Disclaimer: Yet again…I do not own Jack, nor Will, nor Cotton, nor anyone else who's in Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl…but I do own Kendra and her crew!

Authors Note: I hope this third installment causes all of my readers. Either way, my lesson for this chapter is: Be kind, review, and the same will be done to you. (Not that I'll have one every chapter by any means.)

Four-Sided Eyes

(a.k.a. Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the fangirl)

Chapter 3: The Ugly Duckling

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(Jack's POV…)

Rum was a wonderful thing. Even now, after having one bottle, I carried two more with me as I ambled on the beach. It was a pleasant evening. The sunset was very pretty too. All wild and bright, as if a painter had been in his bouts of death and knocked over a couple bottles of his most vivid colors.

If only all evenings could be like this…the solitude was nice, but then again, certain kinds of company would be quite agreeable.

Continuing along, I hummed the delightful tune that Elizabeth had taught me, and smiled to meself as I meandered down the beach. But up ahead…there was a peculiar sight. I paused in my stroll and narrowed my eyes, hoping to make out what the small dark shape was. But I found it necessary to advance to see more details, so advance I did.

It was a small rectangular shape…and was that…a shirt? I could've sworn that I saw a white shirt on the dark thing, waving a bit in the light breeze. Someone was lying there. And whoever it was, they were a very small person. So, assuming the worst, I put both bottles in one hand, drew my cutlass and continued forward.

"Hello?" I dearly hoped that they weren't French. That lad had taught me a spot of the language, but I still doubted that I could carry on any sort of conversation without a heavy reliance on hand signals. "Hello there?"

The small boy, it appeared to be a boy, had not moved, and his hands were spread before him, far from the cutlass that was around his waist. Seeing that he was not armed within easy reach, nor conscious, I sheathed my weapon and crouched next to the unfortunate soul. Me rum, I set that down beside me.

I poked him once, and this had no effect. I sure hoped he wasn't dead, it really was a pity to have to make a grave so late at night. Besides, the sand was so damp and I really did not look forward to washing all of it out of my clothes. Then again, a quick dip in the ocean could remedy that as well. But still, grave-digging was not an activity I regularly looked forward to.

Upon closer inspection, my subject was still breathing. Great news! No graves tonight!

Gingerly putting a hand on his far shoulder, I pulled the small boy over, and my eyes widened as I caught the faint scent.

Blood.

He may have survived whatever ordeal it was, but the lad might also be very close to death. Was that Pierre? Squinting a bit, I nodded. It was Pierre.

His loose shirt was soaking wet, but the blood was still fresh. Perhaps he was still bleeding? I would surely hope not…either way, it would be his shirt to be ripped. I'd had mine own used far too often for my liking. Pirates aren't made of money, you know. Nor do we pack plenty of extra shirts with us.

So I gently gripped the high neck of his shirt and ripped. Underneath this, there were far more surprises.

The boy sure was scrawny, but more than that…he had strips of white cloth wrapped disturbingly tight around his chest at least a hand's length its width. I was tempted to cut it open; the boy's breathing was shallow. Perhaps that was part of the problem…it had worked on Elizabeth. But my attention was drawn once more to the blood.

It didn't make any sense. The pattern, the amounts spread about…none of it.

A large portion of it had stained his right shoulder and below, but there was obviously no wound inflicted there. What was the wrapping if not a bandage?

Wait…

Could it be…?

No way.

Scanning the boy again, there was no possible way I had mistaken his sex. No woman could have such small-

Sputtering?

My gaze hurried up to his, or her, face and I was relieved to see that the poor creature - male or female - had regained consciousness and was now attempting to empty the contents of their stomach. Obliging them, I grabbed his - I'd assume it was a boy until proven wrong - shoulder and turned him onto his side, glad when he put out his hand and steadied himself. I waited politely for a few minutes, until the coughing and gagging stopped. He then looked back at me with a tired gaze and propped himself up on his elbows.

He still seemed a bit out of sorts, almost a film over his eyes…?

"Ye all right, lad?" I asked

The gaze now turned jaded, and I was sure he was recovering just fine. Even in the darkness that was beginning to fall, I could tell that he tensed a bit.

"What?" he asked. "My…" he stared down at his ripped shirt and seemed frozen in either shock or absolute horror.

"Oh, saw some blood and thought it 'propriate to check for a wound. Didn't see any though."

"Just…" he tepidly sat up and put a hand lightly to the back of his head. "Just a bruise from where I was hit." His eyes narrowed in anger.

"Who hit ye?" I asked. "Crew or Cap'n get tired of you?"

It seemed I had hit a nerve of some sort, as his cheek twitched and the boy's eyes began to water. It seemed to be more of an emotional ordeal, not something to be enraged over as his anger had begun to soften and was quickly being replaced by anguish.

"No…" he managed to get out. "Someone…we 'ere ambushed." He took a deep breath, beating his tears for a time. "I was forced to listen to them kill the Cap'n and the crew onboard. Thought I was dead, I 'spose." Bitterness crept in. "After I got hit running up to the deck to see what the commotion was about."

"Ah," I nodded. "From behind. Didn't think a smart lad like you would go down so easy."

He didn't even spare me a glance, or a weak smile. The boy simply looked at his stomach, which I now noticed looked a bit more toned than I had suspected. The boy was just very thin, not scrawny. He did have some meat on him.

"So, Pierre, was it?" He nodded softly. "Lost your ship then?"

He clenched his fists and gave a curt nod. "Only one thing to do." I got to my feet and looked to him expectantly.

It took a moment, but he finally raised his eyes to me. "And what's that?"

"Join me crew." I flashed a classic Captain Jack Sparrow grin. "Lost a cabin boy recently, could use another set of hands."

His eyes opened slightly and he got to his feet, "You'd let me join yer crew?"

"Of course!" I kept my eyes on his face, but did not miss the subtle move he made to pull his ruined shirt closed. "Come along then, Pierre."

"Yessir," he mumbled quietly, staying a step or two behind me as I followed my path back to the pier, sure to grab me rum bottles. Couldn't forget those.

It would be best to keep him on the Pearl, as to keep things quiet for a time, let alone that I could keep him in one place. And if his ship's attackers came looking for any survivors, I wasn't about to submit the boy to a second attack.

And as Pierre's first act as cabin boy on the Pearl, he rowed Captain Jack Sparrow back to his beautiful ship. A very smooth and fast ride too, I might add. The boy - or girl I still wondered - might look like a twig, but he would likely be able to hold his own.

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(Kendra's POV…)

So here I was…on the illustrious Black Pearl. Unfortunately, I was pretending to be a cabin boy here…but all the same, I was safe for the moment.

Why did Sparrow have to be my rescuer?

That blasted…irritating…beautiful-

Wait…beautiful?

Now I dare not even think about where that thought came from.

Glancing for a moment over at my new 'Captain' for the time being, I found the statement to be true. He was attractive. His eyes especially…they seemed to suck me in and make me want to just…just melt away.

Oh gah…I'm turning into a romantic or something.

Now that thought made me shudder.

If nothing else, I had vowed to keep the code and to never became a giddy bit of feminine fluff.

The sudden image of me as a bit of feminine fluff entered my mind…

And will torment me for the rest of my days.

Though, I'm sure Kenneth would have enjoyed that image…probably would have gotten a good laugh out of him…

Reality reared it's ugly head once more…

Kenneth…

He's gone…

Dead…

I felt a tear come up and show itself…

No!

I refuse to be weak!

I may have been born female…but I cannot…

Cannot…

No…

I am not weak…

But who says that women are always weak…?

My pseudo-parents' words came back to me…

"…Now, ye can never cry. That makes ye vulnerable…"

"…Don't be a yellow-bellied woman," his hands shook my shoulders and stunted my tears from a long gash along my thigh, "if ye cry over every scratch, you'll never survive out 'ere…it's a man's world…"

A second tear was revealed…

What am I?

Who am I?

I looked to my hands. My small, almost feminine hands…

The world sees me as a boy…and at the rate of my aging, I would forever be that way…

But do I want to be a girl?

Was I supposed to be a boy, but fate decided to spin me about and have a laugh at me?

I heard boots coming my way, but I turned away slowly, making sure that my tears were held back. I could not have Sparrow see me cry…

"Are ye all right, Pierre?" I vaguely heard him ask from a few inches behind me.

Does he have any idea how far away people usually are when they speak to one another?

Apparently not…

I have to answer, or else he'll get closer.

With two soft clunking boot-steps, the 'or else' had come true.

"I'm fine," I managed to choke out, but by this time, more tears had begun to fall and my voice faltered.

Curses!

Not only was I failing to stop my tears…but Sparrow knew it and was right behind me.

"Pierre, what's wrong?" his voice sounded oh so warm…

No! I can't give into him…

Besides, if I gave away my secret…then…

Instinctively I flinched as he set his surprisingly comforting - bloody mutinous body - hand on my shoulder.

He must have felt me flinch, because he pulled his hand away. Thank the heavens for that… I don't know how much longer I would've kept my composure otherwise…

"Nothin' to be concerned about, Cap'n," I managed to keep my voice and intonation neutral.

His pause only made the insufferable tension in the air worse. Finally he spoke, but his words gave little, if any comfort. "I think I'll keep an eye on ye tonight. You've been through a lot-"

"I'm fine," I spat out, grabbing the railing and squeezing it tight. The wood wasn't rough though…if it was rough I could've been able to ignore my tears by concentrating on the pain. But things as they were, I squeezed tighter and hoped to still beat my foe.

He was caught off guard, or enjoyed tormenting me with his silence.

"All right, Pierre. You can sleep where're you please. Good night."

I nodded stiffly and he left…

Once I was sure he was out of sight, I allowed my shoulders to slump and my defenses were running low…

Why has fate suddenly turned against me? Did I do a wrong to deserve this?

Or was I simply born in the wrong body?

A small whimper escaped, then a sob…and the tears became unstoppable…

Unable to do much else, I fought to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, and sank down to the deck, unable to even attempt to stifle my worsening sobs.

Torment wracked me…and then a voice I wished I did not recognize resurfaced.

I had no idea how long he'd been there, but as I turned my gaze to him, I saw that he was looking quite drunk…and was squatting down. He leaned in closer, then pulled back, all the while his lips continued to move and his hands waved about…what was he babbling about? It was hard to concentrate…

But…surprisingly, my eyesight began to clear, and though my sobs had dissipated, my hiccups continued. I hate that side effect of sobbing…

I couldn't comprehend a word he was saying, but his mere…presence made my tears stop and my head slowly clear. And his eyes…I could watch those for hours and not be bored…though they were brown, a color generally known for it's commonality, his seemed to…bore into my soul.

Most surprising of all: I enjoyed it.

Normally, I stayed as emotionally distant from strangers as I could…but this man…Sparrow…he got under my skin one minute, and the next he helped me to calm down from the worst crying fit in all of my life…

Why was I not disturbed?

I know I should be fleeing…swimming to shore, anything…but…

Somehow it felt…right just to sit here and let him talk to me…

His expression seemed a bit less frantic as my senses cleared and I calmed, but it also could have been that he was drunk and well…drunk men are highly unpredictable.

"…sea turtles…human hair…"

I was catching a few words, but still, what would sea turtles and human hair have in common?

"Now, love…"

Since when was he calling me love? Would that not in fact mean that he saw me as a…as I truly was?

My sudden horrific discovery must have shown on my face, as Jack leaned closer again, but stayed there.

"Are ye all right, Pierre?"

"What…did you - hic! - call me a - hic! - m-moment ago?" Swallowing down the last of my hiccups, I succeeded in sounding like a distraught little child.

His glorious eyes turned mischievous, if not just for a second, and his grin resumed its place. "Been callin' ye Pierre the whole time. Was telling you about my adventures with a Will Turner and Miss Elizabeth Swann, soon to be Turner. Did you like it?"

"I…" the words came without my command. "I don't think I really was able to understand you…I saw your lips move. But…I didn't hear what you said…"

Jack smiled in a knowing manner…that really should disturb me. "Well, just glad you're feeling better. Want to talk about anything?"

"N-no, I'm quite all right now." Have to think of a good reason…a very good reason. "Just…just had to get over the Cap'n and the crew's death…they…" sincerity that I did not intend crept in, "they were like family to me…" My voice softened to a whisper. "My only family…"

The solemn tone settled over us and then Sparrow set a hand on my head.

Again, my body betrayed the natural order of things, and did little else but accept the action.

At least it didn't dare to feel comforted.

"I'll be looking out for ye, lad." He called me lad! Perhaps he really didn't know. I can only hope. "You should probably go to sleep now. Been a long day." He took his hand off my head and held it out to me.

Numbly, I took it and he stood, pulling me up with him. I wobbled for a moment, it seemed exhaustion was catching up to me, but he steadied me and then let go of my hand, keeping his hand on my shoulder and walking with me below the deck.

A pillow and cot had never felt so comfortable…this was odd because I had always dreaded going to sleep in a cot. It had been an enormous relief to become captain of the Dilettante and finally get a bed to sleep in. But now…I really rather liked the cot…the swaying of the waves against the boat rocking me to sleep…