Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

A/N: Bit of a long delay, I know. But, I'm back from vacation now. I had a great time and of course I made time to write. Thank you very much for the wonderful reviews! I truly appreciate all of the great feedback.

Chapter 5:

"Captain'll see you, Miss," Doyle said after entering the tiny cupboard Anamaria was currently occupying.

She followed him into the corridor, and he silently led the way to the Captain's cabin.

"I'm assuming he didn't tell you I was his wife," she asked after Doyle had knocked on the door.

"No. 'E failed to mention that."

"Come," she heard Chris's voice.

"I figured as much," she said.

88888

"All hands," Sparrow bellowed as they climbed aboard the Loyalty. "Prepare to get under way."

The deck exploded into a mess of activity as the men dashed to their stations. Prescott strode up to the quarterdeck, behind Sparrow. In a peculiar way, Prescott felt home aboard his old ship, even though it was now crewed by pirates. After the Loyalty had "disappeared" from Kingston, he had been given command of the Steadfast. It was a more powerful ship, sporting forty-eight guns to the Loyalty's thirty-six, but it lacked the speed and agility that Prescott had grown accustomed to.

"Daniels," the pirate captain shouted. "Get below and prepare to weigh anchor."

"Aye, aye," came the reply.

Sparrow moved to stand by the wheel. "Hands aloft to loose top'sils," he ordered.

"Loose those head'sils," Prescott added, almost automatically.

The two captains exchanged glances, Sparrow looking more than a little irritated by Prescott's presence beside him.

"Captain Sparrow, before you say what's on your mind, may I remind you that this is my ship."

"Was your ship, Captain Tarret," the pirate countered.

"Will be, again."

The man Sparrow called Daniels reappeared on the deck, before the pirate could reply. "Anchor's in, sir," he reported casting a sideways glance at Prescott. Daniels looked to be in this early twenties. His messy brown hair was somewhat contained by a gold bandana, each ear contained three gold rings, and he bore a scar on his neck that could only be from a noose. Prescott raised an eyebrow, interesting.

Sparrow stepped away from the wheel, "Daniels, set a course to weather the point then southwest."

"South by west a quarter west it is, sir." Halting his scrutiny of the new man on deck, Daniels moved to follow the captain's order.

"Know where Chris' headed, do you?" Prescott asked.

"I 'ave an idea." Sparrow answered, glancing down at his compass.

"Why do you bother with that?" Prescott said. "As I remember it doesn't even work."

"It doesn't point north."

"That's what I said. It doesn't work."

"Works fine, if you aren't going north," Sparrow corrected.

Prescott decided to let the subject drop. If the crazy pirate wanted to follow a broken compass, he was certainly entitled to do so. "How well do you know Chris?"

Jack stopped fiddling with the compass and fixed his stare on Prescott as though he were trying to determine whether or not to answer the question. After a few uncomfortable seconds of being under the scrutiny of a pirate, Sparrow motioned for Prescott to follow him. He led the way to the captain's quarters. The normally bright white interior was now painted a darker tan, with red trim. Aside from that everything in the cabin was exactly as Prescott remembered. His cherry wood desk still stood in front of the row of windows, and ironically, the deerskin rug that had been a gift from Chris still covered the floors.

"Drink?" Sparrow asked.

"I've had my fill of rum for the day, thank you."

"I 'ave Madeira, too."

Prescott's eyes brightened a bit. "Really? That was always my favorite."

"Should be. It's yours. Never cared for the stuff," Sparrow said handing Prescott a glass.

Prescott smiled. "As I was asking. How well do you know Chris?"

Sparrow sat down behind the desk. "Don't know Chris at all, but Lucky Laffley's been piratin' these waters for over a year."

"Well, what's his story? I don't imagine he just showed up one afternoon and declared himself a pirate."

The pirate shook his head. "Man named Lang used to captain that little redwood ship. Called her the Thanatos back then. Captain Lang sailed away one day and when 'e returned, he 'ad a new first mate. Next time the Thanatos sailed away she came back as the Lady Maria and Lang was gone."

"He died?"

Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "He was gone. Laffley was captain. That was that." Something flashed in Sparrow's dark eyes, but was dispelled as the pirate took a swig of rum.

"What of Lang's crew?"

"Laffley's crew."

Sparrow was staring into his bottle of rum as though he were lost in thought Prescott's eyes darkened. Same ship, new name. Same crew, new captain. He could only think of one scenario with that particular outcome. Prescott studied the pirate's expression. "Are you insinuating what I think you are?"

Sparrow's eyes rose to meet Prescott's. His gaze was stony and his eyes were black.

"Mutiny?" Prescott said the word. The only word that left a horrid taste in the mouths of pirates and Navy men alike. Prescott furrowed his brow when Sparrow didn't respond. He had known Chris for years, as a fellow officer and as a man. As a captain he was unorthodox and, sometimes, reckless, willing to bet on a long shot, if the spoils were great. As a man, he was ambitious, but never to the point that Sparrow seemed to be suggesting.

"I'm not implyin' anything," the pirate said as though he could read Prescott's thoughts. "I'm only tellin' you the story that you could 'ear in any tavern in Tortuga. You drew the conclusion on your own, mate."

"Chris was unconventional, but he was a good man. I would be wary to accuse to of mutiny, unless . . . unless it were necessary."

Sparrow took another swig of rum.

"What kind of man was Lang?"

"Named 'is ship Thanatos, didn't 'e?"

"The Death god," Prescott said under his breath.

"Well, mate. What kind o' man was Chris?" the edge had returned to Sparrow' voice. "Sides good, of course."

Prescott shrugged. He had never tried to categorize the man before now. "His father, Ethan Laffley, owns one of the most prestigious banks in England as well as half of the land in the colonies. Chris's mother died when he was only three years old. His father sent him to Jamaica to live with his mother's sister. They never got along. Chris joined the navy when he was sixteen. He made lieutenant by eighteen. The ship he served on was attacked by pirates," Prescott paused to glance at Sparrow, who just smiled, lifting his bottle of rum as though he were toasting his comrades. "Anyway, the battle left all of the other officers dead. Chris somehow rallied the men, attacked the pirate ship, won, and brought a crew of thirty pirates and all of their plunder home for the crown. Admiralty was so impressed, they promoted him to post captain."

"Regular shinin' star."

Raising an eyebrow, Prescott continued. "He met Annie 'bout five years ago. They were married for three before he was killed . . . " Prescott's voice trailed off as someone knocked on the door.

"Aye?" Sparrow called.

Daniels stuck his head in the room, "better come on deck, Capt'n. We got company."

88888

Ana stepped into Chris' cabin. The sun streamed in through the windows and ricocheted off of the panels of the reddish wood, giving the room a warm glow. Chris was sitting on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The black hat was gone, and his wavy hair hung loose. She could see his face clearly for the first time in years. During the time that he had been gone, she had spent countless nights in his study staring at their wedding portrait. Curled in his maroon leather chair, she would sit for hours and try to memorize every contour of his painted face, vowing never to forget what he looked like. He now wore a silver hoop in his left ear. He still looked like her husband, but this man was not her husband. He was a stranger.

"Sit down," he offered, gesturing to the pair of chairs in front of his desk.

"I'll stand."

"Maria," he sighed. "If you could just give me a chance to –"

"To what, Chris? Explain?"

He crossed his arms.

"Go right ahead," she continued. "I'd love to hear your explanation for letting me think you were dead for the past year and a half. Take you're best shot. I'm waiting with baited breath."

"Done?"

"Don't you dare be cheeky with me. I mourned your lying carcass and all the while you were sailing the high seas and living the good life."

"It wasn't like that –"

"It was exactly like that." Ana put her hands of her hips and scowled. "I thought you were lost in a hurricane."

"I was."

"Oh really?"

"Really. I woke up on some little island. Turned out a pirate used it as a cache. He found me and informed me that I would either be joining his crew or meeting my maker. I had to go with him, and there was no way to get word to you."

"Well, everyone on this ship calls you Captain. So, what happened there, Chris? Once you could get word to me, you what? Couldn't find the time in your busy schedule? Or maybe you just didn't want to."

"I didn't say that."

Ana could feel the heat rising to her face. Tears would follow shortly, but she was not going to cry. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She was angry and that's all he was going to see. "No. I suppose you didn't. Come to think of it. You didn't say a damn thing. That's why I got this funny idea in my head that you were dead. My God, Chris. Were you ever planning on letting me know you were alive?"

"I wanted to, Maria, but –"

"But you didn't," Ana finished his sentence. "You let me think that my husband was dead. Why would you do that? Did you ever love me, Chris?"

He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. "I love you still." His eyes were as gentle as they had ever been. His touch was exactly the same. A touch that she thought she would live the rest of her days without ever feeling again.

"Mr. Matthews," she called to the man who undoubtedly stood outside of the door.

Chris dropped his hands as Matthews entered the cabin.

"If you please, take me back to the other cabin."

Chris held up his hand to stop Matthews. "You're my wife. You can stay here."

Ana lifted her chin. "I am not Lucky Laffley's wife. I am Captain Chris Laffley's widow. I'll stay in my own room."

TBC

Well, that's it for a while. The next chappy is already half written, so I should be able to post soon. In the meantime, leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing.