."

"Did we wake him up?"

"Technically speakin', he ne'er woke up, really. Automatic reflex his body 'as, is all. Jus' means we need t' keep an eye on 'im, since this is a strange place. Don' wan' th' boy to fall o'er into th' drink or down some steps."

Will studied him a bit as comprehension dawned in the dark eyes -- Jack could tell by the way they shifted under the reflective moonlight streaming into the open window, in whose path the smith stood. "You're a sleepwalker, too," he murmured.

There seemed little point in denying as much. "Aye."

"Do I need to keep an eye on *you?*" Bit of humor to that.

He shook his head. "Th' rum usually does me in 'nough to quell down such urges. Unless ye jus' likes watchin' me sleep." Before Will could retort, he removed his hand from the man's arm and nodded toward the bunk, which was at least wide enough to be mostly empty even with the boy in it. "I'm on firs' watch. Get some rest so you'll wake when I need ye to, Mr. Turner."

Jack turned back to the small table by the window and glanced down at the wash of moonlight illuminating the map of the Atlantic. He ran calloused fingertips over its surface and pulled out the regular compass he kept tucked in his vest to check the ship's bearing once again, mentally gauging where they might be headed and how long it would take to arrive at present velocity. He didn't flash the small silver instrument around, preferring instead to let people think he was guided solely by the strange little black box that hung from his sash; in reality, it was good to lead them to only one place, an island Jack no longer had any need to frequent.

Something about the way the moonlight struck the paper made the captain scratch his chin in thought. The map was drawn on onionskin; it would have to be traced on onionskin. He'd been trying all evening to think of a way to get his hands on a large enough piece of glass to prop against his open window so he could lay one over the other and draw from the natural illumination of sunlight, since there was really no other way to do it. But perhaps if the onionskin were thin enough …

Jack glanced back behind him, noting the moon was in a phase only to get more full, not wane. *Should provide plenty of light, given no cloud cover, for several more nights -- and I bet I could see through onionskin well enough to trace this on the table, instead.* He grinned in sudden comprehension; it was far preferable to risking discovery in the daytime. Since they were supposedly Francois's guests, they would be left alone at night so he could work. *Perfect.*

Having solved that small problem, Jack turned and dropped into a chair, his back to the window, and brought his bare feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles. From this angle, he could survey the cabin, the door, and the bed; he noticed Will was stretched out on his back on one side of the bunk, head pillowed on his hands, nose tilted toward the ceiling, clearly not yet asleep. Probably contemplating, as Jack was at present -- but what, the captain couldn't guess. He'd bet anything it was escape; and again, Jack couldn't disagree that he wondered about the same possibility.

Francois had explained earlier, over a fattening meal of succulent fowl and pork, that Jack, Will, and David should consider themselves his guests, to roam the ship at will, but he'd let the undercurrent settle there, that something more might be expected of them at some point. Noting the way more than one pirate had eyed Will and David both throughout the day, Jack had been quick to offer their services as master blacksmith and apprentice -- from watching Will keep himself busy on the Pearl for so many months, he had no doubt the lad could find plenty to do even on a ship as fine as this. And David needed an excuse *not* to be commandeered as cabin boy, especially since Jack knew what Spanish pirates were wont to do with such young, pretty males -- unfortunately for his own national pride, it wasn't much different than what any other given crew of pirates might do to a young, pretty male on board. He was trusting that Will could keep David occupied with training and, from that morning's display out on deck, also protect him should the immediate need arise.