A/N: It's been a long time, but this story seems to have some surprisingly devoted fans, and since I had much of the chapter finished I decided to come back to it. It does write itself much faster than Choices, but as it is just a bit of fun on the side, so to speak, I can't guarantee regular updates. Although the prospect of getting Jack drunk and forcing him to bathe is quite a tempting one. We'll see, eh?

This one's for Marie, Mythical Assassin, lemonhobbit, geekmama, Chimera, Wishful Menace, and everyone else who contacted me or reviewed chastising me for not updating! Please accept my sincere apologies.

For those of you awaiting chapter 25 of Choices, it is more than half-finished and should be turning up soon. Among my New Year's resolutions is a solemn and stern promise to myself to complete the epic.


Chapter 5: In the Nick of Time

"Crap, crap, crap."

Leaning over the wrought-iron railing of the landing outside my second-floor apartment, I squinted against the bright sunlight as I searched the courtyard below for any sign of my errant pirate.

I shook my head at myself. My pirate? Since when was Jack Sparrow my responsibility?

A remembered voice echoed softly in my head.

--Take good care of him for me.

I swore again, and took the steps two at a time down to the courtyard, careful to keep my sweater wrapped tightly around my chest. At this rate, I was going to have enough questioning looks from the neighbors for harboring a certifiable lunatic without showing off my bra to the whole damn complex.

"Jack!" I called, as quietly as I could. I found I really didn't feel like having an audience at this hour of the morning. "Damn it, Jack. Where did you go?"

There was no answer; I hadn't much hoped for one. I looked around wildly, searching for clues, and tried to think like a slightly insane 17th-century buccaneer. What the hell, it seemed I was already at least half-crazy, anyway, so I figured it wasn't too much of a stretch.

Then I noticed that the gate to the street stood half-open. In flagrant disregard for community rules, of course.

"Great..."

I hurried across the grass, through the open gate, and onto the sidewalk.

The street was empty to my right. I looked left, and spotted a great-coated figure with a tricorne hat sashaying carelessly towards the major intersection some few hundred yards away.

As I watched, he brushed past a well-dressed middle-aged lady who had just gotten out of her car; she stumbled backwards, her hands flying up, and Captain Jack reached out and relieved her lax fingers of a large, embroidered purse. He gave her a quick bow, and I could have sworn I heard him say, "Thanks very much."

She gawked at him open-mouthed, probably too shocked by his appearance and pure audacity to object.

I took off running a split second before Jack did.

The woman closed her mouth, then opened it again to yell, "Help! THIEF!" But I flew by her without a glance, eyes fixed on my quarry.

At the intersection, Jack swayed indecisively, regained his balance, and veered to his right, about to cross the street...just as the lights changed, and the SDTC number 41 bus bore down on him with the vibrating roar of a poorly maintained natural-gas-powered engine.

"Jack! STOP--!"

My breathless shout must have reached his ears, because his head jerked round towards me, and he hesitated.

I was nearly upon him when the bus driver leaned on his horn; Jack stumbled backwards, and the belching monster screamed past a few inches from his nose. I felt the rush of heated air wash over us in its wake as I grabbed Jack's arm and yanked him to the safety of the curb.

He looked blankly after the departing bus. "Ye gods, what was that thing?"

"That," I said grimly, "was public transit."

"Public what?"

"Otherwise known as yet another very good reason for you to take my advice, and not go wandering off on your own." I began to drag him back down the sidewalk. "Come on, Captain. You've had your fun."

He dug in his heels like a small child. "Bloody hell. Unhand me, woman."

I let go of him and stopped short, surprising him. "For God's sake, Jack, what is WRONG with you? Any five-year-old has more common sense! At least they know enough to look both ways before running into oncoming traffic!" I gave him a violent little shove away from the intersection for good measure. "You could have been killed!"

"It's quite kind of you to take such a lively interest in my well-being, Madame, but I assure you there is no cause for concern. After all, I am Captain Jack Spar--"

Before he could finish his predictably grandiose declaration of invincibility, our little glaring match was interrupted by the puffing arrival of the lady whose brightly-colored and rather ugly bag was still clutched in Captain Jack Sparrow's hot little hand.

"Excuse me! Do you know this man, Miss?"

My pirate charge and I turned as one to stare at her; she was red-faced and shaking with what was either towering rage or an imminent grand mal seizure.

"He stole my PURSE," continued the lady, demonstrating a remarkable failure to understand effective versus gratuitous emphasis.

"Uh," I started...and then sharply added "Jack--!" as his free hand shot toward his pistol, which was thankfully hidden at present under his voluminous coat. I quickly decided that this was the time to call into play my very limited dramatic talent. "You'll have to forgive my cousin Jack, ma'am...he's a little--" I tapped my forehead significantly-- "challenged, you know? Jack, dear, give the nice lady her bag back now, ok?" I trained my most saccharine smile on him. "There's cookies and apple juice back at the house for you, if you're a good boy. We can play Pirates later."

His eyes widened at my tone, his expression quickly changing from confused to comprehending, followed immediately by full-fledged righteous indignation.

Facing him, I let the smile slip. "Do it," I hissed at him, and wheeled back again to beam earnestly at the woman. "He got out before I could give him his medication this morning...didn't you, dear?" I patted Jack's arm, and flashed him another Look.

"If you say so," the lady said; she glanced from me to Jack suspiciously. "Well, I guess I won't call the police, if he gives it back with nothing missing, that is."

Jack had gone very still; I could practically feel the fury coming off him in waves, and I realized just how dangerous this little game, and, once again, this entire situation, could become for me. At the same time, I found I was enjoying myself a great deal more than I had in some time. Besides, it seemed that, despite his anger, my schoolmarm glare must have served its purpose; the impressively ugly bag was extended grudgingly towards its rightful owner, who snatched it back instantly.

"Good boy," I cooed. "Now, what do we say, Jack honey?"

The look I received in return was one of undisguised hatred.

"He's sorry," I announced hastily. "Thank you so much for understanding, ma'am." I sighed. "It's not always easy, taking care of him, you know?"

The woman still appeared doubtful, but she gave me a false, uncomfortable smile and backed off rapidly, hugging her precious handbag. I heaved a sigh of relief, and hoped desperately that she wouldn't rethink the idea of calling the cops. I had problem enough on my hands in the person of the pirate beside me.

By way of confirming my worries, said pirate--whom I had apparently astonished into silence with my cavalier treatment of his dignity (so there was a way to get him to be quiet, after all! I'd have to remember that one)--opened his mouth as if to speak, shut it again with a snap, half-drew his pistol, seemed to think better of it, and finally, after favoring me with one last terrible scowl, spun on his booted heel and flounced away, muttering blackly to himself. I caught a few snatches, enough to make me suspect a stream of virulent adjectives directed at yours truly.

My first instinct was to let him go this time. He clearly didn't want my help, and I certainly didn't owe it to him. Sure, he'd be committed quickly enough, if he was lucky, and jailed if he wasn't quite that lucky...assuming that he didn't get hit by a semi or something first, that is. And I'd tried to warn him, hadn't I? I'd even given him a place to sleep, putting myself at risk of becoming the potential victim of any number of crimes, capital and otherwise, at his hands. Never mind that he actually hadn't attempted anything of the sort, besides a few threats and a cheerful leer or two. In fact, I'd probably hurt him more than he had me; I'd noticed the nasty-looking blister on the back of his hand earlier, from where I'd branded him with my hot tea-kettle.

I took a few steps towards the gate, then glanced back; it was difficult to take one's eyes off him, perhaps because he somehow managed to infuse his drunken swagger with a sort of haphazard, unconscious grace that was inexplicably mesmerizing. He cut a preposterous figure against the mundane backdrop of the city street, a man out of place and out of time, ridiculous, clownlike...yet with the lonely pathos of the absurd.

--Take good care of him for me.

"Shut up," I said loudly. "Just...shut up."

And once again, half-against my will and the dictate of all logic, I found myself hurrying to catch up with him. He'd halted on the corner; perhaps he had learned an appropriate wariness of twenty-first-century traffic after all.

"Jack?" I said his name very softly; I used to take the same tone at the stables I worked at as a teenager, with the two-year-old foals who were most easily spooked.

He stiffened and turned, glittering teeth bared, at bay; the long fingers curled and uncurled, half-raised, as a manful struggle for self-control passed plainly over his dark features. After a moment, the bearded jaw acquired a resolutely tight set; he seemed to have decided against strangling me just then. Nonetheless, his next words displayed remarkably careful enunciation, just a little too level.

"What is it this time, then, Miss Kerr?"

"Where, exactly, are you planning on going?"

"Well, that would be business of me own, now wouldn't it."

"You don't have the faintest idea...do you."

An exaggerated sigh. "If you must know, madam, I intend to make me way to the ocean, steal meself a nice bit of a boat, and sail meself away from this ridiculous twenty-first century." With that, he started off across the street, heading east down Genesee; I was impressed to note that he looked both ways this time.

"Uh, Jack?"

"What?"

I pointed. "The ocean's that way."

He froze; wavered; glanced up into the morning sunlight and back at me with a frown; and returned gingerly to the curb.

"That way, you say?"

"Yes, that way."

Reaching into a pouch at his belt, he pulled out a rusty compass and peered at it; shook it violently, then peered at it again, his puzzled expression deepening.

"You're on the West Coast, Captain Sparrow. It's the Pacific Ocean you're looking for."

He shut the compass-case with a snap. "Never did point north, anyway," he muttered as if to himself. "Very well, missy. Thank you very kindly an' all that. I'll just be shovin' off for the...Pacific, then."

"Jack, wait." The words escaped my lips before I stopped to think. "Maybe...maybe I can help you."

The pirate assumed an air of exaggerated patience. I cleared my throat, not at all sure where I was going with this.

"If you'll just come back to the apartment with me," I paused, knowing that I had had another stipulation in mind. Ah, yes. "--and get yourself respectably cleaned up and dressed in decent clothes--" I noticed how he bridled at this, but rushed on, "I will drive you down to the harbor myself." I wondered, uncomfortably, if this would constitute aiding and abetting if the crazy pirate stole a private yacht or something under my watch. But at the very least, I was buying myself a little time with this scheme in which I could try to think of some better alternative. "...Jack? What do you say?"

He considered me and my wild proposition, head tilted slightly to one side, lips pursed. "This cleaning up you speak of," he said finally. "That wouldn't entail...bathing, would it?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "I'm afraid it would. Most definitely."

"That's quite all right then," he said hastily. "I'll do without your help, m'dear. Much obliged for the offer. Very...civilized of you. Ta," and with a panicky look he sketched a quick bow, and was off.

It was time to play my trump card.

"I have rum," I said loudly.

He spun round immediately, dark-chocolate eyes snapping to attention before they narrowed suspiciously. "That's not what you told me last night," he said, his tone accusatory.

"So I lied," I admitted, unapologetic.

He lifted an startled eyebrow. Then he grinned suddenly. "Smart girl," he said. "You might make a decent pirate yourself, you know." The offer of liquor seemed to have done the trick; he was suddenly in a much more agreeable mood.

"Thank you," I said dryly. "Come on, Captain. Let's go."

He followed me towards the gate. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss," he said after a moment, "why is it that you are so determined to assist me?"

"Because," I started to say, and then stopped, considerably annoyed that he had asked that particular question. "Because I don't want to hear about whatever mess you get yourself into on the evening news," I said shortly. "I'd feel...responsible, you know? If anything happened to you." If I were to tell the whole truth, I felt a little sorry for him. But it occurred to me that voicing that last bit might not advance my case.

"Ah." He thought about this. "Are you sure it's not because I'm so devilishly handsome?"

I gritted my teeth, already beginning to regret my ill-considered charity. "Completely positive," I said severely,herding him through the gate and toward the stairs, and ignoring his wounded look, belied as it was by the flash of mischief in his eyes.

Those chocolate eyes, I told myself equally severely, had nothing to do with it.