Disclaimer: I only write about them, I don't own them.

A/N: Thank you Thank you Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying my little story. Now, as promised Jack and Prescott are back!

Chapter Nine:

Prescott squinted and shielded his eyes from the blazing morning sun . . . at least he assumed it was morning. He felt like he had gone to sleep years ago, though his body was telling him to go right back to bed. Blinking a few times to get his bearings, Prescott climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. He clutched the stair rail to steady himself against the jerking motion of the ship. It was going to take twice as long to find his sister if they had to sail through this storm.

"Good morrow, Capt'n Tarret," Mr. Daniels' voice boomed.

"Heaven's sake, man, there's no need to shout," Prescott growled.

"Sorry, sir," Daniels replied after a moment's hesitation.

"What time is it?"

Daniels turned his face to the sky, drawing attention to the peculiar scar circling his neck, "bout noon, I think."

Noon! That could not be right. If that were case then Prescott would have been asleep for . . . well, what time exactly did he go to sleep? "Where's Sparrow?"

"Wardroom. Are you alright?"

"Fine. Yes." Prescott brought his hand to his head. Why on earth did this man have to go on yelling? "Wardroom, you say? Right. Good. Carry on, Mr. Daniels." And why in the world was Daniels looking at him like that?

Making his way below decks, he stumbled through the corridors, knocked around by the turbulent seas. "Sparrow?" he said, as he clumsily entered the wardroom.

"Ello, Capt'n Tarret." The pirate was seated at the long table, peering at a map and sipping from the bottle of rum in his hand.

"Honestly, does everyone on this bloody ship think me deaf? Keep your voice down."

The pirate turned to face Prescott, a Cheshire cat grin spreading over his face.

"What're you looking at?" Prescott asked, pointing at the map and trying to ignore Sparrow's smile.

"This is where Lucky's taking your sister," he announced, pointing to a tiny island.

Prescott tried in vain to focus on the map, but with all the rocking of the ship, the task was nearly impossible. "Be nice when we sail through this storm."

Sparrow leaned back in his chair, the smirk still firmly plastered across his face. Resting his chin on his hand, he said, "What storm?"

"What bloody storm? This one, you damn fool!"

"But Captain," Sparrow rose to stand in front of Prescott. "We have a fair wind and a calm sea," he said gesturing for Prescott to look out the window.

Doing so, Prescott was reminded of the beaming sunshine that had assaulted his eyes above deck. Of course, there was no storm. But then, why in the world was this blasted ship rocking so much. He had been on deck, there was no torrent of wind that he could remember. "Bloody hell," he exclaimed.

"Hung over, mate?"

"Still drunk, old chap," Prescott said, pouring himself into one of the chairs at the table. Drunk. Furrowing his brow, Prescott tried to recall the last time he had been drunk. At least being inebriated explained why he woke up sitting behind the desk in Sparrow's cabin. "How much did we drink last night?"

The pirate smiled broadly. "Hard to say, mate. You were raisin' toasts to just about anythin' you could think of."

"I was?" Prescott was beginning to feel ill.

"Aye. We toasted to pirates, Norrington, Anamaria, your wife, Scarlet . . . which I found rather interestin'."

Prescott raised his eyebrow, hoping to convey his irritation with Sparrow's remark. "Scarlet who?"

"You know, pretty redhead in Tortuga . . ."

Prescott could almost feel his face redden. "Oh, her." He had toasted Scarlet? Why on earth . . . That was not good.

"Anyway, you raised a toast to the King, the Queen, me . . . which was also a might surprisin'. After that, even I couldn't understand much o' what you were sayin."

"You say you know where Chris' is headed?" Prescott said, trying to bypass the pirate's previous comment.

"La Isla del Oro," Sparrow answered, graciously allowing Prescott to forget about his pounding head for a few seconds.

"Island of Gold?"

"Aye. The man who used to Captain that sloop your brother-in-law now commands, Lang, 'e used that island to store up 'is loot."

"I thought all pirates spent their ill gotten gain on the nearest bottle of rum and the cheapest company they could find."

"Only the smart ones, mate," Sparrow said, tapping on the red bandana that covered most of his head. "Captain Lang and 'is brother stashed everything out on this island."

"Lang has a brother?"

"Had," the pirate clarified, taking a seat across from Prescott.

"What happened?"

Sparrow leaned back in his chair, raising his ever moving hands in the air. "Well, when the illustrious Lucky Laffley took Lang's ship he also cleaned out the cache. Obviously, 'e made quite an enemy out of Lang's brother."

"Obviously," Prescott tried to focus on the pirate's words, not the unrelenting movements of his hands.

"Two of 'em chased each other all over the Caribbean, each one vowing not to rest 'till the other was restin' permanently."

"Chris killed both Captain Langs?"

"Aye. Just 'appened not to long ago, actually."

"You're telling me that Chris led a mutiny, stole treasure that was not his, and then killed aforementioned treasure's rightful owner," Prescott tried to make sense of Sparrow's story. The man that the pirate described certainly did not seem like Chris Laffley.

"Tha's what I'm tellin' ye."

Putting his elbows on the table, despite years of his parents warning him against the impoliteness of the action, Prescott covered his face with his hands. His head hurt slightly less without that blasted sun in his eyes. Still, he was having difficulty keeping his thoughts in order. The Chris Laffley that he remembered was a man of honor, not a greed obsessed mutineer.

Before Prescott could put his thoughts into words, Daniels burst into the wardroom. "Sorry, Capt'n. Sail sighted off the starboard bow," he said.

"The Lady Maria?" Prescott asked.

Daniels shook his head. "Looks like a merchant ship."

Sparrow brought one hand to his mouth and ran his fingers over his lips. "Leave 'er alone, for now. We shouldn't waste our time on 'er."

"Aye, sir."

"Passing up the chance to raid, plunder and pillag –" Prescott stopped short, remembering Annie's vulgar usage of the word pillage yesterday.

"Aye, mate," Sparrow said. "If we miss Laffley at the island, I've no idea where 'e'll go next."

Prescott nodded.

"You seemed to be fairly well acquainted with 'em," Sparrow went on. "Any idea why 'e snatched Anamaria?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose in an effort to alleviate the throbbing in his skull, Prescott sighed. "No."

"Think 'e still loves 'er?"

Prescott regarded the pirate. The edge that colored Sparrow's voice whenever he mentioned Annie and Chris in the same sentence had reappeared. Was Jack Sparrow jealous? "Maybe," Prescott said. "I don't understand why he would have stayed away for so long if he still cared for her, though."

Sparrow stood up and moved to stand in front of the wardroom's only window. He stared out at the sea, with his hands clasped behind his back, mirroring the proper Navy stance that Prescott had assumed when he invited Norrington aboard. Prescott cocked his head to one side, his curiosity peaked by the pirate. Again, his thoughts drifted back to the first encounter he had with the intrepid pirate. In a tiny cabin surrounded by Spanish military, the injured pirate had stood in front of Annie when Prescott had been talking to her. Sparrow had been willing to protect Annie from anyone, even her own brother. In that moment, Prescott believed every story that he had ever heard about Jack Sparrow being both a pirate and a man of honor. He knew then, that there was more to the man than met the eye, just as he knew it now. Sparrow's devil may care façade was right now hiding a man who knew much more about Lucky Laffley than he was letting on. "Captain Sparrow," he started. "Is it fair to say that you don't much care for my brother-in-law?"

"Aye, suppose it is," the pirate answered, his gaze still fixed on the sea.

"Why?"

"The deepest circles of hell are reserved for betrayers and mutineers."

"You said yourself that the mutiny was just a tavern story. I knew Chris for a long time, and I have to say that I'd hear his side of the tale before condemning him to eternal damnation."

Sparrow turned and his glare sent daggers into Prescott's chest. "Knew him, did ye? As a fighting captain or as a man?"

Prescott's brow knit into the mask of perfect confusion. He searched the pirate's black eyes for some indication of what he meant by that statement, but Sparrow's eyes divulged nothing.

"Captain!" Daniels threw open the wardroom door, out of breath.

"Aye?" Sparrow's attention snapped to his first mate.

"Trouble, sir. Two ships sighted, not one."

"Two?"

"Aye, sir. One was hidin' behind the other."

"What do you mean, hiding?" Prescott asked. "Why would they do that?"

Daniels swallowed, and his eyes darted to Prescott then back to Sparrow. "They're East India, sir."

TBC

Oooooh, evil cliffy, I know, but I haven't used one in a while. Anyway, I'll try not to leave you hanging too long, and Ana will be back next chapter. Also, I wrote a Jack/Ana one shot called "Assurance" that may help tide you over. Some of you already have, but I'd love for you to check it out and let me know what you think! Alright, that's it for now, don't forget to leave me a review before you're on your way.