Sorry it's taken so long to update - I can't believe it's Friday already… but work has been so insane. Next week it should peak and then pine… I hope. Many thanks to the readers and reviewers.

He startled, hearing the wind singing in the rigging, the sails flapping loose with a noise like wet leather against the mast.

Storm. I should be at the wheel.

The thought registered even as his body bypassed his brain, leaping from his bed to run up on deck. Or trying to.

Pain screamed through his chest as he jerked his body up, only to fall back gasping a curse. A strong but gentle hand on his forehead seemed to clear it, and the pain ebbed without disappearing entirely. His eyelids fluttered and opened, only to blink firmly shut a moment later.

I'm not on the Pearl. Then where…

Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the Spanish main, tried with muddied difficulty to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered clearly was the ambush, the little upstart who dared to cross blades with him… the snap and sizzle of his mind in the heat of battle, feeling his arm create the parries rather than thinking them through. The pinked coward had gone over the side, and he remembered turning to Will with a laugh… then a strange push from behind, his shoulder curiously warm, Lizzie screaming. In his memory he looked down towards his chest, saw metal that should never have been there.

Bloody hell.

He opened his eyes again, cautiously, as if he were peeking around a corner.

A hand, still on his forehead, was connected by the usual means to an arm and eventually the shoulder of a woman who was leaning slightly over him, her eyes half closed and her head tilted as if she were listening for something. After a moment she reached for a small, shallow bowl near the bed. Slipping her hand gently behind him, she lifted him slightly so he could drink. He looked at her suspiciously, but she held his eyes with a calm gaze. His expression was a kind of shrug as he sipped the liquid, and she held it back, not letting him drink too quickly. He'd forgotten how thirsty dying made him.

When she rested his head back on the bed, his suspicion gave way to curiosity while his mind continued to clear. The woman standing over him looked like a native of the islands, carried herself with that same primitive, elegant beauty. Her eyes were dark, her thick hair hanging in a long braid that had fallen over one shoulder when she leaned forward. After watching him carefully for a long minute, she nodded slightly and stood to move away.

"Are you, by chance, an angel?" His voice was less cocky than he would have liked.

Her eyes met his, eyebrows quirked, and she shook her head.

"Then I'm not dead yet."

This time her mouth curved slightly. "No."

He nodded, thoughtful. "Ah. That explains a few things." He tried to take a deep breath and felt the mistake instantly, although he couldn't stop a typically sardonic remark. "And as I recall," he panted shallowly against the pain while she placed a hand gently on his chest, "being dead didn't hurt this much."

His breathing eased slowly and she stood over him, shaking her head.

"You've died often?"

He looked at her, wondering what she was doing that made him stop hurting that way, or at least made the pain move somewhere out of the front of his mind. "Once or twice." She nodded, moved to walk over to the fire again. "I suppose you don't believe me."

Taking some small stems and stripping the leaves from them, she added them to a pot of water on the fire. He thought he heard a sigh, but couldn't be sure. "I believe you, Captain Jack Sparrow. I've seen it." She turned to look at him, and he felt as if his soul was laid bare under those eyes.

He tried to remember what else had happened. Will and Lizzie, their expressions more frightening than the sword through his shoulder; William helping him with an old, familiar humor overlaying his fears; handing Gibbs the compass… his fingers strayed down to his sash, and he verified that the case was gone. He hoped that he'd actually handed it over, and not lost it after the fight, only dreaming that he'd gotten it safely to the old pirate. Clearing his throat very carefully, he spoke in a quiet rumble without opening his eyes again.

"I don't suppose you can tell me who brought me here? Or just where here might be, for that matter?"

"Palomino Island."

His eyes opened in some surprise as he stared at her. "So that would make you…"

"Yes?"

"Actually, I've never heard your name. Not one that I would repeat. You're a bit of a legend, milady."

Her lips curved slightly again, and she took a deep breath. "If that's true, it makes two of us, Captain Jack Sparrow."

The watched each other for a long moment, and he finally nodded. "So it was the children who brought me, then?"

"Young, yes. Children, no. They care very deeply for you. I had to send them away."

He almost tried to sit up again, but thought first, and decided where he was would be fine. "Sent them away?"

"Yes. They were afraid for you. I could hardly hear. And they had…" she frowned slightly, looking off toward the windows. "Something to deliver. Something important."

He seemed to relax a bit. "Ah. I must have given the compass over, then." He glanced up at her to see her still staring at him. "What?" She shook her head and stepped back to the fire, adding something to the pot before soaking a soft cloth in it.

"Your heart is strong, and well guarded. I was afraid I wouldn't find the way in time…" Taking up the cloth again, she let some of the liquid drain out of it before walking back to his side.

"But you did."

"And have you decided if that was a good thing or not yet?"

He tried to stare her down, unsuccessfully. "Listen, love, I think if I had some kind of death wish, I'd be dead fifty times over by now." She pulled back the bandage across his shoulder and chest and draped the sopping cloth over his wound. He gasped, gritted his teeth.

"Relax."

"Easier said than done." His hands clenched as he blinked and his eyes watered, but slowly the pain faded, until he felt a pleasant warmth.

Her voice seemed to smile. "You mend. Slowly." Turning back to him, she stood holding a sprig of some herb. "You're a stubborn man."

He frowned, decided that it was not an insult, and nodded. "Guilty as charged, milady."

A moment later his expression changed, and he looked up at the thatched roof, his glance darting to the shuttered windows of the hut. Looking back at her as the sound of wind grew outside, his concern grew. "There's a storm coming."

She nodded calmly, and the sound of trees around the hut creaking in the wind widened his eyes. "It has been here, on and off, for two days. We're safe." He frowned at the passage of time, but was distracted by the sounds of the forest. Being on land during this kind of weather always made him nervous. At least on his ship he knew what to expect. His eyes shot to the roof again as it sighed, shaking as the wind hit it. The woman stood up and moved to the door.

"Sleep. Don't be afraid."

She was gone before he could sufficiently express his astonishment at this comment. He proceeded to mutter quietly after she had gone. "Afraid? Jack Sparrow afraid of a little wind? Captain Jack Sparrow? I don't think so, love." He jerked in surprise as the large palm leaves slapped against the hut with a wet, leathery sound. Perhaps it was his injury, or his weakened state, but the fear grew in his stomach until he felt as if he had swallowed a mouthful of hot rum. The pain grew as he tensed, and his breath came in short gasps through his teeth.

Suddenly he heard it. Over the wind, or through it, a voice singing. Sweet, soft notes that alternately chided and soothed. The trees stopped hitting the house, and the wind dropped, or at least seemed to move farther off. Jack lay in bed and frowned. He was so taken by the strange melody that he didn't notice when the pain had subsided. A few minutes later the woman walked back into the hut, adjusting the fabric hanging over the door behind her as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What was that?"

"The trees were worried." She smiled at him. "Much like you."

"But –" Abruptly he winced. She walked back to him and gave him a few more sips from the bowl, rested her hand on his forehead again.

"Sleep."

"Tell me something first." He blinked, feeling the strangeness and the exhaustion mounting in his body, and looked into her eyes. "Will you?"

"You need know nothing more to sleep."

"But…" He struggled against his closing eyes.

Placing her hand gently on top of his, the woman leaned closer to whisper softly. "Your ship is safe. One of the young ones who brought you carries your teaching like an honored gift."

His eyes fluttered as he tried to frown, his voice slurred. "Lizzie?"

"They are safe."

Jack's breathing became more regular as he drifted off to sleep, and the woman sighed quietly. "For now."

Ana sat on the edge of the bed in the first mate's cabin of the Esperance. Her hair was still dripping from the storm that was slowly passing, and her cheeks were wet for an entirely different reason. A knock at the door made her look up with a start, and she would have told whoever it was to go away – except she knew who it was. Time to take her medicine. The door opened slowly.

"Ana?"

She nodded, her eyes downcast. Captain Turner stepped quietly into the room, closing the door softly behind him. "Are you alright?"

Bolstering herself, Anamaria squared her shoulders and stood up. "So will you be throwing me over, or just letting me off at the next island?"

Bootstrap frowned, keeping himself from smiling at her dramatic tone. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"I nearly wrecked us! And the Pearl." Her anger kept her from crying, so she leaned into it. "I'd throw myself over, if I were you. I don't deserve to be part of the crew."

There was a long moment of quiet, until she finally looked up into her captain's face. There was no condemnation there; in fact, there was an almost amused affection, and she found it curiously disquieting. She frowned, trying to keep herself together. "What?"

The captain's voice was quiet. "I'm not sure what kind of captain you're accustomed to, Ana. I find it hard to believe that Jack would have thrown you overboard."

"I never lost my way in the Pearl. Never took her in harms way."

"And how many storms did you pilot her through?"

"I –" she stopped, thought. The only time she'd sailed the Pearl in truly rough waters Jack was there – and he took the wheel almost automatically. There was never a sense that he felt she was doing anything wrong, but no one else was going to pilot his ship if there was a challenge involved. If something else needed his attention, he might give her up for a few minutes, but he was always back before long. "Not many, I suppose. Not with Jack around."

Bootstrap nodded, smiled at her gently. "But you still managed to find us a quiet place to wait it out."

"Aye… took me long enough."

"Then perhaps you understand why I'm not upset. We came through in one piece, Ana, and that's all that matters."

She sat quietly for a moment, then looked up at him. "Most times in my life I've been both captain and crew."

"Ah. Maybe you should be easier on them both, then." He stretched his back against the fatigue and shook his head. "Next time I expect you'll have a better feel for her."

"Next time?"

He exhaled heavily. "I'm getting used to you being the first mate. Take some time if you need to, but I'll want you back up on deck when we're looking for the Pearl."

She nodded, habit overcoming her. "Did we have a meeting spot?"

"Aye, the very point of coast we're on. We'll wait here until midmorning, and the clouds have cleared enough to see." Turning to leave her cabin, he said, "And help me keep an eye on Masterson."

"The gunner?" Her eyes narrowed. "D'ye think he's the rat?"

"Not sure yet." With a rueful grin, Bootstrap opened the door. "But at least I know who I can trust."

She sat down again after the door had closed, and considered a few things. After a long while she stood, wiped her face with a towel, and moved to follow the captain back on deck.