The tavern sported the name Mystic Wench, and Elizabeth had been unceremoniously plunked in front of a hearth to dry off while Jack Sparrow accepted quite a few slaps from the owner of the place - a lady he had addressed only as Dirce. The woman spat several words at him in an unfamiliar language, and Jack groped about for responses - at last waving a bag in front of her eyes. She snatched the bag, slapped him again, nodded roughly to Elizabeth, and stomped back to her bar.

Jack plunked down next to her and mumbled something under his breath. Elizabeth hid a smile. "You do seem to get struck rather often, Captain Jack, if it's not too bold to say."

"It's how they express their feelings for me, I'm certain." He rubbed one of the charms in his hair between his fingers. "Now - Miss Elizabeth - Dirce speaks Greek and money. If ever she starts talking too loudly for your pleasure, simply wave a bit at her. Shillings will do, but the larger coins will earn you a bit more... but that probably doesn't interest you terribly, does it?" When she smiled at him, he went on. "Dirce owes me a favor or more from our stomping days... and she'll hold her tongue if Gerrarrd and his men come calling. The Pearl's crew will be along shortly to ferry you back, wherein I will go and fetch the whelp."

It took her a moment to realize that the whelp meant Will. "But I want to go..." Ah, there it was: the whine she had always been capable of.

Jack patted her hand indulgently. "While normally I would be inclined to allow you to slaughter your little heart out, at this point in time I must make note that your father is going to have my head if there is so much as a scratch on you, and I really do like my head where it is. No, Elizabeth, you are not coming along."

"But I should be able to help save Will!"

"Ah, yes, and so you'll leap atop the railing. 'Avast, aye!' you'll shout, sword firmly in your delicate yet strong hand." Jack punctuated his story with great sweeping gestures, imitating the very motions he described. "Cut them down you shall, cut them away, until you at last reach your bonny lad, upon whence he shall take one look at your blood-splattered person, suffer a massive coronary, and drop dead where he stands." A shake of his head sent the beads and trinkets to jangling. "No, Elizabeth, I prefer Mr. Turner alive and well."

Elizabeth's attention had wandered after blood-splattered and she accepted the warm mug that Dirce offered her. "Thank you," she said, and the woman patted her head, jabbering away in Greek. She didn't sound like she was cursing her, at least. "What's she saying?"

He listened. "She likes your hair. She wants to get a blanket to dry it before it tangles. She..." Jack paused, tilted his head at the woman. "No, Dirce--" this followed by some indecipherable jabbering. Now they both spoke Greek again, Elizabeth looking back and forth between the two. Jack at last broke off the argument. "--she thinks I'm a scoundrel."

"You are a scoundrel."

He batted his eyes at her. "But lass, you make it sound complimentary. She doesn't."

"Where did you learn to speak Greek, anyway?" The drink tasted foul, but it warmed her insides as she swallowed it. Jack shrugged, swatting Dirce's backside good-naturedly as she bustled away. Wonder of wonders, the woman did not turn to slap him again.

"Needs must, Miss Swann. Piracy requires communication, after all."

"Communication?"

"Aye!" Jack turned to her as though he were bestowing some mighty truth. "Otherwise you'll never be able to properly threaten those who might oppose you." His smile became downright lewd. "An' if you can charm their women with words, all the better..."

"Duly noted, Captain."

There were a hundred things she wished to say to him; a hundred things that had crossed her mind since they left the island, a hundred that had turned into a thousand. Pirate, friend, teacher... she watched his outline, observed his motions as he picked up a bauble from the floor and examined it. Even at rest he was always in motion, always doing something, seeing something. Inauspicious meetings, indeed... one saving would lead to another. She wondered if the day would come when Jack Sparrow would leave the Caribbean entirely, seek more fertile hunting grounds abroad.

She had to say something. The quiet - however companionable it might be - was far too like something else in the not-terribly-distant past.

But what did one talk to Jack Sparrow about? Particularly in this situation?

It might have been easier to bring up small things, ordinary things - the talk she often shared with Will.

But Sparrow had never been one for small things.

The door opened and closed as patrons went in and out. "Jack," she said after a time, "I always wanted to ask you--"

She gasped as something sharp and cool pressed against her throat, and Jack leaped to his feet a split second too late. "We meet again, mistress," Gerrarrd purred into her ear as he pulled her to her feet. "Consorting with the enemy? Tut tut! I should have ye flogged... or will the crew be more to yer likin'... an' Lieutenant Crow, really, I thought ye'd a bit more sense."

"Captain Sparrow," Jack said, drawing himself up with a most offended dignity - and seemingly not minding the three pistols currently aimed at his head. "May I ask just what it is you think you're doing?"

Gerrarrd clucked his tongue. "Takin' me prisoner back where she belongs."

"Prisoner? I see no prisoner, Captain, though I'll be sure to notify you immediately if said wench does turn up. Now, if you'll excuse us, we were about to--" Jack paused as one of Gerrarrd's men forewent the pistol and put a swordpoint to his neck. One of the men came about, gathering up his weapons. "--will you kindly put that down, you'll give me hives."

"Where's your crew, Sparrow?" Gerrarrd leaned on her just enough to make her quite aware that she couldn't escape.

"Oh, I'm sure they're around here somewhere--" Jack lifted his hand to flap it dismissively, then yanked it back as steel flashed down. "Will you please stop that? You're beginning to irritate me."

"I'll be giving the orders here, Sparrow. Bring 'im along, Dugald, it might do us a bit of good to bring Cap'n Jack Sparrow aboard."

"I wouldn't recommend that," Jack piped up. "I seem to have an uncanny habit of escaping."

At this point, Elizabeth sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead. Why can't a day go as I like it... just once?

Gerrarrd patted her shoulder. "I do believe th'lady grows tired, Sparrow. An' I'll have you know - I do enjoy a challenge."

Will looked up at the sound of footfalls tromping down stairs. Four different people... one light, two heavy, one stumbling. Struggling.

"...once again, I really must protest this, it's going to set back my voyaging quite some time, as a matter of fact, I would-- parler!"

Or maybe just arguing.

"I don't believe in parler, Finch."

"Sparrow!"

Keys were produced. The mate pried the cell door open, and Will's headlong rush toward freedom was tempered by the man shoved inside. They smashed into each other and tumbled to the ground, each cursing quietly to himself. Will looked up in time to see a rather damp-looking Elizabeth dumped in as well, and then hope of escape petered away as the cage slammed again.

The beads were still there. So was the hair. "Sparrow," he said as the man lurched to his feet. "What the devil was that about?"

"We were trying to rescue you," Elizabeth muttered. She wore Sparrow's hat and his jacket over her dress, and yes - she had been out for a swim, hadn't she? Will looked back and forth between her scowl, Sparrow's twiddling thumbs, and the neat little iron cage - complete with pisspot - and couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment.

The sense of disappointment was accompanied by the faintest stirrings of a scowl.

"Good job."

(a/n: with regards to Attack of the Clones... best line in the movie.)