Fic: Marooned Ch. 7: Survival is the Only Option
By Honorat Selonnet
Rating: K
Disclaimer: The immortal owner of POTC has such a lovely ring to it. And it's not a bad thing is it? Alright. Alright. I'll put it back.

Summary: In which heavy questions are asked, piracy takes place, and a good time is had by all. Elizabeth the Pirate coming up. She surprised me in this one. Usually no one makes me laugh more than Jack. Seventh in my Island Fic plus deleted scenes. The deleted scenes are done. Here be dragons. I may never get off this island.

This one is dedicated to Captain Tish at whose persistent insistance that I update has sent me chasing after Jack and Elizabeth who have been hiding out doing who knows what in the back of my brain. Sufficient rum has been used as a bribe, and lo and behold, here they are. I am not responsible for the ridiculous things these characters choose to do in their spare time on the island. Do not ask me where Jack picked up the Sanskrit name for coconut--he travels a lot.

Survival is the Only Option

Jack Sparrow had alighted back on the beach by the water's edge. Apparently he was finished flitting about for the time being. Elizabeth dropped down on the depressing hot white sand again and wished they were still walking. Here in the stillness, with only the murmur of the waves for background, her thoughts caught back up with her.

She rolled a fold of her shift between her fingers, feeling the crisp salt dried into the fabric, the small irritating grit of sand. Before long, she would be entirely covered in sand, she feared. It had already begun drifting over her. If only she could just go to sleep. If only Jack had shot her when she'd asked him to. If only Will had never taught her to swim, and she could have leapt off the plank of the Black Pearl and drowned in the warm embrace of turquoise waters. Fragile rainbows of coral would have crept over her bones. Jewel-like fish would have darted about her resting place. Blessed oblivion. And she would not be sitting here helpless. Elizabeth hated, above all things, feeling helpless.

Her stomach seemed to be tying itself in knots, not only with hunger. She felt as though she must jump out of her skin or run screaming up and down the beach or burst into hysterical sobbing. Almost she wished she had some embroidery to do. And she despised embroidery. Anything rather than sit here quietly waiting for Will to die. Waiting to starve to death herself. Perhaps this was what going mad felt like. She should ask Jack; he would certainly know.

She needed to do something! And Jack had told her there was nothing she could do. Elizabeth twisted the linen fiercely, imagining it was Barbossa's neck.

Of course, the pirate captain was looking perfectly unconcerned. He was, she noticed in disbelief, building a sand castle. Just how old was the man?

Jack eyed Elizabeth sideways. Unless he was very much mistaken, there was a lass well on her way to fretting herself to flinders. He'd tried that before himself. It didn't much help. Which was why he was ignoring the very real and very ugly situation they were in by keeping his hands and his thoughts busy elsewhere.

"Hey, love," he suggested. "Why don't you give me a hand here?"

A little playing in the sand would take her mind off whatever was driving her crazy, and the company would help him do the same.

Elizabeth noted the pirate's surprisingly hopeful expression. Well, it would be something to do, she decided. Scooting over to the heap of sand Jack was sculpting, she began adding handfuls of damp sand to the walls.

The two of them worked in silence for some time while the building took shape. Jack was actually startled when Elizabeth spoke up.

"Jack?"

"Yes?" He glanced at the girl's face. She was frowning. Not good. He braced himself for whatever was developing behind that expression. At least answering her questions was something to do.

"How long does it take . . ." Elizabeth looked down at her grimy hands, "to die of thirst?" She bit her lip.

Jack's hands froze where they lay on the sand. That had been so quiet he'd almost not heard it. No easy questions for Miss Swann, it would seem. No wonder she'd been acting so tense. His emotional weather sense predicted storm clouds and heavy seas ahead.

"Haven't tried it yet, love," he answered lightly, continuing to square off the walls.

"I'm serious Jack," she persisted. "I . . . need to know. How long can you live without water?"

Jack sighed and gave in to the inevitable. So far he'd had no success at all in heading Miss Swann's questions off. "About a week—or so I've been told. The heat will make a difference, I imagine." He'd rather not imagine, actually. He took a large swallow of rum.

"And without food?" Elizabeth began digging out a gateway, not looking at Jack—as though the question didn't matter.

"A month, give or take. But we're likely to find enough food in the sea to drag it out a good bit more."

Jack brushed the unruly hair back from his face, leaving little spangles of sand in it, and stared out at the ocean. Then his hands returned to moving in slow circles over the castle walls.

"So, when the rum runs out?" Elizabeth smoothed out the gateway.

He didn't answer that question. Life would be over then in every sense of the word.

"A ship may turn up," he remarked optimistically.

"But if one doesn't?"

The pirate began patiently crenellating the walls of their castle. "We might be in trouble if one doesn't," he finally answered. "The rum may hold us that month, but to be honest with you, rum isn't the best thing for staving off dehydration. It's better than nothing, but we could use some fresh water."

"We won't be getting any." Elizabeth was surprised at how dispassionate she felt—as if speaking her fears aloud somehow diffused them.

She tried to build an arch for a bell tower on the front wall, but the sand refused to cooperate. After her second try and massive collapse, Jack handed her some palm leaves.

"Try these," he offered. Glancing at the sky, he returned to the issue of fresh water. "It might rain."

Elizabeth looked at him skeptically, the palm fronds curving into an arch in her hands.

"Alright, so it isn't the season for it. A month it is, love," Jack admitted, meeting her eyes for the first time in this conversation.

"A month it is," Elizabeth squared her shoulders. Somewhere on this island, she knew, death had begun its stalk. She wondered whether they would mark the passage of the days or just count time in heartbeats.

The bell tower was complete. She allowed herself a moment of self-congratulation.

It was, in a way, comforting to be stuck here with a man who wasn't trying to coddle her or impress her. Who didn't hesitate to tell her the bitterest truth. Who expected her to comport herself in adversity with a dignity and fortitude that matched his own.

Elizabeth looked down at the sand castle they were constructing. Her mouth quirked. Well, scratch the dignity part.

Jack noticed the small smile. Good. The lass was back on an even keel.

As a final touch, Elizabeth added a flag made from a palm frond and a twig. She sat back on her heels to admire their work. Quite a respectable sand castle.

Finishing the crenellations, Jack dusted off his hands. Time to lighten up this fit of the dismals. "This," he explained to Elizabeth, "is Fort Charles."

Realizing that it was indeed familiar, Elizabeth looked more closely at the structure. She was surprised at how accurate Jack had made it. Apparently he'd paid close attention during his brief sojourn there.

"And this," Jack gestured to an odd shaped lump of sand with three twigs sticking out of it, "is the Black Pearl, who is about to sack the fort. You," he gestured to Elizabeth, "can be the British. And I," he pointed to himself, "will be the pirates."

"But I want to be a pirate," Elizabeth complained.

Jack looked at her as though she had said something entirely different. "By all means, love," he agreed, widening his eyes. "Anyone who wants to be a pirate should be able to be one." He stood up, shaking sand out of his clothes with a look of loathing. How he hated land!

"Up, up! Step lively lass," he urged Elizabeth, waving his arms in circles, motioning for her to rise. "Let's make this official."

Confused, Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. Jack planted himself in front of her in a sloppy version of parade attention.

"Miss Swann." Captain Sparrow snapped, switching from his light banter to his command voice.

Unsure where this was going or what she was supposed to be doing, Elizabeth straightened a little herself and ventured, "Aye sir?"

That seemed to be the right answer since the captain continued to bark in her face, "Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death?"

"Aye, sir." Her voice grew more confident, as she remembered faintly how she used to play at being a pirate.

"Good man—er—woman," Jack approved. "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl!"

She'd heard that somewhere before. But looking into Jack's eyes, sparkling now with enthusiasm and camaraderie, she wondered how she could have ever compared him to Barbossa.

"Now, hold out your hand," the pirate instructed. Eying him skeptically, remembering the crabs, his new crew did as she was bid. Jack poured a collection of small shells into her open palm. "Ammunition," he explained.

Once again, Elizabeth found herself crouching in the sand playing games with the irrepressible legendary Captain Jack Sparrow. There was nothing at all about this in any of the stories. If they got away from this island alive, she would have to start another story. But not before Jack was a long way away. Singapore perhaps.

"We've succeeded in sneaking up on the fort," Jack informed her. "Black sails at night, you know. Our job is to blast the bejeezus out of them with our little cannon." He demonstrated how to flick the seashell cannon balls at the fort with his fingers.

"Fire!" he shouted.

Elizabeth jumped. That was not an order meant to be heard from point blank range. Nevertheless, she obeyed, loading her cannon and firing a shell at the sand fort.

"Got 'em!" she cried, surprising herself.

"That's my bonnie lass!" The captain laughed as a hole appeared in the wall. His own shot blew out several crenellations.

Pausing for a moment, he contemplated his newest crew. The girl bent over the little ship, tangled hair blowing in eyes that lit with battle eagerness. Her teeth were bared in a fierce snarl as she rained shell-fire down on the walls of the little fort. He knew intellectually that this was the daughter of the Governor of Jamaica. That she had been brought up sewing samplers and playing the harpsichord and sipping tea and dancing in measured figures. That by rights, she should be more at home in a ballroom wearing the likes of that heavy dress he'd stripped off her in the bay of Port Royal. But he couldn't connect that imaginary picture with the lass who'd defended him on the docks, who'd faced up to him when he'd held her hostage, who'd stood defiantly waiting for Barbossa to slit her throat and then had refused to answer his questions, who'd belted the pirate whose sword arm Jack had seized with the stock of her rifle and then attempted to deck Jack himself. He shook his head and resumed firing at the fort. What a pirate the lass would make. It seemed a pity she'd never really get the chance.

The Pearl's fusillade continued for several minutes until the pirates ran low on shot. The walls of the fort were riddled with shells and in danger of collapse. A significant number of shells had also missed the fort entirely. Elizabeth felt some of her tension uncoil as she wreaked destruction on that pitiful pile of sand. She hadn't known how much pent up violence she had been longing to release.

"Ha!" chortled Jack. "I got the gaol! All the languishing pirates have escaped. We'll take 'em aboard as extra crew."

Elizabeth blasted the parapet over which she had fallen back at the beginning of this terrible adventure. "Strike your colours, ye bloomin'cockroaches," she crowed as the palm flag fell over.

"The fort has surrendered. All hands to the boats!" Jack ordered.

"Aye, Captain," agreed the crew.

The captain and crew of the Black Pearl landed on the beach of Port Royal and took stock.

"So, Miss Swann, now Pirate. Who shall we rob first?" the captain queried.

"How about the governor's mansion?" Elizabeth the Pirate laughed. "I know where they keep all the silver. And we can kidnap the governor's daughter and hold her for ransom."

"And then?" Jack prompted, highly amused.

"Mrs. Fitzbrace-Pennythump," the girl grinned in satisfaction. That old biddy had never failed to run to her father with tales of his wild-to-a-fault daughter.

"You're havin' an old pirate on, lass," Jack exclaimed incredulously, shaking his finger at her.

"I swear that's her name." Elizabeth crossed her hands over her heart. "She has the most hideous ruby necklace, which she always will wear with puce."

Jack shuddered theatrically. "Well then it will be an act of charity to relieve her of it, won't it lass?"

"She will scream. And all her chins will wobble," Elizabeth giggled.

"I vow, the very thought enchants me," Jack swooned, pressing the back of one wrist to his forehead. "Lead me to this plump beauty with the delightful rubies. Where next?'

Tilting up her little nose and assuming a haughty expression, Elizabeth simpered, "Miss Eslington, of course. She's been insufferable ever since she got engaged to a Viscount back in England." She batted her eyes at him.

"Is he a particular prize?" Jack asked, eying the lass wonderingly. Amazing what a bit of rum would do for a woman.

"How should I know? I haven't seen him. Neither has she for that matter. But he did send her the most amazing pearls as a betrothal gift. She has never stopped talking about them or him since."

"Ah ha!" the captain gloated. "I knew there was a reason I should love the lass, beyond her perfect manners. Will she scream? How many chins has she?"

"She will likely bite," Elizabeth informed him repressively. "Quite fatal, I believe. And no chins at all."

"None?" Jack rubbed his decorated chin.

"None whatsoever. She is chinless." Elizabeth tried to tuck her own pert chin into her neck with no success. "But very small eyes," she continued enthusiastically. "Really, any chin at all would quite have overpowered her eyes."

"You terrify me. I think I shall leave her to you," Jack decided with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Well, you shall also leave Lady Emmeline Stanhope to me," Elizabeth smirked and crossed her arms.

"Why's that love?" he asked suspiciously.

"She really is a diamond of the first water. And rich. And, so rumour has it, a bit wild." Jack's unloyal crew glared censoriously at him. "She would like you too much, and you would like her too much. So she's mine. You can rob the Justice of the Peace."

Jack pouted. "You never let me have any fun."

"Oh," said Elizabeth airily. "He's quite pretty and rich, too."

Jack hit her with a palm frond. "For that you deserve to be flogged."

"Now, for the important question," he continued, choosing to ignore the fact that ship's discipline had totally broken down and his crew was laughing herself sick. "Where's the best place to get rum?"

"How should I know?" Elizabeth managed. "I don't drink rum. Didn't. Whatever."

"Don't drink rum?" The captain was horrified. "You can't be a pirate if you don't drink rum. It's practically the first of the articles. Don't give me a turn like that. Now there's a good lass," he wheedled. "Where's the rum?"

Elizabeth gave an exaggerated sigh and pointed to the bottle he was holding. "The only rum to be had is at the Sparrow's Hand. All the rum you can drink, any time, day or night."

"Well now," said Jack taking a swig, "That's more like it."

He glanced down as his stomach gave a conspicuous grumble.

"Speaking of not starving to death in the near future, it appears it's time for a bite to eat," Jack commented, getting awkwardly back on his feet, and Elizabeth had instant visions of little disgusting crabs. Her stomach was clenched with what she knew could only be mild hunger, a foretaste of the future. Certainly crabs did not yet appeal. But the pirate did not head towards the ocean. Instead, he picked up the rope with which Barbossa had bound him and wandered off towards the center of the island. Apparently the sack of Port Royal was over. Curious, Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, feeling a little light-headed, and followed him. Her walk was beginning to resemble Sparrow's.

She discovered Jack standing at the base of a tall palm, looking up.

"Best do this before I have much more rum, love," he informed her matter-of-factly. "'S not a job for a man three sheets to the wind."

Anyone else would have been several sheets beyond that with the amount of rum Jack had in him, Elizabeth reflected.

Wrapping the rope around the trunk, Jack shinnied up the tree, as agile as a monkey. "There's only a few of these on the island," his voice drifted down. "If we're in luck, some of them will have nuts on them. Ah ha!"

Elizabeth had to tilt her head back to see him at all.

"Move out of the way, love," the pirate called. "I'd like to not oblige Barbossa by killing the lady."

Rapidly, Elizabeth got out of range. From where she now stood, she could no longer make out what Jack was saying, but it sounded profane. Apparently the coconuts were not cooperating.

Finally, the first of the large green shells thumped to the ground below the tree. More curses encouraged a second nut to part from its moorings. Three more nuts were followed by the pirate sliding down the trunk.

"Well, that's all for this one." He scrubbed his hands on his trousers and coiled the rope over his shoulder. "There y'are, lass." He indicated that her job was to carry the nuts. "Got a couple more trees to try. Better than last time I was here. These've gotten old enough to bear fruit. Takes six to ten years, y'know."

By the time Jack had harvested the final tree he could find, they possessed 18 coconuts. Elizabeth could scarcely see over the stack in her arms. Jack carried the rope and the remainder of the nuts as they returned to the part of beach she was coming to think of as home. With relief, she dumped her burden on the ground.

"One month," said Jack, lining up their inventory. "That means we get one of these every one and a half days."

Well, that settled the question of how they would mark time—by vanishing coconuts.

The pirate selected one of their prizes and drew his sword. Expertly he slashed off a conical wedge of the fibrous husk, leaving a thin layer covering the interior. Elizabeth's ears caught the sound, sweeter than the peal of church bells, of liquid sloshing inside the large green nut. Liquid that was not rum. When Jack inserted the blade into the shell, the clear fluid spurted into the sparkling sunlight. Elizabeth knew she had never seen anything so beautiful.

"There you are, love," Jack handed her the shell. "Kalpa vriksha—the tree of life."

Grasping the awkward object in both hands, Elizabeth tilted the opening to her lips letting the wonderfully sweet coconut milk slip down her throat. Life indeed. For the first time since they had washed up on this island, she felt her thirst being quenched.

"Whoa there darling," Jack remonstrated. "Don't get greedy. Save a little for Ol' Jack, here." He wasn't really worried. A coconut like that would contain as much liquid as a bottle of rum. The girl wasn't going to be able to down that immediately.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth looked abashed and passed the shell back to him. Jack drank deeply. Really, he hated coconut milk. Rum was much better. But the liquid was necessary, so he endured it.

When they had alleviated their thirst, they poured the remainder of the milk into an empty rum bottle that Jack then stored in the cellar. It would not be as good the next day, but good had ceased to be a requirement for their diet.

The precious liquid having been preserved, Jack used his sword to split the shell, revealing the gelatinous, half-formed "meat" lining its walls. Slicing a sliver from the husk, he offered it to Elizabeth for use as a scoop to scrape the filling out. Then he cut himself another sliver. The two castaways sat side by side, digging into the green coconut with the relish of the truly hungry.

Elizabeth, licking the coconut meat off her makeshift spoon, could not imagine why she had ever disliked the slimy stuff. It was pure ambrosia.

Jack surveyed their line-up of round green treasure triumphantly. "We're going to survive, Elizabeth," he spoke confidently, "for more than a month. It's the only option." His hand caressed the butt of the pistol in his sash and his eyes grew cold. "I have a debt to collect on."

TBC