A/N: holy shit - I can't believe I'm back. It's been too long.

The Truth About Strumpets

Home. Or the closest thing to it.

Months of sailing and long nights of work are gone. The pain of the old wound in his leg is gone. The peeling lips from days with little water are gone. Jack lay alone on an old bed in a broken, run-down room under a shaky ceiling. There were two other beds, both empty, in the room, and an old vanity covered with brushes, rouge, and undergarments. Speaking of which, undergarments could be found in every corner of the room. They hung from the corner of beds and were scattered on the floor. Ridiculous.

She was gone. The only evidence that she was ever even there was the warmth and scent still on Jack's skin, on his lips. Sunlight fought their way through the dusty window and onto his body, still bare.

"Mornin'."

She stood at the doorway, one elbow resting high on the frame. A red dress matched the color of rouge on her lips. Her hair was already done, a wave of soft curls framed her face and traced her shoulders.

"Mornin', luv. Where's Barbossa?"

She stood, staring. Her eyes were large and disarming when she chose for them to be. For the time being, however, she only stared.

"So that's the first thing ye say to me in the morning."

"Where's he?"

"Busy."

There is a silence, and she begins to turn away.

"Where?"

"With Mary. Drunk or asleep, exhausted, I'd say. I wouldn't know."

It hadn't come out the way Jack wanted to. This conversation was not the way Jack wanted it to be. There was nothing he could do now, so he just stared. She stared back.

"You were late last night."

"Esther was singing."

"Did she dance?"

"No, she was singing."

"Lousy strumpet. Never liked her singing."

There is silence followed by a chuckle, and she smiles. She leans back against the doorframe, tilting her head.

"I don't like her much. Acts like she's above everybody here. She smells like a fishmonger."

"Bootstrap doesn't seem to mind."

"Bootstrap's become a bit odd, have you noticed? He repeats himself quite a bit."

"I will have you know that repetition is what allows words to linger in your mind."

"My words linger, and I'm not senile."

She made her way over to him, stark naked, still in bed. Her red dress made every curve of her body tantalizing, and Jack could not help but smirk. She climbed onto their bed and sat down on his stomach, looking down at his face.

"Do you love me, Jack?"

Jack grinned. They have been through this a hundred times before, and at least a million more. She was the beacon of light that he saw in the middle of a dark, deadly storm. She was the banquet he thought of after days without food at sea. It was in her arms that he found himself in his dreams every night. There were no curses for the way she still tantalized him a year after his eyes fell on her, and the night they began their unspoken-of relationship. There were no terms that could describe the feeling that filled his body when he heard her voice.

"What do you think, luv?"

"I don't know, I'm asking ye."

Jack just grinned. The sunlight pouring into the window traced her face and shone through her hair. Rays danced on her cheeks and bare shoulders, and Jack just grinned.

"You are where my heart's at."

Her head tilted back as she laughed. She leant forward and pressed her blood red lips against his chest. Left, above his heart. Her rouge smudged and the shape of her lips was printed on his body.

"Where ye heart's at, if ye e'er forget."