Disclaimer: I don't own half of the characters in this story.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT

Chapter 4: Drinking Games

Camille slept a little better that evening, and after breakfast the next morning was able to steal some time to herself and actually get the guitar tuned correctly. The strings on it were almost brand new, so she barely had any trouble at all as she used her voice as a tuning instrument.

When she was done she excitedly began rapidly playing the old Irish tunes her mother had taught her as a little girl. She started out quietly, but eventually got louder and bolder as she continued. She had almost forgotten what time it was, and flew down the hallway to make dinner.

Ana Maria was already in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. She glanced at Camille. "Ah, there ya are. I thought the boys were going ta have another disappointin' meal."

"Oh, I wouldn't to that to the men," Camille said, forgetting and using her Irish accent.

Ana Maria lifted an eyebrow. "Ye've got an accent now?"

She slapped her hand over her mouth. "Please don't tell anyone about it," she pleaded.

"Why?"

"Because it wouldn't be proper of me."

Ana Maria put down the potato she was holding, scouring about for a pot. "Incase ya haven't noticed lass, There be no one here to be proper around. I doubt the rest o' the crew will mind either way."

Camille sighed, putting the potatoes into a pot. "I suppose you're right."

Ana Maria chuckled lightly. "Heard ya playin' earlier. Didn't know ye was Irish."

"Yes, well not many do. Men are too in love with themselves to find out what makes a woman happy."

Ana Maria scowled at the table. "Aye, ain't that the truth," she said sourly.

Camille went about, slicing up the rest of the vegetables. She didn't want to ruin the good streak she was having with the rest of the crew.

"So Ana Maria, where are you from?" she asked.

"Jamaica. Me mother moved just after me father passed, God rest his soul," she paused to cross herself, "and by the time I was old enough to understand that 'twas me fate to be sold into slavery, she stowed me away on a cargo ship and I took te the sea ever since. Only family I've got is me mum's younger sister; lives somewhere up around Port Royale."

"Oh, I see. What was her name, can you remember?"

"Sure do. It was Annette Williams."

Camille nearly sliced off her finger at the mention of Annie's name. She whirled around to face Ana Maria. "Annie! She's a maid in my father's household!"

Ana Maria's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "You mean to tell me that my aunt is waiting hand and foot on you and yer rich father?" she demanded.

Camille shook her head. "Absolutely not! Dear Annie has ever been my friend and mentor. Why, she practically raised me after my mother's death. She has an even bigger room than I do," she said sincerely.

"She had damn well better," Ana Maria said, calming down. "My family-people were not meant to serve other people and spend their lives miserable."

"Oh Ana Maria, It's the way I've been brought up! I never knew that households existed without maids."

She sighed. "No, I supposed ye wouldn't. And for that alone ye should count yer blessin's. We didn't all have it so charming, you know."

"I know that, and believe me, I have never treated Annie as if I were any better than her. Why, it's all I can do to watch her children whenever she needs me to."

"Annie has children?"
Camille nodded. "Two of them, a boy and a girl. The boy, Peter is 7 and little Sheila is of 3."

"I would like nothin' better than to meet 'em someday."

"Well, when I am returned to my father perhaps something can be arranged. Possibly," she said, wondering how that would go.

That evening the crew got a taste of not only Camille's cooking, but her background as well as she taught them just about every tune she could remember. They loved it, and there was dancing and singing until the early hours of the morning.

Captain Sparrow watched his crew, thoroughly amused as Gibbs and the rest explained how they were having as wonderful a time as any night in Tortuga. He cringed as it was obvious that Mr. Earl had gotten hold of the guitar he had given to Camille. He found the giggling redhead losing a game of poque to Mr. Cotton and his parrot.

She moaned and threw the cards all over the deck, scattering them. Looking up, she was able to slowly focus on the captain. He didn't have his hat or coat on. She laughed. "Hullo, Jack," she said drunkenly. She had just finished off her 5th bottle of straight rum, which she was surprised she was holding down.

Jack was only on his third, being the professional drunk that he was. "Mr. Cotton, what's this?" he asked, indicating the intoxicated woman. "Exactly how much rum did you let her have?"

"Jack…Jack, don't worry. I've only had a couple," she assured him.

"That would be Captain Jack Sparrow to you, love," he corrected.

She nodded. "Sorry. Captain Sparrow love Jack…that's what I said," she slurred as she tried to stand up. She reached for the bottle in his hand and missed, almost losing her balance.

He caught her and held her steady. "Careful, love. I think you have had quite enough."

"Oh, come on now," she protested.

"So do you always get an accent when you're drunk?" he asked her.

"That's right, I'm an…I'm an acc-I am DRUNK!" she shouted triumphantly. A few pirates raised their bottles and cheered.

"Captain drunk, who steers this thing?" she asked, holding onto him to keep her balance.

Jack nodded toward the helm, where Mr. Cotton's parrot was steering. "Trained him myself. You know, just incase any of us onboard are unable to properly steer. Most times we are."

He kept his grip on her as she stumbled and began to laugh hysterically. He couldn't help but start laughing with her. "You're a lot more tolerable like this, did you know that?"

"Ah, I just needed to loosen up…uh oh," she said, turning around and stumbling towards the edge of the ship. She was able to pull her hair back just as she threw up.

Jack stood back a little, giving her some privacy. She coughed afterwards, moaning and wiping her mouth on her dress as she staggered backwards. He resumed his position of holding her steady.

"I feel awful," she said slowly.

"I'll bet you do. Come on, let's get you into bed," he said, picking her up and carrying her.

"But…but Jack I'm not tired. I'm not…I'm not a pirate."

He carried her down to her room, and she fell onto her bed, again laughing hysterically. Jack tried to get up, but she grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her. "Jack!" she said in between fits of laughter. Then she stopped and looked at him. "Jack, I want you…I want you to kiss me."

He looked at her. "I'm sorry love, I can't do that," she said apologetically, loosening himself from her grip. "You're drunk, darling."

She stuck her lower lip out, pouting. "But Jack," she begged.

"Now, don't give me those crocodile tears. Put that lip back in," he said, standing up.

She put her hand out. "Jack, my name is Camille Quartermaine," she said taking his hand and falling backwards onto the bed. "What's your name," she said as she began slurring her words.

"The name's Jack Sparrow, love. And it's very nice to finally be introduced to you, Miss Camille. Goodnight."

Camille woke up feeling very groggy. It took her a few minutes to remember what she had done last night, and all she could remember was the captain in her bedroom. "Ah!" her hand flew to her head as a throbbing began. Had she been drinking last night? Sitting up, her covers fell off, and she noticed that her dress was barely on. It wasn't hooked in the back, and her stockings were off!

Without thinking, she began screaming. "NO!" she cried. "No, this cannot be happening to me!" She made one final shriek and flew out of bed, proceeding to fasten her dress in the back.

She heard a knock on the door. "You all right, love?" It was none other than Jack's voice. Hearing it drove her nearly to tears, she was so frustrated. She continued storming about the room, not calming down.

"I'm coming in," Jack said as he opened the door. As soon as he did she slapped him harder then she had the first time. "Ouch!" he cried.

"Keep away from me, you perverted bastard! How…how dare you take advantage of me like that!"

"Camille, what are you talking about?" he asked, rubbing his cheek tenderly.

"Don't call me by my first name, you lowly pirate! You shall refer to me as Miss Quartermaine, and when we return to Port Celebros I will make sure that you are hanged for all to see!"

Jack was so confused. He knew that women were moody, and this one must be especially angry because she most likely wasn't feeling too well from the drinking last night…the drinking…

"Miss Quartermaine, what exactly do you remember about last night?"

"What else do I need to? I remember you in my bedroom and I woke up with my clothes half off. It's obvious you've had your way with me!"

Jack's jaw dropped in amazement. Was she actually accusing him of taking full advantage of her drunken state? He may have been a pirate, but that was no excuse to accuse him of mistreating women. "So you're saying that I took advantage of you. I see," he said darkly, leaving the room with her still yelling and ranting.

He got on deck. "All right Gibbs, I'll take the helm now. There's been a change of plans. Inform the crew that we are to dock as soon as possible."

"Cap'n?" Gibbs asked questioningly.

"We're dropping her off as soon as possible."

"But what about the ransom?"

Jack turned around to face Gibbs, his eyes furious. "Gibbs, we are dropping the hostage off as soon as possible!" he bellowed.

Mr. Gibbs bit his tongue, nodding humbly. "Aye, Cap'n."