(Author's Notes – Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely reviewers! For a change of pace, I baked virtual scones and brewed virtual tea! (need to counteract excessive amounts of piracy resulting from presence of rum and Jack Sparrow)

I love that I've got all of you hating Belle … just don't hate James as well! The poor man's gotten dumped by Elizabeth, lost control and taken his closest friend's innocence, fallen on his head, and been presented with a pretty woman. And yes, he deserves to be hit for that last remark. Not too hard. Remember – this is a happy ending fic!

Please tell me, what do you think of Laura? Too weak? Too unbelievable? Too nice? For those Austen fans out there, she supposed to be sort of like Jane Bennet and Fanny Price. Does it work?

I really hope everyone remains in character – Jack Sparrow, Ana Maria and Gibbs for now … maybe Elizabeth and Will later. (Norrington being wildly OOC for the purposes of the story) Tell me if you think I'm writing someone wrong!

And for those of you wondering – James begins to come around very soon – I promise. Author's word of honor. And Belle? Too bad she's not really perfect. –Major Plottage – Oh, things are going to change in the Caribbean. Prepare for the invasion.

Wow, this was a long note! Eep! On to the story! Chapter Nine: In which Laura continues to bargain while recovering from seasickness)

Laura was still dreadfully seasick the next day, but the laudanum Captain Sparrow had sent to her did help her rest, and consequently, she did feel improved. When her morning meal came – ship's biscuit, something that looked like a mango, and grog – she managed to eat at least a little bit, which gave her more strength, even if she vomited most of it up. Speaking of which, the slop pail was full, sloshing … waste … all over the cabin and spreading a vile odor which more than once caused Laura to gag.

The situation became so desperate that she began to pound on the door, shouting for someone to let her out.

To her immense relief, the badger-like man – Mr. Gibbs, wasn't it? – had heard the racket and decided it was in everyone's best interest to see what the prisoner was up to, not that he though a little Missy like Miss Laura could cause much trouble.

The girl was quite a mess, her dress having been stained by the products of seasickness, dirtied by the cabin, hair held back by a strip she must have torn from the hem in the night.

"Please, Mr. Gibbs, the bucket's full and …"

Gibbs glanced behind her at the mess in her cabin, and immediately understood.

"The Captain be wantin' another word with ye, anyway."

Laura smiled briefly.

"Thank you, sir."

She followed him through the ship again, still having no idea where she was headed. About halfway there, he interrupted the silence.

"Yer ta sketch the Captain?"

"As he requested, yes," Laura responded, "I do this for him, and a few other minor chores about the ship, he gives me my jewelry back."

"Savvy, very savvy, Miss Laura," he chuckled, taking a swig from a pocket flask. Laura's best guess was that he, too, was drinking rum – a liquid second only to seawater in prevalence aboard this ship, "How'd Ol' Jack convince ye to draw him?"

"He saw something I was sketching, decided I was good with a pencil, and made the offer."

"Sounds like Jack, all right. Vain as a peacock, eye for the bargain."

And idea began to form in Laura's head. A very dangerous, possibly ludicrous plan that even she thought was farfetched and improbable.

"Would Captain Sparrow be open to another bargain?"

Gibbs spluttered into his flask, getting brown rum on his whiskers, not that he seemed to mind too much. He certainly had not expected Miss Laura to go into that sort of bargaining.

"Ye'd have to ask him yerself, Miss, but he's rather … involved … with his second mate, Ana Maria."

Laura had absolutely no idea what the man was going on about, until the horrible meaning came to her.

"No! No, no, nothing of that sort," Laura shuddered, but it was lost in her stagger as the ship rolled, "Another sort entirely."

A look of relief came over Gibbs. He did not want to deal with an angry Ana Maria, which most certainly would have happened if Miss Laura had started flirting with Jack. Last time some one had done so … well, they were gone the next day, missing along with a chain shot, and Ana had looked more than pleased during breakfast.

"Whatever the case, ye'll have to bring it up with Jack."

"I will be sure to."

Once out in the sun again, Laura's nausea seemed to lessen. The sheer feel of the sea – the stiff breeze, the cold spray, the harsh sun, and the endless blue – seemed to give her a bit of a cure, at least temporarily. It must have been the novelty of the situation, she told herself. But she did wonder why she had never gone to sea before.

With great reluctance she followed Mr. Gibbs into the Captain's cabin, loosing sight of the sun, for only the strongest rays drifted through the salt-encrusted windows. The situation was not made any better when she promptly lost what was left her breakfast Captain Sparrow had immediately thrown into her hands.

When she was through, he smiled rather cheerfully her way.

"Feelin' any better today, luv?"

"Enclosed spaces do me no good," she replied pointedly.

Captain Sparrow shrugged.

"Pity yer a prisoner then. Mr. Gibbs, report."

"The lass's cabin is a bit of a mess, Jack. Perhaps instead o' floggin' Ferrier, ye' could make 'im do the cleanin'."

Captain Sparrow leaned back in his chair, putting his booted feet up on the deck, which splattered dirt onto a good portion of Spanish Florida.

"An excellent idea, mate. Give him a bucket and scrub straight off. Tell him 'e doesn't eat or sleep until the cabin is spotless – includin' the sheets. Wait, no, Cook can clean that."

"Uh, Captain, Cook's up an' left. 'E said 'e wouldn't stay a moment longer, not with the monkey an' all."

"Bugger. Speakin' o' the monkey, where's the little pestilence? I feel the pressin' need to shoot somethin'."

Mr. Gibbs shook his head, and backed out of the cabin as Captain Sparrow primed his pistol. Needless to say, Laura was a little intimidated.

"Well, Missy – Laura, innit? – Are ye well enough to begin?"

Laura nodded shakily, beginning to think about what she ought to draw him as.

"Well, then, Laura, what do I do?"

A little reassured by his ignorance, she smiled.

"You tell me, Captain Sparrow. How do you want to be remembered?"

A whole litany of possibilities opened before him – himself at the helm, himself brandishing pistol and cutlass, himself charting a course, himself escaping the Navy. How did he want to be remembered?

"Just be sure to show off my best points, luv. And don't forget me hat."

He flashed that gold-toothed smile again, pointing to a beaten leather object, hanging from the corner of his desk, which Laura supposed must have been a hat, once. No sooner had she looked back at him then he had pulled the cork from a rum bottle, holding it toward her.

"Rum?"

"No, thank you, Captain Sparrow."

"More for me," he shrugged, taking a gulp, "But keep in mind, Missy, the only drink what's on the Pearl is rum, grog or the bilgewater. And I do not recommend the last two. Vile, they are."

"I'm not thirsty, Captain Sparrow. I appreciate your concern on my behalf, however."

"No hostage, no ransom. Now, ye'd best be goin' about this portrait."

He took his feet down from the desk, rummaging about in what seemed to be never-ending drawers, until he lifted a sheaf of thick cream paper, a set of pencils and charcoals, a few brushes and finally, a rainbow of paints. Laura's eyebrows rose.

"Took these off a Brit merchantman out of Savannah. Kept them 'ere, just in case. Take 'em, wi' my blessins, so long as ye manage a good picture."

Captain Sparrow dumped the entire set in her arms, watching some of the paint leak out on her soiled dress.

Gathering the set together, she seated herself by the window settee, never too far from the pail. Captain Sparrow turned back to his maps, eventually seeming to forget her presence, humming little snippets of songs and ditties.

Pencil to hand, Laura stared hard at him, squinting and wanting a bit for her spectacles. As she did before every sketch she did, she named the subject.

Study for Captain Jack Sparrow, Brigand and Pirate, Number One.

It wasn't such a bad start.

To begin, she made thin lines, barely there, outlining the silhouette of his figure, as she saw him from the side, bent over the desk, one hand on a pair of calipers, the other holding the hair back from his forehead. The trinkets in what she supposed had to be his hair caught the light, winking and shining like the man's teeth … the gold ones, at least. What was that pattern on his bandana? It looked like a map … but it could have been a paisley. Artist's license, she shrugged, deciding on a made-up map. Now if she could just get his expression right … the kohl around his eyes made him look ridiculous, even on paper … he looked best smiling, she decided on that expression, at least in this study. Now, about the matter of light and shading …

Laura had no idea of time while thus engaged, being that sketching was the one thing in life she truly enjoyed. In fact, she was so lost in her own thoughts, that it took Captain Sparrow some time to catch his attention.

"Oy! Missy! 'Ow's it comin'?"

She shook the excess lead off the paper, examining the sketch with a look of undeniable pride and a little bit of shock as she realized this study was not so different than several she had done of James.

Before she could make an adequate reply, Captain Sparrow promptly snatched it, parading around his cabin and admiring quite vocally how similar to his person it was. For all his grand aspirations, he reminded Laura of nothing more than a child receiving a present at Christmastime, overjoyed with the least bit, determined to show off his prize to the world.

"Not bad, not bad at all," he smirked.

Well, since she had his attention, it was truly now or never. Laura looked down at her hands, dark from the lead. If she went through with this madcap adventure, they (her hands) would be much, much dirtier.

"Captain Sparrow," she started shakily, taking the study back from his dirty hands, "I had heard that you were missing your cook."

His dark eyes sharpened, puerile glee disappearing as if he knew what she intended.

"What about it?"

"I will, in addition to other duties named to me, take on the position of Cook to the ship."

"What do ye want in return?"

"More freedom, if you please. And you to reduce my ransom."

"You'll have the run of the ship, luv, if ye can cook up something beside slop," he said earnestly, looking positively green as he recalled his last meal, "As for ransom, ye'll have to do a bit more work which will be decided later. Agreed?"

He held out a grimy hand for Laura to shake.

"Agreed."