We've had some misunderstandings, but yer must remember, as Captain, I only want the best for my crew… No, she'd probably misconstrue that.

I don't feel I can captain this vessel with ye two bringing down pink mist every time yer catch each other's eyes… No, she'd definitely misconstrue that.

Have yer ever considered a woman of yer talents is best suited on land…? No, that would encourage her and would probably achieve the opposite result.

We're going to be docking soon, to sell off that tea. Perhaps yer'd like to handle negotiations… No, that was too subtle.

Get the hell off my ship. No, still too subtle.

Barbossa stood behind his map-covered desk to address Lovehaste. This wasn't usual practice, but he felt a lot safer with a good solid object between them. There was no telling what she might decide he wanted her to do to him.

Lovehaste was giving him what she probably though was pitying, understanding smile, which made her looked as if she was straining. Barbossa's desire to rub her face in a pile of mud whilst dancing a hornpipe jig on the back of her head was only kept in check by the lack of mud in his cabin.

"Look, Lovehaste," he started, the weariness in his voice completely unfaked.

"Darling," she said, and he stopped short, revolted. "Darling," she repeated, as if the first time wasn't bad enough, "I understand how hard this must be for you."

Yer do? Barbossa wanted to yell. Then why haven't yer done the honourable thing and thrown yerself overboard?

He settled on a tired, "Aye." She'd probably interpret it some perverse and unpleasant way anyway, but at least he wouldn't have hurt his vocal chords screeching blue bloody murder at her.

"What happened between us last night," she said softly, "was a heat of the moment thing. We both knew it could never last. Last night, we just needed to feel… each other. Are you crying?"

Barbossa had in fact found he had to force himself to swallow a snivel. Just the mention of a possibility of 'feeling' Lovehaste made him want to rip off his arms and burn them, before skinning himself and hosing the inside of his skin down. "Gck," he remarked.

Lovehaste pressed on, relentless. "But Ragetti and I- we are true love. I can feel it in here." She rapped at her ribcage, producing a curious echoing noise. "I understand how it must hurt you."

"Hck."

Lovehaste looked him straight in the eye. There were tears brimming on her rather short lashes. Barbossa found himself wondering whether he could transpose her plucked eyebrow hairs onto her lashes to make them longer, then decided that such thoughts indicated he was in a state of nervous delirium and needed to be looked after. Lavender soap, he thought. Just put me to bed with a bar of lavender soap, and maybe some very, very, very mild chicken broth.

"Oh captain!" she exclaimed, quite carried away with herself. "Please try to understand!" And she lunged at him, banging her hipbone on the desk, her arms flailing to reach him.

Barbossa lost all self control and flung himself backwards. Jack the monkey screamed and pelted him with what was once a piece of fruit. He started to mutter to himself frantically, his body alternately suffering hot and cold flushes.

"Get out," he squeaked, between hiccups and gibbering. "Just get out."

"No!" The tears were gone now. She stood akimbo, although Barbossa was pleased to notice one of her fists was surreptitiously rubbing the hipbone she had banged. Hopefully there would be a nasty bruise there. "I won't leave you until you can come to terms with your loss like a man!"

Barbossa was not captain of The Black Pearl just because he'd staged a successful mutiny. A certain amount of strength of mind had gone into to that too, especially after you started to lose your faith in Jack, his subconscious added treacherously. A few seconds breakdown was all he needed- now he was back on his own two feet, with a vengeance.

"Aye?" he barked, and flashed the Steely Eye. Lovehaste quailed and paled. "And exactly what have I lost? Eh? What in hell's name makes yer think that I'd shed a single tear if ye were to vanish from my eyes this very second, and never stalk the earth again? Why in heaven would I mind if you got your silly head cut open by a cutlass? Eh? Eh? When did you ever start being anything more than a nuisance? Where, ex-Captain Lovehaste, have you developed this awful belief that I GIVE A DAMN?"

She blinked.

"Um," she said.

"Ah," she said.

"Well," she said.

Then she did something that impressed Barbossa more than he ever though possible.

"You're really not handling our break-up very well, are you?"

He stared. My God. She's either mad or brilliant. I know which explanation I prefer though.

Much to his consternation, she appeared to be having the same thoughts about him. "I don't understand," she said, sounding genuinely defeated. "Something just isn't going into your head. This. Is. Not. What. You. Should. Be. Doing. You're part of a Mary Sue fanfiction, okay? You've got to stop with this plot-resisting." She passed a pale hand over her long forehead, then her eye fell on the maps and she picked on up and waved it at him tiredly. "I mean," she continued, with all wheedle and drama depleted from her voice stores, "look at this. You can tell that this poorly written and much-riddled map wants you to move east-east-west through the Blackheart Capes, but you can't follow an easy story that any hormonal teenager can draft in under thirty seconds."

"What?" said Barbossa, almost at a whisper.

"What?" she returned in kind.

"What," he said, controlling himself with effort, "did you say about that map?"

She threw it down, missing an inkwell by inches. "It doesn't matter," she snapped. "What's important is that-"

"Show me how you worked that out," he said, still in the same controlled voice. "Sit down."

She sat.

He shut the door and turned back to her, wonder in his eyes.