Alright. Er. Well. I swear that there is a perfectly reasonable reason that I have not updated this story in almost a year. Yes. I'm sure that there is a good reason....

I just have no idea what it is.

GAH!

So I apologize, though I'm sure that this does notsatisfy you, and I solemnly swear ((that I am up to no good? That too)) that I shall finish this story in short order. Mostly cause I'm mad at myself for leaving everyone hanging like this, and that was BAD of me.

So I shall fix that. MWA HA!

Err....and I still don't own anything.

I woke up feeling like absolute crap, and when I risked opening my eyes, slammed them back shut and groaned. Lovely. Hangover.

Again.

The bed shifted as someone sat beside me - and I didn't have to guess too hard to guess who that someone was - then a soft touch ran gently across my cheek. I'll admit, I leaned into that feather soft touch, reveling in something that didn't hurt, like the bloody afternoon sunlight did, or the slight rocking of the ship, which made my insides twist. Well, that might have been the corset, too.

"What are ye doing here, luv?" Jack's voice asked, surprisingly soft. Hmm. Maybe he was taking my pounding head into consideration.

"Sleeping," I mumbled, awkwardly moving my tongue about to try and get some moisture back into my cotton ball feeling mouth. "What are you doing?"

There was no response, and for the moment, I was happy to just leave it at that, Jack's soft touch on my cheek as his moved the backs of his fingers across it in concentric circles, warm blankets wrapped around my still dress-clad body, eyes closed against the sunlight that was spilling in through the open window, the sound of the breakers on the sides of the ship through said window. I was most certainly glad that the infernal fog had stopped following the Black Pearlaround, because I really appreciated the sunlight.

Then Jack spoke again, totally ruining the mood, of course.

"Yer too fine for this kind of life."

That prompted an opening of my eyes, only to find myself staring up at the frowning face of the pirate captain. "What?" I asked, confused. "I'm a pirate's daughter, remember? I hate wearing dresses. I love sailing. I snuck aboard a navy ship, and sprung a man from a hanging. How does all of thatstrike you as too fine for this kind of life?"

Jack looked away, out the window. "Yer educated. Ye were raised as a fine lady, I'm not a fool, I know. Ye don't... ye don't belong on a pirate ship."

"What?!" I pushed myself up, making him drop his hand. "What are you talking about? This is the life I chose, or did you not notice my jumping off the cliff after you?!"

"Yer a lady," he said, that old arrogance, that old smooth talking attitude taking power again as he waved a hand in an odd little circular pattern. "Ye act like a lady, ye live like a lady. A pirate captain's bed is no place for ye."

"Is thatwhat this is about?" I demanded, ignoring my sore head that was crying out in protest to all this angst. "Because I won't sleep with you?!"

Jack stood, turning away. "That's not it."

"Like hell it isn't," I snapped, furious. I had given up everything that I could have had back in Port Royal to follow this man, I had abandonedmy best friend for this man, I had even given up the chance to go home and see my friends and family again for this man! "Fine. If that's the way you want it."

He didn't move. "I'll let the crew know we'll be letting you off. Which port would you like?"

"Like hell you'll do that," I growled, clambering off the bed, nearly stumbling when I caught my foot on one of the blankets. Shaking off the last blanket, I stormed over to where Jack stood, ignoring the fact that the excessive dress I still wore was wrinkled and messed, and that my hair had long ago fallen out of its twisted braid bun and had turned me into something you wouldn't take to a worm wrestle. Ignoring my rum breath and everything else that I couldhave listed as reasons to not be so stupid, I stalked around Jack, and grabbed his arm when he tried to turn away from me again.

Fisting his shirt in my better hand, I grabbed hold of his beard braids with the other, hauled his head down, and gave him the fiercest kiss I could possibly manage, tongue and all, ending off by biting down lightly on his lower lip. Pulling my head back so I could meet his wide, kohl lined eyes, I lifted my chin stubbornly. "And that's only foreplay. Get on that bed."

"What are ye talking about?" Jack asked, looking pricelessly confused. "Have ye gone daft?"

"No, I am not daft," I snapped, eyes blazing, jaw set. "I am going to blow your stupid mind. Now get on that bed, or so help me, we can do it on the table."

"Do..." his eyes widened even further, if I had thought that was possible at all, as he finally got it. For a man who appears to be able to get whatever girl he wants, whenever he wants, he was surprisingly slow. "What happened to getting married first?!"

"Screw it," I declared, now steadily pushing him backwards towards the bed. "If you are going to get into your head some grande idea that I am too bloody fine for this life because I won't give into the 'carnal pleasures of the flesh'... screw that. We'll prove once and for all right now that I am nottoo fine!"

Like lightning, Jack had snapped his hands up, and caught firm hold of my wrists, pulling them away from himself, and holding them steady between us. "No."

"Oh, don't you go all blushing virgin on me now," I snapped. "I am quite prepared to do this, for heaven's sake, you should be too...." I glared at him. "What are you saying no for?!"

Jack's jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscles working in the side of his face and neck. He appeared, really, to be fighting with himself, eyes startlingly bright and hard in his wind-etched face. Finally, he spoke. "I will notallow ye to do this because youfeel that I think..." he paused to take a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "Ye cannot give something like this up to prove that yer not 'fine'. No."

I tried to yank my hands away, but his iron vise grip held firm. That was going to bruise later. "This is what you want, isn't it?!" I yelled at him, suddenly crying. When had I started crying?

"Not like this."

And then he was gone, just like that, leaving me alone in that dismal little cabin, where I spent hours pounding uselessly against the locked door, the tears finally ceasing when I fell to sleep right there on the floor in front of the doors.

Christine let out a soft sigh of delight as the taste of good old fashioned earl grey flooded over her tongue. That was comforting, a bit of normalcy - despite the fact that her life was anything but "normal" right now - in the midst of an otherwise truly surreal situation.

Setting down her teacup, she looked up at Edward - it seemed odd to think of him as 'Edward', and not Commodore Norrington - and smiled when she realized that he had been staring at her. Upon realizing that she had caught him at what seemed to be his most favourite pursuit lately, his cheekbones coloured, and he hastily looked down at his tea cup. Aww... dear Edward. Christine peeked down into her own tea for a moment, then spoke up, "Where are we bearing now, Edward?"

"Hmm?" Norrington perked up a little, then nodded thoughtfully. "India. That last merchant ship gave us the impression that Sparrow would be aiming towards India next, perhaps to sell their latest take. We hope to find your sister there."

"Of course," Christine nodded distractedly, considering that. India. Ooh.... to travel. She didn't even get to travel when she was in her owntime period, now here she was in the middle of the eighteenth century or so - she hadn't really dared to ask anyone the date yet - and she was traveling all over the blessed world. Now, if only she could convince Norrington to head to Japan next, then her dreams would all be made. "What will happen to Sparrow, when he's captured?"

Norrington's eyes grew clouded. "We shall have no choice. He will have to be returned to Port Royal, to face justice."

Christine frowned. "To be hung - again."

"Aye," Norrington said softly, suddenly looking a little lost. "I would imagine that you and your sister will be heading home then - I do apologize that we did not make it to St. George in our haste to retrieve Sparrow, but..."

"Stop it," Christine interrupted him. "Just stop it. I do not want to go back there, as I have told you several times. I mean it when I say that there is nothing there for me, at all. I have decided that Port Royal is my home now. And as such it shall remain."

He looked startled, and maybe...maybe a little hopeful. "You truly mean that?"

"I do," she said stubbornly. "Now, tell me. What can I expect in India?"

"Bloody hell," Francis Parsons muttered, squinting at the ceiling. Where washe?

"Well. 'Bout time ye were wakin' up."

Hearing the woman's voice, Parsons bolted up, staring about him wildly. He was in a dingy, disreputable style inn room, and someone who was obviously a bar maid - she looked familiar, had she been named... Genevieve? - stood at the end of his bed, arms crossed over her aproned chest. "Where... where am I? Where's the ship?"

"Yer in one of the Faithful Bride's rooms," she said, smirking. "Ye came looking to us for information... few days ago. One of our more... angry customers 'it ye over the 'ead with a table. Ye were really thrown for a turn there, boy, and by the time we realized what had really 'appened, yer ship had left without ye."

Parson's jaw dropped. "I have to go then!" he tried standing, but a wave of nausea hit him so hard he sat back down with a thud.

"Yer not goin' anywhere," Genevieve laughed. "Now, relax. Yer gonna be 'ere for while."

I will not lie to you.

The next three months were the most miserable time in my life. Twice, I was offered the chance to get off the boat at the harbor we had halted at, but they were within three and five days of my being locked in there, respectively, and at that point, I was still stubborn enough that I refused.

And so, for three months, I saw only AnaMaria and Gibbs, and a few glimpses of the crew through the door when they opened it three times daily to give me food, and the two times over those months that I managed to bribe them into giving me rum. I'd managed to drink most of what Jack had stashed around his cabin in the first two weeks, two weeks I spent in one solid drunken stupor, for which I paid by having a solid week of feeling miserably sick. I had thought that Jack would eventually give in, or at the very least, would eventuallykick me out of his cabin and take it back. Instead, I stayed there by myself, reading his three books over and over, drinking his rum, and practicing my sword work. I had to do something. About two months in, my hand had recovered enough that I had achieved a bit of mobility, and I began to write my story, albeit slowly with sloppy handwriting.

I didn't see Jack once for three months.

And this led to me thinking. At first, I was just so madat him that I didn't care less if I ever saw him again. Then slowly, I began to realize that I really had been a spoiled brat, and though I didn't think he'd been justified in what he'd said to me - I would never forgive that, darn it - I realized where he was coming from.

And that led to a conclusion.

And a realization.

I needed Jack. For three months, I slept lousy because I needed him there just to be this comforting warmth. I missed the banter, his goofy grin, the ridiculous swagger. I'd take that man any way I could get him.

And that meant that it would never do to have him think I was just a fine young cultured lady.

"Gibbs," I smiled, making my eyes as big and puppy-dog pout worthy as I possibly could. "I noticed the sea gulls out the window. Are we nearing on land?"

Gibbs looked awkward, considering this. He'd obviously been given orders not to give me too much information, but this time, I'd noticed something. "Well, we do need supplies... The East India companies been too close on our trail..."

I grinned. Bingo. "India, Gibbs? Is that where we are?"

He got that wonderful deer-in-the-headlights look. "Well..."

"Thank you, Gibbs," I smiled sweetly, then closed the door. About time.

Two nights later, the Black Pearlwas bobbing gently in the harbour of a small British Indian port, while the crew - and the rest of the town - were out celebrating the haul of gold and what it could get them. With no one on the ship except a few sentries, no one noticed me, decked back out in my old clothes - unfortunately with three months of grim on them, but at least I matched everyone else in town - with a sword strapped on my side and a small gold purse shoved in my top, sneaking out of the window, down the rope, and onto the dock.

Setting one of Captain Barbossa's old, feathered hats - the man had a startlingly large collection - very firmly on my head, I set off down the dock at a swagger.

To the bars!

"Oh, bloody hell!" I snapped, kicking fiercely at the stone wall. "Blasted East India company..."

That's right. I was sitting in a prison cell. And I was notimpressed with it all. I had just been minding my own business, sitting there drinking my good old rum, when that idiot of a drunk had tried to pinch my rear. Only one drunk pirate is allowed to do it, and that fat old man was nothim!

I would have thought I was perfectly within my rights to grab a glass bottle and smash it over his head, before kicking his with all my might so that he fell back onto someone else's table and broke it.

It made sense to me.

Apparently the patrons of the Singing Mermaid were less than impressed, however.

So once the East India company had sorted out all the fighting and disentangled drunks from piles and hauled everyone who had been fighting off to the local goal, there I was, arms crossed over my chest, incriminating split lip and bruised cheek, not to mention my bloody knuckles and the fact that I was breaking yet anotherbottle over someone else's head the moment the red coats had arrived.

Fortunately, I had a cell to myself, because I don't know how many more of their prisoners would have left with facial and groin injuries if they put me in the same cell with the idiots.

A guard chose that moment to tramp down the stairs, followed by a man who looked like this place's equivalent of Norrington - stuck up, powered wigged, angry, bitter, and all around on a power-trip. He sneered at all of us, then snapped, "Stand up, you lagabouts."

A sneered back, but did as told, hat pulled down low over my face. He began striding up and down the row of cells, glaring at us all in turn, then paused when he looked at me, apparently confused. "Take off the hat."

I had no inclination to do so, but in the interest of not losing my head - perhaps literally - I reached up - with the scarred hand, he might as well see that I was not some pristine little lady - and whipped the hat off. I glared back at him, but was quite surprised to see the startled expression cross his face. "Well." he said sternly. "So we finally catch you. Where's Sparrow?"

A single one of my eyebrows rose. Well. Thiswas interesting. "No idea."

He scowled further. "Do not lie to me, Morgan. We were warned to look out for the daughter of the pirate Morgan - she had apparently fallen in with Sparrow and the Black Pearl. Where is he?"

Oooh... they actually thought I was the daughter of Morgan, and yet I had never told them it, or had someone else point to me and tell that I was the daughter of Morgan? This was interesting. "What makes you think I'm a daughter of a pirate?"

He drew a sharp breath, letting it out in an equally sharp sigh. "I was in Port Royal the day Sparrow wasto meet his fate."

My eyes widened. Oh. So that was how they knew. "No idea. Haven't seen him in months. We parted ways in Tortuga."

Well, close enough.

He closed his eyes for a moment, considering that, then nodded. "I see. Then he didn't give you the baubles you are wearing?"

Very, very slowly, I glanced down at my hands, where I wore six different rings and three bracelets. Every single one of which I had procured during the evening by practicing my art of sneaking pretty, expensive things from the pockets of drunk pirates. "No," I answered at last. "He didn't. They're mine."

His hand snaked through the bars and caught my right arm before I could pull it away, spinning it so that my wrist faced up, and pulling the sleeve back. There on my slightly grimy arm was the long scar from my sword, and a little picture I had drawn of a cat with fire coming from its paws in ink one afternoon while I was bored. "What is this?" he demanded, pointing to the picture.

"A Hellcat," I said smugly.

"No brand," he scowled, apparently unimpressed by my Hellcat. "You've never been caught?"

I glanced away, and couldn't help my little smirk. I always was really good at speaking before I thought things through.

"Well, I have only been a pirate for three months."

Okay, I promise that I shall try my darndest to get the next chapter out REALLY SOON!

GOMEN NASAI! I AM SORRY!