Disclaimer: If Pirates of the Caribbean stuff is P, Delphein's stuff is D, and this story is S, then S minus P equals D. Savvy?

A/N: It's been a while since I've posted, methinks. But while I wasn't writing, our friends Jack and Gwen et al were already on their way across the Atlantic. I hurried to catch up with them, and luckily, I caught them before they made it Rome. So here we all are, somewhere between Gibraltar and lovely old Rome. Share and enjoy. (Ooh, book quote… cookies for anyone who can spot where it came from…)
Chapter 10: Never So Simple
"What's it like?"

"What's what like?" Gwen, curled at Jack's side, answered drowsily as she made herself comfortable for sleep.

"Ye know… with th' little whelp and all…" Jack explained, his tone reflective, one hand brushing over her stomach.

"Being pregnant?" Gwen sighed, then slowly admitted, "Well, I'd rather not be."

Jack sounded surprised when he responded, "Why not?"

From his point of view, it just seemed as though everything were bigger. Her tummy, obviously, was growing more by the week, it seemed. He wasn't too shy to admit he'd noticed her breasts were fuller. Her appetite... Well, he had developed some very defensive habits when it came to his own food. Like consuming it as quickly as possible, before she finished hers andstarted looking for more.

But other than having to guard his meals from her, he was actually strangely thrilled by her changing appearance. And outside of those minor details, the idea of a pregnancy seemed normal enough to him. He'd seen the whores before, lurking in the back halls of bars, hiding away until they gave birth and could return to their work.

Gwen didn't move at all to try to look at him in the dark, but kept on speaking calmly from the pillow beside him. "You don't even have to worry about carrying the child," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "But are you ready to be a father?"

"Why not?" He half-shrugged, as well as a man can when he's lying down with his lover, rounded belly and all, pressed against hisside. If he could captain a ship, sack Nassau without ever firing a shot, defeat cursed mutineers, convince an entire American settlement to surrender all of their gold to him without quarrel, and achieve numerous other grand feats, then he could certainly handle a youngster.

"Mmm," Gwen said sleepily. It was a patronizing sort of sound. "Fathering a child and parenting a child are different things, Jack. You've done the one, you still have to do the other."

There was a long silence as he mulled this over. If she could have seen in the dark, had she not had her eyes closed anyway with trying to fall asleep, she would have seen him raise his eyebrow, then give another little shrug. Doing "the one" had been easy enough. Rather pleasurable to tell the truth. He briefly wondered which of their varied and numerous encounters had actually conceived the little whelp, but found he couldn't keep any of them straight and abandoned the pursuit. Anyway. If fathering it was so easy, why wouldn't "the other" be as simple?

"So what's it like?" he asked, returning to his original inquiry.

Gwen had been almost asleep. "Eh?" she asked wearily as she tried to piece together his words. "Oh." She yawned. "It's… well, it's tiring." Luckily, at least, she hadn't suffered nearly as much of the nausea Elizabeth had warned her to expect. She had been plagued by terrible headaches, though they seemed to be waning already. 'Tiring' seemed to fit all of her other symptoms as well as all her thoughts on the matter.

"Ye're worried," Jack observed suddenly, point-blank.

Gwen gave up on sleep for the time being, moving one arm up to prop her head on. With a sigh, she confessed in a low tone, "Yes, I am worried."

"Why?"

"Because… I'm not sure I know what to do with a baby."

He didn't respond.

After a moment of hesitation, Gwen added, "And because of what happened to my mother."

Ah. Jack suddenly remembered how, as she'd told him, Gwen had lost both her mother and younger brother in childbirth. Her soft words and allusions to this startled him somehow.

Naturally, Jack could see her in the present times, her abdomen slowly rounding outward with child. But he had also seen in his mind's eye into the future, once or twice, and imagined himself teaching a half-grown youngster about sailing a ship and how to recognize opportunities ripe for the taking.

But, of course, that adolescent he imagined would have to be a helpless little infant before it would be any fun. And he had to admit he didn't know anything about those. Furthermore, before there was the little infant, Gwen would have to labor to bring it into the world. He'd somehow forgotten that paltry little detail.

Obviously, Gwen hadn't forgotten.

"Ye're not going to die," he told her flatly.

Gwen wasn't sure whether the odd tone of his voice was due more to him trying to reassure her or to reassure himself. But, unaccountably, she still felt strangely a little comforted by his categorical denial of the danger she was facing. She settled down onto the pillow again, and after a while Jack thought she had finally fallen asleep.

"Jack?"

"Mm?"

"I…" she faltered, as though having to sort out her words. "I'm glad it's yours."

Jack turned his head to peer at her shadowy form in the dark, somewhat taken aback by her declaration. His. His child.

The thought occurred to him that there was no way to be certain that he didn't already have children by some harlot or other somewhere. But even if so, they weren't his. Not in the same way. Whores' babies belonged to every man and to no man.

He watchedGwen until her breathing steadied and slowed.

She wouldn't die. Heavens be damned if they tried to take her. And as for rearing an infant… Jack frowned to himself. Well, what were you supposed to do with them, after all? He wondered if they liked rum…

Elizabeth blew out her breath in a sigh of satisfaction. Standing nearby, Will turned towards her at the sound.

"What are you thinking?"

"I was just thinking… it seems like so long ago when we left. You know, I'm not even sure I remember every part of our own house."

Will laughed, coming over to stand behind her and peer out at the horizon over her shoulder. "We've only been gone… what has it been? A few weeks?Just amonth or so?" he pointed out.

"I know," she grinned. Then she went on, changing subjects slightly, "We could just become merchant sailors, Will. With this lovely little ship. We could. I wonder what Father would think."

To this Will made no reply, but he became antsy, shifting uneasily at her comment about the ship they were sailing across the Atlantic. He gave his wife's arm an affectionate, patronizing squeeze, then turned away, leaving her to her musing thoughts.

As he moved further astern across the deck, he called out, "Brant!"

Their own butler, Brant, had been something of a surprise when they had discreetly revealed to him their plans of travel. Rather than merely benignly agreeing to see to their small estate in their extended absence, as he usually would have, he had volunteered eagerly to come with them as soon as he realized Will intended to hire a private ship and crew himself for their journey. Brant the butler, as it turned out, had been Brant the sailor before he had come into his position in the Turner household.

Will had discovered from him, after his initial astonishment melted away, the Brant had been a dealer of goods all across the high seas before he had decided to leave the business. But, reading between the lines, Will surmised that the calm, refined gentleman had actually been a dealer of shady goods of some sort, and that his decision to land himself had been hastened by some legal or other threat to his questionable business dealings.

Though he felt guilty about it, Will didn't share with Elizabeth much more than the fact that their butler was in fact a man of the sea and eager to lend his know-how to help them. But for his own part, he had gladly accepted the aid and had enlisted Brant as the first (and the head) of their crew.

Now, crossing the deck and wiping his hands on a cloth which he then returned to his pocket, Brant responded courteously, "William."

He would not, after having been a serving man to Will, call him by a casual name. He had eventually conceded, however, that his role and relation to his master had changed and "Mr. Turner" was unnecessary. So, as a compromise between Will's nickname and surname, he called him by his unabbreviated given name.

"Brant," Will began conversationally, though he kept his voice low and glanced around. "If I were a sailor of ill repute- perhaps a pirate- well, if I were, and I were sailing into Rome, where would I go, do you think?"

The older, taller man fixed Will with a look of bemusement. "I will be able to find your friends when the time comes," he said cryptically.

William offered a grateful smile but his face melted into a confused frown as soon as the former butler walked away. There was clearly even more to him than he had thought. At the same time as this consideration, another thought occurred to him, though certainly not for the first time. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had chosen quite a time indeed to invite themselves back into Jack's world of intrigue and excitement. As always with Jack, there was no telling what he was really up to, but Will was certain that, once they found him, they were going to be in for a quite a venture.

-------------------

Gwen barely avoided a slinging bucket as she ducked behind Jack for cover.

Mistake.

With a yell, mostly just for the sake of adding more noise to the bedlam, he turned against her, reaching behind to drag her around in front of him and then forcing her ahead of him across the deck right toward Ben Blades.

"Get her," Jack encouraged his crewman loudly, nodding at the bucket the man was swinging haphazardly about.

From somewhere behind her and to the right, Gwen heard a shout and ringing laughter which meant that yet another had fallen victim to the weapons of watery destruction.

For good measure, and to counteract Jack's continuous bellowing about how dry she still was, Gwen screamed a great deal herself. That is, in between fits of laughter at other crewman getting hit and then dashing off after their pursuers with mops and wet bandanas.

Jack's efforts to attract his crew's attention to himself and his captive were suddenly rewarded by two full buckets of water- overturned on his own head. Gwen laughed as the water splashed and ran down her back as well.

In seconds she had escaped the now-dripping Jack and laid hold of a bucket for herself. As she was turning to attack Jack for his traitorous handling though, Smithy, whose weapon she had just snatched away, dodged after her. She fled across the deck, sidestepping around other crewmen and their prey, as quickly as she could go without actually running, since her rounding stomach was just beginning to make her too awkward for it.

She snickered gleefully as she ducked an incoming stray rag sopped in water and was gratified at the wet slap as it nailed her pursuer.

Her merriment fled away itself, though, when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the serious, frowning visage of Mr. Cotton. He was by far the quietest, most reserved crewman aboard the Pearl (however understandably so), and Gwen didn't spend nearly as much time with him as she did with his more sociable counterparts. Truthfully, she was quite intimidated by him.

From somewhere nearby and behind her, and over the sound of the melee, she could hear his parrot: "Anchors aweigh! Anchors aweigh!" She turned reflexively to seek out the bird-

-and found herself soaked in the next instant. Cotton grinned a jokingly malicious grin at her before he quickly scooted off to reload his bucket and seek out another target.

Gwen bent slowly to retrieve her bucket (which had plunked to the deck, sloshing water over her ankles, at her surprise at being drenched), but her weapon was snatched away and upended over her head before you could say, "Rumrunner."

She turned in mock outrage, sputtering at the salty water from her double-dousing. Jack merely flashed a devilish grin at her before darting away to attack someone else.

This water fight had started very quickly. In the absolute absence of a decent wind, the crews of the several ships of the little armada, pirate and Roman alike, had nothing to do. The Black Pearl and most of the Roman ships as well were equipped with sweeps and could paddle themselves across the surface of the water when necessary. But with no immediate goal of land or any other sort of end in sight, there was no reason yet to exhaust manpower at the task of rowing the ships along.

Young John, aboard the Pearl, had taken it upon himself to scrub down the decks while there was nothing better to do and had lowered a few buckets over the side to draw water.

Then, whether Gwen or Tunnel had seized for a bucket first is irrelevant; in a matter of seconds, two others of their crewmates were suddenly quite damp and vengeful.

And then hell broke loose. A very wet hell.

But just as quickly--as Gwen was standing, with one hand unconsciously resting atop her prominent stomach, glancing up at the still-empty half-furled sails--it was all over.

After nearly all day without a breath of a breeze to stir the sheets, the sails were full and straining. Buckets and soaked kerchiefs were abandoned as eager sailors leapt up to tend the sails. In the water all around the Pearl, her companion vessels were rejoicing in the wind as well.

Gwen stooped carefully to pick up a bucket lying overturned near her, helping to quickly clean up the evidence of their sporting now that the wind was back.

Nobody begrudged the end of the fun now considering the trade-off of regaining their force of locomotion. They'd suffered through several days in a row of dead seas more than once on this trip, in fact, twice alone since they'd passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. To have lost only ten hours in the lapse this time--

Gwen's idle thoughts faded away as her load of stacked buckets was taken from her.

She looked up, in some surprise, to see Gaius Acerbus standing before her, dripping wet himself. He must have simply wandered up from below decks at entirely the wrong time, for Gwen couldn't picture the Roman commander participating willingly in the madness that had just passed. And indeed, he seemed rather disdainful of his wet clothes.

"Gaius," she said slowly in acknowledgement. "Thank you" seemed be a good addition to the conversation after that, thanks for his taking her load from her. But beyond that, she didn't know what to say. Despite all the time they had spent on the same ship together now, she never knew how to conduct herself around him. She wasn't sure, at times, whether he thought of her only as a tool to accomplish whatever goal he was striving towards, or as something nearly reaching a goddess. He sometimes seem to treat her as both. Either way, she was uneasy with him.

"Gwendolyn," the man said politely in acknowledgement. "A word with you, perhaps?"

Gwen merely nodded, allowing him to lead her toward the map room. He handed the small stack of buckets off to a crewman they passed, and then opened the door for Gwen.

Once seated across from each other at one end of the table, Gaius wasted no time in broaching his concerns to her.

"You have spent more time with Rufus then with myself in the past several weeks," he began simply.

Sensing from his tone that this was not an accusation but only a statement, Gwen nodded her agreement of the assessment-- his subordinate, Rufus, had in fact been more personable than his superior in associating himself with the crew of his host-ship. Gaius went on.

"You may, from him, have incorrect ideas. Rufus is not aware of as much as he thinks."

Gwen merely stared, at a loss for how to take or interpret that declaration. True, Rufus had dropped a few further hints of the "battle" and how she was to help them win it, but she certainly didn't consider them to be enlightening tidbits. She was still as confused as ever.

"Gwendolyn, it is clear to me you do not understand your own power. You waste it simply on influencing games with these men on this ship. But you have a greater task to perform. And you must not be influenced by any but me on it."

Before Gwen could respond to this, he continued, his voice even lower than before, so that she had to lean forward to hear him, "You could have brought the wind much faster today. In the end you will have to do far greater than this. You cannot let us down."

Then he rose and, pointing toward the map spread out further down at the middle of the table, he said, "We approach Rome soon now. Vale."

Then he left her before she could even echo his "good-bye."

Gwen sat alone in the map room for a long while. How long, exactly,she could not say. Time slipped very slowly by. She was shaken by the man's words, so gently spoken yet so admonitory, allusions to her abilities and how she supposedly wasted them. She tried to imagine what it was she was expected to do, what more he might possibly demand of her.

Bring the wind, he had mentioned. Bring the wind? Had she…? No, it wasn't possible. She hadn't even tried to "bring the wind back" anyway, let alone considering if she was even capable of it. And Gaius said there were even greater things she would be expected to accomplish for him. For them.

As she sat thus ruminating on her mysterious abilities and Gaius' expectations of her, images came suddenly unbidden into her mind.

Ghastly images of the now-deceased crewman Ol' Cannon Tom, his face a death mask of terror.

Images of Jack, collapsing to the gold-scattered floor of the cave on her grandfather's island, unable to fight the invisible hand of death closing around him.

Images of that same cave going hazy and then dark before her own eyes as she tried to maintain control over her hand with the gun, fighting the same creeping death.

The death her grandfather had wielded.