Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who left me a review. So much great feedback makes me immeasurably happy. Also, so many of you already have, but I posted another Jack/Ana one shot, called "Loyalty." So, if you're interested, check it out. Okay, now onto the story.

Chapter Thirteen:

Prescott leaned his head back against the cold bars of the tiny cell that he shared with two pirates. Daniels was still unconscious and Sparrow had been quiet since he had uncharacteristically opened a window into his mysterious history. A past that had explained a lot about a pirate that Prescott hardly knew and raised even more questions about a man that Prescott only thought he knew. Running his hand across his face he noted with slight distaste that he wanted nothing more than a bath, a shave, and to never worry about pirates or dead men again.

"Can I ask you one thing more?" he asked the pirate captain.

"Aye."

"Laffley shot you, right?"

"Aye."

"In cold blood?"

"Captain Tarret," Sparrow's black eyes met Prescott's. "If you are implying that I deserved –"

"No. No. No. Not at all," Prescott held his hands up defensively. "I just – Haven't you ever wondered why he shot you in the leg?"

The pirate's expression softened somewhat. "What?"

"If he wanted to kill you, why not a shot to the chest or the head –"

"Or the back?" Sparrow interrupted, his voice full of venom from past wounds apparently not healed.

Not knowing how best to respond to the pirate's bitterness, Prescott remained silent in hopes that he would elaborate. He did not know what he wanted Sparrow to say, or what answer he was looking for. Maybe he was still hoping to catch the pirate in a lie, or maybe he was holding to tightly to the image of Chris that had always lived in his own head. If only Sparrow would say that, underneath it all, Chris was a decent person and could not bring himself to outright kill a man . . . maybe then, Prescott could save some shred of the Chris that he had allowed his little sister to marry.

"It's you're favorite dilemma. Devil or the deep blue sea," Sparrow said.

"How so?" Prescott asked.

"The pirate ship was holed."

That was it, then. Chris had known one way or another that Sparrow would die. Maybe putting a bullet in the man's leg had helped Chris sleep at night. He could somehow reason that he had not actually killed the man. "So, if you didn't bleed to death you would have drown, or fed a few sharks, I suppose."

"Could we no' dwell on me almost death?"

Prescott shrugged. "Sorry. Funny though, isn't it. If Chris would've acted differently, all of England would have hailed you a hero. You would have been promoted and Captain Jack Sparrow would have been a name respected by the Crown." Prescott stared into the darkness trying to picture the pirate in the uniform of a post captain. If Sparrow had ever worn that uniform, he would have been Prescott's colleague, or maybe his friend. That pirate in the Navy uniform could have fallen for Annie and become part of the family. Prescott's whole world could have been so different.

"No' quite, mate. Captain Jack Sparrow didn't exist before that day."

Prescott's eyebrows rose. He did not know why he should be surprised that Sparrow changed his name. Most pirates of any repute had left their old identities behind before passing into a life of infamy. "Guess Chris did kill you, then."

"Very philosophical, Captain Tarret."

Eyeing the pirate, Prescott sighed the sigh of a man long finished with propriety and titles. "Might as well call me Prescott. I doubt I'll be able to spin a tale for Admiralty that will allow me to keep my commission after this little misadventure."

A slight smile colored the pirate's face. "Don't underestimate yerself, mate. Ye did alrigh' last time."

Prescott raised an eyebrow. "I did more threatening than explaining last time."

"That why your bloody friend Norrington didn't look too 'appy to see ye?"

"Not exactly my bloody friend anymore," Prescott said, nodding and remembering the look on James' face when Prescott warned that he was not a man to be crossed. Whether or not, Prescott would have actually made good on his threat no longer mattered. James had believed that Prescott was willing to destroy the career of a fellow officer to save his sister's face. Hell, James was probably right.

"Did all that for Anamaria, eh, mate?"

"Someone has to look out for her."

"Jus' you?"

"Our father died just before she was married, and her mother was killed when Annie was little."

"Killed?"

"Caught in the middle of some brawl in town. Gutsy lady, but not as tough as she looked."

"No other overprotective big brothers, then?"

Prescott shot the pirate a glare. "One, but he's gone now too," he said, not caring to dredge up the long buried memories of Findley's young face staring up at him from the bloodied deck as he lie dying in Prescott's arms. "What about you? No family left behind when the Intrepid's lieutenant expired?"

"None that would mourn 'is passing," Sparrow said flatly.

Prescott did not inquire further, getting the distinct impression that the pirate wanted his past to stay in the past.

Wanting to linger a bit longer in his own history, Prescott was startled back to reality when the door to the hold clanged open. The portly East India captain lumbered towards them stopping in front of the cell door. Sparrow remained seated on the floor adopting a mock casual pose, so Prescott tried to mirror the pirate's nonchalance. Two nameless, faceless hulks had followed their captain, one of whom was now unlocking the cage door.

"Gentlemen," the captain's nasally voice began, "we have some business to attend to."

The brute with the keys stepped back to allow his twin to step into the cell. The man leaned forward, grabbed hold of Sparrow's arm and hauled the pirate to his feet. Without hesitation, Prescott leapt up and threw all of his weight against the East India agent. The force of the blow caused the man to let go of Sparrow. Prescott jammed his forearm up against the man's throat and pinned him to the opposite wall of the cell. "What business?" he snarled.

The East India captain had readied his pistol and was training the weapon at Prescott's face. "Unhand my officer," he said.

"Or you'll what?" Prescott taunted. "Kill me? As I understand, if this ship makes port, I'm as good as dead, anyway."

"True," the captain agreed, lowering his aim to Prescott's stomach, "but, I will make your inevitable demise much messier than the yellow livered King's Navy."

"You'd be surprised what you can find in the King's Navy, mate," Sparrow said, casting a mischievous grin in Prescott's direction.

The captain jerked his pistol to the side, and sent a bullet flying past the pirate's head. Sparrow never flinched. "Enough," the East India captain shouted, his raised voice and the sound from the gun bringing two more of his agents in the door to the hold. "Your attempt to overpower us is futile," he said to Prescott, who had just reached the same conclusion.

Reluctantly, Prescott eased his arm away from the East India man's neck and was rewarded by a crushing blow to the left cheek. Newly freed, the man grabbed onto Sparrow and pulled the pirate from the cell. Pulling his dazed carcass from the ground, Prescott raced forward just in time to have the cell door slammed in his face.

The fat captain produced a greasy smile. "Don't worry, cabin boy. You'll have you're turn."

88888

Ana sat shivering in the Interceptor's longboat watching as Norrington's ship became bigger, closer, and more menacing. Chris sat next to her, with his arm draped protectively over her shoulders. Too tired to protest, she let her husband feel useful, at least for the moment. His neck was craned and the majority of his attention was fixed the wreckage behind them. The beautiful redwood sloop was split nearly in two and fast disappearing into the blood stained sea. Ana rubbed her temples in an effort to banish the sound of cannon fire from her brain.

"Miss?"

Ana's head snapped up. A sailor was offering her his hand, as the longboat had just pulled up alongside of the Interceptor. Generally, if a woman was to board a vessel in His Majesty's service, some sort of seat was rigged so that she could be floated up to the deck with all of her lady like dignity in tact. However, Norrington could not anticipate that a woman would be on Chris' ship, nor would it matter since that woman would be considered a pirate, not a lady.

Trying not to think about where the sailor's attentions were focused, Ana pulled herself up to the Interceptor's deck.

"Annie!" exclaimed James Norrington's voice, understandably full of surprise.

"James," she answered, her own voice tired and ragged.

"What in God's name are you doing aboard Jack Sparrow's ship?"

One of Ana's eyebrows raised of it's own volition. "Jack?"

James stood, dumbfounded, for a few seconds. He just stared at Ana as he wrestled with some sort of turmoil inside his head. His reverie was only broken by Ana's husband appearing on deck.

"My God," James exhaled, crossing himself. "Captain Laffley?"

88888

Prescott sat, gingerly rubbing the side of his face. Every now and again he stretched his jaw just to reassure himself that it still functioned properly. His whole head was ringing, echoing the hangover he had battled only this morning. Sparrow had been gone nearly an hour, and Prescott tried to convince himself that the wily pirate had killed the fat captain and escaped. Unfortunately, Prescott had not been able to deny the pain filled screams that had started to waft through the walls of the hold only minutes ago. They did not sound like the cries of East India agents being attacked by a lone pirate on his way back to rescue his imprisoned crewmates. Another scream.

"Was tha' what I think t'is," Daniels' tired voice broke into the darkness.

Prescott did not answer, but Daniels seemed to understand his silence.

"E'll be okay," the young pirate said. Prescott did not know who Daniels was trying to comfort.

All at once the door to the brig was thrown open, and a pair of East India agents strode towards the cell.

"Your turn, cabin boy," one of the men proclaimed, making Prescott sorry he had made the cabin boy joke up on deck.

Prescott rose to his feet, trying to mask the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him, due to the blow to the head. One of the brutes gripped Prescott's upper arm and dragged him down a dark corridor to the other end of the ship. They stopped in front of a door, too thick and heavy to normally be built on a ship. "Captain's waitin' fer ya," he said as he flung open the door and pushed Prescott inside.

Prescott stumbled into the room and even eyes as battle worn as his own, could not believe what they saw.

"Dear God."

TBC

One last a/n: In my last chapter there were a few questions that I shall attempt to answer. First, the whole situation when Chris shoots Jack and leaves him for dead, happens about 8-9 years before this story. Chris and Jack were both lieutenants, but Jack could outrank Chris because he recieved his commission before Chris did. Next, Jack would still be wearing the rest of his uniform, even after taking off his jacket to try to fool the pirates. However, from what I have found, lieutenants would have had a less formal uniform to wear while at sea. The pristine white stockings and those short pants, shiny shoes etc were reserved for special occasions. Still a bit of a stretch that the pirates would have been fooled, but, hey, it's fiction right? Okay, sorry for the huge note, but I just wanted to try to clear things up a bit. Please don't forget to review.