Disclaimer: I do not own PotC.

Truth be Told:

The pirate was jolted back to consciousness as his body was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. His dark eyes fluttered open and he saw the man who'd assaulted him in the alleyway. He was in a house and had, apparently, been dumped on the floor the moment the other man stepped in the door. His attacker stood near a fireplace, with his back turned to the pirate. Jack let his eyes fall closed. He did not need to look around the room, or take in his surroundings. He didn't need to see the painting over the mantle, or the mismatched, expensive furniture that had been acquired rather than purchased. He didn't need to ascertain that the room's two doors lead to a guest bedroom and a study. He already knew, for he'd been to this house many times before this night. The man by the fireplace shrugged out of his floor length coat and Jack could see, for the first time, something he'd been hoping not to see. The man only had one arm.

"Damn," the pirate cursed silently. Bad enough that he had just lost everything he knew, now he would have to tell Prescott Tarret that his sister had died because of Jack's own foolhardiness.

Prescott Tarret was known to the world as Captain Lefty Scott, a name that Jack himself had bestowed on his friend, a name that Prescott could not stand. A lifetime ago, he had been a respected, even celebrated, hero of the Royal Navy. He'd been the youngest man ever promoted to Admiral in the West Indies. However, on a fateful day, Prescott gave his word to a pirate that he would see him safely through a potentially ugly situation. To keep his promise, the Admiral broke Jack out of prison, commandeered the ship that had once been his, and sailed off to Tortuga. No one before or since that day had ever done something so selfless for Jack. From that day onward, they had been shipmates, and brothers. Prescott was one man in whom Jack trusted completely. Jack knew that Prescott would happily have given his life to protect him. He wondered if Prescott would still make that sacrifice knowing what Jack had cost him.

"My God, Jack?" a woman with fiery red hair entered from another room. Scarlet Quinn. She was as good as married to Prescott, but there were no legal documents to that effect. She'd never bothered to take his last name because no one, outside a select few, knew his real surname. Jack had known Scarlet since his first days as a pirate. A few nights, he'd known her better than others, a fact he often used to tease Prescott. The lady had changed a lot since Jack first met her. She'd become just that, a lady. She used to paint her face with dark, gaudy make-up as dictated by her chosen profession, until one day when Prescott saw her without. He'd said she was more beautiful first thing in the morning than after hours spent in front of a mirror. She'd stopped wearing so much paint soon after. Scarlet still spoke plainly, drank in saloons, and could curse better than most seasoned sailors, but she carried herself with a cool confidence that said she didn't give a damn what the rest of the world thought of her. She had a man who loved her, and she didn't want for anything. Jack only wished he could have given that peace of mind to a woman who'd deserved it.

Scarlet's eyes were wide as she knelt down to help the pirate to his feet. She brushed her fingertips against his jaw line making him very aware of intense pain radiating from that spot. Prescott had decked him good, a few times, as he recalled. The redheaded woman led him to a chair by the hearth and bade him sit down. "What's happened to you? Where did you find him?" this last question directed at Scotty.

"In an alley," he answered, removing his hat and moving to warm his only hand in front of the fire.

Nearly a year had passed since Jack had last seen Prescott. The older pirate had taken his ship, the Loyalty, up the Atlantic to the American colonies and had been away for over ten months. With the Pearl finally gone, Lefty Scott really was the last true pirate threat in the Caribbean, though British authorities hardly considered him a threat. Piracy agreed with Prescott. He was an extremely capable sailor, a respected commander, and an honorable man who had never been above bending the rules when it suited his purpose. But he never really stopped fighting for England, only attacking French or Spanish settlements and ships. In doing so, Prescott had become one of the wealthiest men that Jack knew and British authorities were content to simply ignore him.

Unlike so many pirates, Prescott had saved his ill gotten gain so that he could retire from a dangerous occupation. His home was furnished with the finest pieces from Madrid and Barcelona. His woman wore Paris' finest gowns. He prided himself on the fact that he could relish in the fruits of his enemies labor, and not pay them one red cent. Prescott planned for a future of leisure, but he had yet to retire. He enjoyed being a pirate, and, as it did with Jack, piracy kept him young. Gray streaks marred his long brown hair. His tanned skin wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but Prescott didn't look old.

Scarlet was still inspecting the cuts and bruises that no doubt dotted Jack's face, her face contorted with concern. "Who did this to him?" she asked, when it was clear Prescott had no intention of expanding his initial statement.

"I did," he said simply. The woman stood up and faced the man by the fire. Her hands went to her hips, and she looked angry. "He was in an alley on the north side of town, and he wasn't lacking for company," Prescott said, before Scarlet could scold him.

The woman turned back to the pirate, questions in her eyes but not on her lips. Returning to his side, she knelt next to the chair. "Oh, Jack, I'm sorry," she said, laying a hand on the side of his face. Her hand was warm, blessedly warm. He leaned into her palm, using his own hand to press hers to his cheek. "I'm sure Scotty didn't mean t' urt you."

The man removed his hat and threw it to the ground. He turned on Jack, blue eyes flashing. "No," he said. "I meant to kill 'im, but self control intervened on his behalf."

"Scotty!"

Jack stood up, bravely facing the older man's icy glare. "Ana's dead," he said, his voice low and flat.

Prescott's eyebrow rose. "What is that? An excuse?" he asked. "My sister's gone so now you can feel free to desecrate her memory with every gutter rat in town?" He paused, his hand clenched in a fist. He took what seemed like a steadying breath, no doubt meant to keep him from leveling Jack in front of Scarlet. "Maybe it would be better if that were true," he said at length. "If she were gone, she wouldn't have to see how low you've sunk."

"That's enough, Scotty."

Scarlet was trying to placate the older pirate, but Jack barely heard a word the woman said. If she were gone. Those had been Prescott's words. If. "Ana's alive?" Jack said her name for the first time since he thought he'd lost her.

Prescott and Scarlet ceased their bickering. The other pirate Captain eyed Jack, contempt clearly visible in those blue depths. Jack had witnessed Prescott's anger before this night. He'd watched the older pirate dismantle a man with words, but he'd never been on the receiving end of that indignation. Letting out a scornful laugh, Prescott crossed the room to stand just in front of Jack. "I've just come from Kingston," he said. "I was there when news came in that the Black Pearl had been destroyed. Only one survived … a dark skinned woman."

Scotty's words hit Jack harder than the man's fist could have. The breath rushed from his lungs and his knees gave way. He fell miserably into the seat that, luckily, stood right behind him. His mouth hung open, but he was completely unable to speak. Ana was alive? Alive.

"Now, unless there were two dark skinned females sailing with you …"

Jack shook his head, still stupefied by the news.

"I didn't think so," Prescott went on. He turned and paced back towards the hearth. Placing a hand on the mantle, he spoke into the fire. "Soon as I heard, I set sail back here. I had my men blowing into the sails, day and night I pushed them, so that I could get back here to tell you."

At this, the muted pirate finally found his voice. "But, if the report was only one survivor …"

"How did I know you survived?" Prescott shrugged, spreading out his one remaining arm. "Hell, Jack, I guess I had a little faith in the man who'd been through so much. I didn't think the Navy could stop the indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow." The muscles in the older man's jaw twitched. "I didn't think I'd have to pull you out of a whore's ass to relay the glad tidings," he growled through clenched teeth.

In spite of Prescott's fury, Jack felt indescribable relief. He almost pinched himself. Ana was alive.

Suddenly, Scotty's hand closed around Jack's arm and he was yanked to his feet. "We sail within the hour," he said. "Try to pull yourself together into some semblance of the man I thought you were."

"Where are we goin?"

"Kingston."

The younger pirate's eyes widened. He looked to Scarlet, who stood regarding him with crossed arms. After Scotty's rant, she didn't seem quite so willing to rush to Jack's defense. Overjoyed as he'd been that Ana lived, he was somewhat hesitant to hasten to her side. He spent the past few days regretting things unsaid, swearing that if he'd only one more chance he'd tell Ana how he felt. He would tell her that he loved her. Now, with that prospect staring him in the face, he was uncertain. "You don't have to do this," he said to Scotty.

The other man scoffed. "After this night, do not think I do this for you," he snarled. "For whatever reason, my sister loves you. She's probably beside herself thinking that you're dead. I'm taking you to Kingston to ease her mind, nothing more." The chill in Scotty's voice was palpable. Lifting his coat from the back of a the chair and bending to retrieve his discarded hat, Prescott made for the door. "Maybe if you beg her on bended knee, she'll forgive you for this."

"She always has," Jack answered automatically, without thinking.

The older pirate instantly stopped in his tracks. He straightened, and the muscles in his back tensed. Turning slowly, he glared through narrowed lids at Jack. "What did you say?" Prescott's voice wavered slightly with rage and disbelief. "You've been unfaithful to Annie before this night," Scotty's words were a statement not a question.

Staring into cold blue eyes, shadowed by the brim of a black hat, Jack glimpsed the fearful pirate who lurked in tavern stories. He saw Lefty Scott, not the man who'd been his brother for twenty plus years. He wanted to answer Prescott's accusation, justify his actions in some way, but he knew that was impossible. There was no explanation for what he'd done. Ana was the only woman who'd ever been able to get beneath his skin, to see beyond walls he'd so carefully constructed around his heart. That closeness terrified him. He'd never told her he loved her, for if he never said those words, she'd never have power over him. Power to hurt, reject, or leave him. Whenever she got too close, he would push her away and run to the arms of another. Stupid, yes, but relatively safe. He lowered his eyes. He could have said all these things to Scotty. Maybe the older man would have understood, or at least accepted his excuse. But, he remained silent. He had been wrong. Maybe he deserved the hate in his brother's face.

"She gave up her whole world to go to sea with you," Scotty spat the words. Crossing the room, he stood glaring down at the younger pirate. "And you couldn't even stay faithful to her? Did you ever love my sister, Jack?"

"Yes," this Jack answered instantly.

"Did you ever tell her?"

A blade pierced Jack's heart. Prescott's eyes had always been able to see straight through him. He simply shook his head.

"Well, you're going to you son of a bitch," Prescott said. "And you will beg her forgiveness for each and every time you hurt her."

"Beg her?" Jack repeated the words, deciding finally to stick up for himself. "You make it sound as though she sat alone in her cabin reading the Bible while I was ashore. I assure you, she wasn't –" he abruptly stopped speaking when he found himself sprawled on the ground at Prescott's feet. He coughed and spat his own blood on the floorboards.

"Your own medicine leave a bitter taste in your mouth?" Scotty sneered, glaring down at Jack. He was shaking his hand, apparently knocking another man senseless caused a bit of pain. He looked as though he would say more, but, without another word he turned and stalked out of the house, slamming the door so hard that the walls shook.

Scarlet sighed and knelt beside Jack. "Come on," she said. "Let's get ye cleaned up." Jack made a face that asked what was the point. The redhead smirked. "Scotty said ye sailed in an hour. If I were you, I wouldn't want t' be late."

TBC

a/n: For anyone who was a bit confused with this chappy, Prescott Tarret is an OC that's figured rather prominently in my other PotC stories. I think I gave enough background for him, but if you're curious about him, I'd love for you to read my other J/A stories: "A Beginning" "Past and Present" and "Brothers"

Oh and Cal, did I rake Jack over the coals enough for you:-)

Thanks so much for the reviews, please keep them coming!