Well, my first posting of the new year. Finally. Sorry for the long wait, guys; between the holidays, the flu, and my love affair with the delete key where parts of this chapter were concerned, this was much longer coming together than I would have liked. (Then Rose threatened to poke me with sharp things, and I decided I'd better get my butt in gear.)

Thanks to everybody who keeps coming back, and to my new readers, too.

Disclaimers are the same; Disney and that nice Bruckheimer man own everything.

……………………………………….

Jack had not, despite what Elizabeth Swann may have reprimanded him for, "bitched like a pig-headed six-year-old" at the prospect of a quick bath. He had, quite understandably, responded with some resistance to being ordered to one by a pushy tyrant of a lass who offered, smirking, to douse him over the head with well water if the prospect of actually sitting in a tub was too foreign and frightening for him.

Jack had nothing against baths, but was of the opinion that there was a time and place for them. When playing the who-can-hold-their-breath-longer game whilst entertaining romantic company, for example. And sometimes they were useful, if there hadn't been a good soaking rain for a while. But making a habit out of them was just a waste of fresh water.

Elizabeth hadn't been won over by this particular argument. The set of her jaw had been alarmingly reminiscent of the expression worn during the burnt rum misfortune, and when it had been clear no help was forthcoming from Will, Jack had decided not to push his luck. That hadn't stopped him from voicing his thoughts on the matter, of course, though nothing short of a gag or unconsciousness ever really did.

Now, as he slid down and let the warm, sandalwood-scented water close over his head, Jack had to admit he might have made a bit more of a thing of it than was really called for. At least, he admitted it inside his own head. He'd chew glass before he'd say so to Elizabeth.

He was long since scrubbed, reclining with eyes closed as the water cooled from deliciously warm to pleasantly tepid, the toes of one foot curling contentedly on the rim of the tub, when Will's voice spoke up through the curtain that granted the washroom its meager privacy.

"You haven't fallen asleep and drowned in there, have you, Jack?"

"Yes," Jack answered languidly, without opening his eyes. "I've drowned. Now go away. I'm indecent."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

"Was it the 'go' or the 'away' that was hard comprehending, whelp?"

"Elizabeth says you have five minutes more, and then she's sending me in to haul you out by your ankles." There was a pause, and a muted exchange of words, and then Will amended, "Like a marlin."

"Shows what she knows. Marlins don't have ankles. And you may remind the young missy that she's the one who wanted me in here to begin with, so if I'm waterlogged to the point of immobility, she has only herself to blame."

From somewhere farther away, Elizabeth called out. "Jack, not even you could have that many layers that require scrubbing off. Get out before you sprout gills."

"Comments like that will not earn you extra dances tonight, Miss Swann." Jack chided. "And if you're so eager to have me out of here, love, why don't you come in and get me yourse--"

The divider curtain was flung aside, and Elizabeth came striding in, face serene.

"Bloody hell!" Jack yelped, startling, slipping, and choking a bit as he found out the sandalwood oil didn't taste near as nice as it smelled. Jack curled up beneath the water as best he could, pressing close to the side of the tub and glaring up at Elizabeth. "Get out!"

"You said I should come in." Elizabeth said simply.

From outside came the sort of laughter that suggested Will was no longer vertical.

"Oh, and now all of a sudden you do what I say you should? When did that tide turn?"

Elizabeth clasped her hands primly in front of her and tilted her head inquisitively to the side. "Will you be getting out now, Jack?"

"Right under your nose, love? I'm thinking not. Commendable effort, though."

"Don't flatter yourself. Out."

Jack rested his chin on the edge of the tub. "If you don't mind then, Elizabeth…"

"Actually, I don't mind. Not a bit. After all, you've seen me in my undergarments. Turnabout's fair play, Captain Sparrow."

Jack had to give her credit; she stood her ground right up until he got his feet underneath him, then she fled to the sound of his laughter, yanking the curtain back into place as she went.

………………………………..

"Insufferable," Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

"You did sort of dare him, my darling," Will reminded her gently, chuckling. "Brazen as you are, Elizabeth, he's worse."

Planting one hand on her hip, she faced him. "Was that an insult or a compliment, William Turner?" she demanded.

Will opened his mouth, then pursed his lips pensively.

"Don't answer that, Will," Jack advised from his side of the curtain.

"Jack, button your pants and keep quiet!"

"Ha! I've heard that from scarier women than you, Lizzie." Jack breezed into the room, clothed from the waist down as requested. He reached for the clean white linen shirt Will had provided and hung on a chair, and in the process, inadvertently gave Will and Elizabeth a good view of the mantle of slender scars, their number indiscernible, crossing his back from shoulder to hip, partly cloaked by his tangled black hair above, and by his pants below. Upon turning, Jack found himself staring into two pained faces. "What?"

Slightly shamefaced, neither of them could quite find their voices.

"Oh, that," Jack said, as if discussing a scuff on his shoe. He craned his neck, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, then grinned crookedly at Will and Elizabeth. "Impressive, aren't they? Would have served me well to keep a bit quieter while I was buttoning my pants that day, I can tell you."

Elizabeth regained her composure first. "Those…they aren't from the mutiny?"

Tugging his shirt on, Jack shook his head. "No, Lizzie," he replied with a laugh. "Those are without a doubt the highest price I ever paid for the company of a young woman."

Horror yielded just a little to incredulity in Elizabeth's face. "How exactly does a pirate captain get himself flogged within an inch of his life over a prostitute?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. "Who said anything about her being a prostitute? Shocking though the prospect may be to you, Miss Swann, not all ladies of high standing require circumstances as extreme as being marooned on a nameless island in the middle of nowhere in order to spend a night with Captain Jack. "

Embarrassed, Elizabeth dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack, that was…" Her hands worked at the air in front of her as she fumbled for a way to disentangle herself. "I shouldn't have…"

Jack let her squirm for a minute more before he granted her reprieve with a chuckle and a flip of his hand. "Elizabeth, take your foot out of your mouth before you swallow your shoe. Takes a sticking from longer and sharper thorns than that to wound me, love." Settling himself on a tabletop across from the two of them, Jack folded his legs beneath him and began the monumental task of working a comb through what hair he had that wasn't twined into braids or dreadlocks. "I was twenty-one years old, we had docked in Cartagena for supplies, and she was the daughter of a disgustingly rich Spanish merchant living there. I made her acquaintance on the beach, while she was taking her horse for a ride."

"What happened?" Will asked.

"We went back to her stable and she took me for a ride."

Will's jaw dropped, and Elizabeth guffawed. "Jack, you're vile."

Tenaciously attacking a particularly stubborn knot with the comb, Jack made a face that could have been inspired by either the grooming or the story. "Her father thought the same thing. Caught us coming down from the hayloft, all rumpled and sinful, and the day went a bit downhill from there."

The mirth drained out of Elizabeth's face as if washed away by icy water. "He did that to you over a bit of sport his daughter consented to?"

"That his daughter initiated, to be precise," Jack went on. "Though I probably ought not to have mentioned that to him. He might have stopped at fifteen lashes if I hadn't." Considering deeply for a moment, he continued, "probably shouldn't have corrected him when he started raving about me 'deflowering' her, either."

Will frowned. "Corrected him?"

"I think he's referring to previous…gardeners, Will," Elizabeth clarified quietly.

"Ah."

"Anyways, it was a lesson learned, for me," Jack said lightly. "When unmarried aristocratic Catholic girls are involved…it's best to skip the foreplay. I would have been well clear of the place long before her father got home. "

Elizabeth buried her face in her hands, and Will rolled his eyes. "Well, as long as you came away from the experience wiser…" he observed wryly.

"O' course, the violent old prig got some education of his own," Jack added, giving up and tossing the comb aside. "First thing your father did, Will, after piecing me hide back together and tucking me in all drugged senseless and comfy, was burn both of that bloody bastard's cargo ships to ash in the harbor. As we heard it, all the crewmen got away with nothing worse than singed eyebrows, but it stripped a healthy bit o'the padding out of Senor Offended-Honor-with-a-Ruddy-Big-Bullwhip's pockets." Still grinning at the memory, Jack shrugged one shoulder. "Found the whole business rather amusing, once I could walk again. Most unfortunate part of it was that the daughter ended up getting shipped off to a convent not long after." His eyes grew mournful. "M'back healed after a couple of weeks, but that poor lass is probably still trapped inside a wimple somewhere."

Will shook his head, a bemused smile on his lips. "Trust you to have a humorous anecdote about getting flayed."

"I have an uncanny knack for locating the bright side of any situation," Jack replied, pressing his hands together in front of him.

"Except if you take his rum away. Then he cries like a bloody girl," Elizabeth added, smirking, drawing a snort from Will and prompting Jack to throw the work shirt he'd borrowed and discarded earlier at her head. She ducked and batted it away.

Will worried his lower lip, intrigue sparked in him by Jack's tale that he wasn't sure was altogether appropriate, considering. "So…the ships my father set fire to," he began haltingly – I cannot believe the things that come out of my mouth in conversations with this man – "surely he didn't do that single-handedly?" His voice sounded overeager to his own ears; like a child begging a bedtime story. Bad form, William. For Heaven's sake, think of what you're talking about!

The bottomless, knowing look was back in Jack's eyes, the one that didn't just see but saw through.

"Damn near, Will." There was an odd combination of sly pride and fond warmth in Jack's tone. "He took two of our crewmen with him to do the deed, but the figurin' beforehand was all his. Bloody clever plan it was, too."

"What did he do?" Elizabeth demanded, eyes alight, hands thoughtlessly crushing the material of her skirt, and Jack had to grin at the picture she made. Utterly shameless in her fascination, she was, bless her.

"Lit up the canvas o' the first ship, he did. Started her burnin' from the top down, big and bright as you please. Brought everybody running. And while they were all boardin' her, flittin' about the flames like a bunch of moths…"

"He snuck to the second ship and set her ablaze," Will finished.

"Aye. From inside her belly."

Will sat back, a smile blossoming. "Bloody clever plan."

"One for the books," Jack said, admiringly. "I told you he was a good pirate."

Will studied the older man carefully, appraisingly. "And a good teacher."

Jack, accustomed to being the reader and not the book, looked briefly startled. Then his eyes were drifting and thoughtful again, and he nodded, just barely. "Aye. That too, little brother."

Elizabeth sat in silence, observing the exchange between them, and cleared her throat delicately. "Perhaps it's a silly thought," she ventured, "but…with both of you here, and the ways you each knew him…it brings him here, too. In…in a way." She glanced away, shrugging as if to dismiss her own thoughts. "It's hardly the same, I know, but…"

"No," Will stopped her, almost whispering. He reached over and touched her cheek to get her attention on him, and he smiled. "You're right, Elizabeth." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Mind how often you tell her that, Will, or she'll be unbearable," Jack piped up, darting quickly out of reach when Elizabeth snapped the bit of laundry Jack had thrown earlier back in his direction, holding it by one sleeve. She missed her intended target, and the motion freed the crumpled logbook pages, spilling them to the floor. "Now, look what you've done. Will, did you see that?"

"Next time, darling, put a bit more elbow and a bit less wrist into it," Will suggested helpfully.

"Fine, fine, take her side," Jack groused, kneeling to pick up the scattered papers, eyes skimming absently over the lines scribed on them in an unchanging hand. "Just because she's all pretty and sweet-smelling…"

Without warning, a strange chill rippled through him, and Jack's fingers went still above the page he'd been reaching for. It took him a moment to realize something in those lines upon lines of text he was glancing at without seeing was the source. He scanned the entries again, this time actually reading them. Looking for whatever it was that had just raised gooseflesh all over his body.

"All right, Jack?" Will's voice jerked him away before he'd found what he sought, and Jack looked up sharply, realizing a conversation had been moving on without him.

"What're you on about, whelp?"

Will blinked twice, slowly and deliberately and annoyed. "I said run, the navy's coming."

Jack tipped his chin back, eyes narrowed. "Know that when I kick you in your ass, Will, it will be with the greatest affection."

"I said I'm going to see Elizabeth home, and then I'll be right back. All right?"

It was quite amazing, really, how Will could make two words as innocent as "all right" carry such a threat of wrath. "I shall try to entertain myself until your return."

"Yes, that's what worries me," Will said dryly.

Elizabeth paused at the door. "Jack, that invitation I rounded up is with the coat." Her dark eyes widened nervously. "You're quite sure this is how you want to go about it?"

"The best way to keep people from realizing you don't belong somewhere, Elizabeth, is to act as if you do. I shall simply walk right up to the front door with the rest of the guests. Looks a great deal less suspicious than climbing in a window."

"As long as you avoid any close-range conversations with Governor Swann or Norrington--"

"Not high on my list of priorities, you can rest assured," Jack cut in.

"—and assuming none of us has pissed God off recently," Will continued, "I think we might actually get away with it."

"This is completely insane and ridiculously dangerous," Elizabeth commented. "Just to re-state the obvious."

Will smiled and wound a lock of her hair around his fingers. "And you thought you were going to be bored at this party," he reminded her teasingly.

"I did, didn't I?" She reached up to play with Will's collar. "Well, we've certainly remedied that."

Will placed one hand on Elizabeth's waist. "I won't be long, Jack," he said quietly, before opening the door.

"I'll have the candles lit and the rose petals scattered by the time you get back." Jack smirked at the double glare he was rewarded with, and then the door closed behind the lovebirds, leaving him alone.

Jack rose to lean against the table, one ankle hooked behind the other, attention returned to the paper in his hand. He perused the entries critically, but none of the ships or names listed sparked any sort of memory.

Well, there was a Captain F. Leonard marked down, and he had met a Fergus Leonard in St. Augustine, once. Paunchy fellow with a peg leg and a rather unsettling interest in ladies' clothing. Not the sort one was likely to forget anytime soon…

No. There. That's the one caught my eye.

Ragnarok.

A frown pulled at his brows. The ship was none he'd ever heard of, her captain just as unfamiliar.

Ragnarok/ H. Deems, Capt./ ent. per William Yorrick

There was nothing…nothing about it…

ent. per William Yorrick.

He didn't know the name…

William Yorrick.

The parchment crinkled, Jack's fingers tightening convulsively on it, as he realized what it was he'd seen.

Not the name. Not the name. It wasn't the name he knew.

Softly, Jack drew in a breath and held it as he folded the edge of the paper under, tucking the surname Yorrick out of sight. Leaving only the first name, in a hand completely different from the rest of the writing in the harbormaster's book. In a hand Jack knew as well as his own.

If he closed his eyes, he could see...

…a rare letter to Cathleen, bathed in unsteady candlelight. The quill scratched out the last of the writer's thoughts, and was plunged once more into the inkwell before his signature was added.

Jack glanced away from his book, watching the movement of the long, calloused fingers over the paper. "You know, Bill, you write like a bloody girl," he commented.

Bill reached for an envelope and the sealing wax. "Well, I thought of trying to do mine a bit more like yours, but I was afraid Catie would think it was a ransom note from some lunatic who just buried two bodies in his garden."

Jack opened his eyes again, and the breath he'd been holding shuddered out of him.

Not the name, but the handwriting.

He was holding a document bearing yesterday's date, and Bill Turner's handwriting.

The world rushed out from under him, like soft sand pulled away by a receding wave, and Jack's legs folded, dropping him with a resounding thud onto his backside on the floor.

Voice very soft in the hushed, heavy warmth of the empty shop, Jack said, as an afterthought, "ow."

TBC