AN: I'm back from the dead! (gets dragged off to sacrifice) Dude, what gives!

Readers: It was your idea…

(Blood-Red White) Rose: It is true… Hello! (waves) To anyone who thinks this is selfish self-promotion, it most certainly is NOT! About the fact that the authoress of this particular fic does not seem to update that often, I personally have come up with a cunning plan (evil grin) to FORCE this authoress to do so, partly 'cause I like this fic, partly 'cause it actually has readers—I have photo-edited pictures of this particular authoress which I'm sure she will not appreciate being published… So, yeah… Anyway, email me if you're irritated about her updating skills. I'll post one of those pictures and link it to my profile. Email: ironicangeldiane hotmail. co. uk In the mean time, I have persuaded her to create a rollover image that allows you to pitchfork her. There should be a link to it soon.

A Witch's Daughter

Chapter Nine: The Morning After

Elizabeth turned away in disgust as Catriona retched yet again into the wooden bucket. "Oh, God…" she muttered in distaste.

The blonde turned her face to the governor's daughter in a blue-eyed glare. "Well let's see how charmingly you throw up your guts!" she snarled weakly. She may have said more, had she not been overcome by a coughing/choking fit and had to turn away. Staring at the wall, she could hear coughing and gasping for air as the girl shifted on the scrubbed wooden surface more likely than not used for amputation and other unpleasant…surgeries.

She heard shuffling, and the voice of the nameless male pirate ask in concern, "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Yes!" the blonde hissed vehemently. Elizabeth turned her head to see the teenager shifting on the table so that she was face-down in what appeared to be an extremely uncomfortable position. From beneath that curtain of yellow hair came the words, "God, I hate you both…" She lifted her head to meet Elizabeth's brown eyes in a part-confused, part-annoyed stare. "Why are you here?" she inquired. Elizabeth felt her eyes narrow against her better judgement. The tone wasn't annoyed, not even impolite, though she suspected that was simply because the pirate was unable to muster the strength required to make it so.

But she did raise a good question though; why was she here? Why was she, a respected daughter of a governor, on a pirate ship, in a cramped cabin containing the same buccaneer that had knocked her unconscious before proceeding to bind her and hold her captive for near a fortnight? Did she feel pity for her? Had she grown attached to her abductor, even going so far as to feel a strange companionship, suspicious and uneasy thought it was, but without a doubt a companionship nonetheless, growing between them?

God, no.

The blonde was arrogant and antisocial, untrusting and ungrateful…

And there was also something… strange about her. She couldn't say why, couldn't even pinpoint it to a specific trait, but nevertheless she made Elizabeth uneasy. The most perplexing thing was, this insistent suspicion of hers had suddenly materialized the moment the wench in question had set foot upon the Pearl.

Well… not exactly when Woodcraft had set foot upon the ebony vessel… More when she had emerged from Jack's cabin to help man the ship during the still-raging storm. Now, Elizabeth didn't know exactly what had happened inside that room — she wasn't certain if she wanted to know, to be truthful — that had caused the change in the girl, but there undoubtedly must be something

…Or maybe being close to Will had relaxed her enough to notice that there was something off about that girl.

But if that was indeed the case…why was she here with the two pirates instead of in her lover's arms, where she belonged? The memory of what she'd said — Lord knows what possessed her to say such a brazen thing, and in such a desperate way — returned swiftly to her, burning as brightly as her cheeks felt. Why would she say such a thing? What was it about that very moment in his arms, holding each over with so much innocent love, that had caused that rash comment to take leave of her mouth in such a tactless, meaningless way? She didn't even want…that.

…Did she?

No! She shook her head furiously. Returning back to reality, she realized that the two pirates seemed to be conversing in low tones, oblivious to her presence. Muttering something about returning to hers and Will's cabin to gain some much-needed rest, she exited the cabin.

Closing the door behind her, she leant her forehead against the smooth wood, closing her eyes as she tried to decipher the myriad that her thoughts had become. Images surged before her mind's eye; visions of her past, her future, and her present.

And then, without warning, she slid down the length of the door and wept.

The morning found Captain Sparrow lying sprawled across his bed with an arm flung haphazardly across his eyes. He shifted, twitching his nose as consciousness slowly and easily returned to him. But Jack didn't want to get up…not just yet. Turning to lie on his front to better block out the sun, he was jerked out of his half-wakened mindset when he registered a sudden stinging upon his left palm. Shifting the throbbing appendage only caused more hurt, and he had no choice but to sit up and address the problem directly.

His brown eyes widened in surprise when he saw blood steadily seeping from a gash. He quickly discovered the implement of the injury; a dagger was lying on the bed beside him… A dagger that was not his own.

"That bloody whore!"

When Jack had reached the spare cabin used for stashing bandages and other medical supplies, he was surprised to spot a sleeping Elizabeth curled against it like a fluffy woodland creature he cared not for. Looking closer, he thought he saw the unmistakable tracks of tears, but decided to store it within his mind for later investigation. His first instinct was to poke her awake and throw some patronizing witticism…

A difficult feat when he realized she might not wish for blood to spoil her lovely gown. So he just settled for stepping over her in an unperturbed manner and hurriedly forcing the door open one-handed, his other cradled to his chest. What he saw inside might have surprised him, had he not been searching desperately for a roll of cleaner cloth with which to bind the throbbing wound than the neglected sash he was using. "Lord, you'd think there were no beds on this ship!" he snapped, his good hand reaching out to grab the shoulder of the pirate asleep on the chair. "'Ey, Knight!" he snapped irritably.

The younger man sprang to life immediately, hazel eyes snapping open blearily before focusing on his superior, darting from the exasperated face of his captain to the bloodied cream cloth concealing his left hand. "Cap'n Sparrow!" He clambered to his feet, using the occupied table to steady himself. Jack didn't bother watching to see his crewman's lacking capacity concerning standing on his own two feet, already ransacking the cupboard beneath the table of dressings and some cleansing lotions.

Cutting through the sudden stammering of the boy, Jack straightened up and ordered him sharply to "kindly remove Miss Swann before she is bloody trampled to death." He'd quickly complied, with one last look at the slumbering figure before slipping out and closing the door hastily. The sound of the door slamming jolted the girl awake; her fingers curled as her eyes tightened and she shifted.

Irritated — he was in a very cantankerous mood this morning — by her firm grip on unconsciousness, he leaned down to her ear and all but yelled at her to return to the living.

She'd shot up, her loose hair brutally whipping his face. The low curse he'd muttered caused her to twist her head towards him suddenly, accidentally (or not) slapping his face again. Her blue eyes regarded him warily but sleepily, but Jack was already hunting in the cupboard beneath the table she'd situated for the clean rags his crew called bandages and that sickening liquid used for cleaning wounds such as these.

"What is your problem?" she hissed down at him.

"Oh, I grievously apologise for cutting short your nap; should I 'ave cut me hand open at a later, more convenient time?" She was silent, staring down at him. Locating the required components, he straightened, setting down the near-empty flask beside her and carefully unwinding the bloodied sash from his hand.

She merely watched. "What stupid action required you to hack your hand off?" she inquired, her voice for the moment sounding surprisingly cultured.

"You have the strangest tendency of leaving your men unusual souvenirs of the night before, don't you?" he joked conversationally, still unwrapping the long cotton cloth and therefore missing the tightening of her jaw. "I woke up ter find your dagger impaling my hand." He looked up at her with a smug grin. "Let me tell you, love, that's one way of ensuring a man doesn't forget ye."

"Well I didn't do — I'd never stabbed you!" she cried out indignantly, and he smirked; he had the strangest feeling that was not what she had intended to say. Another unimportant triumph; all I'd wanted was a conquest… "Well, not yet…"

"Don't sound so bloody pleased," he muttered darkly, attempting to remove the stopper from the bottle one-handed. There were a few seconds of Catriona watching in amusement before (very charitably, one might argue) unexpectedly grabbing Jack's left wrist and prising the container out of his undamaged hand. She pulled out the cork with ease, dropping the useless thing on the table and, grabbing a folded strip of linen, sloshed a generous amount onto the binding. Clutching his left wrist yet again, she pressed the makeshift compress firmly — and none too gently — into his palm before proceeding to wrap up the offended appendage. "Interesting…" he murmured.

She looked up from her work. "What is?"

"Well," Jack started in a bored tone, "first you damaged my Pearl, renovated my cabin — thank ye kindly, by the way, I was thinking a drastic change may be in order — exchange harsh words, faint, try to throw me out the window, (he valiantly ignored her snicker) run like hell into another man's arms, and now, here we be, with you nursin' me hand in this sweet, caring way of yers," he concluded with a rakish grin.

Her expression had changed throughout his dialogue until she simply settled for glaring at him, though the corners of her lips were twitching upwards ever so slightly. "Point being…?"

"My point being, love," Jack enunciated in a rather patronizing manner, "is that I won't be forgetting you anytime soon."

Her eyes had narrowed in — well, frankly, he didn't know what he did that caused her to be looking at him in that particular manner — he had behaved like a perfect gentleman (or as close as he was capable to being) towards her in the short time he'd known her, so she really had no legitimate reason with which to justify her looking at him in that particular manner. Surely she couldn't have heard of his roguish reputation already…? And yet there she was, looking at him in that unrecognised way that made him raise his proverbial guard.

"What is there to remember?" she started disdainfully. "We haven't 'ad one civil conversation since we've met — we haven't even been in the same room for more than five minutes —"

"Yet we have shared a bed," Jack said in an (not entirely completely) innocent manner, unable to resist such a blatant jibe.

Her eyes narrowed; he felt her fingers dig involuntarily into his wrist, and she sighed in the manner one might when confronted with an annoying, incorrigible child — Not liking this particular train of thought, Jack immediately froze the growing notion in its tracks in time to come back to reality. He saw two violet eyes boring into his and immediately began searching them for any sign of an emotion preceding the inevitable slap; anger, annoyance, even frustration all served as likely candidates —

She unexpectedly threw his form away from hers with enough force to cause him to stumble backwards into the forgotten chair before suddenly jumping to her feet, wincing in pain as she put weight on her injured leg, looking down at him. "There is nothing about me worth remembering…for you," she said brusquely before immediately turning and exiting.

Jack stared after her retreating form. This secretive lass had piqued his curiosity; if he'd ever felt…intrigued by her before this encounter. "Not quite as true as you'd like to think, Woodcraft," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Not quite as true as you'd think."

It was only then that he realized — and with some cursing of his lack of observational skills — that she had once again taken his coat.

"Ah, there's nothing like the smell of alcohol, whores, fires and livestock that indicates a pirate haven," Avarice stated conversationally, looking out towards the rocky island. They were anchored near the small part of Tortuga that was at all law-abiding, governable and respectable.

"Indeed," Santiago murmured, not paying his rival any mind, still fixed on one thing: How could she have known? How could she have known about them

The Frenchman was looking at his captor in cool detachment. "Tell me again what the infallible plan to capture my…"he hesitated before continuing, "crewmember is?"

"Haven't you been listening to that tramp?" he snapped.

"Now is that any way to speak of a lady?"

Lozano sighed. "We let the slave girl of yours go, give her means of transportation to the…unruly part of this isle, and wait for her to act."

"And you're sure Allanah would do whatever it is you wish for her to achieve?" he pressed.

"I'm not sure what she's meant to do!" he retorted. "I'm simply following my instructions as should you!"

The pirate captain just looked at him, grey eyes clouded and unfathomable, before muttering something in his native tongue. "She has you at her beck and call, Lozano," he calmly informed the man. "I'd never pinned you as the type of man who would do anything to keep a whore warming his bed."

"Oh, and you would know all about running errands for whores, won't you, Avarice?" he responded. "Seeing as you would go to any lengths to keep Woodcraft on your ship." The Frenchman blanched, but his countenance remained intact. "You think I don't know? Oh, capítan, every seaman in Mediterranean knows exactly how you feel towards her, and what you would do to keep her. You build up her trust, give her blind hope, and refuse to fulfil the promises you'd made to her; she deserves it, of course, but that doesn't change the immoral intentions you have towards her." He looked up to find part of the bane of his existence looking faintly uncomfortable.

Those grey eyes had hardened further when they'd finally met Lozano's ebony stare. "Exactly where is the Madame now?"

"With your precious slave girl."

"I see." And he strode down towards the brig without another syllable.

-

AN: I know how irritating long author's notes can be, so to make this one short, basically I'll be posting up the next chapter in two weeks—I can guarantee this because I've already written it, but I think I'll wait, see if I can get into a routine; my plan was to initially update every week, but seeing how I'm writing two fics at once, and they're both PotC JackOCs, I think I'm justified. Also I will be getting one whole week off school — I'll try to write more then, but I can't promise anything.

Thank you all for reading — and shimmering tears, if you're still here (can't blame you if you're not) then yes, there is a lot going on, and it's MEANT to be confusing. That's why I was so happy when I received your review! Yeah, I have a rather complex plot; there's a lot of different storylines and arcs to it, and it's sometimes really hard to get it written down in front of me, but I do my best. Damned school workload…

(sighs) So much for short author's notes…