Please can I have him? Sigh…

Many thanks for your reviews, although I don't think I'll be getting on the wrong side of PirateAurora – she might send me to the cage! ;) Thank you for your kind words, Richgal – they are appreciated. Greeneyedgoddess – I'm afraid the lurvefest won't be for quite some time – if at all… Mab – it's a good job Jack isn't your average pirate then!

Chapter nine:

Celia woke with a start, shrinking away as she became aware of someone pproaching her.

"It's all right, luv. You're safe now."

"C-Captain Sparrow?" she stammered, looking around and realising she was in his bunk in his cabin.

"Aye, larger than life," Jack grinned, spreading his arms out. "Have a drink." He sat down on the bunk and held out a beaker, taking it back off her as her shaking hands were in danger of spilling the entire contents, and held it to her lips, tipping it back gently.

"Urgh!" Celia spluttered, coughing and choking. "It's vile!"

"It'll do you good," Jack chuckled, holding the container up again, tipping it slower to ensure some actually went down her throat.

"I… why? How?" she gabbled, staring wildly at him.

"Never mind all that, just sleep, eh?" Jack smiled to himself as her eyes drooped, silently sending thanks to the ship's doctor for the draught he had mixed in with the rum, which would give the girl a restful sleep. 'Gawd knows, she needs it,' he thought ruefully, looking at her pale, drawn face before settling himself in his chair that he had brought into the side cabin so he could keep an eye on her, still trying in vain to ignore the growing feeling he had towards the young woman.

"Cap'n?" came Joshamee Gibbs' voice as he crept through the main cabin. "How is she?"

"Distressed," the younger man sighed. "She looks like she hasn't eaten properly fer the last week or so."

"Probably hasn't – the bastard!"

"Aye," Jack nodded. "But she's in better state than some of th'women he was sellin' – except Syn."

"He sold Syndony?" Gibbs gasped, eyes agog.

"Yes," Jack grinned sardonically. "I reckon he had to drug her as she was quiet as a mouse an' looked out of it."

"Heaven help the poor sod who brought her."

"I can't wait ter tell Ethan," the captain of the Black Pearl chuckled. "Make his day that will…"

"N-no!" Celia shied away, tears streaming down her face. "Not again," she whispered as he unlaced his breeches and freed his hard member.

"I can't have you," he sneered. "But you can have me – now on yer knees."

"Celia… Celia…"

Celia gasped fearfully and lashed out, striking someone hard. Her eyes shot open and she gasped again to see Jack Sparrow recoiling from her blow. "What were you doing?" she demanded, her heart pounding with terror.

"You were havin' a nightmare," he informed her, rubbing his jaw gingerly. "I was tryin' ter wake you."

"Oh." She shuddered as the dream came back to her and bit her lip in an attempt not to cry.

"You're safe now," Jack soothed, sitting on the edge of the bunk. "No-one's goin' ter hurt you, savvy?"

"W-where are we?" she stammered.

"Still in Port-au-Prince – there's a storm brewin' an' I don't fancy riskin' life, limb an' my ship."

"When will we leave?" she asked in a pleading tone. "He might kidnap me again!" Celia gulped down a sob and drew the covers around her neck as if that would protect her. "Please can we leave?"

Jack shook his head. "No, luv," he said gently. "He won't take you again – he'd have ter kill th'whole ship first, eh?"

"He took on a whole town and won!" Celia shouted. "A whole bloody town!" she swore without even realising she had done so.

"A relatively undefended town. Penhallick isn't king of Tortuga just fer show, you know." Jack sighed. "We'll leave the minute th'storm's over, savvy?"

"It could be hours."

"Aye, it could," he agreed. "But there's nothin' ter be done, so I'll get th'cook ter send some food up an' perhaps some hot water so you can wash." He stood and went to leave the side cabin.

"All right, thank you." she finally conceeded. "Captain Sparrow?"

"Yes, luv?" Jack stopped and turned back to face her.

"D-did you… undress me?" she whispered.

"Aye," he told her softly. "But I didn't touch you, savvy?"

"All right," she nodded, gulping once more but believing him.

Jack continued on his way, using the errand as an excuse to see what the weather conditions were and to check over his ship, making sure the crew had battened down the hatches and stowed the sails. His keen weather sense told him it was going to be a bad storm.

Celia felt her stomach heave and she bent over the pail once more, fetching up what little contents were left in her stomach.

"If it's any comfort," Jack drawled as he entered the cabin and saw her on the floor, covered with a blanket and retching into a slop bucket. "There are seasoned sailors out there doin' exactly th'same as you. Just be thankful we're not at sea."

"It is no comfort," she gasped, pushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "Surely it can't get any worse?"

"I'm afraid it can," he chuckled wryly, clinging to the mizzenmast as the ship listed and rolled sending water seeping through the bottom of the door.

"Oh no," Celia groaned. "I'll die if this keeps up."

"Ah," Jack mused, waving a hand in front of him. "People always fear they're goin' ter die when they have th'mal de mar, then after a day or so they fear they won't die!"

"I can well believe it," she moaned, clutching her stomach. "How long with this last?"

"Depends on th'person an' th'weather."

"Wonderful!" she remarked before thrusting her head into the pail once more.

"I'll leave you to it, Miss Hammond," Jack grinned, turning and weaving and swaying his way back out of the cabin.

"Bloody weather!" Oliver Fernan cursed as Jack climbed the steps carefully to the quarterdeck. "Can't wait ter get away from this bleedin'Frenchie town."

"You're not the only one," Jack replied, raising his voice to be heard over the wind and rain which was lashing down.

"How's th'girl?"

"Her thoughts have turned ter dyin'," Jack grinned, water running rivulets down his face.

"Ah," the Irishman nodded sagely. "She's on t'mend then?"

"Aye," Jack laughed. "Whoa!" He skittered along the deck, grabbing hold of the rigging to stop himself as a wave swamped the decks and pitched his ship once more.

"Might be an idea ter tie a line on, Cap'n," Oliver suggested, holding up a rope which was tied around his own midriff.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Jack panted, clinging to the rail as he made his way back to his crewman who was tying another length of rope to the helm. "I just hope this blows over sooner rather than later."

"Pity Stockton's ship don't sink," the crewman lamented. "Couldn't happened ter a better bastard."

"If yer believe what Celia preaches, he'll get his just deserts in hell," Jack replied as he tied the rope around his middle.

"Yer not a believer, Cap'n?" the Irishman enquired as if it were a normal occurrence to have a conversation in the middle of a tropical storm.

"I've seen far too many things ter believe," Jack replied, casting his mind over a few of the things he had seen, and shuddering involuntarily as the skeletial form of Barbossa flitted through his mind. "Far too many things," he muttered, more to himself. "When's yer shift up?"

"Not fer another half an hour," Oliver groaned. "Then Myles can have th'helm."

"You go," Jack offered. "No use in both of us stayin' out here in this."

"Ya sure, Cap'n? Thanks," he grinned, untying his rope and making his way carefully to the hatch and the relative comfort below decks.

Jack sighed and wiped his eyes, trying to clear the rain from them so he could check that all was as well as it could be with his precious Pearl. He turned his thoughts to the young girl in his cabin, still unsure as to how or why he rescued her. He had intended to sail to San Juan for supplies but instead found himself ordering Myles Burford to make for Port-au-Prince instead, and much to his consternation, his crew had not murmured one word of dissent. 'They must realise I'm goin' soft,' he bemoaned, shaking his head and sending raindrops scattering. 'That's what make you Jack Sparrow,' another voice reasoned and Jack grinned to himself as he settled into a relatively comfortable position standing by the lashed helm.

Celia looked around the cabin with bleary eyes, slowly becoming aware that the ship was not rocking to and fro and the rain had ceased hammering a drum beat on the deck. She eased herself from the cabin deck gingerly, her cramped muscles screaming in protest at the movement and she shivered, the damp blanket making her feel cold, but she would not shed it and leave herself naked as she made her way to the stern windows, peering out and marvelling at the strong sunshine.

"You're up an' about, then?" Jack drawled as he pushed open the cabin doors. "Feelin' better?"

"Not really," she shrugged ruefully. "I feel as weak as a newborn lamb."

"Pellew's cookin' some food, once he get's th'galley stove lit again. Do you want an apple ter tide you over?"

"Yes please," Celia agreed eagerly, her eyes widening as Jack opened a small chest and pulled out two apples, tossing one to her and munching the other himself. Thank you," she acknowledged, hugging the blanket around herself.

"I've sorted you some clothes out," Jack told her. "They're men's clothes, I'm afraid – got no dresses in th'hold at th'moment."

"Oh. What about… the dress I was wearing?" Celia gulped as the recollection of putting the dress on came back to haunt her.

"That has ter be returned," Jack told her gently, for the garment obviously brought back painful memories for her.

"Good," Celia breathed. "I don't think I could face wearing that again," she shuddered.

"Th'clothes are in th'side cabin if yer want to dress," he suggested, smiled as the young woman waddled across the cabin, still hugging the damp blanket tightly to her.

"Where have these come from?" Celia called as she eyed the garments suspiciously. She had never worn breeches before but reasoned that a shirt would not be so different to a blouse and picked them up, carrying them to the private head.

"One of th'lads," Jack told her, his voice sounding rather too near for Celia's liking. "Just until we arrive in Tortuga."

"We're going back?" she gasped delightedly, dropping the blanket around her feet and putting the shirt on, fumbling with the buttons and frowning as she realised that it did not fasten all the way to the collar. In fact, it did not fasten anywhere near the collar and Celia peered down, horrified at how much of her chest was exposed. "I-I don't suppose there is another shirt I could wear – this one is… not suitable."

"It's th'smallest one on board," came Jack's voice, a suspicious amount of humour in it. "All th'others would have been too big an' not preserved your modesty…"

"I see," Celia remarked dryly, not beliving him for one moment. She hesitantly picked the breeches up, eyeing them as if they were about to burst into life, before pushing one leg through and then the other, yanking them up and hating the feel of them instantly. She tied the laces and pulled the seat of the garment down, trying to get comfortable in them and failing miserably.

"You all done?"

"Yes," Celia sighed, pulling open the drapes and stepping out into the side cabin, jumping as she saw Jack lying on the bunk, hands behind his head and a smirk on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Takin' th'weight of my feet," he grinned. "It's a hard life being captain."

"I'm sure it is," she replied, arching his eyebrow at him. "When will we be leaving?"

"Within th'hour," Jack promised. "Just waitin' fer th'last of th'supplies, then I'll send th'dress back…" he observed her carefully as she shivered involuntarily, wondering if she was still a virgin or if Stockton had raped her and hoped to get away with passing her off as untouched, but thought it best not to ask – not yet anyway. "I have an idea," he grinned, a mischivous gleam in his eyes. Jack walked to a chest in the main cabin, a curious Celia following behind, and opened it, retriving the blue silk gown and hanging it from the bulwark. He took a small dagger from his sword belt and handed it to Celia, hilt first.

"W-what do you want me to do with that?" she asked uncertainly.

"Pretend that dress is him," he suggested. "I told him I'd have it returned, I just never said in what state…"

"Oh. Oh, I couldn't possibly… could I?" Celia looked from the dress to the dagger and finally to the pirate captain who was watching her closely.

"That's up to you," Jack shrugged. "But it might help…"

Celia tried hard to push away all the thoughts that flooded her mind, all the things she had seen and been forced to do on board Stockton's ship, and she took the dagger and slashed it down the dress, giving in to her anger. Again and again she tore through the delicate material until it was in shreds.

"That'll do," Jack prompted, holding her wrist gently as she brought her arm back for another attack. "I think he'll receive th'message, savvy?"

Celia dropped the dagger which fell to the cabin deck with a clatter and tried to pull away from Jack's grip but he tightened his hold on her and turned her around to face him. "Let me go," she whispered, frantically wiping the tears which were streaming down her face with her free hand. She found herself being drawn towards him and after an initial struggle, Celia buried her face in his chest and sobbed.