Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 24. Morning After
Summary: Jack. Pity him.
Timeline: Tuesday, June 14, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

"Luv," he said, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" The girl laughed cheerfully and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was beautiful, with lustrous raven tresses that coiled in loose waves about her shoulders. Her eyes were the palest ocean grey, and her smile was positively inviting, formed by the most perfect set of lips he'd ever laid eyes on. Yes, this was surely the loveliest girl in all Tortuga, if not the world. He couldn't wait to get her upstairs...

Just as those delightful lips pressed gently and affectionately against his cheek, he reeled back in shock and pain. Blood leaked from his mouth and he tentatively he pressed his hand to where the wench had kissed him, where he was certain a bruise was now forming. Cautiously, he looked up to face the dark shadow of his assailant.

"I thought I told you to stay the hell away from her, Jack," Bootstrap warned, and Jack saw that his friend's hand was clutching the hilt of his cutlass. He struggled to stand, but found that he was already standing, with his back to a wall.

"I was jus' trying to help her, mate," he reasoned with a winning smile. Bootstrap's frown only deepened, and another voice interjected.

"Like hell you were," it said, and Jack saw that the girl had not gone after all. Except now her hair was shorn close to the skull, and her eyes were as bright and dangerous as lightning. The smile she had worn was gone, and in her hand was a pistol with its cold barrel's end pressed to his forehead. "You're just as bad as Barbossa," she told him, "if not worse."

"That's not true," he said, and the sound of his own voice was alien to him, because Jack Sparrow had never in his life begged in such a manner. "William, c'mon mate, you know that's not true."

"Why not, Jack?" William asked, and his tone was dark and cold, completely without emotion, "After all, you killed your best friend."

"I didn't!" Jack shouted, but Bill Turner was gone, as was Matthew. Instead there was Barbossa with a cutlass in his hand, and a grin cruel enough to make the devil himself cringe.

"Off ye go," he said, and tossed a gold coin into the water. It was then that Jack realized that the wall and floor were gone, and that he stood on the edge of a plank over the ocean, only this time there was no island in the distance. He would not let Barbossa take his ship, not for a third time, it just couldn't happen. But it did, because he found that he was falling, and that the water was cold and it burned his lungs as he went under. There was loud thud, as cannons going off in the distance.

Jack woke in a cold sweat, tangled in his bed-sheets. He was sprawled on the floor of his cabin, and his head was pounding. His lungs still felt as if they were on fire, and there was an unfamiliar ache in his heart. He made no attempt to get to his feet, his limbs felt like lead weights attached to his torso with barbed wire, and he knew all too well they would not respond. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think I was hung over, but I didn't-- but the thought was interrupted. There were not one, but instead two bottles of rum lying on their sides not even a foot from his position on the floor.

"Alright," he said aloud, "I did have that much rum." Silently, he wished he remembered more of the previous night. He'd been on the quarterdeck with Matthew, and they'd talked and gotten drunk, and then Matthew had (Miriam, Jack reminded himself, definitely Miriam) kissed him. Jack had remained above deck two, maybe three hours after she'd left, and he'd talked to the Pearl, and finished his bottle of rum. Then he'd gone to his cabin, and then what? You opened another bottle, you fool.

But why? Oh yes, he remembered, because you thought rum would help you understand. Understand what? Why that girl kissed you. Oh, yes. With a groan, he faced the inevitable. Slowly and painfully, he dragged himself into a sitting position, and leaned back against his bed. He wrapped his sheet around his shoulders, and disgustedly kicked one of the empty bottles away from him. Why did it matter? This was the one thing he could not understand. Why did he care that she'd kissed him? He'd been kissed by enough wenches to know one kiss wasn't important, especially not one so negligible that it was placed on the cheek. But he did care. It wasn't important, and it hadn't meant anything, but last night he'd felt... different, when her lips had grazed his jaw for that brief, irrelevant moment.

"That's it," he decided, "that girl has got to go." Any girl who got him to think about how he felt 'different', and what had made him feel that way definitely had to leave. 'Different' could lead to all sorts of things he didn't even want to contemplate, and Captain Jack Sparrow certainly did not have time to even consider contemplating them.

Unfortunately, he was reminded not by his own mental voice, but that of the Pearl, you're stuck with 'that girl'. If you don't remember, and it wouldn't surprise me if that's the case, you told her last night that she was 'welcome aboard your ship as long as she wanted to stay'. Jack cursed loudly both at himself and his ship. And don't give me that, she said, you got yourself into this mess.

"But I didn't mean it," he argued.

You think I care? You said she could stay, and she's staying, whether you like it or not. But I do suggest you get used to it, Captain Sparrow, because I have the feeling that the pair of you will be encountering some rough sailing in the very near future.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Don't say I didn't warn you, she told him curtly. Now get up, it's getting to be late in the morning, and your crew's waiting for you. And don't tell me you're hung over either, because that's your own fault as well. Oh, and you might want to avoid Port Royal for the time being.

Jack was not only confused, he was mystified, or maybe 'bewildered' was a better word. In any case, the Pearl had completely lost him and then gone, because all was quiet except for the gentle creaking of the ship and the distant voices of the crew beyond the door. This is going to be a very long day, he thought.

Author's note: Alright, ChocolateEclar, your questions were half answered... maybe. This chapter was IMPOSSIBLE to start writing, but after I got going it went alright. I don't think I've had an "only jack" chapter yet, and it's about time I did. I've certainly had enough that centered mostly around Miriam. Jack needs a chapter where he's the star, even if he is a very hung over one. I feel rather sorry for him. I think the secondary genre of this story should probably be "angst". What do you guys think? Thank you to Eury for my chapter title.

Review Responses:

DaydreamBeliever14: Consider it compensation for the fact that the next chapter very likely will contain neither Jack nor Matthew. I'll say no more.

heather321: First off, I never said the Pearlwas actually speaking. Jack thinks she can talk, but we all know the Captain's a little off his rocker, so he could very well be imagining it. So the ship may not actually be talking, Jack may just be a little more insane than we thought he was. You may notice that she almost functions as a conscience or his "better half" reminded him of the things that he can and cannot do. Secondly, the Pearl is obviously a supernatural ship (how else could it be the fastest ship in the Caribbean with sails full of holes? Besides which, the writes said as much in their commentary), so maybe her supernatural-ness allows her to speak. Now I'm not saying that she can, but I'm also not saying she can't. These are all questions to be answered at a later date. And if Aztec curses can turn men into undead skeletons, why can't a ship share a few words (however derogatory) with her Captain? Wow, this is a long review response.