Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all associated characters belong to their respective owners. I just play and give back. All I can lay claim to are the OC's in this story – and not even them. They own themselves, alright? I guess I come out with nada. Sadly.

Author's Note: Whoot, this was certainly fun! Um...yea...please don't bite me. Either of us...

Dedication: I dedicate this whole story to my grandpa who lived an eventful, healthy 86 years and instilled knowledge and the love of gardening in most everyone he came into contact with. He was joking up until the very end, and that's how I like to remember him.

Chapter 9 – Cold Receptions

"Enter," Jack drawled in response to the knock that sounded on his cabin door. He remained hunched over the charts spread over his table, a half-full bottle of rum in one hand and a dry quill in the other.

The door opened and closed and a short series of footsteps crossed the cabin, halting just in front of Jack's table.

The pirate captain reached across the table, dipped his quill, and jotting a few messy notes on a blank sheet of paper.

"Since when are you left-handed, Cap'n?" a feminine voice inquired curiously.

"Since I need t' be," Jack responded simply as he finished and placed the quill in the ink pot. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet at the ankles on the table top. "What d'you need?"

Ana tensed beneath his dark gaze and she set her jaw stubbornly. "The coordinates."

"T' where?" He casually took a long sip of his rum.

"T' wherever we're headed, sir," Ana growled back.

One side of Jack's mouth tipped upwards in a Cheshire grin. "Port Royal."

"Why?"

"Some business needs doin' there, savvy?" he growled darkly in reply. At seeing Ana's reaction to the tone, he immediately regretted the vehemence that had been behind his words.

"Fine then. Port Royal. Aye, sir." She turned on her heel and started toward the cabin door at an agitated pace.

"Anamaria,"

Ana froze mid-step at the tone of his voice. She closed her eyes and exhaled in vexation. Against her better judgment, she turned back around to face him and found him as she had expected: he had not shifted his position but the air of command that had surrounded him a moment ago was gone. For the moment he was no longer her captain; he was her friend. But she would not—could not—warm up so easily. "Aye sir?"

"Please lass, drop th' formalities. We need t' talk," he added quietly as he stood and moved toward her, around the table,

"I'm in no mood fer conversation, cap'n," she snarled, turning away from him again.

"Anamaria, please, just hear me out," Jack pleaded in a whisper, wrapping an arm lightly around her waist. Ana tensed beneath his touch and started to pull away, but his other hand caught her wrist and spun her back to face him. She cast an agitated look at his face but quickly withdrew her gaze. His dark stare bored into her and she felt utterly exposed.

"Lemme go," she growled lowly.

"I'm not holdin' you, luv," Jack whispered. Indeed, his air-light grip no longer detained her wrist in its confines.

"What d'you want?"

Jack was silent for several long moments in which time she continued to feel his intense gaze on her and her heart sped. Jack quirked his head slightly as if hearing something and Ana belatedly wondered if he wasn't hearing her racing pulse. She closed her eyes to focus on calming her nerves and started when, a moment later, his lips were pressed to hers. The contact was light and delicate but Ana thought she felt a powerful bond of trust and compassion forming between them.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled away and carefully searched her face with his warm eyes, silently searching for forgiveness. Ana moved into the circle of warmth surrounding him and traced his jaw line with her fingers. His eyes were warm and loving, but not unguarded.

They leaned into each other again and each closed their eyes as their lips met. For a few short moments, everything was as the first kiss: soft, gentle, warm. Ana pressed herself closer to him, wanting more.

Without warning Jack tensed and ceased his involvement in the kiss. His arms, which had been wrapped firmly about her, loosened their protective embrace and his hands moved to rest on her shoulders. Their weight sent chills of discomfort through Ana, banishing the heat that had flooded her veins not a full moment before.

Silently he pushed her back and let his hands slid down the rough fabric covering her arms. As soon as he had provided himself with enough space, he dejectedly made his way from the cabin.

ZzZzZzZzZzZ

The golden orb hung low in the dusky sky, sinking predictably toward his nightly rest. In the wake of his radiance, the sea was undulating with gold-capped waves. Black sails, tinted golden by the sun's waning light, billowed majestically in the brisk sea breeze, drawing the night-black ship along.

The Pearl's smooth, dark hull sliced neatly through the gilded waters, carrying her human cargo faithfully toward their destination. The ocean spray was lifted high in the air by the breeze and dusted the ship's deck with liquid crystals.

Perched on the base of the bowsprit, Captain Jack Sparrow sat unnaturally still. His kohl-rimmed eyes were closed against the bright sunset and the same crystal droplets that decorated his lady adorned his rugged locks and cooled his tanned flesh.

Jack inhaled deeply, savoring the salty smell of the sea air. As he exhaled, he was chagrined to discover that his muscles did not relax as they usually did. His mind, likewise, remained cluttered with each and every thought; trivial or not. Disturbed by his inability to relax and zone out, the pirate captain opened his eyes and stared at the sinking sun. Slowly his eyes began to become unfocused and the guards to his innermost thoughts and feelings slipped away.

So many years ago, it seemed so long ago, standing on a deserted beach barely a mile out from his hometown. He was not alone. Another was standing before him and they were silently examining each other's soul through each intense gaze. So much love on each side…

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head weakly. His therapy wasn't working. These were the type of memories and thoughts that not even his Pearl – his freedom – could save him from. He rested his elbow on the solid wood of the bowsprit and pressed a fist to his forehead.

Confident footsteps sounded behind him, but Jack chose to ignore their approach until the other stated their purpose.

"Cap'n,"

"Aye Gibbs?" Jack muttered belatedly without shifting his position.

"Were you wantin' t' take the 'elm, sir? Johnson's shift is nigh over."

Jack shook his head absently. "How long d'you figure th' crew can git along wi'out me, Gibbs?"

Gibbs froze in shocked silence for several moments, staring wide-eyed at his captain. Finally his thoughts congealed enough for him to respond. "Sir?"

"Answer man!" Jack snapped, turning burning eyes on his quartermaster.

"A-a day at most, I'd guess," Gibbs answered vaguely, trying to gauge the other's reaction. His discomfort caused by his captain's intense stare was obvious.

The fire in Jack's eyes died out quickly and he seemed suddenly harmless. "That'll be 'nough," he whispered to himself, casting his gaze to the side. "Gibbs," his gaze returned to the elder man, "you 'ave th' ship. Solve any problems by yerself; I'm not t' be disturbed, savvy?"

"Aye sir." Gibbs agreed reluctantly.

Jack nodded shortly and pushed himself away from the bowsprit. Tensely, he stalked across the deck and into his cabin. Once inside, he closed the door and locked it behind himself, ensuring his privacy. He cast his gaze almost guiltily about the cabin as if paranoid that some intruder would be there to negate his intentions.

After ensuring he was very much alone, he crossed the cabin and carefully opened an elevated two-door cabinet. The bottles, filled with dusky liquid, clinked as the motions of the ship gentle rocked them two and fro. Jack removed one medium-sized bottle from its place amongst the others and then fished around in the backmost reaches of the cabinet. His hand brushed a comparatively small bottle coated in dust and oily residue. With a grim half-smile he withdrew the small bottle from the cabinet and brought his two glass prizes over to the table. He opened the rum and took a long swig of the powerful brew.

Replacing the bottle on the table, he bent down to remove his boots. He straightened with a sigh and cast a vacant glance back at his bunk. Ignoring his lonely feelings, he shrugged off his vest and shirt, letting the garments fall unceremoniously to the floor. Regardless of the heat leftover from the day, his cabin seemed to carry an unearthly chill and Jack shivered despite himself.

He collected the smaller bottle and took a healthy swig, letting the tasteless oil roll over his tongue before he swallowed it. Slowly, he corked the bottle and replaced it on the table, taking up the rum bottle in its place. He threw back his head and downed a good portion of the strong alcohol. He took the rum with him as he crossed to his bunk and slowly sank to the bed's edge.

Already he could feel the combined effects of the sedative and the rum, but his mind stubbornly remained troubled by roiling emotions and thoughts. Shards of sad emotions, roused by memories had had thought suppressed, haunted him and tore at the fabric of his mind. Jack drained the bottle hurriedly, desperately desiring to silence his troubled thoughts and unbridled feelings. Though he was still seated, he swerved heavily to one side and almost toppled over. He ran a tired hand down his face and sighed. Soon enough silent, ignorant bliss would be his.

With no real purpose in mind, (except perhaps speeding the drugs' absorption,) he dragged himself from the mattress and swayed dangerously on his feet. He felt his body melting into listlessness and, without intending to, he fell back onto the bunk with a slight grunt. Keeping himself upright and his eyes open was proving itself an impossible fight when the effects of the liquids were weighing so heavily upon him, coaxing him toward a long and undisturbed slumber.

Giving in to the weight pressed upon him, Jack collapsed on his side and allowed his muscles to fully relax. His grip on the bottle diminished to nothing and it dropped to the floor with a weak thud. Jack refused to fight the darkness as it claimed his world and provided him the respite he so desired.