When the sun rose high on the day after and the captain still hadn't made his appearance on deck much to the aggravation of the waiting crewmen, Anamaria and Gibbs found they had no other choice but to find out what was keeping him. They burst into the captain's quarters but stopped short on seeing the place in shambles with no visible sign of the captain of the Black Pearl save for his friend snoozing quietly sprawled across the desk. Gibbs muttered something about inkstains that Ana chose to ignore as they cautiously approached.

In the glow of the afternoon Will Turner was bathed in a golden light that seemed off-kilter in the midst of the mess that had been made. One parchment clung to the boot that dangled off the desk's edge, a haphazard pile of others cast in its shadow on the floor. True enough it was that a feathered quill was stuck with a bit of dried ink to the smith's open palm though it seemed, to Anamaria's amusement, that Will Turner had been stained more by the slosh of wine from the sideways bottle clutched in his other hand.

Darker of the two cats lapped at the sticky red substance pooled under the man's elbow. The fairer feline seemed to take no interest in the goings on from her place curled around Turner's head. Eyes closed she dozed in the warmth of the sun.

Will, however, had seemed to sense the presence of the pirates staring down at him. He cracked open an eye and shut it immediately with a wince. A groan later and he groped at his sticky elbow. Feel of fur forced him to frown at the spot and then he squinted up at the faces no doubt swimming before his eyes.

"Whas—where'mI—wha'mIdoin?"

Gibbs gave a grunt of amusement and Anamaria snickered. "Appears ya took a cat nap."

Will grumbled something unintelligible and struggled to sit up. "M'still drunk? Bthawaslasnigh…" His eyes crossed with the effort of speaking and he laid a hand over his gut, taking no notice to the quill feather fluttering there. "Guh."

Anamaria rolled her eyes. "Where's Jack?"

"Aye," said Gibbs, "and what the devil's gone on here?"

Between the both of them Will looked and then he took in the shambles of the captain's quarters. His wary gaze picked across the floor that was littered with various instruments, shards of glass, splinters of wood, and a wide assortment of emptied bottles and jugs. His brow lifted and a flicker of a smirk crossed his face.

"S'not obvious?"

Ana snorted. "More like Sparrow than either of ya think, Turner. Where's Jack?"

Will's brows met in consternation. His face screwed up in thought and then relaxed with a shrug. "Dunno."

"Don't much care for coconuts," came Jack's muffled voice, "been dropped on me head a time too many."

Gibbs and Anamaria exchanged a glance. Against their advice Will leaned over the side of the desk to peer cautiously under it. He lost his balance and landed with a thump on the beringed hand sticking out. There was a cry of alarm and a terrible thunk on wood sounded.

"That," came Jack's weary voice, "was a heavy one."

"Jack," Will whispered into the space under the desk that Ana and Gibbs couldn't see, "whayedoinun'ner'ere?"

"Will?"

"Aye?"

There was silence then a snort of laughter. "Wha' was that you were singin about?"

Will frowned, tapping the corner of his mouth in thought. His eyes narrowed and then he, too, snorted. "Limes and coconuts."

Jack's laugh echoed under the desk and then it stopped abruptly. "Sing it again."

Anamaria moved to put a stop to this nonsense but Gibbs grabbed her arm. She turned to glare at him but his blue eyes twinkled at her so merrily that she couldn't help but give her own grin. The sailor waggled his brows and they turned as one to watch. Will, who in his stupor seemed not to care they were present to witness this show of stupidity, nodded at the pirate captain they couldn't see and opened his mouth—and hands, quill quivering—to sing.

"You put the lime in the coconut and," Will shook like a leaf, "shake them altogether—"

"Put the lime in the coconut and then they'll taste better—" Jack's voice cracked with laughter as Will's overenthusiastic hands began to squeeze the air. "Squeeze the lime in the milk and then you drink them down together—"

"With the lime in the coconut you'll feel light as a feather," sang Will, "so put that lime in the coconut, and chug them down together!"

"Ey," Jack's voice cut in, "'stead of lime, could ye use rum?"

Will's hands paused in midair and he frowned. "Rum?"

"Aye, lad," said Jack, "rum."

Will shrugged. "You can put the rum in the coconut and—"

Jack laughed. "Shake them altogether, put the rum in the coconut and then they'll taste better. Pour the rum in the milk and then you drink them down together—"

"With the rum in the coconut you'll feel light as a feather, so put that rum in the coconut and chug them down together!"

Gibbs snickered.

"Is that—do I hear—" there was a scramble that sent Will backwards and Jack's head popped up from behind the desk. A wide grin blessed his face. "Gibbs! Anamaria! Glorious day!"

Anamaria snorted. "And what's so glorious about it?"

"Today," Jack stated with gusto, "we are on holiday on the isle of mirth which lies in the sea of merriment!"

"Jack," she said tiredly, "ya can't afford a wasted day! Stores are running low!"

"Aye," Gibbs added, "and that's with Cook been stretchin it."

Jack's mirth faded fast and he frowned up at them. "How much of a stretch before we snap?"

"By last count?" Anamaria sat on the desk, avoiding the sticky wine, and scratched Cinder between the ears. The cat purred appreciatively and pushed its nose at her hand. She smiled and complied with the petting, looking over the swishing tail at her captain. "Eight days'll be the end of our rope."

Jack grimaced.

"Aye," Gibbs agreed, "escapin the noose'll mean making quick to the closest port o' call, Cap'n."

"Fuego," Sparrow supplied. "Isla de Fuego, s'not far off. Small though, as is its market… but we've friends on the hill haven't we? Hmm."

"Haven't been to see 'em for a time though, Jack," Gibbs reminded him. "Could be they've found new friends."

"And?" Their captain shrugged. "If so we'll wait for another ship to sail in and woo new friends of our own." Despite his easy tone, Jack made a face of disgust and sighed. "Right then, I s'pose it's off to Antolune we go." His eyes lit on the quill still quivering on Will's hand and he plucked it off tsking. "Birds of a feather, eh?"

Will scowled but soon off to Antolune they did go. Boat by boat they went ashore to pick over the island and pluck its worth from the silver shores, pebbled pathways, and the deep, dark jungle. Captain Jack Sparrow seemed pleased as punch to have Will Turner back at his side for the exploration, and Will Turner seemed just as glad to be there. There was no contention among them even when Isaac Faust made their company. Spirits lifted and if there was anyone glad of it it was Sam Samson.

Jack's accusation the night before had stung him and he'd made his sullen way back to the Swan where the trio of Intuit priests had been huddling in the shadows. After having decided that whatever they were up to was none his business, just as Will wasn't, he'd lumbered off to the quiet captain's quarters. No one had bothered him—not even wee Jack who was usually the sort to bound into view soon as one stepped into the lad's line of sight—as he made a line for the captain's cabin. The Witter woman had slept soundly on the chaise and Samson had in the end hunkered down on the balcony cushions. When he'd woke at the crack of dawn there'd been no sign of any one of them, his shipmates most likely taking breakfast in the galley, and so he'd rowed off to shore watching the lone figure there retreat into the woods. That had been fine and dandy, he'd thought angrily. All day after he'd kept to himself and the fishes—many of which the bespectacled Cook of the Black Pearl had already bartered away for Jacky's crew—in hopes of his presence not making the mess it had aboard the Pearl.

When Jacky's low apology had rung out behind him though, Samson's green eyes had filled with happiness and two great tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he turned to nod at the man. He'd offered a pole and Jack had taken it. There they sat for what seemed hours, waiting for a tug on the lines while Isaac and Will flayed fish already caught behind them.

None of them, though, knew narrow eyes were watching them. Yards behind them William hid amongst the trees. He leaned heavily on one's trunk as he squinted at the four companions. For a time he entertained the idea of joining them in silence—but the thought of the look on Will's and Jack's faces kept him far enough away. When the sun began to sink he turned his back on them to make through the jungle once again.

Jack Sparrow, at the water's edge, heard the flapping of wings and turned to stare over his shoulder at the disturbance in the trees. Birds were hopping from branch to branch, a veritable flock of plumage retreating into the foliage. Some took flight and disappeared into the dark jungle altogether. Jack's brows met as he considered them but there was a hard tug on his line that distracted him. Within seconds the pole was bent nearly double and Jack was bent back trying to keep hold of it. He gnashed his teeth with the effort.

"It's a really big fish," he growled over his shoulder at his laughing companions.

Samson leapt up and squinted out at where Jack's line disappeared into the waves. He dug a long spear from the sand and heaved it at the spot. A second later the line went slack and the two of them dragged the slain fish in.

"A swordie," Samson said. "By the gods, Jacky! You've some luck on yer side!"

"S'not luck," Will offered, a sly smile on his face. "Haven't you heard, Sam? All the sea creatures acclimate to Jack's presence."

Jack shot him a look. "Aye—that they do," he agreed. But his thoughts returned to the birds' retreat and he bit hard on his tongue so as not to speak what thoughts plagued him. And the birds flock to your father.

"What'll we do with this thing," Isaac asked of the swordfish. He made a face as Samson withdrew the spear, its release making a sick sucking sound. "Well, that's a start."

Jack patted Faust comfortingly on the shoulder. Will laughed then stood to gather the buckets of flayed fishes. Though green around the edges, Isaac took a few off his hands and they followed the two pirates carrying the swordfish along the water's edge. When they rounded the bend and came into sight of the crew a cheer rose up. Cook, outfit with a knotty walking stick, made it to them first and when Roth and Lemmy took down the fish from Samson's and Jack's shoulders began inspecting it carefully. His eyes lit up behind his spectacles and he poked the silver sand excitedly with his stick.

"A feast fit for a King!"

"Indeed," Jack said. "Best find my crown!"

Will and Isaac snorted but were well put later on the Pearl when Cotton approached with a golden duo of scepter and crown. Emeralds gleamed as Jack accepted the scepter to a bevy of laughter. A chant took up as Cotton placed the crown atop his head and the pirate captain winked at both his humbled friend and son.

"Well," said Isaac.

"I thought it a jest," Will offered.

Jack twirled the scepter, a smug look on his face. He poked its emerald topper at the both of them and then brandished it with a swoop to quiet his crew. "As King of the Pirates, I do decree—it's time for the feast. Sit down, shut up, and tuck in!"

Indeed it was a feast, Isaac thought. Samson was quite the fisherman. For one man to have reeled in the most of what was piling the tables seemed somewhat a miracle. Cook had done wonders stretching the last swine as well—there were pork pies aplenty. That no man would go hungry was certain. Jack Turner, though, must not have thought so—for Isaac was slightly amazed by the heap of the lad's plate and even more so when he turned back to the lad and saw that more than half of it was already gone.

"What?" Eyes wide, young Jack shoveled a fair bit of fish into his mouth. "S'a feast!"

Even the women were digging in. To Isaac's right Anamaria had dumped a pile of pickled onions on her plate and to his left Alice, for all her dainty ways, plopped a second filet of fish on hers. Elizabeth had already taken up her fork, was shoveling melon mash in her mouth. Her other hand was busily doing much the same for her daughter who was looking on in awe as her father swallowed his helping of wine in one gulp. Isaac, much impressed, took up the bottle and poured the man another. Will caught his eye and they shared a smile. Wanting very much to take advantage of this opportune moment, Isaac raised his goblet to Will Turner's.

"To friends and to family and—" he glanced at the steak on his plate and winced, "to swordfish."

Will laughed and tapped his cup to Isaac's in agreement. They both drank to the toast under the watchful eye of the captain of the Black Pearl who hid a smile around a sizeable bite of swordie. Elizabeth, too, looked most pleased and beamed happily on the both of them, oblivious to all but their food though they were.

"Captain Sparrow," said Alice after a time, "I was wondering if perhaps you could find the common courtesy to share with the rest of us just how long a time you plan to keep us on this sordid holiday…"

Jack shrugged, apparently too fussed with his fish to meet her piercing gaze. "Have you something better to do, somewhere better to be, Miss Witter?"

She sniffed. "Some of us do keep regular occupations, myself not the only one. I simply think it would be considerate to share with us your intended itinerary… but if that is too much to ask—"

"Seven nights and a day, Miss Witter," Jack said, "shall see the Pearl and the Swan setting sail for the closest port of call."

"And that is?"

"Isle de Fuego," he said. "From there we shall take what we need and make way… home."

"Home?"

"To wherever home may be."

Later found Alice slipping off to the captain's quarters while Jack finally favored the crew with his story of what had happened to he and Will Turner when they'd been sucked into the sea to the sunken island of Antolune. It was not something she wished to hear, particularly when he'd tell them of her having been posessed by the ghost of that snake Barbossa. It was not something she wished to relive either. As it was, the phantom had left a terrible taste in her mouth.

Young Jack followed the Ice Queen's cue. When it was that the pirates and his parents were paying no heed to anything save for his Uncle Jack's startling tale, he slipped away to peer down at two of the boats belonging to the Swan bobbing in the water. It was quick down the ladder and within moments he was rowing to shore unnoticed.

William, though, was watching his approach. He'd been watching the shadows of the two ships bob in the water since the pirates and other folk had abandoned the shore for them. Dusk had fallen quickly. Pearl's lanterns flickered to life and glowed streams of light against the darkness seeping into the world around her. Young Jack and his boat were one in silhouette against what was a pretty picture even if William's eyesight was not what it used to be.

"Eve," he greeted his grandson, slightly alarmed by the wince on the boy's face. "What is the matter?" But when Jack doubled over with a hand to his side, William knew. He nodded. "Rowed too fast. Sit."

Jack did as told.

"Had a good shot at not being noticed, I presume?"

Jack looked as if he wished to answer but having not found the breath to do so only nodded.

"Had to make for shore fast as ye could?" Another nod and William smiled. "Ye'd be a good pirate."

It was apparently the right thing to say, for Jack grinned through his grimace. He reached into his coat. From it he withdrew a small sack of linen and held it out to William who frowned suspiciously at the offering before taking it. It wasn't heavy but strangely lumpy and so he took care to untying it—smelling its contents long before he saw them.

"Cook's best," said Jack. "Rolls, muffins, and pie."

William was eyeing the small pastry with curiosity. It certainly looked like a pie—a miniature one, but a pie nonetheless. He poked its crusty top and was pleasantly surprised to feel that it was yet warm. He raised a brow at Jack. "What sort of pie?"

"Pork pie."

"Pork…? Jack has a pig on the Pearl?"

"He had a pig," said the pirate's namesake with a snicker. "But not anymore."

William snorted. "Has he chickens and goats as well?" But the question, uttered under his breath, hadn't been posed to Jack and then he said more audibly to the boy, "I take it you nabbed this from the Captain's table."

"I did." Jack puffed up with a certain sense of pride. "Under all their noses!"

William tried to picture that—Sparrow and Samson and the rest of the pirates swilling down their mugs of rum and goblets of wine while little Jack Turner's hands darted out taking food from their plates to bring to his excommunicated grandpop sitting a league off ashore—and decided, when the sweet smell of food bade his stomach growl, that his amusement was much less important than was his gratitude. "I thank you," he said, looking up at the boy. Little did he expect to see the silver flask that winked at him from his grandson's outstretched hands. He accepted it with a raised brow. "The captain will be missing this."

"Not with that goblet he's got in his hand!"

Jack seemed content with watching the waves wash in as William ate his way through the pack of food. Delicious it was down to the last crumb. William savored it, thinking Sparrow a lucky captain to have nabbed such a seasoned cook, then took up the flask. He held it up to the moonlight to admire the gold inlay that had so long ago caught his eye.

It had been his once—back before he'd tucked it in Jack's coat. At the time, a troubling one to say the least, it had seemed that Sparrow had needed the thing and its numbing contents much more than he, William, had. Now it seemed ironic in his hands again when the tables were turned—Sparrow happy as a clam on his ship and he, William, good as marooned. He shrugged and uncorked the thing. Its rum was sweet on the tongue and hot down the throat—something William had sorely missed and needed dearly.

"You," he told his grandson, "are a very good boy."

"Thank you."

"De nada," said William, a moment before he realized that the boy probably did not speak Spanish. "That is, consider it nothing. You're most welcome."

"But… you're no Spaniard…"

William sighed. "No, lad. But I've made my place amongst those whose tongues speak the language."

Jack's eyes narrowed on him. "Where's that?"

"Oh," William played it off with a shrug, "nothing to tell. Small island with a port. Not many people who live there. Not much of a port either, come to think…"

Jack looked as if he wanted to say something more but in the end did not. Instead he looked out at the ships bobbing in the water and then he laid back in the sand to stare up at the stars. "S'not Isle de Fuego by any chance?"

William's throat constricted painfully. He choked on the rum. Tears stung his eyes as he coughed out the stuff that had gone down the wrong pipe. "How'd ye know that?"

"Lucky guess." Jack sat up on his elbows and gave a shrug of his shoulders. "May have heard of it. Not far from here if what I may have heard I heard right…"

"Close enough to row all the way."

"If that's the case then why are you still here?"

William fought the smile he felt tugging at his mouth. "My boat," he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, "is up a tree." He frowned. "And it's mostly tinder now besides."

"That sounds like a problem it does." Jack frowned. "If it wasn't in splinters, though—would you stay or go?"

"A very good question, son, but one I haven't an answer for."

They sat in silence for a time. Just when William was beginning to grow weary of the thought of the lad's parents—or worse, Jack Sparrow—discovering his absence, Jack rose up with a weary sigh and an utterance that he'd have to be on his way. William thanked the stars and offered the flask back to the lad who took it with a flash of a grin and was off down the sand to his boat before the either of them could say anything more. For this, he decided, he was grateful too.

Jack Turner, though, was not sure how he felt about the situation. He'd wanted more than anything to hear that Bootstrap Bill, his grandpop, would have stayed where he was whether or not his boat was busted. He'd wanted more than anything to hear that he and his Da and Lucy and his Ma were reason enough to stay on Antolune for a time.

But, he thought, as he rowed back to the Black Pearl, he wouldn't want Grandpop to lie either…

This time when the rope smacked down in front of him he was not afraid to look up at the Intuits waiting for him. The three men helped him aboard the pirate ship as they'd helped him aboard the Swan. The thinnest one gave him a sharp look that Jack readily returned.

"None of that tricksing, thanks."

The priest raised a brow. "I do notknow what you speak of."

Jack rolled his eyes.He ran off to find his sister, knowing well she'd be entertaining the cats in the captain's quarters. He missed the look that the three Intuits shared before turning heads as one to stare out across the water at the figure holding his hands over the flickering fire.

"He has her," said the one.

The other nodded. "Yes. In his hands."

"Does he know?"

The thin man closed his eyes for a time but when he opened them there was no gleam of satisfaction. "I can not see."

"Me either," shrugged the one, much to the consternation of the other two. He frowned. "What? Why does he always get to do the trick?"

As his two companions shared an aggrieved look, on the other side of the ship Jack Sparrow was sharing the same look with Will. Gibbs had just suggested, much to their shame, that they had not given Bootstrap Bill Turner a fair shot at explaining himself. They were not, the either of them, amused.

"Sorry," sighed the sailor. "Just seems the two of you'd be better for it if you'd give the man a chance."

"He drew his own lot." Jack's voice was sharper than any in company expected and he winced at it same as they. Handing off his goblet to Will, he gave a sigh and bowed low to the remaining party. "S'cuse me," he said gruffly, "for I've matters to attend to…elsewhere."

Isaac watched him saunter off with a worried eye but Will held the younger man back when he made to follow after into the Captain's Quarters. He gave a stern shake of his head then offered a companionable smile to both Faust and Gibbs, and winked at a startled Anamaria. "Anyone up for a game of Hazard?"

"Awwk," squawked Cotton's parrot, "forty-six and two!"

"Turner," asked Anamaria as they made their way to the men who were already hurriedly clearing a table, "Ahku Khar. Sounded a bit like—"

"Yes," said Will, "a bit too much like Jack."

She shook her head. "That devil and his self-serving stories…"

Will smiled at her. "Actually," he said slyly, "for all their likeness, Jack didn't seem to like him all that much."

Anamaria's brows rose.

Captain Jack Sparrow's did too, for he walked in on a startling scene. It wasn't so much that the cats, Ash and Cinder, had turned his bedchamber upside down. Funny as they were, the felines had a habit of doing just that. No, what was so surprising was first that Jack and Little Lucy Turner not only looked to be getting on without bickering but that they were both rapt by, second, the sight of Elizabeth Turner and Alice Witter circling each other, swords drawn.

Perhaps, Jack thought, the tapestries hadn't been shredded by cats' claws afterall.

"Come on," Elizabeth taunted with fire in her eyes, "give us a swing."

Alice sniffed and twirled her blade. It flashed, as did her icy glare at Elizabeth. Their blades met and she snarled. "I'll do my best!"

Horrorstruck, Jack rushed forward. He was worried for the women, of course, but moreso that their swords swayed dangerously close to the priceless paper lantern he'd pilfered during the Black Pearl's last hurrah in Singapore. No less than two warlords had chased after him for it and he was not, he thought savagely, about to see it sliced to shreds.

"Stop," he cried, "no! Now—ladies I don't think you quite need to go to these—" He yelped as the tip of Elizabeth's sword grazed his earlobe. "Lengths," he ducked Alice's swipe, "to settle your differences—"

"Get out of the way," she hissed, "this matter does not concern you!"

"Of course not," he said, rounding on her to treat her to his charmingest smile, "but it does concern my lovely lantern, m'lady—so if you'd be so kind as to let me—"

"Jack," Elizabeth growled, "move!"

Missus Turner's tone meant no nonsense and Jack ducked just in time to avoid a swift and lethal beheading between the two blades of both Elizabeth and Alice. He frowned warily up at the swords and beyond them at his beloved lantern. There was, he thought sadly, nothing he could do to save it short of disarming both women and by the determined looks on both their faces he wagered the attempt would not result in anything resembling success. A sharp toe to his rear sent him tumbling out from under their feet across the floor.

Clangs and curses rang out behind him. Both women were embroiled in a bitter battle. Jack struggled up on his elbows to watch resignedly. Elizabeth's strikes were strong and she gave no quarter but Alice was quick on her feet and turned the other woman in circles. Their approach differed but their intensity did not. As much as Alice turned Elizabeth in circles, Elizabeth struck out to cut her off. They were both snarling at each other when Elizabeth's heel caught up a loose plank of floor. Eyes wide, Missus Turner toppled to the floor. Alice leapt forward, tip of her blade pointedly grazing Elizabeth's throat. Her eyes narrowed but a smirk lifted her lips.

"I told you," she said sweetly, "that it was my muffin."

Both Elizabeth and Jack scowled but Jack was quicker to get to his feet. "All that for a muffin?"

Alice regarded the both of them unconcernedly. She shrugged and reached over to the sideboard where sat the aforementioned muffin on a plate. She lifted it daintily to her lips and took a tiny bite from its frosted top. Very slowly and deliberately she chewed and then swallowed. "It is the last one."

This seemed to make sense to Elizabeth, who glowered up at the victor with more malice than should be thought for want of a muffin. Jack frowned between them, trying to make sense of this ridiculousness. He gave up with a grimace and gingerly lifted his lantern from its hook. Glaring at the both of them he folded it carefully then gently placed it in his trunk where surely no harm would come to it. He closed the lid with a snap, not expecting the hissing and scratching that ensued within nor the violent shaking of the thing outwith. With a startled cry he leapt back drawing his own sword to pry the lid open. A grey blur vaulted up out of the trunk, a darker mark following after.

"What in the blazes—"

"You didn't expect the two of us to duel without first placing the felines I fancy out of harm's way, now did you Captain Sparrow?"

Jack bit hard on his lip and leaned over to survey the damage. Inside was, of course, a mass of shredded paper what used to be his lantern. When he whirled to glare accusingly at the women, Elizabeth pursed her lips against a smile and Alice took an infuriatingly dainty bite from the muffin that had caused the mess.

"Go," he said, shooing the clamoring children and their mother up the steps. "Out!" When he heard the far away sound of the doors closing after them, he turned on his heel to face the woman who had, along with the cats, caused him such grief. "Give me," he said evenly, "that muffin."

Alice gaped at him, then at the muffin and then once more at him. She recovered and took a defiant bite. "No."

Jack smiled to mask his mounting anger. Sword still drawn, he tensed and took a heavy step towards her. "This is my ship and that is my muffin," he said calmly, one boot over the other nice and easy, "and on my ship if I ask for my muffin—I expect that my muffin will be given to me."

Despite his standing before her in so threatening a manner, Alice made no move other than to take another bite out of the muffin in question. She chewed slowly and when she'd swallowed looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Then I'd say you hold unrealistic expectations, Captain."

"Give me," he growled, "that muffin!"

"No!" Alice ducked under his arm and glared at him as he whirled to face her. "It's mine, I fought for it!"

"And very well," he agreed, "I thank you, now hand it over!"

"No!"

"Woman!"

There ensued a bitter struggle. Jack knew Alice was fast on her feet but felt he was faster—until he came up short each time he thought he had her—by the hands, the arm, the hair; she was ducking and whirling from his every advance, stalling only for spare seconds to take bites from the rapidly disappearing muffin. Jack, having had enough of the game, growled when he felt her back to his and spun to grab her waist. She squealed and struggled against him but he had no intention of letting go, no matter how much of a screech she let loose in his ear.

"Fine," she screeched, elbowing him in the gut. "Have your bloody muffin!"

Winded, Jack wasn't expecting the fist that flew at him, nor the cake that was shoved into his gaping mouth.

"I hope you choke on it!"

Indeed, Jack was trying his best not to do what she wished. He was having a hard time of it. As it turned out, the muffin was not of his favorite variety whatsoever. It tasted, he thought weakly, of lemons. Swallowing his pride, and a considerable amount of muffin, he reached up and popped the end out of his mouth to stare glumly at it.

"I really thought it was banana nuts."

"You're bananas," she spat, "and I'll crush your—"

"If you'd just told me it was lemon, love…"

"Oh so now I'm love am I?" Alice sniffed. "Finally forgiven me for having had my soul stolen by your undead enemy, have you? Wonders never cease!"

Jack fell back from her, somewhat startled by the outburst. He frowned, his fingers working fastidiously as his mind tried to puzzle out a proper response. Coming up with none, he shrugged and offered the muffin.

Alice folded her arms and tucked her hands resolutely into her elbows, raising her brows expectantly at him.

Jack's eyes went wide. "What?"

"I think I deserve to know why whatever happened—happened!"

"Oh," said Jack, "well if I ever figure it out, dove—and it's looking well that I won't—I'll be sure to let you know." Pleased with himself, he winked at her and bent down with a smirk. "Now, how's about a kiss?"

Whether or not the captain got his kiss wasn't certain that night to the pirates of the Black Pearl. Too merry with drink were they to make certain of anything other than their own raucous laughter. On into the night the merriment continued until at last Gibbs ordered all but five of them below. Two of the leastlooped he sent up into the rigging and the other three he set to post before settling down on a barrel to trade stories of old with Isaac Faust much to the delight of Will Turner whose family dozed nearby upon a nest of sailcloth under the light of the moon.

Jack Sparrow, standing in the doorway of the captain's quarters, watched them with a wary eye and then turned it ashore. The fire, he noted, was still burning. And then after another day slaving away on Antolune to find what small amount of treasure existed there, the fire was burning again and the captain of the Black Pearl once again turned his back to the sight and drank down the wine in his cup.

On that night it was Anamaria who dared to tell him that there was no shame in parley and on that night it was Anamaria who was promptly ordered to make clean the mess of Cook's galley. Jack felt the faintest twinge of guilt seeing her storm off to do what she'd been told, but he ignored it in favor of scowling as much as he could in William Turner's general direction. "There will be no parley."

"Don't you think you're being just a bit hard on the old chap?"

Jack looked sharply around at Isaac and raised his brows. "No," he said in a voice lighter than he felt, "I don't." He turned to make his way up to the helm and was not surprised to hear Isaac's steps follow. He laid a hand on the wheel and busied himself with inspecting it. "Could do with some oil."

"You are impossible to reason with!"

"And for what reason do any of you insist on putting your foot where it doesn't belong?" Jack, knowing well that his mention of the ship's shape wouldn't distract the lad, abandoned all pretense and addressed him rightly. "There's only two of us knows what's keeping my foot from stepping ashore—and neither one of us seems to have as much objection to that matter as the lot of you!"

Isaac followed him fast down the steps and into the captain's quarters. "Neither one of you knows the least bit of what the other thinks because the both of you refuse to speak. For all the either of you know, you could have both thought the other dead!"

Jack plucked the cork from a bottle of rum. "For a time, perhaps," he said and knocked back a healthy amount of the stuff. Swallowing against its burn, he closed his eyes against the sight of Faust's hopeful face. "But only one of us meant for the other to so think."

"And what about Will?"

Jack set the bottle of rum on the desk with a thunk and stared hard at Isaac. "What about him?"

"Do you not think it be in his best interests to at long last know his father?"

"Let me ask you something. If it happened as this to you—that your father had not perished in a tempest spurned by the devil himself and was only all this time hiding away from you so as to not take part in your life, would you wish even to look upon his face?"

The words were out of Jack's mouth before he'd thought well through them. If he had, he thought, he would likely not ever have posed such a question to Isaac Faust. Undoubtedly the words had more sting than any he'd ever in all their years snapped at the lad… he chanced a look at Isaac who stared unwaveringly back at him with blue eyes much brighter than usual.

"Forgive me if I can not give answer to such a question," he said quietly, "for I am at the moment not all that fond of fathers."

Jack, knowing not what to say, watched with a heavy heart as Faust turned on his heel and marched to the door. There was a moment of indecision with the both of them—Isaac faltering at the threshold while Jack's lips made to move—but it was quickly put to rest; Isaac Faust strode out of sight and Jack's mouth arranged itself in a scowl. He turned away from the door and took up the bottle of rum to glare into its dark depths. An angry curse later and the bottle found itself sat hard on the desk once more, Jack Sparrow's furious footsteps pounding the deck as he stormed out the door.

"Lemmy, Roth—ready a boat," he ordered two of his watchmen. "I'm going ashore." When he saw Gibbs move forward as if to join him, he gave a shake of his head. "Alone."