Jack flinched. There was too much light filling the room. It seeped through his eyelids and warmed his face. Surely it was quite past sunrise. He'd succumbed to sleep shortly after sunrise, and had not risen to watch its setting. Now it had risen again, and he hadn't been awake to watch it. He'd overslept—slept far too long without waking. Cracking an eye open, he found Cook standing bedside with a tray. It was laden with breakfast food, all smelling delicious in each their own way and swirling together to incite a growl from Jack's stomach.

Cook, having heard it, grinned. "Thought you might be hungry, Captain."

Rubbing his grumbling tum, he sat up. "Appears you were right." He stretched, wincing at the muscles that screamed he'd been dancing—or sail sliding—again. "Though," he said, eyeing the food that he knew was too much, "unless I've a mind to start singing for the opera, I do believe there's enough food for two here."

"There is."

Cook, having not spoken the words, smiled, nodded, and left the room.

Isaac stood by the windows, looking out. His back was to Jack. He turned around and smiled. "Cook said the pancakes were for the captain only. So I figured there's no better way to start the day than with the captain—and I awaited your waking." Crossing the room, he sat on the chair that had been set at the other side of the table. His blue eyes sparkled at the pirate. "Took you bloody long enough!"

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Always did have it rough at mealtime. I know it's difficult, lad, but really, all you need to do is remember that you spear the food," he said, doing just that with his fork, "and bring it nicely, neatly, to your mouth. Chew." He chewed. "And swallow." He swallowed and smiled. "You see? Nothing to it."

"Try as I may," Isaac said, chucking a grape his way and frowning at the hand it flew from, "I can never get it right."

The grape thwacked between his eyes and Jack sighed. "You know…" he paused, watching it roll down his nose. "Seventy seven years you've been gone, and yet I did not miss the food throwing one bit."

Isaac raised his brows and shoveled a good bit of pancake into his mouth. Jack followed suit. They ate in silence for a tad, Isaac for whatever reason and Jack for his empty and suddenly demanding stomach. Eggs were good and the pancakes fluffy. Jack wasn't sure how Cook managed to make such delectably delicious pancakes aboard his ship without milk, and, all things considering, he was glad for that particular lack of knowledge. The bacon was slightly burnt, but then that was just the way he liked it anyway. He was reaching for another piece of it when the lad cleared his throat, and, stuffing the crispy meat in his mouth, Jack looked up at him.

"Does Will Turner hate me?"

Jack chewed, staring at him. From the look on the lad's face, he knew laughter was not the best response. Unsure what response was best besides such, he frowned and swallowed. Then he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and reached for his teacup.

"He's the only one who has not welcomed me home."

"Aye and you know why that is?" Jack nodded and pointed his pinky, up as it was as he'd been taking a proper sip of tea, at him. "He didn't recognize you. Poor lad. It's likely he still doesn't recognize you—because you were gone for seventy seven years."

Apparently the joke was lost on the lad. Isaac frowned, took a big bite of egg, and gazed sullenly at the plate in front of him. Swallowing, he turned forlorn eyes up at the man who'd left him in London.

Jack sighed and set down his cup. "You're right, lad. There is tension between the two of you. Much as I try I can't deny it. When you were young I told you that you were imagining things, but now you're not a young man anymore than I'm in the King's Navy, so I'll level with you." He nodded. "Will resents you. I intend to fix that very soon so that the two of you might get on now that you're both nearly men."

"Nearly?"

"I had a brother once—in all the ways that count. Twas nice. I'd like to see the two of you have what we had."

"Don't you think it's a little too late for that?"

Jack looked Isaac in the eye and shook his head. "It is never too late for that."

They finished drinking the tea and eating the last of their breakfast, Cook's sweet scones, in silence. It was an uneasy one, and so as Jack took care of the grainy crumbs left at the tips of his fingers with a fine linen napkin he considered the best way in which to break it. After much deliberation and too much fussing he tossed the napkin aside. Cinder, rubbing his ankles, caught his attention. He frowned down at the animal and glanced around the cabin for its mate.

Ash was perched high upon the chinoiserie. Her tail swished, lazy as her gaze out the windows. Jack rose, picking up the prowling Cinder. The cat leapt from his arms to the top of the cabinet and licked the other's nose. She didn't stir, her eyes not leaving the sparkling sea fanning out behind the Pearl. Jack had to agree that such was sometimes too spectacular. It looked to be a glorious day. Unfortunately, it was not spectacular enough to keep his attention. From the sounds of things, particularly the rustle of linen, Isaac was idling much the same way he had. He turned his head toward the sound and raised a brow. "Is the lovely Miss Witter risen?"

"From what I hear," Isaac said, crossing the room to lean against Jack's statue of Aphrodite, "you managed to get quite a rise out of her yourself yesterday morn." He smiled a bit at Jack's smirk and shrugged. "This morn I've yet to see her."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Anamaria eyed the pile of crates. Various ink stampings of a variety of languages covered their wooden sides in shades of red and green. Most of the marking was decidedly Asian, fine brushed symbols a puzzle to her eye and mind. Some of it, however, was an easy read of Spanish. 'Frágil' read one. Another was marked 'Precaución, contenido volátil. No guarde cerca del fuego.' She counted them. There were twenty-five in all. Each one she and Alice had dragged from the captain's quarters to the deck to the unused stow space near the longboats. It had been a lot of work, but she'd thought the idea a good one. Now, considering the strange stash, she wasn't so sure.

She turned her eyes on the other woman. "Ya think we can do it?"

"Think?" A smile flit across Alice Witter's face. "I know we can."

Anamaria raised a brow.

Footsteps drawing near cut short their dialogue. Both of them scrambled from the space side by side out the door and came face to face with a startled Joshamee Gibbs. The sailor choked on the drink he'd just taken. Red faced and coughing, he capped the flask and shoved it back to its hiding spot under his vest. Anamaria exchanged a glance with Alice. The woman's eyes widened, hand twisting behind Anamaria's back. There was a faint click as she stuck the key in the lock and turned it. Immediately, both of them looked at the man to see if he'd heard it and were relieved to see he had not as he was still sputtering.

Anamaria was about to relax against the door when Alice nudged her forward. She grit her teeth. Nudging the woman back, she scowled at her.

Alice scowled back and nodded toward Gibbs.

Rolling her eyes, Anamaria stepped forward and clapped the sailor on the back. "There ya go, Joshamee. Aye, ya cough it up. Went down the wrong pipe's all." She glared over his shoulder at Witter, but fixed a look of concern on her face as the sailor recovered. "See, now ya feel better."

Gibbs grimaced. He sobered quickly, however, when he saw that she meant to pound his back again. "Aye, Marie," he rasped. "Right as rain."

The two women watched as he hurried away rubbing his throat. As soon as he was out of earshot, Anamaria turned to Witter with the glare she'd had to abandon. Dusting her hands off, Alice rolled her eyes in return. "Don't give me that, Soledad." She shrugged. "We had to scare him off somehow!"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The day was lovely. The Pearl had sailed easily and without interruption, her sails full with the following wind. She'd made good time, Jack decided. The sun was setting and if all calculations were correct…

"Where we headed?"

Jack jumped and whirled to glare up at the man who'd snuck up on him. Samson treated him to a wide grin, winking one of his green eyes. Jack snorted and turned back to his chart. He had no doubt that the big man would squint over his shoulder—or both of them if necessary—to study the thing and figure the answer on his own. Indeed, he heard the cluck of surprise just as he moved to roll the chart up.

"You don't say?"

"I didn't," Jack pointed out, poking the tube at him. He shoved it in the pigeonhole beneath the desk and turned to lean back on the edge, folding his arms. "But there is something I should say."

"What is it, Jacky? What's got you sour?" Samson frowned. "You're lookin a bit like a lemonface."

"I do not look like a lemonface!" He frowned. He frowned at his own frown and shook his head to clear it. He frowned again, this time at Samson. "Will's not to know."

"Eh?"

Jack gave him a look.

Samson shrugged. "Naet a mind reader, Captain."

"Some things," Jack said, "are not things most people would want to hear and are therefore best left unsaid, savvy?"

"Unmentionables?"

Jack nodded. "Wives men don't return to. Children left behind. The good-intentioned men who leave them both behind and are reluctant to return to them for a number of unmentionable reasons. Self-loathing? Guilt, perhaps? An overwhelming fear of rejection?"

Understanding registered in the big man's eyes.

Jack stared coolly back at him. "William had a mind to seek that lad out even if he said he couldn't. Had he had the time he would've. Will Turner's not to hear any different."

"Aye, Jacky," Samson agreed, "I got it."

"Good."

Samson nodded at the chart sticking out of its hole. "If I'd've known you still kept that place I'd've sailed in years ago. Quite a few times I'd thought on you. And William. Didn't quite believe the tales I heard, but twas too much a risk to be chancin rompin the old haunts."

"And a good thing you didn't."

"Aye, as runnin into undead searats ain't what I'd call a good day. But t'would've been nice to known what it was happened." Samson's tongue sharpened. "T'would've been nice to hear it from your mouth, Jacky, 'stead of the mouths of cackling sea captains. Could've at least sent a letter."

"Didn't know you cared," Jack said, examining his nails. Samson's low growl drew his gaze up, however, and he dropped the hand instinctively to the sword at his hip. The big man loomed over him. Lip curled in a snarl, Samson brought one of his huge hands up. Jack met his hot, green-eyed gaze. An important decision he made in that instant—duck or be decked—but Samson didn't reach for him. The big man's hand went to his own face instead.

"Didn't care?"

Samson's fingertip found the scar and traced its jagging stretch of permanently puckered flesh from nose to jaw. Jack followed along with his eyes, and winced. Memories shook him. He bit hard on the inside of his lip to quell its quaking. When he raised his gaze to the big man's it was hot as before. This time, however, Jack let his hand drop from his weapon.

"Aye," Samson agreed, voice hushed, "wouldn't wear this jagger for just anyone, Jack."

"Untle Jat!"

Little Lucy's interruption cut the chitchat short, both men looking up to find the girl and her brother tailed by their mother. The big man stepped back and treated the woman and her children to a warm smile, Jack clearing his throat. The children charged toward the pirate. They plowed into him. Unprepared for such, he was knocked back on the desk, bum first, much to Samson's delight. The big man chuckled as he ducked out of the room. Jack's gaze followed him amidst the cheerful chatter of the two children.

"Jack," Elizabeth said, glancing worriedly over her shoulder and fixing him with a pointed look, "you sent for us?"

"I sent for you. And the children." He nodded the two young ones toward the steps and smiled up at their mother. "I've something to keep them busy."

"And I?"

"And you what?"

"What am I to do?"

He sighed and stood. Slinging an arm about her shoulders, he led her toward the door. Depositing her 'fore the drapes, he winked at her. "You, Mrs. Turner, are to keep your husband busy for the remainder of the eve. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Elizabeth emerged from the captain's quarters to find a bunch of the men, led by Cook and Gibbs, hauling jugs across the deck. A good number of earthen vessels already sat in clusters around the six wooden vats set up on deck. Marty dumped piles of soap beside each one, and several pirates not helping stared on as if the others were mad. Elizabeth arched a brow and snagged her approaching husband by the arm.

He frowned over his shoulder at the preparation behind them, but followed her lead nonetheless. "Where are we going?"

"To our cabin."

"Why are we going to our cabin?"

"Because," Elizabeth said, grinning wickedly at the top of the stairs, "Captain Sparrow has insisted upon preoccupying the children for the eve." She led the rest of the way and was gladly enveloped in Will's arms as they arrived at their cabin door. Joy ebbed through her as their lips met, and she smiled softly up at him when they parted. "I am so glad to have you back, Will."

Eyes warm on hers, he smiled back. "And I am glad to be welcome."

They moved to kiss again, but the door to their cabin swung open and shut. Roth, flushing, scrambled past them and up the stairs before either could question him. They looked at each other and at the door, and, frowning, Will turned the knob and pushed it open. They approached the threshold cautiously, Will's hand going to the sword at his side. As the cabin lay open afront them, he froze. Elizabeth peered over his shoulder and gasped.

"That bloody pirate," Will said.

Elizabeth smiled. "Jack certainly has a way with subtlety."

"Yes," Will agreed, glancing about, "in that it's not his way at all."

The cabin had been filled with candles. Flames flickering, they lit the darkening room. A porcelain tub sat in the corner, bath of flower petals soaking in the steaming water and filling the air with a heady perfume. A blanket of like petals covered the cot, but the sumptuous silk bedding that it had been dressed with peeked through them enough to elicit a sigh from Elizabeth as she brushed her hand over it. Two bottles of wine sat on the table accompanied by a note. Will picked it up and flicked it open to find Jack's scrawl.

Set her afire, Will Turner.

His gaze skipped the white space to afterthought scrawled across the bottom.

But not the Pearl. Mind the candles or you'll be one, savvy?

Will smiled.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Gibbs eyed their handiwork. He and Cook had carried out the routine swift as usual, Marty too. They stood to the side, all three of them plus Tearlach and Cotton, surveying the men standing across from them on the deck. The entire crew was gathered. The new men stood at the front of the group. Toddul, Lemmy, and Shakes eyed the tubs of water with trepidation. Shakes shook, and Toddul and Lemmy exchanged glances. The big man, Samson, stood back, huge arms across his broad chest. Most of the men looked less than enthused, but Gibbs and his four comrades were used to such.

The sailor clapped his hands for attention and smiled when he knew he had every eye and ear turned his way. "Every one of ye's to scrub up 'fore the mideve. Cap'n's orders! One man to a tub. Six men at a time. Tearlach has towel duty."

The bald man's pearlies shone as he held up one of the cotton towels.

"He'll check ye off the list when ye take yer towel and send ye to Cotton who's got…" His gaze swept over the stacks and piles of linen, and he shrugged. "Cotton for ye."

"Rub a dub dub," squawked the macaw.

"Aye!" Gibbs grinned. "Who's first?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Isaac ran a comb through his wet hair. The fresh clothing was a welcome change, he thought, admiring the crisp white linen of one of the fine shirts he'd brought back from London. Under the tan vest it was sharp, and he noted as he rolled back the cuff that already the tan was returning to his skin. Picking up his pack, he wandered back through the great hall where a tub had been set up.

On the way out he passed Anamaria and the helmsman—Roth—on their way in and raised a brow at them.

"Not one word," the woman warned.

He smiled and drew a thumb across his lips.

On his way up through the bowels of the ship, he passed clean-skinned and fresh-smelling pirates dressed in clean-smelling and fresh-looking clothes. Winking at Matelot and Ladbroc, both pausing in the rolling up of shirtsleeves to grin back at him, his heel lifted from the last landing. A sound forced him to halt, however, and he frowned, turning an ear toward the hall. Only silence came to him. He shrugged it off and was moving to step forward when a giggle stopped him. Elizabeth's giggle it was, he knew, and it was a sound that he knew as the happiness her husband brought to her heart. Smiling ruefully, he took the rest of the steps at a clip and emerged into the fresh night air.

To the captain's quarters he went, past the splish-splash of bathing pirates and mocking shouts of those waiting their own turn in the tubs. Nodding at Gibbs, he yanked open the doors. They clicked shut behind him. In the yellow lamplight he found Alice Witter at Jack's desk poring over an open book, ring of keys twirling 'round her finger. Thick rug underfoot padding his steps, he snuck up behind her and delighted in the fact that she didn't stir.

"Evening, m'lady."

With a gasp, she jumped, hand flying to her chest. Her face was as white as her curls as she whirled to face him. When her hand went to her mouth, he noticed the keys were gone and raised a brow, peering over her shoulder at the book she'd forgotten to close. Her hand shot behind to flip it shut. "Isaac Faust," she chirped, smiling sweetly, "what are you doing in here?"

"A good question," he said with a smile, glancing at the book, "but I'd venture an even better one to ask you."

"Why… whatever do you mean?" Her grey eyes grew wide 'fore she ducked her head. "Only reading…"

"Uh huh," he agreed, lifting her chin with his thumb. "What are you planning?"

"Oh!" She pouted, grey eyes flashing. "No matter what I do on this ship, someone suspects me of something! It's through no fault of mine that I get drawn into dramatics. It's simply dreadful how much I find myself in explosive situations but it isn't as if I plan them!"

Taken aback, he let her go. "I'm sorry."

"You are not!" Huffing, she grabbed the book and slid it back into its spot on the shelf. "You're just saying it because I'm so ups—"

"I mean it," he cut her off, grabbing her up in a hug. "Not because you're upset but because I shouldn't be suspicious of you."

She sniffled and turned big grey eyes up at him. "Do you really mean it?"

"I do."

Alice smiled and hugged him back.

"You know," he said over her shoulder, "I don't really think your arguments with Jack are what I would call explosive."

"No," she agreed, "not usually."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack had kept the children busy with the hope that Elizabeth would keep their father busy. First he'd taken them down into the depths of the ship to sort through treasures in search of those suitable for gift-giving. He'd located his finest parchment and inking tools to help them create a card. Then, while the two young Turners amused themselves with teasing the two cats, he and Isaac had dragged four chairs toward the stern windows and tossed sailcloth and blankets over them to make a tent which the children, Ash, and Cinder promptly explored.

Jack had joined them as soon as he'd made sure they were alone. He'd spent too much time, told them too many tales and was in the middle of telling that of how he got the Pearl back—as it was the one that the children never tired of hearing no matter how tired of telling it he was—when he heard footsteps. He paused in midsentence and turned toward the sound. Grumbling, he pushed the blue blanket up and peered out. Two pairs of feet—one in boots and the other dainty little shoes—greeted him. He looked up.

Alice Witter and Isaac Faust stared down at him.

"Yes?" Irritated that they'd found him in the makeshift tent he'd claimed was expressly for the Turner children, he raised his brows before they could raise theirs. "Is there something you needed?"

The two shook their heads.

"Good." With that, he let the blanket fall and turned back to the waiting Turners. "Where was I?"

"Untle Jat," Little Lucy whispered, "who's out there?"

"No one important," he said. "Now I believe I was at the part—"

"Untle Jat!"

He sighed and lifted the blanket to reveal the two sets of feet. "Isaac," he said, pointing at the toes of the boots, "and the Ice Queen." He flicked her ankle and smiled at the wide-eyed Little Lucy. A resounding slam shot a sharp pain from his hand to his elbow and his own eyes grew wide as the girl's, hooking to the smarting palm of the hand that was pressed painfully to the floor by Alice Witter's digging heel. Jack glared up at Alice as best he could manage. She shrugged, eyes widening innocently. Her nonchalance drew a growl into his throat, but he forced it back in favor of not loosing the whimper also lodged there. Jack grit his teeth.

The woman smiled and lifted her heel, turning on the other to whisk off. Jack winced, grabbing his hand up to examine the pink imprint. He realized with a tight lip that if she'd stomped harder, the godforsaken heel of her slipper would have impaled his hand. Smiling at the gaping children, he patted each on the head with his other hand and clambered from the tent, pushing Isaac out of his way. The lad grabbed his wrist and shook his head. Jack glared at him, yanking his arm free. His gaze settled on the woman's swaying, silk-covered arse. Bent over and picking through her trunk of belongings she was—humming no less—and it only served to stoke the fire flaming 'fore his eyes. Grabbing a black lacquer paddle—a token he'd taken on a recent trip to Singapore—he stalked toward her and hauled his arm back.

Alice chose that moment to stand and turn around. She arched a brow at the hovering paddle and reached up to take it from him. Examining the fine inlaid tortoise shell, she whistled. "Very nice, Jack. Artisan made. Fine quality."

"Not near as fine as the mark it leaves."

"Oh?"

"Would you like a demonstration?"

"I shall take your word for it. For now." She shrugged and handed it back to him. "I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'm quite sure it's my bath time. Ta!"

Jack's glare followed her as she made her regal ascent up the stairs. He grit his teeth, looking down at the paddle gripped in his hand still throbbing hand. Tossing the thing aside, he turned on his heel and found himself standing alone in the room save for the two cats perched on his bed. Their calm gaze he followed to the tent. As he stepped nearer, he heard the whispers that wafted from its shivering blue folds. With a grin he bent to pull back the blanket. Staring back at him were three wide-eyed faces. The whistle of air that meant something was swung through it pierced him and with wide eyes of his own he identified 'something' as the paddle from Singapore by the terrible thwack that stung his posterior.

Jack cussed under his breath. To his immediate horror, he felt his britches tugged down, baring his stinging rear to the night air. He glared over his shoulder at the woman examining the welt she'd put there.

Alice nodded. "You're right about that mark, Jack."

The two lads chuckled.

Jack's glare fell upon them.

"Untle Jat?" Little Lucy inched forward and put her little hands on both sides of his face. "You otay?"

"Yes, little love, I'll be okay." He reached back and yanked his pants up over his rump, glaring over his shoulder at the smiling woman. "Though I can't say the same for other people at the moment."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

In the midst of the confusion that was bath time on the Black Pearl, pirates bobbing in baths of bubbles or scrubbing suds into the hair of their less-inclined crewmates, hearing the shrill shriek of a woman could only mean more trouble. Gibbs watched, with a weary eye, as Alice Witter flew out the doors of the captain's quarters. Clutching a cloth sack to her bosom she hurtled toward them, eyes wide. Tailing her was the captain, red-faced and decidedly angry.

Pirates shouted, jumping back as the two raced past. The captain gained on the woman and grabbed her trailing skirt. She shrieked as they struggled. Her foot slipped on a bar of soap. Pirates shouted and leapt out of the way as they went skidding across the deck on the slippery planks toward the toweled legs of a stock-still Samson. The growling, screeching duo slid cleanly between the towering man's ankles.

"Sorry," Jack shouted over his shoulder, fending off a slap from the Witter woman. She freed herself from his grasp and shot forward into the stairwell that led below. He followed with a growl, disappearing from view.

Gibbs and Samson shrugged.

"Whoa!"

Their eyes widened.

A loud, fast tumble of thumps and curses followed the captain's surprised shout. It was punctuated with a resounding thud. Silence reigned for a second that seemed to stretch forever, and then there came the unmistakable hard crack of flesh slapping flesh.

Samson and Gibbs winced.

"I did not deserve that!"

Quiet laughter swept the deck of the Black Pearl. Gibbs and Samson sighed, shaking their heads. "Women," they intoned together.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack paused in his chase to smile brightly at two of his crew. As they nodded, he leapt down the steps to the landing, grabbing hold of the laces up the woman's back and yanking her backwards. She shrieked and struggled. Jack grit his teeth. The elbow that landed in his gut knocked the wind out him. He fell back, clutching the railing as he watched her run. With a grimace he started after her, leaping stairs and rails to catch up. Desperate to beat her to the bottom, he hauled himself up and over the railing. He landed on his feet, a split second before hers touched the step. Alice gasped and Jack grinned.

"Fancy seein you here," he said, leering down at her. His brows snapped together. "Believe I owe you." Without another word, he hefted her over his shoulder, delighting in her kicking and screaming. "You'll be happy to know that I've a mind to pay you back, love. In full."

"Put me down, Jack Sparrow!"

Jack ignored her—and her flailing limbs—and carried her toward the hall where he knew the tub to be. To his amusement a towel-clad Roth and robed Anamaria passed them, eyes wide. "She likes playing dirty," he called over his shoulder, reaching up and slapping Alice on the rear. "So I figure it's time for her to come clean, as it were."

Alice squealed, beating harder on his shoulders as she realized where they were headed. "No! Jack, no!"

With a grin he dumped her into the tub. Dirty water splashed up and over her, sloshing through her dress. She gasped and shrieked, jumping up. Jack grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back down, despite her struggles, until she slipped under the water. When she sat up—drenched—he smiled down at her and walked away, brushing the water that had splashed up off of his hands.

He nodded at Anamaria and Roth, still wide-eyed and stunned still, as he passed them.

Anamaria stared after Jack as he strolled calmly up the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed Roth's wrist and tugged him toward the sloshing water and snarls she heard. Thrashing in the tub stood the Ice Queen soaked head to toe. Rivulets of bath water streamed down her face and neck, wetting her dress, once a fluffball of ruffles, and sticking it to her small frame. Looking down at it, she screamed and threw her head back. The wet white curls flung cold water at Anamaria. Fixing the woman with a dark look, she wiped the spray from her face.

"Do you see this? This—" Alice yanked furiously on the sopping gown, pulling out a panel of dripping skirt, "is French silk!"

"Looks like wet silk to me," Roth quipped, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth up.

Anamaria smacked him and was glad to see the immediate apology on his face.

"Did I ask you?" Not bothering to wait for the answer, she wailed, trying in vain to wring the thing out still standing in the bathwater. She kicked the side of the tub, the cuss that tumbled from her lips turning to a howl. "Oh that ridiculous rapscallious rat!" She struggled out of the tub, took off her soaked slippers, and hurled them across the room. "Oh that slimy scoundrel Jack Sparrow!"

Anamaria jumped as one of the heels narrowly missed her head.

Roth, sensing he was the only reasonable party, stepped forward and took the wet woman's arm. "Calm down, Quee—Miss Witter. You're lookin like you might explode."

Alice glared at him even as she let him seat her on the small dressing bench. Then when he stepped cautiously away she folded her arms and lifted her chin. "You're right, Roth. I just might."

Anamaria smiled. "The plan is still on?"

"Oh, yes," Alice said, eyes narrow, "it's on."

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

Jack strolled cheerfully on deck, grinning at the various cheers that went up to mark his apparent victory. He ducked as a bar of soap slipped from the hands of a pirate and hurtled through the air at his head. A cry of alarm behind him made him wince and glance at the scowling Shakes, who—well, simply shook. Sighing, the captain surveyed the men. Most were clean, some were on their way, and all were generally jovial. Satisfied with such he made for his quarters.

Gibbs stopped him halfway, flagging him down with his flask.

Jack lifted a brow.

"Well it's just I been meanin to talk to ye, Cap'n." He leaned in and nodded. "Think the women are up to somethin."

"Yes I know, I know. The women are nothing but trouble," he said, reaching for the door. "You're always reminding me."

"No, Jack. Thinkin it's worse this time."

"It always is," Jack muttered, slipping through the doors and snapping the locking beam in place behind him.

He found Isaac and the children fast asleep in the tent, the two Turners curled up with the lad whose hand held an open storybook. Taking it, he sighed, sitting back on his heels. Toying with the tome in his hands, he looked upon the three of them, all fast asleep and cozied up. He smiled and let the blanket fall back.

It was much later when he sat in the tub of water Cook had warmed for him. He leaned back against the cool porcelain tub. Soothing it was just to sit there. Basking in the warmth he closed his eyes. The sound of a pitcher being dipped into the water forced them open to find Alice Witter setting it down on the floor. Kneeling beside him she was, her grey eyes soft as they met his. She leaned in and kissed his frown, drawing her fingertip under his chin. Not entirely convinced, Jack leaned back, gaze narrowing on her.

"I thought you could use some help with that hair of yours."

"I thought I said no one was to touch me hair." Watching her closely, he sighed when she shrugged and when she made to stand up he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Smile she did. Demure she was, ducking her head beneath the hood of her soft bathing cloak, as he let go of her. Her fingers reached to the back of his head and loosed the plait there. Jack luxuriated in the swoosh of free hair that fell over the rest. He smiled at her and watched as she readied the fine toiletries normally reserved for her own tresses.

"Come to your senses then?"

"Oh Jack," she said, lifting the pitcher, "you know better than that."

He smiled and tilted his head back. "You're right, love." The warm water that ran down the back of his neck elicited a soft murmur of contentment. Soft as it was it barely bespoke of the blessed bliss he was sinking in. When her fingers started to work their magic he sighed openly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Afterall, how might one come to their senses if they didn't have any sense at all to begin with?"

Jack flinched as her nails dug into his scalp. He glanced askance at her, and was relieved to see the guilty flush that had flushed her cheeks. Satisfied with both that and that her fingers eased again into their easy rhythm, Jack eased as well. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation. "Miss Witter?"

"Hmm?"

He fell silent and let her rinse the soap from his hair. When the warm water had sucked another sigh from his mouth, he opened his eyes and turned them toward her. "Old England is a wide world suited to a young man's wanderings."

"Mhm." She rinsed the last of the lather out and reached for another small jug of creame. "You didn't like it."

Jack tilted his head to accommodate her hands. "The lad's leaving London I did not expect."

"Mhm." She rubbed the creamy gel through his clean hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. "You left London."

They fell silent, Alice rinsing his hair then dipping her fingertips in the water and rinsing them. She picked up a small porcelain bowl and set it on the edge of the tub. Jack watched her pour a bit of light oil in, followed by a helping of clear tonic. She mixed it with a porcelain pestle. As she dipped her fingers into the bowl and reached for one of the long locks the infusion of sweet herbs filled the air. His gaze followed her hands as they worked up to the roots with the tincture. Soothing, it was, to the itchy skin of his scalp where the knots started.

"Well… I expect Isaac missed his home."

"Home is where the heart is," he told her, glancing at the ship around them. "Mine was never in England. The Pearl captured it."

"Mhm," she murmured, a smile playing upon her lips. "I know." When she finished, she leaned close and sniffed his head. A look of satisfaction on her face, she sat back on her heels and lifted her chin. "Goodnight."

Jack watched her gather her supplies and disappear into the darkness beyond the candlelight. When she was out of sight he picked up the bar of soap and went to work. A mite later he was heading to his cabin in the soft nightclothes he'd brought with him. It wasn't every night that he wore them but they did much improve his sleep on account of their soothing softness. On the stairs he passed the first hall where soft sounds of contentment brought a smile to his face and put a skip in his step. On deck he paused only to hand the pack of dirty clothes off to Cotton and to raise a brow at the tub brimming with bubbles and Gibbs. On his way to bed he blew out each lantern candle he passed. At long last he crawled under the warm, inviting covers, and with one final survey of the room—the three still sleeping in the tent and the two cats curling up at his side—he reached for the last candle on the table beside him and blew it out, sinking everything into darkness.