Disclaimer: I don't own any character….yet. But I DO own the plot. At least I own something…

A/N: Thank you all so much for reviewing….as they say: A review a day keeps writer's block away! ^.^ I'm glad to hear you all are enjoying it. Although you all perhaps may be still a bit confused on a few issues, I am going to clear that all up in the next chappy….I promise! Until then, enjoy this chapter.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

Turning a Blind Eye

"So lemme get this straight," Pintel said, squinting hard at Gibbs. "Are ye tellin' the likes of us that you set it up so Jack Sparrow fired upon the Royal Navy?"

"Aye," came the gruff, if not hesitant answer.

"Why would he want 'im to fire on the Royal Navy in the first place?" came the confused inquiry of Ragietti, whose fake eye was spinning in his otherwise empty eye socket.

"Because," came the annoyed answer from Pintel, "this man here convinced Sparrow that firing on the Navy was the only way to outrun us and the cap'n… he convinced 'im that the Navy's ships are faster than us; that way he'd get to good ol' Bootstrap Bill's son before we could."

A befuddled pause filled the air in which Ragetti stupidly tried to piece all of the new information together. The three of them stood on the deck, surveying the marred fog that surrounded them, creating an eerie sense of foreboding. Each man was left to his thoughts until Ragetti spoke again, this question no stupider than the last. "So he fired upon the Navy, and then what?"

"He's dead, you blimey piece of one-eyed filth!" Pintel growled, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he reached for the mop, dunked it in a bucket of questionably clean water, and began to swab the decks.

"Jack Sparrow's dead?" came the awed response.

"Aye. Davey Jones's Locker is his new abode," commented Gibbs gruffly, crossing his arms and staring out into the calm water.

"Ain't that somethin'…" Pintel smiled, showing off his decaying yellow teeth. "Jack Sparrow is dead…"

"Aye. Ain't that somethin'," muttered Gibbs out of earshot of the other two.

"So now what are we schemin'?"

"Are those bloody questions of yourn ever going to stop?" Pintel shot back, glaring at the other. Without wating for an answer, he continued. "Now we're takin' Bootstrap's kid to the gold, spill all of 'is blood like we shoulda done the firs' time, and be relinquished of this forsaken curse," he finished triumphantly. The blank stare from Rigetti made Pintel roll his eyes once more before he continued. "WHICH MEANS," he spoke loudly, "that we will be unable to die, but able to enjoy life….food, riches, and women."

Rigetti's idiotic giggles reached Gibbs's ears, but he ignored them. He was too busy in thought, sorting out his plan, wondering how, in God's blue sea, he was ever going to be able to pull it off…

"So Will's blood will undo the curse then, aye?"

"'Tis as clear as the Caribbean sea," answered Pintel, beginning to swab the decks again. "That kid has got the last of Bootstrap's blood in 'im, and since it's the youngest heir of Bootstrap's blood that we need to break the curse, turn immortal, and carry out the Aztec gods' revenge, killin' the Turner boy will do all of that for us in no time."

Rigetti giggled again as Pintel offered Gibbs what he assumed was meant to be a smile. "And we have you to thank for this, Mr. Gibbs," he added, bowing slightly. Gibbs nodded curtly and turned from them, knowing full well that if he received another one of Pintel's smiles or another wave of Rigetti's laughter he might be moved to murder both of them.

He stared into the peaceful ocean again as the fog lifted slightly, showing a full moon. A strange tingling sensation crept over his body, and he knew that due to the moonlight, he was completely void of flesh. He looked down in semi-amusement at his bare bones only lightly covered by ripped pieces of cloth that were once respectable pirate clothes.

He couldn't stand Barbossa and his crew…they were an abomination in the name of pirate, as far as he was concerned. The only comfort he found now, as the winds began to pick up around him, was that the mutinous first mate and his crew weren't going to get half of the spit they expect to.

After all, Gibbs mused, the gods don't so quickly turn a blind eye to those who steal their gold. And these scallywags have already done just that.

~*~

It was absolutely ridiculous that a pirate such as he should be standing at the helm, directing elite members such as the British Royal Navy in masting the sails and securing the rigging. It wasn't as if they didn't already know how to do those tasks; it was merely the fact that Jack had so much fun making them upset.

"You there!" he called, pointing a jeweled forefinger at an older, rather chubbier soldier. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Masting the sails," he muttered.

"I'm sorry, I must've missed the 'captain' or 'sir' in that statement…my hearing must be worse off than I thought. Please repeat yourself?"

"Masting the sails…sir," he responded with contempt, keeping his eyes glued to the deck.

Jack would have preferred captain, but quickly forgot about it as he asked, "You call that masting the sails?"

"Aye, sir."

Jack shook his head in mock disappointment and was about to respond when he heard a voice behind him say, "Well, Mr. Sparrow, I'm impressed. You've already had them conditioned to call you sir."

He turned to face Commodore Norrington, grinning. "What can I say? They look up to me…a role model, if you will."

"Ah yes, of course," Norrington mused, approaching the helm, a wry look of amusement creeping across his dignified face. "A role model…pillaging, thievery, mutiny…all commendable pastimes, no doubt."

"Some men powder their wigs, others steal 'em," Jack responded, waving his hand extraordinarily. "I just happen to do both."

"Mr. Sparrow-"

"Jack, Commodore. Jack will do."

"Very well….Jack. I would like to speak with you privately, if you're so inclined."

"Lead the way," he said extravagantly as he followed Norrington into the captain's quarters, and shut the door behind him.

"Will you take a seat?" the commodore gestured to an upholstered chair in front of his desk that he now sat behind.

Jack sat upon the chair and hoisted his feet to rest upon the finely carved wooden desk of Norrington's. However, upon seeing the look on the commodore's face, Jack quickly removed his feet, pushed himself upright in his chair, and muttered a "Pardon."

"Now…Jack," he began. "I must know where you are planning to take my crew and I. I must be frank…as much as I care for Elizabeth's safety…as well as for her husband's…I am in no position of authority to risk the lives of my crewmembers due to a hunch of yours."

Jack stared back at the man in front of him for a while, deciding on how to answer. He knew Norrington had a sense of duty to the Navy, but also carried a valued sense of logic, loyalty, and bravery as well…all fine commodities of a well-to-do commodore. He knew he couldn't lie to the man, as much as he wished he could, so he decided, for the first time in a long time, to tell the whole truth.

"I am going to be spit blunt with ye, Commodore," he spoke softly. This took Norrington by surprise…it didn't sound like the flamboyant and overly-smug Captain Jack Sparrow that he knew. "I don't know where we're going. Call it…a hunch. Call it a whim. Call it sailing by the winds. Call it what you may. All I knows is that Elizabeth and Will are going to die at the hands of Barbossa if we don't save them. And if all goes as I fear it might, more souls will be damned to eternal suffering than originally accounted for."

Norrington sat back in his seat and brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it slightly. "I don't understand you, Jack."

"I don't either," he admitted. "But that's not the point I'm trying to make," he pressed on, now sitting at the edge of his seat. "I have an intuition, if you will…on where they're going. I know you're an honest to goodness man, Commodore, but I can't promise you that those men of yourn are going to come out unharmed. However," he spoke on, ignoring the fact that Norrington had opened his mouth to speak, "if you don't do anything about this, mate, I can promise that there'll be more than guilty pirates rotting in the dusky pits of hell."

"Then you're saying the curse is back," he asked cautiously, eyeing the pirate across from him.

"As I've said before…it never left. Took a hiatus."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, Commodore, it is."

Norrington sat silently for a few moments, staring into Jack's brown eyes before he answered. "I don't know why I believe you. You're a pirate, you're a liar, cheated the gallows twice, stolen a ship from the Port Royal docks, and have shown no signs of reform nor regret."

"Ahhh," Jack smiled, sitting back comfortably. "But you do trust me?"

"I hate to say it, but I do," he agreed cautiously.

"Brilliant! Absolutely smashing!" he shouted, gesturing wildly as he stood up unsteadily, a wide grin on his tanned face. "I really thank ye, Commodore…can I call you Com, or Commie for short?" Upon noticing the 'you're-only-alive-because-I-didn't-pursue-you-or-you'd-be-hanging-from-the-gallows-with-a-noose-around-your-neck' look hatched on Norrington's face, Jack quickly corrected, "No, no…Commodore Norrington sounds fabulous…yes…"

"Jack," Norrington stood, just as the pirate was almost out the door. "I…trust that you know what you're doing then?"

"But of course," Jack responded, his arms wide. But as Jack turned from the commodore and out onto the deck, his stomach plummeted when he realized he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

~*~

Did that clear some of the plot up for you? I'm not done, so expect more clarifications in the next chapter. If you are confused on any technicalities of the curse, please let me know in a review. Thanks everyone! Hope you enjoyed.