Thanks to im-a-daydream-believer, Icarus Malfoy, EmperessRose, Icheb-lover, holy moly, Velven, cjz, Demus, Pirate Beauty, Culumacilinte, nekohebi, elaneon, mssparrington, Strange Music, ArwentheElvenStar, Captain Drew and Liz. You guys are the best.

There's a little clue about Jack's heritage in this chapter…

Chapter Six- The Nightmare Scenario

"I've bled him," the Surgeon says. A cool hand touches my forehead. "He's not too feverish."

"When will he wake?" Groves asks.

"He's waking now."

I hear the sound of footsteps retreating. I open my eyes, thinking that at last I'm left alone.

No such luck.

I find myself staring up into a giant eye. "Sorry, sir." The eye retreats a little, materialising into two entirely separate eyes and then into the face of Lieutenant Groves.

"What the Devil are you doing?" I demand. Groves looks remorseful and my voice softens. "I never want to see you that close again, Lieutenant, understand?"

My words earn me a grin. Groves straightens up and then touches a knuckle to his forehead in something vaguely resembling a salute. "Message from the foredeck, sir: Acting Captain Gillette sends his…"

"Acting Captain Gillette?"

"Well, Lieutenant Gillette, sir. He send his respects and wishes to inform you that if the wind holds we should make Port Royal by sunrise."

At my request, Groves helps me sit upright and pours me a glass of wine. I drink deeply, nerving myself to ask the question on my mind. "Where's Sparrow?" I say.My voice sounds uncertain.

"He's in the hold, sir. Don't worry: he won't be escaping again." Groves pulls the bed sheet further up my bare torso in a ridiculously tender gesture.

A son to father gesture.

I open my mouth to tell the young Lieutenant to stop mollycoddling me but the words die on my tongue. I need to save my anger for Gillette.

"You can send for my steward," I inform Groves. "I have no intention of staying abed any longer."

"Yes, sir."

"And you cansend the Acting Captain…" I invest the title with as much scorn as I can. "…My compliments and inform him that I would be grateful if he could wait for me to die before taking charge."

"But, sir-"

"There's a name for those in the service who disobey orders…"

"Yes, sir." Groves salutes and promptly leaves- in all likelihood to inform Gillette that I just accused him of mutiny.

Left alone, I can't escape the fact that the ache in my head is nothing compared to the knot of foreboding in my stomach. I have to see Jack Sparrow.

Now.

A red-coated marine escorts me down to the Cargo Hold.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Cargo Hold is in the bowels of the ship: a nightmare damp place where prisoners spend their last days. The only company down here is the rats. Just above, lies the Orlop deck where the surgeon lives and from which the screams of the wounded resonate in battle. During a battle, the blood from the surgery drips through thetimber as if it's the ship itself who's bleeding.

Drip. Drip. Not blood but water.

The Cargo Hold leaks. All ships leak, of course. It's actually quite a worrying thought.

The marine gestures towards an iron cage. I can just make out a shadowy figure crouched in the corner. "That's him, Cap'n." He hands me an oil lamp. "If you need assistance, sir…"

"I'll be sure to call you," I say.

I wait for the marine to leave before I approach Sparrow's cage. His eyes glimmer in the candlelight.

"Well, well, well… This is familiar." Sparrow grins suddenly. "Are you getting a sense of déjà vu, James?"

My emotions rush to the surface. I feel overwhelmed and oddly faint too. I clutch an iron bar. "Oh, Jack-" I can't think of anything to say.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I invited you to Tortuga…"

I sink to the floor; I hear myself hit it and yet I don't remember falling. "I'm so sorry," I croak. I sound weak, childlike… I sound like everything I despise. "I wish-"

"Shut up." Jack crawls towards me. "Wishes are useless. Hindsight too for that matter." He sighs. "We're in this situation and we'll just have to deal with it."

"I can't help you escape… It would ruin me."

Jack reaches through the bars and grabs the lapels of my uniform coat. "You're still scared, James," he says, as he pulls me towards him.

"Am I?"

"You know what it is that scares you, my dear Commodore?"

"The sodomy," I croak. I despise the word.

"No." Jack's voice becomes low and almost seductive as he leans closer to me. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. "The love…"

I start to shake. I can't help myself. Too many home truths…

"You're scared of love."

"Yes."

Jack pulls me towards him and presses his lips to mine. His tongue slips inside my mouth with familiarity. I know with aching certainty that this isall I want. I press a hand to his hot cheek as I kiss him. His hands grasp at my hair; they find the powdered wig and cling to it.

The kiss is frantic.

It's a last-time kiss- a saying goodbye kiss. Dimly, I realise I'm crying even as I kiss him; the floods of tears are brimming from my eyes.

We break apart but stay close, panting and breathing the same air.

"I always thought love was a gradual process," I admit. Somehow, I manage to smile through my tears.

"Nah. It's just like falling, James. Falling from a cliff into the sea and falling from safety into the stormy oceans of the heart is exactlythe same. You don't see the fall coming; it just happens."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

Jack gives a wistful chuckle, which somehow turns into an uncharacteristic melancholy sigh. "All that lives must die, passing through nature into eternity."

"Shakespeare?" I ask. I sound incredulous and who can blame me? A pirate shouldn't know Shakespeare.

"Hamlet."

I take Jack's hand and stroke it, like I might stroke a woman's hand. "If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; if not, why then this parting was well made."

Jack smiles. "Shakespeare?"

"Julius Caesar."

Jack nods then pulls his hand from mine. He turns away abruptly and doesn't say another word, even as I plant a bottle of rum on the floor, where he can easily reach it through the bars.

My legs tremble as I leave the hold, climbing through the hatchway to the above decks.

Later, I summon Gillette to my cabin.

"How did it feel, Mr Gillette?" I demand.

Gillette looks at me as if I've sprouted another head. "I beg your pardon, sir," he says.

"The power."

"Sir?"

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. I open my mouth and shut it again. I want to shout at Gillette but can't find the words.

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?"

"Yes, Mr Gillette. I am alright."

Gillette hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, he's done everything right. As far as he's concerned, he only saved his commanding officer from a buggering. I should probably reward him.

Instead I dismiss him; my voice is sore from the shouting I haven't done.

When everything else is lost, there's always duty to turn to. As the sun crawls westward across the sky, I pace the windward deck. Up and down… Up and down… Up and down until the rhythm of my footsteps has drowned out the misery of my own thoughts.

It's quiet on deck; a silence broken only by the sound of my own footfalls. The sailors move about their tasks sluggishly, as if my own misery has spread to them. Their ruddy faces look sombre, dulled.

Somehow, Groves appears beside me. I don't send him away but I don't acknowledge him either.

I just pace.

"Sail ho!" hails the lookout, disturbing the almost-silence.

I glance upwards to where, one hundred feet above the deck, a seaman is perched precariously.

I give a nod to Lieutenant Groves. "Where away?" he shouts.

"Square off the larboard bow!"

"You afraid of heights, Mr Groves?" I tease.

"No, sir." Groves finds a telescope and climbs up the ratlines to the crow's nest.

On deck, I welcome the prospect of action: I welcomeanything to delay the return to Port Royal- anything to give me time to work out what to do with Sparrow.

"Sir!" Groves' voice sounds faint. "Sir!"

I cup my hands around my mouth. "Lieutenant!"

"It's the Pearl, sir! The Black Pearl!"

Surely not. I shake my head. The hair at the back of my neck prickles. Goosebumps form along my arms.

The Black Pearl. The name is like a shiver down my spine.

I snatch a glass off Gillette, who has just appeared on deck. My erstwhile Lieutenant looks sheepish but defiant. As well he might.

I scramble up into the ratlines, clinging on to the rope with one hand and the telescope with the other. The ship rolls beneath me and almost paralyses me with fear. Heights have never been my strong point. On the ship's upward roll I manage to put the glass to eye and gaze out to sea.

My breath catches in my throat when I first see her. My God…

Black tattered sails ghosting in the breeze. Bow cleaving through the ocean. Sunlight glittering on polished timber.

For a second I see her how Jack sees her. I glimpse what she really is- not just a ship but freedom.

But then I remember who I am and what I am and what I must do.

I rush down the ratlines and hit the deck with a crash. Gillette steadies me and I smile at him. He smiles back.

"Beat to quarters! Clear for action! Man the larboard guns!"

Tbc…