Disclaimer: Any names dropped here and found in the movie aren't mine, and anyone who claims otherwise owes me a lot of money.

Notes:
This fic is currently being re-drafted, and the new chapters cannot be posted here until I've revised all of them. For the latest redone chapter, visit my profile, where you'll find a link. Feedback is still highly appreciated.

Also, please note that some author comments are embedded in the text since the brackets were taken out by TPB.


Forty-Six & 2, Chapter Five - Inicimal Effects
detrimental or devastating happenings

She had been craving this for days now. Normally, a hefty pot of scalding water fresh from the fire place, a tiny cake of 'borrowed' soap, and a musty, shabby rag did not constitute much of a bath—not when one had been living in a Governor's mansion for most of her life, but after only having been able to spot-wash herself with rather grungy water for nearly the past week, it was above and beyond what Elizabeth had come to expect. Of course, she imagined that the Captain would not be too thrilled if he knew what she was actually doing in his cabin. He had hauled her in there after the galley and mess had been given proper cleanings. He had deemed it as punishment for turning Marty, but she knew he was just peeved about the glass.

It really was not her fault that he had come upon one of the little traps. She had tried to warn him, but he would have none of it. Perhaps that had something to do with the mysterious attackers, though he had never been prone to listen to her, even without distraction.

Stripping off her slightly putrid dress and bodice left her in only her shimmy and nether garments, and she began to cleanse herself, easily becoming enchanted by each swipe of the cloth that was so effectively ridding her skin of filth.

When finished, she went to the dingy bureau mirror located just inside the aftercabin to inspect her restorations. Hosanna! She resembled a woman again. If her father, the Commodore, or Will were to view her now—so enthralled with being able to gaze upon her own countenance—they would certainly think her juvenile, or perhaps even mad. On second thought, it was unlikely that Will would come to such a conclusion, as he too had endured hard times. And though she realized that she was still being well sheltered from the thick of it, she could not help but maintain that the experience somehow bonded them, much like Barbossa's interlude had. In fact, the situations were quite similar. Only this time, she was the one sailing away with Jack in order to rescue Will, and she was sure that cursed pirates had nothing to do with it—well, pretty sure.

What she was not sure of was whether or not he would want to be rescued from wherever he was and whomever he might be with.

Achingly, she scrutinized her reflection, summoning up another time not so long ago, a time when she had been looking into a mirror much like this one. Her eyes had been aglow and her cheeks rosy. (The bit of paint she had coerced a reluctant housemaid into applying had highlighted her features charmingly.) The elegant dress flowed around her person splendidly, the tiny pearls on its lace overlay twinkling in the light of the sinking sun.

Hours later, it had been ruined, practically shredded, by the unforeseen tempest that followed what was supposed to be her reception. Her father and Norrington had pleaded with her, trying to persuade her to leave the pier. Ignoring them, she had held her guard, taking the thrashings from the wind, rain, and her own inner squall, until Will's young apprentice had come with word of her beloved's departure.

She shook her head as unshed tears fought for release. She had not cried then, and she would not do so now. Not when everything she wanted was so close to being had. She was going to find Will Turner today and, with a will pun intended? I think so., get answers to the many questions that had been plaguing her mind. After this day, her life would embark on a new journey; she just hoped that he would want to be a part of that.

After being informed of her talented blacksmith's abandonment, she had finally left the pier, silence claiming her as a battle raged within. Two nights after the wedding-that-never-was, she had put an end to her upset by burning the wretched dress. Her father had pulled her away from the hearth, but stood back with her to watch the battered thing slip into oblivion, while the alarmed Commodore muttered what she had discerned as, "rash."

Destruction seemed to mark many significant events in her life: the loss of her mother, the move to Jamaica, the day a pirate saved her life before threatening it, the struggle to hold the Interceptor, the night she fought for her love and was saved for a second time by that same pirate, and her wedding. Why should her new era be any different?

An abrupt nod ruled on the matter. She hastily scanned the cabins for an outlet no, not the electrical kind. Finally coming upon an appropriate tool, she returned to the bureau. She took a few deep breaths before lifting a thick lock of her partially damp hair and drawing it over the narrow blade of a tatty dagger. She swept her arm forcefully and managed to hack most of the multi-stranded ribbon off, holding in a screech of unanticipated pain. Another bout of moisture stung her eyes, but it did not pass her barriers.

She had nearly completed a third of it when she caught something passing in the mirror, and she looked up to find the Captain in the doorway.

Startled, Elizabeth hesitantly faced him, giving him a full view of the mess that she had created of her hair, her tresses framing a face filled with harrowingly composed determination.

Fighting the urge to smirk at the sight, he entered his cabin and set aside a small bundle before going to her. He extracted the dagger from her upsettingly trembling grasp and resumed the task for her, taking excessive care to crop as gently as possible, given her somewhat unstable condition.

Once the final lock had been separated, he held it before her. "Memento?"

She accepted and examined it thoughtfully for a second. Then she shook her head. "I don't need it," she convicted, letting it cascade down to join its brethren on the floor.

He set the dagger away, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Not bad," he commented, taking in the new style that left her honey-kissed molasses curls falling just above her earlobes.

Elizabeth had been convincing herself that she liked the change, but that train had derailed as soon as he had taken hold of her mostly bare skin with such familiarity. Her eyes clashed with his in the mirror before she vaulted away, rounding on him. "Just what…I-you…not—" She faltered at his delinquent gaze and rushed to cover herself with her arms as best she could. "Naked! I'm naked!"

"Half-naked, actually. But I would not hinder progress, should you wish to bring truth to that outcry."

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she could only gawk at him in horror. "Aren't you even going to turn away!" He had the audacity to appear bemused by her incredulity.

"Why would I want to do that?" He was enjoying the show far too much.

Was he serious? "Any decent man would!"

"I am what I am, Love, and that's a pirate, the epitome of moral decay and a generally really bad egg," Jack countered with a sweeping gesture. "All too easily have you forgotten that fact, when it was not but days ago that you, my dear, were more than happy to point it out, rather profusely, might I add. Besides, it's only your skivvies," he continued, "nothing I've not to previously lay eyes upon."

She could see this was going nowhere, as he was likely right and well-versed in feminine attire and its removal. That last sentiment sent an updraft of flame into her face, and she sifted through a few very graphic images to find some coherency. Her chin rose. "Well, you could at least restrain yourself from ogling my body. I assure you that it is quite normal in all respects and not worth comparison with those upon which you have gazed while they were lacking barrier."

Really, he couldn't help the grin that clung to his lips. Her words put him in mind of a diplomat during high negotiations. He was wondering whether or not to express that he doubted he would possess the inclination to agree with her on the issue, as the glimpses of her huffing curves that he was getting were telling a far different story, but he quickly snuffed the idea, opting to avoid a perfect scarlet handprint marring one or both of his cheeks. He made an exaggerated show of ripping his eyes away from her form and meeting her icy glare before he cleared his throat. "Did you take care of matters?"

"Yes. You're sure to incur no more injuries on my part. I was just having moment to myself. Taking care of a few…things."

"Oh yes," he said seriously. "The lady has my apologies for imposing upon her in my own barracks."

She grimaced and allowed herself a quick fantasy in which she stabbed him numerous times. Cuedly, her eye caught the dagger, and she considered it for half a second, before returning to her senses—mostly. She had never had so many violent notions in one week. If it weren't for the 'innocent' little stunts that he had been letting her get away with, she would have surely bludgeoned the man by now. She pasted on a sugary visage. "No, no. You had every right, of course, Captain." A mock curtsy followed, arms firmly in place over her chest. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Pleasure was all mine. That reminds me." He took up the bundle and held it out it to her. "Brought you something," he offered.

She lifted a brow.

"What? Don't want it?" He moved it around, presenting it several times in an attempt to make it more alluring.

She only hugged herself tighter in response, not about to give.

"Ahh.," his mischief gleaming. "No worries, Miss Swann. I'll leave you alone with it, safe from prying eyes." He deposited the package onto the bed, then exited, pulling the door to as he passed through the archway.

He heard metal scrape against wood as she ushered a stubborn lock into its place. Muffling a chuckle, he looked around for something that would occupy his wait and found it.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth slouched against the dresser eyeing the items spread over the bed in distaste. 'He must be reveling in this.' Certainly he was awaiting some blatant complaint from her. Likely wanting to go back on the allowance he'd made. She wasn't about to let that happen. "We'll just have to make do," she mumbled, reminding herself that it was for Will.

Jack was just pocketing the little trinkets when the lock was slid out of the way, and she tentatively stepped into the refectory, sporting a pair of grubby brown, sagging slacks that were rolled up so that the rims of her shoes what are those things she wears? clogs? showed, a splotched, oversized shirt that had probably been white at one time, and a gray cap that she had managed to stuff her remaining hair into. The corners of his mouth upturned once again, and he zeroed in, not quite content with the image she presented. After a moment's consideration, he removed the cap, freeing her curls, then untied the thin leather string that laced the shirt's opening up to her neck, where it would have v-ed down to her midriff. He slipped it from a couple of the topmost tiny holes and let the ends dangle freely.

He looked down at her waist. "That will not do," he commented about the drooping breeches, more to himself than her. An anxious palm moved to cradle his hairy chin while he mulled it over. "Ah," he snapped his fingers. He moved past her and into his cabin and opened one of the bureau drawers, then, slamming that one, went to another one from which he took a smudged crimson sash. At her pointed look, he shrugged. "Should do the trick." He held it out for her, but when she failed to take it, leaned forward, putting his arms behind her and pulling it to around her waist.

Finding herself parched again, she cleared her throat. "I-I can do that myself, thank you," she said breathlessly.

"Good." He let her take the cloth between her hands. "Now about these," he began, fingering one of her cherubic earrings, "not something a pirate would wear." Before she could protest, he dislodged both of the golden angels and tossed them to the side. "But as your mind has not been it's sharpest, we'd better not take the chance of letting your eyesight become dull." That said, he took the newly constructed earrings from one of his pockets and placed them into her lobes.

Elizabeth faced the mirror, eyes widening at the sight of the huge things. One was a shark tooth, and the other was some gem or another and a few feathers. "Oh Heavens…"

"Sure you don't need a hand with that?"

Confused, she turned her head to see him staring down at her idle hands. "Quite." She finished securing the sash, then crossed her arms over her stomach, tilting in askance.

"Better. What else?" he wondered. "Ah yes," he remembered, pulling an object from his back waistband.

"A pistol?"

"Aye. No pirate is complete without a weapon, and you don't have to be so close to your opponent when you use it." He offered it, and she accepted.

It was a bit shorter than Jack's, consisting of stained brass, walnut, and what appeared to be turtle shell on part of the butt. She ran her fingers over it. "It's a beautiful piece," she admired.

"Yes, it is, and I'll be expecting it back in that same condition, if you don't mind." He paused. "Can you use it?"

"You mean, can I shoot someone with it?"

"Aye."

"I've fired a rifle before."

"Well, there's not much else to it," he admitted, taking it from her. "Right now," he began, "it's unloaded." He took a pouch from another pocket. "When you want to load it," he emptied the pouch's contents onto the dresser, "you pull back the dog-head until it clicks once. Then, you take your powder," he picked up a wad of paper and ripped it opened with his teeth, spilling some of the gunpowder as he dumped it into the barrel and reached for the small lead ball. "Next, your shot," he narrated, dropping it in. He swung the ramrod into place and packed it all down. "Make sure it's tight. Then you pull this back again when you've got them in your sights," he tripped the hammer, "and you're ready." He snapped it back out of place and knocked out the shot before passing the arm to her. "Your turn."

After three tries, she loaded it flawlessly.

Taking it again, he let the hammer down gently. "Now let's talk about maintenance. You pistol is your pride. Life on the high seas can be rather tedious at times. That is why the code calls for a pirate to keep his arms clean. Keeps one from mulling over idiotic ideas." His eyes narrowed. "Like mutiny. Out here, your pistol can sometimes be your sanity, and we wouldn't want that falling into disrepair, now would we?"

Jack was starting to sound a lot like Mr. Gibbs—kind of superstitious and loony. She pointed that fact out to him.

He gave her a look, sliding the pistol into her sash and pulling the shirt out over it. "Just keep it clean, Love," he ordered before heading out to the main deck.

-------------

"Ten! God, who knew there were that many!"

Governor Swann rolled his eyes at the ruffian who was slumped down in the brig, sulking. "Any priest would know all ten Commandments, any valid one at least."

"You said there might be a few questions, not a bloody interrogation!"

"Mind your tone, Sullivan, or I may be forced to inform Commodore Norrington of your foul language towards my daughter. It was not so long ago that he was investigated for an alleged and uncalled for keelhauling." Idle threats and lies, but Sullivan was unaware of those facts, and Weatherby was not about to put up with his outbursts after the man had set aflame all of his hard labor and planning.

Commodore Norrington had seen right through the priest's clothing to the pirate within. He had instantly conduced (fortunately and inaccurately) that Sullivan was in cahoots with Sparrow and had also devised that the pirate captain had absconded with Elizabeth. Of course, Weatherby could not tell him that he thought it was somewhat the other way around, as he was not sure of things himself; nor was he about to incriminate himself when he had no idea as to whether or not she had gone of her free will or by force. Norrington had then proclaimed that they should go after her, and he had easily convinced the Commodore that he should accompany the party, as his daughter's welfare was at stake.

The Governor had also managed, though faced with quite some opposition, to coax him into allowing Sullivan to live, as he might provide more information concerning Sparrow's plan and whereabouts. A win that he regretted more and more with each passing moment.

Presently, the hired pirate was attempting to pick the cell's lock with a rusty nail and looked to be having some luck.

Weatherby cleared his throat. "I am right here, Sullivan."

"Frank."

"Pardon?"

Heaving a sigh, the man swerved his eyes in the Governor's direction. "M' mates call me Frank the Skank." He sounded rather proud of the title.

"Indeed." He shifted. "Francis, then. You remember our deal? Your silence about our recent transaction for your life." hehheh, anyone who catches it gets a cookie

"Aye, I remember. It's not like yeh've much to worry about, though. No one's fool enough to take the word of a pirate over th' Governor's."

"My line of work does not leave much of an opening for taking chances."

"I'd wager so. Now ha' is it that ya plan on gettin' me outta here?"

"Commodore Norrington said earlier that the Dauntless shall soon arrive in Tortuga. Your stop is there."

Sullivan smiled blissfully. "Tortuga. Me own 'eaven on Earth."

"Yes," Weatherby drew slowly. "There are only a few ways for us to get onto the island while creating a distraction at the same time."

"Hold up there for a moment, Gov'nor. 'Us'?"

-------------

"'There's yur key," the female innkeeper told Elizabeth, indicating a small table in the corner of the shabby room. She had lengthy black hair and a rather well-endowed figure, and Elizabeth unconsciously sought out her own shortened locks, some ghosts of regret sinking in. "Ev'rythin's been nailed down, save for the sheets 'n pilleh, which 'm only pr'vidin' in part of yur friend." She handed the comforts over to the girl.

"I'm very much obliged, Miss…" she poised for the other woman's name.

"Call me Georgia."

She smiled. "Thank you, Georgia." She set the covers onto the slim bed.

"If yeh want ta be thankin' me so much, yeh can start by tellin' me why it is tha'cher rooming sep'ritly from Captain Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "P-pardon? How anyone could be inane enough to wish to shar—" If looks could kill, Georgia would have flat-lined Elizabeth on the spot. She coughed blatantly. "I mean, I don't see that particular information being pertinent to a clerk. We are, after all, paying for two rooms. Quite the fair shake you're getting, I think."

"Well, you're welcome to think all you want," she said, her accent odd dropped momentarily. She went to the bed and began unfolding the sheets. "I was only asking because I prefer my men unfettered, and as you can probably tell, relatively decent men are few and far between around here."

Relatively decent? 'Any decent man would!' the outburst from earlier resounded in her mind. Perhaps she should have further specified the comment to Jack. She moved to assist Georgia. "Captain Sparrow's only 'fettered' to his ship, and even then, things are still up in the air at times. Rarely lets her out of his sight, though." She crossed the room to the single window that faced the distant shore and motioned for the keeper to follow suit.

"That one there?" she asked, pointing in near-amazement. "That's the infamous Black Pearl?"

"Yes." Elizabeth frowned. "It's too bad her sails are down."

"Aye, 'tis," she slipped back into her grainy drawl. "Still a beaut, though."

"That she is," she amended under her breath. Then, louder, "Jack says that the Black Pearl is freedom. 'Anywhere we want to go, we'll go,' he says."

Georgia turned slightly. "'We'?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes, well, the Captain's got a sweet spot for lady rum. He wasn't exactly sober when he said that."

"Ah, I see. Yur Captain's fair game, then, is 'e?"

She nodded. "Have your go."

And having her go she was. Elizabeth should feel bad, really, sending a good woman to the bedchamber of Jack Sparrow, using her as a pawn while she crept out of the hostelry. A furtive grin polluted her demeanor, and she delved into the pocket of her trousers to retrieve one of her most coveted items as she stepped out into the street.

Holding it up into the partial sunlight (for it was quite the overcast day in Fort Brine), she examined the silver trinket. It was the engagement ring that Will had given to her. He had crafted it with his own hands and had appeared almost shamed to be giving her such a thing. He knew her shoes had been more expensive than the tiny ring, but she had assured him that it was perfect, that none other would do for them. And she meant it. Loving Will had never been about wealth, and even her father had expressed how fine the thing was, though she knew not whether he had truly been sincere.

She situated the ring on its appropriate finger and strolled along the streets of Fort Brine, trying to decide which ruddy establishment would be the best place to start.

Meanwhile, at the inn, Jack laid upon his bed, moaning. "Madam, you are far too kind." He waited for a moment, a thought settling in. "Shall I be billed for this?"

"Well, that all dep'ns on yurself, Captain," she replied, shoving a palm farther up his spine, in an attempt to alleviate some of the collected tension through massage.

"Does it now? Possibly, then, we'll be seeking other...arrangements?" He arched when she hit a particular spot, dropping his head back down on his arms.

"Aye, Sir. 'T'would be the idea."

He turned over and gazed up at her, surprised to be surprised by her response. A grimness crossed him. He had gotten too used to being able to say something like that and getting a much different reaction. Usually in the way of a blush. From his newest crewmember. Aye, Jack Sparrow had been away from the charms of a willing woman for far too long.

Reaching up, he pulled the keeper's head down to his, tasting her.

'Not bad.' Perhaps this respite would do him some good after all. So long as it helped get that pestering swan out of his head.


"Yeh can't be serious about this, Cap'n!"
he heard the quartermaster's shout from this morning replay in his head. "Fort Brine is no place for virtuous wenches. Ye must protest."

"Been there, Gibbs," Jack said with a wave of his hand. "The lady will not take 'no' for an answer."

"But yer her Captain! Certainly, you can order that she stay behind."

"She's a problem with authority," he commented dryly, eyes on Elizabeth's lithe form as she leaned over a section of the port bulwark. He flinched as her retching sounds made their way to his ears. "She'll be under my watch for the duration of our outing. You've naught to concern yourself with."

"She's a lady, Jack," the man delivered softly.

"Definitely no need to inform me of that." His gaze was redirected to the other man. "Just what has you fretting for the girl all of a sudden, anyway? It was not long ago that you headed the demand that she be put off the ship."

"Now ye needn't go a'getting snippy with me, Mister. I only be carrying out m' duties as quartermaster, and ye must be reminded that 'tis only pirates who linger in Fort Brine, and looks aside, she ain't no pirate."

Jack had only shook his head and made his way over to the lady.

He groaned. Not a pirate. Well, what was he expecting? He should have listened to Gibbs and left the troublesome little minx on the Pearl, where she at least wouldn't be quite so able to cause him bodily harm.

And thinking of the swan…

He pulled away slightly from Georgia. "Awful quiet in there, isn't it," he observed, looking to the wall that parted his room from the lady's.

Elizabeth cautiously scoured the area, keeping her eye trained for any suspicious-type characters. Well, actually, everyone in Fort Brine looked rather suspicious, so she watched for the suspiciously suspicious town-goers. She recalled an earlier conversation with Jack.

She had been retching over the side of the ship.


Jack leaned back towards the bulwark beside Elizabeth, propping his weight on his elbows. "Believe it or not, you actually grow used to it after a while."

Lifting up slightly and turning her head, she gave him a look of skepticism. "It's worse than the bilge."

"Aye, that it is." He sounded awfully sober.

"Does the whole place hum like this?"

"Not at all, though I wouldn't say the island aroma of decay and rum is much of an improvement over burning flesh."

Her stomach churned violently. He couldn't be serious. "H-human flesh?"

He nodded. "The devils lure aground passing vessels. Sack and burn them. Call it a Triangle, as reach extends to two other ports. No rules out here, nor regard for the code."

She barely heard the last part, as she was further indisposed over the railing.

Jack playfully cuffed her shoulder. "Look alive, Poppet. Port's just out of reach," he indicated the nearing docks.

"Thank Heavens," she sighed in relief, ignoring his light, mocking laughter. She straightened, rubbing her hands over her arms as a couple of shivers slithered through her being. She had been noticing the temperature-change over the past three days, it slowly dropping as they sailed farther north. Where she had grown used to the rather warm autumns, she was now experiencing weather that was a lot cooler.

"This way, if you please," Jack was saying.

And after that, they had gone ashore.

Presently, she gulped, thinking that her bright idea to go in search of Will all by herself was not such the wise choice after all, as she had been gone for quite some time now and was receiving far too many curious glances for comfort. She was fingering the pistol that was stashed within her sash when she stopped in her tracks, a sign catching her eye as it started to rain.

Captain Sparrow stepped out into the downpour, one hand clutching at the weapon in its holster, the other nursing a new welt on the side of his face from where the put-off mistress had belted him. Elizabeth Swann be damned when he caught up with her.

-------------

"Ye there! Come forth, man. I wish t' confess me many sins."

Mullroy looked over at the prisoner as his companion passed over to the cell. This was not good. It was only a few hours since he had gotten his partner drunk enough to convince him that telling the Commodore of their encounter with Sparrow was, in fact, a bad idea.

"What's that?" Murtogg asked.

"I want to tell yeh where Miss Swann c'n be found."

"Do you now? The Commodore will be quite pleased to hear it."

"Yes, yes. But first, I've some demands. See, I want ta have a nice lil' cage fer meself, and since we're t' be some time asea, I'll be needin' these here leaks fixed."

"Leaks?"

"Aye. Now, the both of yeh come over 'ere, and I'll show 'em to ya, then yeh can go get yur Commodore."

Murtogg waved Mullroy over, and the chubby man rolled his eyes but followed the order.

Sullivan proceeded to point out several small holes—three, which weren't even there—then turned to the men. "An' this 'ere pot'll have t' be cleaned 'least five times a day," he said, lifting his urinal. He held it out to the guards, who looked at each other.

As they were distracted, Weatherby took his chance and cracked the shorter one over the head with a fire log, and Francis simultaneously beaned the other with the offending pot.

Swann lifted the keys off Murtogg and freed Sullivan.

"A fine job, Gov'ner."

"Thank you, my boy. Now, let us not tarry." They clamored up to the main deck, and he called, "No, don't shoot!"

In turn, Frank cocked the rifle that he had snatched from one of the soldiers. "No un move, or yer Gov'ner 'ere gets it."

"What are you doing, Sullivan?" Norrington demanded in a mildly bored tone.

"I believe he is escaping, Commodore."

"Quiet, you, or there'll be a whole in ya big 'innof t' pass a rudder through." He poked Swann between the shoulder blades for good measure. "Now look, here's 'ow it's all goin' ta go down. Yer t' stand aside and let me gets meself inta the town, and once I'm sure nary of y'uns has dared folluh me, I'll send 'im back, all in one piece."

-------------

He had expected that she would have gotten herself into some precarious situation by the time he located her—perhaps giving a tongue-lashing to a poor, but lethal drunkard who had made the mistake of 'complimenting' her on her assets. Or possibly, she would be in a grog shop with fifty or so scoundrels surrounding her, festering to make good on threats of shutting her up permanently due to the volume of prodigious questions that she had no doubt put forth.

And for each predicament that his mind amassed, there had been measured out the precise amount of fast-talking and finesse necessary to absolve her, after letting her fret for a bit, of course. Jack was still quite miffed…at least, he had been.

But this…well, in this instance, his brain was dually failing as he beheld the scene before him.

She was safe. Completely and undeniably safe actually, and that was not a wonder, as she was in a graveyard of all places. 'Always in the last place you look, they are.'

The problem with this little vignette was that she was down on the ground, her hands viciously clawing away at the hallowed earth like it had done to her some great wrong. Low howls that were akin to some sort of battle cry reached his ears through the bombardment of rain, and he finally shook off his skin of bewilderment, making his way over to her. "What's all this?"

If she noticed him, she chose to ignore it.

This was not good.

"Come now, Love. This cannot be beneficial to the local plant life." With only lingering silence as his answer, he gave up, kneeling before her. "Some grand treasure I'm unaware of, I wonder? Quite moved am I that you would go to such lengths in order to plank down your debt to me, but I feel I must warn you of the rather inimical effects that seem to tag grave robbers." He allowed a few moments to slip by, wherein she only wrenched harder at the mud. Then, growing frustrated, he clutched her shoulders, and commanded in a gentle but firm voice, "Elizabeth, stop this madness now."

And she did. Her eyes slowly traveled upward until they locked with his, the surprise of his previously unacknowledged presence clear. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came.

He quelled the futile motion with the light brush of his three longest fingers. "Allow me. In your imprudent and absentminded flight, you failed to recognize that you would be lacking in the congenial company of the superbly sumptuous and sensuous scalawag known as Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl for the day's entirety, and this rather egregious oversight has led you to this foolishness, right?"

Wrong.

A forceful hand pushed him away, sending him reeling, and he had to prevent a sure topple by thrusting his palms into the mud behind him. "You no good, bloody barbarous pirate!" she shrilled, pounding at his chest with her fist, the action accented by a moan of thunder. "How could you?" she diminished to a menace-laced whimper.

He eyed her muddy hand. "Do my transgressions now number plus one?"

Some realization of what she was doing must have sunk in, for she recoiled, pain lighting across her features. She dropped both arms to the soil again, in apparent defeat. Her eyes sought out the marker. "I found him," was her raw explanation as she lowered her head.

He turned slowly to dredge for the slab of wood, his left hand reaching out to graze along its etchings. This was not in the plan. Any of them. Nowhere in his remedies was there a prompt reading 'Should the lad be found lost to Davy Jones…' Although…

"All this time," she trembled. "All this time that I could have been out searching. Wasted. And now…and now," she broke off, her face crumpling in a forlorn rip.

Was that a tear?

He leaned forward, one set of knuckles brushing the delicate mar from her skin.

"What am I to do now, Jack?" she asked on the breath of a whisper.

A grim half-smile lifted the corner of his lips. "You'll fare." His dirty palm fell to her shoulder, and he considered, for a moment, an embrace, but it was forgotten when something far beyond her caught his eye.

Flickering torches. And flickering torches meant returning workers. 'The shallow runners.'

He snapped back to Elizabeth. "We have to go."

A wavering gaze found his, and she took him in for a second before slowly shaking her head. "I won't leave him."

He sprang up. "You've not a choice in the matter," he informed her gruffly. His hand shot down to her.

She obstinately pretended to look straight through it.

With a growl, he grasped her under the arms and lifted her up, as a child would a doll.

She backed away. "Jack, please," she begged.

That was not the supplication he had been seeking. He presented an expression of true regret. "I've no choice in the matter either." A hand on her shoulder pointed her in the direction of the torches. "Those are the ones who control the Triangle. Should they find a woman such as yourself in the burial grounds alone, they would be all too happy to delight themselves in your charms before refilling that hole with you in it."

"No," she persisted.

A few of the torches paused, just long enough to set Jack off. Without allowing her more protest, he took her wrist and began a jettison through the torrents. As he made for the inn, he vaguely heard her enraged cries, the wind taking most of her verbal onslaught. No contest that she was surely damning him and his savage name. Still, he kept the hasty pace, gliding about the cobbles until they came to the hostelry, where he abruptly jolted in halt.

She slammed into his back, causing him to stagger and lose his grip on her. She, however, lost no time, twisting and dashing in the direction of the cemetery.

Barely four steps had been taken before his arm wound around her waist, hauling her backwards. She lashed out—hitting, pinching, pulling, pushing, and scratching, but he held fast, managing to sidle them through the doorway.

"Evening, Virginia," he casually greeted the keeper, who was eyeing what must have been a bizarre play with mild interest.

"Georgia," she tossed in offense.

"Terribly sorry." Elizabeth's elbow wedged just below his ribs. "Oof."

"You're forgiven," Georgia sang.

"Many thanks." He struggled to the staircase. "It would be the best interests of all involved if you would offer some cooperation, dear Miss Swann."

"Release me this instant, you condescending, dastardly boor!"

"You," he marked, swiveling until he was at her side, "are making," his right arm kept her pressed to him while the left moved beneath her knees, "an exceedingly easy task," he swept the arm forward, catching her in the awkward hold, "memorably difficult."

"Are you just going to stand there?" she yelled at Georgia, yanking at Jack's hair.

"Never wise to dabble in the patrons' affairs. Good night, Miss," she wished them as they topped the stairs.

Jack kicked open the closest door and deposited her onto his bed. He fumbled around in the corner for a few seconds, finally producing a lit lantern. "Much better, aye?" He was disappointed to find that the illumination did nothing to improve upon her dismal visage, and he set the light on the bedside table and went to the fireplace.

"You should have left me out there," she grated, sitting up.

He held his reply until he had the fire going. "It'll do your love not a bit of good if you perish now, will it?"

"Well I'm certainly doing him no good alive as it is!"

"Settle down, Love. Settle down. Hysterical wenches do not make good for rational conversation."

"What are you going on about now?"

Jack faced her. "I'll be glad to enlighten you, just as soon as you take it upon yourself to relax and warm up." He stood and removed his soaked vest and bandana, chucking them across the room. His boots followed. "I am going to go see if this place is as dry as it looks, or if our hostess is hoarding a few spirits." He fetched his jacket from the rickety chair and draped it over her. "I shall return shortly." He marched to the door. "Do us a favor, and don't go getting any of those little ideas of yours." He left her and headed down to the lobby, where he approached the desk, sending the receptionist a dazzling grin. "Evening, M'lady. Anything stout in the vicinity?"

She fished into her dress and pulled out a flask.

Relief splashed about his eyes, and his grateful fingers took the item, raising it to drink appreciatively.

"Not that it be any of my mind," she was saying, "bu'cher lady friend there did seem quite unbendin' to join ya. Perhaps you might consider beddin' souls more taken with yeh."

Regretfully lowering the flask, he arched a brow at her implications as well as the open glances that she was sending to the rifle that rested against the desk beside her. Hold up here a moment. Here he was, saving a damsel in distress with an apparent death wish, and he was being warned against impure intentions? 'Women…' And to think, he had earlier gotten the distinct impression that the two were at odds of sort. "Seemed to me that you could have been less concerned when I had my hands full with her."

"Not much for causing scenes. Besides, needs to be shown her place 'round here, she does, but I've no intention of letting yeh have yer way with'er in my inn."

"The thought never crossed my mind. I assure you; the lady's honor shan't be impugned by the likes of me."

"See that it'sn't." She softened. "At least, not while there's much more agreeable comp'ny in the 'ouse."

He only nodded, taking a swig of the lovely brew. He pointed to a nearby steaming flagon. "What's in there?"

"Apple cider: m' own speci'l blend."

"May I?"

"Have all ya like. There's plenty more."

He took a sip. 'Perfect.' He swallowed a bit more rum, then emptied nearly half of it into the cider. "Many thanks, Carolina."

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't correct him.

"Had you there, Miss Georgia. Perhaps this will serve to calm the lady," he said, taking the mug.

"Wait." She disappeared into the back room momentarily, then returned offering a simple and faded amber dress. "Dreadful cold 'ere 't night. She might like a change."

"I knew I liked you. Do have a pleasant evening." He turned.

"I'll be expecting that back come morning," she called behind him.

Again, he ascended the stairs, hesitating only for a moment before going inside.

She stood at the window, humming something soft and hymnal, her fingertips moving over the discolored glass, tracing the rivulets outside. Her tune ceased when he closed the door, and he searched for something that might fill the void.

Instead, she was the one to break the silence. "'…the flight of a lone sparrow through the banqueting-hall—inside, there is a comforting fire to warm the room; outside, the storms of rain are raging. While he is inside, he is safe from the storms, but…'" she stopped.

He continued for her, "'But after a few moments of comfort, he vanishes from sight into the darkness whence he came.'"

Abruptly, she faced him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Have we not already been through this? I won't have you catching pneumonia on my watch."

"Don't. Don't do that. That is not what I meant, and you know it."

He strode across the room. "Why have I brought you along? Drink this," he pressed the mug into her hands and sent the dress to the empty bed, then went over to watch the fire, leaning on the mantle. "Believe me when I say that I have asked myself that very question no less than a hundred times daily since you've boarded my ship, and a variety of responses have been formulated. None were satisfactory." He whipped around. "The truth is, I don't really know, myself. Perhaps it was because I felt I owed you something. You were a friend, after all, or, at the least, an acquaintance who didn't wish my death…until recently."

"I wouldn't have let you swing, you know. I would have come to my senses."

"One can hope, but we'll never know that for sure, now will we? You blamed Will's departure on me. Do you have a real reason as to why?"

She looked down and shook her head slowly. "Jack Sparrow, the pirate captain. What's another black mark on his record?"

"Aye. You know well, then, that logic does not always fuel our decisions. To answer your question, it seemed the right course of action at the moment. I imagine that is how Will Turner felt when he left you behind in Port Royal." He saw pain enveloping her again. "If he did, in fact, die, he died freely, doing whatever he wanted or thought was necessary."

She looked up. "'If'?"

"When a pirate needs or wants to disappear, he comes here, to Fort Brine. Pay a couple of men an outrageous sum, and 'you're' in Hades by nightfall, without the inconvenience or hindrance of Death."

"Will's alive?"

"Highly probable."

"Well why didn't you tell me that sooner!"

She was mad again. "Had you not been tearing away at the consecrated plot, I would have been happy to do so, but as the situation lent, telling you right then and there was rather inopportune."

She made a sound of rage and drank some of the cider.

"That, by the way," he indicated the dress, "is for you, from Georgia. She wants it back, though. Get changed, will you? I'm going to go get us some food."

-------------

"Gentry? In these parts?"

"Smells like a marooner to me."

It smelled like olives. 'What do olives have to do with marooners?' Weatherby wondered, slowly pulling through the haze that had engulfed him.

"He's waking up."

"His effects?"

"No weapons, Sir."

Swann was laid out on either a very hard cot or some sort of bench, and he could make out two voices. Perhaps seabees? He struggled to open his eyes.

"Ahoy there, Mate! Took a nasty lil' spill off the pier. Had to have Mr. Pudget here fish you out."

The weary Governor swiveled to find a hand in his face. He tentatively took it, shaking it before the man who he presumed to be Pudget (as he was dripping water) helped him sit. "Your…aid, Mr. Pudget, is greatly appreciated."

He nodded.

Weatherby looked around. Five gents, plus himself. They were in a cramped room, and, as thought, he was on a long bench. At the front sat a makeshift throne. A few other pieces of raggedy furniture lined the walls, which were smattered with portholes, and everything had a decent, or rather indecent, accrual of dust. The question was, what was he doing here? He strained to remember what had happened.

He was in Tortuga—he and Francis had succeeded in escaping. He had gone to a few taverns, then, finally given up and made his way to the docks, but he had been attacked before locating the Dauntless. A cutthroat had taken his change purse and stabbed him. He gulped. 'One of these cutthroats, perhaps?'

"Patched you up, too."

He almost sighed in relief. 'Seemingly not.' "Thank you," and he continued taking in his surroundings.

The speaker's head blocked his line of vision. "Admiring the atmosphere, I see." He sniffed grandly. "A certain ambience to the old girl."

"Yes…thank you very much, gentlemen, but I'm afraid I really must be getting back to land." He started to get up, but slumped, returning to the bench, clutching his side.

"Easy there. No rush. We won't be pulling out until morning. Now what's a gentleman like yourself doing in Tortuga?"

Weatherby eyed his own disheveled wig and attire. "In search of an old acquaintance."

"'S that so? Lot of that going around these days. Anyone we might know?"

He hesitated. "I'm looking for a pirate who calls himself Jack Sparrow."

"Are you now? This have anythin' to do with Will Turner?" He threw his head back and laughed at the Governor's astonished face. "Welcome aboard the Miseria Cantada. I'm Captain Nathaniel Curry see, told you he wasn't who you thought; hums innocently, and these blissful scabs serve as my crew."

"Captain, do you know where I might find Turner or Sparrow?"

"Aye, I do. And we'll take you to him. For a price."

-------------

A fleeting moan. It numbered eleven and a half.

Just how many more of those was he to suffer through this night? For what must have been the thousandth time since the commencement of the voyage, he pleaded with the Heavens.

Again, he resigned high hopes of Divine Intervention on his part. Apparently, he had angered some deity or another at a given point in his lifetime. Perhaps he would have more luck with the Nether Realm.

A couple of hours ago, he had returned with the food, but she had been fast asleep upon his bed, still in her drenched clothes. Looked awfully lonely; cold too. And Jack, being the giving soul that he was, had decided to keep her company.

The woman really was a plight upon him. Were it not for her, his Pearl would have never crossed the Dead Ship, nor would her planks have been blistered, and he would not have received his newest of injuries. Were it not for her, he would likely be in Tortuga right now, velvetly conniving his way out of paying for the night's pleasurable company.

'Pleasurable company…'

He brushed a few stray, length-challenged curls from Elizabeth's face. She donned an uncharacteristically placid expression, her brow only furrowing every so often in what must have been sorrow or worry or, more likely than not, anger.

'…if only.'

If he went right now, he could search out that innkeeper and partake in everything that she had been offering. He would need only a quarter-hour.

Another contented sigh, and Elizabeth readjusted herself to a miniscule degree atop his chest, a hand claiming one of his shoulders.

'Make it a half,' his mind calculated. She'd never even know he was gone—not that it would actually matter to her, but after such a distressing night, should she really be left alone?

Dangerously on the borderline of putting nefarious contemplations into action, he almost welcomed the distraction of the shot that resounded from the general direction of the lobby. It was followed by a scream and the tussle of a forced entry.

Two more shots, and a muffled voice spoke. "Be sterile…girl…"

A very sonorous female reply came, "Go ta Hell, yeh filthy swine!"

Jack Sparrow knew the sound of a hand striking a cheek better than any man, or woman as was the current victim. It was accented by another shot.

"Don't dare lay another 'oof on me! Next time, I won't miss. I said 'there be no Sparrow 'ere.' Now out with all three of ya!"

'Where be Captain Sparrow of the Black Pearl?' He had to admire the girl's spunk, but living in Fort Brine probably left little other alternative. Never one to let a warning go unheeded—the keeper was, after all, out-manned and out-gunned, he whispered, "Torture's over, Love. You must take your leave of Elysian."

An irksomely soft sound vibrated in her throat.

"No time for that." He gave her a slight shake, insisting, "Wake up!"

The lady snagged to life, instantly alerting to another presence in the bed. Her fist jerked, clipping his jaw, and his hand, which had effectively covered her mouth, swallowed up her scream.

"Enough of that." He exercised some minimal force in an attempt to still her.

Hearing his voice, she calmed. "Diah?"

"Of course it's me."

"Cuh hut katana day nah teg?" Anyone ever notice that when you speak with a hand over your mouth, the sound that comes out is NOT 'mmmphrmmhn'?

Was she ever not presumptuously insolent? "Actually, this is my bed, if you'll recall, and I do implore that you keep your voice down. There're unwelcome guests in the house. We must depart."

Awareness of where she was sank in fully. "Guucah mmfrensaa tee?"

"Perfectly. Not my first time, you know," he waved his free hand matter-of-factly.

She rolled her eyes and liberated herself from his grasp. "Your never-ending wit is astounding, Captain," she muttered, pushing herself up, then gasped when yet another shot echoed through the inn. Her eyes widened, and she looked down, awaiting instructions.

"You can start," he informed her, "by getting off me."

She scowled, a fed-up groan escaping as she snatched her palms away from his clothed chest, whereupon they had propped themselves, and rose.

He harmonized and led her to the window. "Ladies first," he invited after opening it.

She folded her arms. "Thou shall not tempt a lady so soon after her wake. I conjure you'd make an interesting dent in the terrain."

"My, my, aren't we grumpy." He leaned out over the pane and inspected the drop for a second, then retracted himself. "I'll swing you down until you reach the doorframe, then you'll jump."

"Why don't we reverse positions?"

"Really, Miss Swann, I do find your impractical side mildly appealing and would be only delighted to entertain your fancy, were time and vitality not the pressing matters, but as they are, you shall have to be sated with my declaration and make haste."

What did he mean 'mildly appealing'? He angled her back a step, and she struggled to catch herself in the sill before she fell, climbing out partially. "Jack, I don't think—"

"Yes, that I know all too well. And as much as I would adore setting you straight on your many grievances and discussing a solution, I'm afraid that, too, will have to wait. Now," he made a swooping motion, "get thee hence, Elizabeth!"

Annoyed, she slowly began a trek downward, feeling the way with her feet, as Jack lowered her by the wrists. "I forgot my shoes," she realized.

"We'll come back for them," he promised.

"And my bag."

"Not exactly an opportune moment for chit chat."

She shook her head. He chose the oddest moments to turn serious. Looking down, she saw that her foot was nowhere close to the frame. "Swing me over," she ordered.

He imitated her, "'Swing me over,' oh brawny Captain of mine. I know that my almost nonexistent weight—if one can even designate it that—presents no obstacle for a fortified bloke such as yourself."

She glared up at him. "I do not sound like that, and I'm not that heavy either! You just spend too much time coddling Pearl."

"Hold your concentration, and your tongue. It's not wise to insult a man's ship when he's control over your welfare."

She found the frame. "Alright," she called, once stable.

He let her hands slip gradually, making sure that she had her footing.

She huddled against the wall for a few moments, then leapt to the ground, crashing, without a semblance of grace, on her rear. Low laughter carried to her, and she stood, dusting herself off.

In the room, Jack grabbed his effects, save the coat and hat, before jumping out the window, landing on his feet.

Her eyes swirled again at the marvel, and he grinned, taking her hand and dragging her southward.

An explosion of dirt greeted them just as they were about to round the corner, and they halted.

"Now, now, where we off t' in such an 'urry?" a gruff voice asked from behind.

Jack turned, and Elizabeth followed suit a moment later. There were three of them. Big men—big pirates. And by their look, they could have easily been part of Barbossa's gang.

"Well snatch my brain and call me Ramses. If it innit Cap'n Jack Sparra'," the shortest said.

"An' 'e's jus' th' man we come up t' see."

"'S proved uh prof'table night 'ndeed," the first gave. "S' now, Captain, who's yer shada' thar?" He came closer to inspect Elizabeth and sniffed. "Na' she be a fallow tart if I e'er seen un, and I seen plenty," he finished darkly, dragging a rough hand over her cheek.

She grabbed his arm and plucked him from her, nails biting into his flesh.

"Foolish harlot!" He reared back, and Elizabeth braced against the attack, but it never came.

She opened her eyes to see a cutlass before her, the blade flattened to the man's limb, preventing forward movement.

Jack imposed himself between them, ushering his sword into its scabbard. "The strumpet isn't with me. I was merely showing her to the waterfront, and if she knows what's good for her, she'll continue her way there while we all go see what business you have for me."

"Jack, I—"

He swung around. "Wanton wench, I told you already that I'm not interested in what you're offering. Surely there is a weary sailor at the pier who might wish to partake."

"But Jack—look out!" she said belatedly as the short pirate cracked him over the head with the butt of a pistol. His limp form withered to the ground.

"Will ye be comin' 'long peacefully or d' we hafta shu'chew up 's well?"

She cleared her throat, and he raised the weapon again. "The former," she rushed quickly. That had looked painful. Terribly so.

Two lifted Jack, and the apparent leader of the parade started out. She followed behind him, wondering what her fate was to be. She had thought they would be making for the wharf, but instead, they were heading in the opposite direction. As they proceeded, the land became more and more bleak and rugged. Things did not look hopeful. A glance back at Jack told her that he was blissfully snoozing away. She would have to remember to maim him for being so easily doused.

They hiked, for what must have been the better part of an hour, until they came out to a huge cliff. Her eyes widened. 'Now is the opportune moment, Jack. Get up, you oaf!'

They went to the edge, but instead of stopping, they continued across a rope bridge. It grew worse, as she caught sight of an extraordinarily high and steep plateau and nearly tripped.

"Wa'cher step," one of the men carrying Jack sneered. She gulped and went on, stepping timidly onto the rock. On the bright side, when she looked down, she saw no jagged edges smiling up at her. That spark of relief was swiftly dashed when they threw her unconscious captain onto the land and shackled an iron ball to one of his ankles.

He started to come round, and they slapped him into consciousness, jerking him forward to clap chains on his wrists. He blinked a few times, searching out Elizabeth.

"What about 'er?"

"Captain Sparra'll just hafta share with 'is unexpect'd guest. We're outta irons, but we can't 'ave 'er gettin' free, so lash 'er witthe' riggin's we brough' fer the good ol' Cap'n."

The other two grinned and moved to Elizabeth, yanking her arms behind her and binding her wrists together with rope. They also bound her ankles.

Jack was hoisted up and taken to stand at her back, his chained arms secured around her.

"Not bad, if I d' say so meself. Our Liege will be pleas'd."

"And who might that be?" the groggy Jack inquired, pressing himself closer to the woman's form.

"Yeh'll find out soon enough, if ye live, that is, Captain."

Elizabeth felt something hard poking into the small of her back and made the oddest face. 'What is he doing?'

"So you're just going to push us into the bay. That's it?" He sounded disappointed as he wiggled again. "Rather unoriginal, don't you agree, Darling?"

"What?" she asked foggily. Leave it to Jack Sparrow to spend his last moments making lustful insinuations to a damsel. She refused to go out of this world blushing.

"Do you not find this particular sentencing quite dull? Filleting us with a rusty dagger. Now that would be a show, aye, Love?"

"Filleted with a…a dagger…" 'A dagger; of course!' That was what he was trying to tell her. He had a dagger in his sash. Her hands groped for the tool.

He moved a bit more, trying to guide her. "Bit messy for the wench, is it? Would you prefer to be beheaded, your body left to the sharks?"

Her hands traveled to the other side of his waist, coming upon the weapon. She clutched it almost gleefully. "I was always partial to mummification myself."

"My kind of lady," he rumbled lightly.

The leader sighed, "Enough of this! Shut them up." They were gagged. "Now, off with ye, Cap'n. Give m' regards t' Pluto," he said before pushing the pair over the ledge.

The drop was a long, eerily silent one, and Jack held onto her as tightly as possible, his free leg wrapping around her calves. The whole time, she was furiously working at the restrains of her hands, and they plunged into the chilly depths, a good supply of air evading their lungs as they impacted with the surface.

Elizabeth heard Jack's voice in her head, telling her to remain calm, as they sank to the bottom. And she was calm. She was sure they would prevail, that the great Captain Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swann were not yet done for…

Until the blade was dislodged from her fingers.

Everything stopped.


Original Content: 2003.10.07