Sorry it's taken so long to post… Jack was determined, and I finally gave in. (He's still giving me trouble, actually. Sphinx may not like this…)

Many gracious thanks to the readers and reviewers, who make this so enjoyable.

Captain Jack Sparrow was on the Pearl, rolling in a storm that was getting steadily worse. He wanted to relieve Lizzie at the helm, but was stuck below decks, unable to move. Voices called, the crew, his crew, yelling, and he thought he heard Ana and William as well. Looking down, he pulled against what bound him and saw an iron shackle around his left wrist connected to an enormous rock. Feeling the ship shudder violently as Gibbs called a warning to Elizabeth, all he could do was yell up to her as he struggled with the shackle, willing that she would hear him. 'C'mon, Lizzie. Keep her steady. I know you can do it, love.'

The ship listed abruptly to port, and he felt himself falling sideways against the hull, smashing his shoulder with a wet crunching noise. The hull buckled, a hole opened and he was thrown out into the waves, sinking fast as the rock pulled him down. For an eternity he fought to pull away, up toward air and freedom, straining against the metal that held his useless left arm.

It jerked in the current, bit into him like the abrupt thrust of a sword. Unwittingly he opened his mouth to cry out and water rushed in, choking the last breath of air out of his lungs. This is it, then. There was a strange sense of relief as he stopped fighting. No decisions to make, no debts to repay…until he saw one of the Pearl's masts falling slowly through the water near him. But if she goes down… if we both… bodies floated through the water by him. Will and his father; Lizzie; Anamaria so close he could see the pain on her face as she died, her eyes accusing…

So you're just giving up. Abandoning us all.

Something in Jack Sparrow rebelled.

No. Not like this.

He reached up in a last act of desperation.

Strong fingers brushed against his, running down his hand to grasp his wrist. As he clutched the arm in return, he felt himself shooting upwards, the weight that held him back snapping away. He broke through the surface with a gasp –

Jack's eyes opened as he gasped into the pure black of the island night. He lifted his head slowly, waiting for his heart to stop pounding so violently, for the throbbing in his chest to ease. Bloody hell. What a nightmare.

A quiet voice broke the silence.

"Good."

He turned his head quizzically, like a parrot hearing a strange noise in the jungle. "Beg pardon? Good?"

"You reached out this time. Good."

The soft voice in the night moved closer, opened the shutters near his bed. "What do you mean, I 'reached out'?" Jack frowned, looking sideways at her. "And perhaps, more to the point, what do you mean by 'this time'?" She chuckled quietly, shaking her head.

"Stubborn." Moving gracefully around the small hut she opened the shutters to the gentle tropical breeze, letting in the faint light that heralded the end of the night. When a palm frond pushed into the open window as if in greeting, she stroked it with a smile, eased it back outside carefully.

Jack exhaled loudly. "Stubborn, yes, love, I believe we've already established that. And may I return the compliment."

She turned to look at him, shrugged. "I suppose."

Jack stared at her benign expression, unsure what to do with it. "At least you're honest."

She walked like a shadow to the firepit and resurrected the embers of the small fire. Jack watched her carefully, felt himself admit with his usual speed that he enjoyed what he saw. I must be on the mend. When she came close to the bed and laid a strong hand on his forehead, he reached to take her wrist. She only looked slightly surprised. "Tell me your name, love."

Her lips turned slightly upwards. "And why would you need my name, Captain Jack Sparrow?"

The pirate stared into her dark eyes. She was quite unlike the women he usually kept time with… yet there was something familiar. He had a strong feeling that she wouldn't find the usual line of charm endearing. Indeed, her eyes still held his, as if she were waiting to see what he would do. He frowned, loosened his grip. "I'd like to know who to thank."

"Ah." She slipped her hand free, reached to the shallow bowl on the table. When she slipped her hand beneath his head and lifted, he sat upright, breathing a bit heavily. She looked impressed. "You seem more determined to heal now."

"Perhaps I am." He leaned slightly toward her. "Perhaps you've given me something to live for." The look in his eye would have melted the heart of any harlot in Tortuga. Especially if there was a gold coin to go with it.

The woman of the island got a very strange expression on her face, and suddenly laughed. "Indeed." She held the bowl to his lips and he drank, still looking into her eyes. "You are an interesting man."

"Not just stubborn, then?"

"Largely. But there is more." He managed to keep his right hand on her shoulder while her eyes, dark as midnight, searched his. Abruptly she stood. "Let's walk."

"Walk?"

"You're strong enough. Perhaps seeing the sun rise will ease your mind." The pirate shrugged, barely noticing that he was moving his injured shoulder. Carefully she helped him to stand by the bed. He draped his right arm over her for erstwhile support, and they walked slowly out into the retreating night.

"It'll be dawn soon." Jack looked around as a chirping noise began, almost like crickets but not quite. "What is that?"

"Save your breath for walking." She glanced at his hangdog expression and sighed, but her tone was respectful as she spoke. "They are coqui'. Tree spirits of the earth." He frowned, his eyes widening at the suggested mysticism, and she laughed quietly. Stopping next to a palm, she pointed at a tiny green blob on the bark, no more than an inch across. "Tree frogs." It chirped obligingly, echoing its name. Ko-kee, ko-kee. Resting her palm against the tree for a moment, she smiled.

It took only a few minutes even at their slow pace for them to reach a small beach that looked east across the sea. The woman got him settled first, then sat next to him, their backs against a broad tree trunk. He managed to keep his arm around her where they sat, leaning against her with his best lecherous pirate smile. As the sun began to pour liquid gold across the ocean, she spoke gently. "You love your ship."

He blinked, his act broken by surprise, and tried to shrug. It made him wince only slightly. "She's my ship."

The woman nodded. She took his hand from her shoulder and held it between hers. "I see nothing above this ship in your life. I wonder at how alone you are."

Jack frowned at her, looked away. "Milady, I don't need pity."

"I'm sure you don't."

"I-" he paused, stared back at her. "The Black Pearl is ..." he gave an expressive shrug.

She nodded, noticing that he didn't wince at all this time.

"Tell me about your family."

"Blood relations? Ah, yes. Once upon a time I had blood family." His glib tone didn't seem to reach his eyes. This time she frowned, thoughtfully, as if she were looking into his soul once more.

"You still do."

"Ah, but not if you ask them, love." Jack gave her a humorless smile before looking back out over the sea.

She turned back to the sunrise with closed eyes, her expression unreadable. After a few minutes, he heard her exhale. "I'm ready, Captain Jack Sparrow. Tell me who you are."

He was surprised when he heard himself begin.

*

Lord Harrington Warwick II stood on the new world soil, looked down on his grandson, in more ways than one. "A bit dark, Mary."

The Creek native regarded her husband's father carefully before looking back to her boy. He spoke as if she had chosen to give her child the sun-warmed skin of her people, even though it was clear he was the palest of his friends. She smiled quietly as the boy called to one of his cohorts perched on a fallen log out over the stream. His long dark hair streamed behind him; nearly black eyes flashing as he leapt into the water, laughing. Five years old, and already as fearless as a warrior.

"He is who he is."

Warwick shook his head sadly. "Indeed. And that's what I'm afraid of." He turned away from the boys to look at her. "I just hope I'm not too late."

"You still plan to take him from me?"

"Mary, I've explained it to you. I'm trying to save the boy's soul."

She felt the tears trying to escape, but would not let them. She would honor her husband's memory the only way she could. "My name," she breathed, "is not Mary."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. But I'm certainly not calling you by that heathen name my son favored."

She took a deep breath. How could Alghechew-ohegho be heathen? Her father, leader of the Creek, had named her honorably after the great heron that walked the waters near their home. Her husband, a trader, had loved her name… had loved her. But now he was gone. The sea had taken him, as surely as it would now take her son.

"My father and brothers would have stopped you."

"And I am grateful that God let me find you before they did. You must try to understand, Mary. I'm doing this for his own good." Turning, he looked down toward the playing children. "Boy. Come here." When nothing happened, he looked at the woman in exasperation. "Call him."

She called softly. "Zulee." He turned, dark eyes flashing with laughter, and was at her side in moments. As she spoke to him softly in her native tongue, his eyes darted to his grandfather. He shook his head. She knelt and held him, whispering in his ear.

"Surely the child can speak English."

"John always spoke in English to him."

"When he was here."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Did you stop loving your son when he married me, or was it before then?"

Warwick looked affronted, shook his head. "John was the youngest. I should have kept a closer watch on him." His gaze drifted uneasily toward the boy. "What is his name?"

She said something in her native Creek and the older man frowned.

"Doesn't he have a real name?"

"That is his real name. The name his people know him by."

He sighed heavily. "Does it mean anything?"

She felt her anger growing and paused, as she had learned to do when confronted with the stupidity of the colonists. Looking up, she said with quiet fondness, "Sparrow-hawk."

The shudder of dismay that ran through the man was obvious. "We'll call him Jonathan. After his father."

*

Jack stopped, took a deep breath. Slowly he turned his head to look at the woman sitting next to him, still holding his hand. "After that day, I never saw her again." His hand moved along his hair, and he held out a braided strand that ended with a few beads and a slate blue feather. "She tied this in my hair before I left. So I wouldn't forget her." He stood unsteadily and took a few steps toward the sea. "Of course my grandfather had my hair cut as soon as we were on the ship. I managed to save this by biting the barber." After a moment he gave her a genuine smile, golden in the dawn. "I've not cut my hair since I left his roof."

The woman watched him carefully. She stood and walked to him, took his hand once more. "What name did your mother give you?"

He looked away, shrugged, looked back to her. "Zulee-ligwah." Smiling a bit artificially, he added, "Jonathan Warwick, the sparrow-hawk, became Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow." His jaw grew tighter as his gaze hardened. "I made a name for myself." Eventually he turned to her once more. "And you, milady? What name were you given?"

A small grin softened the expression in her deep eyes. "What would you call me?"

Frowning, he stared at her with quiet intensity. Slowly he nodded, his smile flashing. "Coqui."

The three small boats from the Esperance came up around the Pearl like hummingbirds around a flower in the dark. William managed to be aboard first, and was greeted grimly by Gibbs.

"Everyone alright?"

"The bloody fools just opened fire on us. And us with the Pearl's cannons." The old pirate shook his head as Elizabeth walked over to join them.

"Mr. Gibbs – I finished the count."

William beat him to the question. "Any hands lost?"

"No, Captain."

"No, but Jack'll have my head over that foremast. Snapped the rigging as well."

William looked up at mast, hanging like a broken tree after a storm. "Lucky it didn't take the main out."

"Aye. I'll be thankin' God for small mercies when I have time. Meanwhile, we've got to get this cleaned up." He indicated the deck, littered with bits of rope, sail and wood. A shot had shattered the rail on the port side as well, crushing it for a few feet.

"You need more hands?"

"What I'm needin' is a good carpenter." The old pirate gave him half a grin. "Got one?"

William grinned. "Aye, Mr. Gibbs. I've got one." He looked up again. "Let's get things cleaned up here. In the morning we'll make her seaworthy until we can reach a proper yard." Gibbs nodded and called out orders.

Elizabeth looked at her father-in-law hesitantly before he stepped closer and hugged her. "You alright?"

"Yes, sir." She held on for a few moments before inhaling loudly and pulling herself upright. "I better get below and check for shifting."

"Good idea."

Captain Turner looked off toward the dark shore and thought of traitors, ambushes, shots in the night - and his son. With a weary sigh he turned to help organize the men.