And Sappho Smiled

Part The Fourth: In Which Father Dickinson, Under Threat Of Buggery, Renounces All Conjugal Covenants

Jack sighed in the morning light, a bejewelled hand reaching up to rest upon his temples.

"Let's see if I've an accurate understanding of this," he said at last, turning to glare disparagingly at his wife, who lowered her head and averted her eyes.

"You were there," he began slowly, determined to draw out this punishment. Cate simply nodded in chastised agreement at the accusation.

"And not only were you there, but she was also there?"

"Yes; yes we were," she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous, her smile fleeting at the look on her husband's face.

"And… she was also restrained, was she not?"

"Well… yes, she… she was tied down to… to the bedposts," Cate confessed, the embarrassment which she had repressed at the sight having now emerged and painting her face scarlet. "With her stockings."

"And she was wearing a shift."

"That's right—and only a shift!" she exclaimed, clearly panicked. "A… a very… transparent one."

Jack was cold and unyielding.

"And Dickinson was there?"

"He was," Cate affirmed miserably.

"I see. Mrs. Sparrow, might I recapitulate all the information you've provided me?"

Cate knew the question was rhetorical, and so kept her tongue silent.

"You had Sierra, currently our only escape from this divine wedlock of ours, in naught but her undergarments, her wrists bound to the bedposts, and the necessary witness at hand, and somehow, instead of seducing her like any half-decent wife would, you mocked her vulnerability, toyed with her emotions, and succeeded in causing her hatred for you to exacerbate further."

Cate shrugged. "I find it very difficult to talk to women!" she exclaimed, clearly distraught. "They either think I'm a remorseless bitch or a mute with a balance problem."

"Oh, Cate…" Jack groaned in frustration.

"What do we do?" Cate asked him fearfully. "Or rather, should we do anything at all? Jack, there's always been ridiculous rumours floating about the Caribbean about you, and I hardly doubt that this would subtract from the legend. Why, before I met you, I was under the impression that Jack Sparrow was a brawny giant of a man; a prime example of masculine quintessence; a thorough strategist; an experienced, womanising rogue and a fantastic lover. But now that I've actually met you—"

"Yes, Cate!" Jack snapped, clearly irritated. "That's quite enough from you!" And he stalked away from her, wrenching open the cabin door. "I'll be in town for a while; when I've returned, I fully expect you to have wrung an annulment out of that bastard cleric, even if it kills him."

"Why, where are you going?" Cate asked, following her husband obediently. They both pretended not to notice how some of the crew were looking at one another and commenting on what a happily married couple the two of them made, even in the grips of a lovers' spat such as this.

"Look at tha'!" one deckhand exclaimed as he scrubbed persistently at the boards. "Married fer less'n twen'y-four hours, an' she's already askin' 'im where he be going! Tha' be true love, tha' is!"

"Listen, mate, being a pirate doesn't necessarily give you the right to a false Cornish accent," snapped his companion. "Nor is it an excuse to forego the basic grammatical rules of the English language; we're not Americans."

(But to ignore this slight anachronism and return to the current tale…)

"What business do you have in Kingston Town?" Cate demanded shrilly, playing every inch of the indignant housewife to perfection. "And how long are you going to be?"

Jack rounded on her, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

"Well, as of this moment, I'm of a mind to visit an old acquaintance, plunder some supplies, and retrieve my hat."

"Your hat?"

"Aye; she ran off with my coat." And without another word of explanation, Jack ordered the few crewmen who weren't beaming happily at the married couple to lower one of the longboats, and left Cate to gawp at her spouse in disbelief as he rowed away from his ship and into port.


Jack Sparrow was feeling rather proud of himself (what surprise!); he had successfully concluded all that needed concluding before noon, and he had also wooed himself back into Sierra's good graces, which hadn't actually been one of his original objectives when he'd set out this morning.

Well, it hadn't been a priority, in any case.

But now, it appeared as though they were reconciled. It was with a bitter irony that such reconciliation had occurred on the very day he was going to cast her ashore, but Jack knew that he had no choice. Another glance at the young woman walking silently beside him, her blue eyes clear of any traces of tears which she had shed at the loss of her unborn child, simultaneously assured him of her presence and affirmed his suspicion that sea life didn't agree with her in the slightest. He felt her fingers brush gently against his hand, but when he glanced down, those same fingers were clutching at her skirt, clearly determined not to touch him again.

"A countess?" he asked her suddenly, and she jumped, her face colouring, clearly startled at the casual words.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Apparently—Well, Jean said that I greatly resemble a French aristocrat, who's been abducted, and no word has been heard of her since—"

"She's probably run off with the stable boy," Jack dismissed.

"Yes," she breezily brushed aside the irrelevant comment. "Well, anyway, Jean's idea was that I take this woman's place; he gets the reward, and I in turn receive all the material comforts wealth has to offer."

"Not to mention the social connections and habitual reverence of the peasantry," Jack pointed out.

"Do you think I should accept his offer?"

Jack tried not to show surprise at her words; she was asking him for advice. It was merely testament to the flighty female temperance that barely twenty-four hours before she was whispering the name of another man, and now when he glanced at her she was looking upon him with… Well, not love, per se, but something rather close to it.

"Why are you so hesitant?" he enquired, and she sighed.

"I don't think I can do it," she told him. "I mean, look at what I'm wearing! Hardly fitting garments for a noblewoman." And she glared sullenly down at herself, causing Jack to bite his tongue to prevent him from blurting out that she still looked beautiful. "I may look like her—supposedly—but I've no idea what this woman is actually like—and I've never been a very good actress," she added, and he snorted at this.

"I'm scared," she confessed, uncaring of whether he thought her a coward. "There are just so many things—which part of France is she from?" she asked suddenly, and Jack expressed surprise at being expected to know. "There are so many different accents and dialects within the French language—she might be a provincial aristocrat, and if I don't—"

"Ah, but what other alternative do you have?" Jack interrupted her, and her distress subsided slightly.

"I hate being so helpless," she said at last, and her tone was one of annoyance. Jack didn't respond to her words, engaged as he was in untying his boat from its slightly illegal moor. When the last knot was undone, he stepped back, and gallantly offered his lady a hand. His hand instinctively clenched into a fist when he caught a glimpse of her slender ankle as she clambered in, and in one swift moment he had been reduced from a man of contemplation with only one regret to a man who wanted nothing more than to push her down and have her in that longboat right then and there.

He didn't of course, and it wasn't simply because he was very-nearly-almost-but-not-quite a gentleman; it was also because the memory of Sierra's Steve still hung fresh in his mind, and coupled with what Teresa had gloatingly told him barely fifteen minutes before (Spectacularly well-endowed, he recalled with a repressed shudder), he was feeling oddly jealous of the man today.

"Will Pearl be alright?" Sierra asked worriedly, pulling him away from his thoughts.

"Why do you ask?" he queried.

"Well, she just sort of… ran off with two other children we've never met before!" Sierra reminded him, a maternal worry lacing her tone.

"Forrester will catch them," Jack promised her.

"But—"

"He will," Jack assured her, and Sierra merely crossed her arms and leaned back in irritation, miffed that the man had dismissed his own child's well-being so breezily.

Rowing back to the Pearl in silence gave Jack time to think, and peek down Sierra's bodice, and think again. "You've never thanked me, you know," he told her airily as he propelled the boat forward with smooth, even strokes.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked him warily, and he grinned.

"You've never thanked me," he repeated, grinning smugly at her. "For saving you from a life of desolate prostitution."

"You didn't 'save' me," she retorted sharply. "Pearl did; you were quite willing to leave me behind in Tortuga."

Jack waved away her accusations with one fathomless glance, and she scowled at him, clearly piqued that she could not read him with the same elegant ease that he read her.

"Anything particular in mind?" she said at last in the voice that only a truly bored woman can command.

"Just one kiss," Jack answered her, feigning ignorance of her uninterested manner.

"Oh, Jack…" Sierra said, a laughing lilt in her voice.

"What?"

"I know it'll be more than a kiss," she answered him.

Jack looked at her, making certain to appear affronted, and she did laugh this time, clapping her hands in delight.

Then suddenly, her face was before him, her legs straddling his, a hand resting on his shoulder; and though he did not drop the oars, he did find himself robbed of the strength to lift them. He simply sat there, a sitting duck, waiting for her to offer an explanation for her considerably wanton behaviour.

"I don't believe it's customary for a countess to treat her male acquaintances with such… informality," he breathed onto her lips.

Her eyes were sparkling with mirth, daring him to continue, to make a move. "It is if that countess is French," she replied, her other hand dropping to a place it really shouldn't have.

He always found it odd, how she toyed with him; how she enjoyed tormenting him, her body pressing so provocatively against his, and her hand… doing that, and her blue eyes all but ordering him to have his way with her. No other woman, whore or otherwise, behaved with the same carefree unrestraint that she did.

He found that he liked it. He was drawn to her barefaced shamelessness; she always knew exactly what she wanted, and didn't care what others thought of her. She was the only woman he'd ever encountered who could match him in sexual abandon.

"Jack…" she said to him, although it was more of a whisper. He was silent, waiting patiently for her to continue, although she seemed not to have any more to say.

Finally, she drew back, crawling down to rest her head on his lap like an obedient pet. "Just a goodbye kiss, then?" she murmured somewhere into his thigh, her fingers toying with his fraying sash.

"Just a goodbye kiss," he confirmed, reluctantly resuming his rowing. It was always like that with her; a brief, intense moment of passion which immediately subsided, leaving the two of them to continue as though such an instance had never occurred in the first place. No other woman had ever played such a tantalising game with him.

He kept his hand protectively on the small of her back, of course, as she climbed up and onto the Pearl, the boat bobbing unquestioningly beneath them. And what a strange sight greeted them, as they clambered onto the deck.

"Cate!" Jack bellowed commandingly, and the woman turned obediently at the sound of her captain's voice. Taking a few steps away from Sierra, who was openly gawking at the spectacle before her and appeared not to notice his yell, he beckoned his wife forward, and the blonde complied without question.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked of the woman as he looked imperiously down at her. Indistinctly, he thought he heard Sierra mention how she'll be collecting her belongings from her cabin, and registered the vague swirl of her skirts and light pattering of her dancer's feet.

"Why, Captain," Cate addressed formally, a golden eyebrow arched, "I'm merely carrying out your orders."

"My orders?" Jack quizzed.

"Yes, sir; the orders being to wrangle out an annulment from that bastard excuse of a cleric, no matter what the cost."

"Yes, but…"

"But…?" she enquired in all innocence.

"Oh, Cate!" Jack exploded. "He's hanging upside down from the mizzenmast! An explanation, if you'll be so kind?"

Cate merely shrugged, picking at an imaginary bit of lint from her coat. "It was his choice," she told him uncompromisingly. "It was either to be hung from his ankles or have a hot poker shoved up his arse."

Jack winced, his frustration momentarily forgotten as he grimaced in empathetic pain.

"You threatened to bugger him with a poker?" he asked her disbelievingly.

"Aye, that I did."

What a woman, he couldn't help but think. "You there," he addressed the three crewmen who were effectively anchoring Father Dickinson, "lower the good father—gently now!

"And as for you," he added, rounding on his wife, who had taken to smirking at him.

"'Tis not against the Code, nor is it against your Articles, to hang a troublesome crewmember by his ankles from the mizzenmast," she reminded him superciliously, and he glared.

"I'll deal with you later," he told her, stepping aside and sashaying forward to ensure that Dickinson hadn't been too traumatised. The poor priest was a shivering wreck, clinging tightly to his captain as he gibbered about death and paradise and overcharging government representatives.

After ten minutes or so of such spittle-flying nonsense, Sierra reappeared, flanked by Jean-François, both carrying a bundle of some sort. Her eyes met his in a silent question as she strolled, largely unnoticed by the crew, towards the railing, and he knew that she was ready to leave. He ordered a few of the hands to assist their fair 'passenger,' a command that caused Dickinson's tune to change dramatically as his tears desiccated and he began to condemn the woman as a vile succubus and whore.

Jack shook the man off of his arm and strolled towards her, noticing that Cate, who had been lurking at the railing, was gradually pulling away.

"Are you two really married?" she questioned curiously, watching as Dickinson began to hyperventilate.

"Of course we are," Jack confirmed. "Why?"

Sierra said nothing, merely gaping at him, and he was surprised to see that there was apparently little, if any, pain in her bright blue eyes.

"I… I just thought…" she sputtered, at a loss for words. "I thought you were lying…"

Jack arched his eyebrows at this. "Why would I lie about being married?"

Sierra shrugged helplessly, and in that one moment, she was looking heartbreakingly vulnerable yet again; just like last night, when he'd visited her in secret. "I… I just naturally assumed that you wanted to get me into bed…" she confessed. Although this was not the actual reason Jack had allowed himself to be wed for the thirteenth time, it was not what one would call a falsehood, so he let the comment pass.

"Oh," Sierra groaned, a hand reaching up to rest upon her forehead; for one terrifying moment, Jack thought she was about to swoon, and so hastened towards her as a result, but alas, consciousness triumphed. "Oh, Jack…" Her words were either a cry of exasperation or a plea of desperation; he was uncertain as to which.

She shook her head, dark hair swirling about her shoulders. "Do…" she began as her belongings were gently lowered into the boat; stopped, hesitant, before determinedly continuing, "Do you like it?"

"Being married?"

She nodded vigorously, her blue eyes on his, the both of them ignoring Cate, and the blonde frowned at this; a striking woman of her calibre was unaccustomed to going unnoticed—particularly when she was the topic of conversation.

Jack merely shrugged his shoulders in a cavalier manner. "It's… tolerable," he told the brunette honestly enough.

"You told me it was invalid," she accused, the shock slowly giving way to anger and hurt.

"It is," Jack hurried to assure her, stepping forward and attempting to take her arm; she pulled her elbow away and turned, blue eyes flying flippantly over Cate, standing there, watching her husband and her potential inamorata gazing into one another's eyes and feeling rather put out as a result.

"So why—"

"Dickinson thinks it's valid," Cate spoke at last—and when she did so it was in the cold, bitter voice of a woman scorned—a voice that didn't sound like Cate's at all. Glancing over at her, he could see the pretty pirate strolling lazily towards them, her hips swaying to a silent rhythm as she approached. "The crew thinks its valid, beliefs which have caused my dear husband—" and she slipped her arm into the crook of Jack's elbow, reaching up to kiss him before leaning her golden head affectionately on his shoulder, "—much distress," she concluded lazily, yet her voice still held a challenge for the woman before her. It really was hard to believe that Cate's possessiveness over Jack stemmed from a secret desire to claim Sierra's flesh as her own. No small wonder Sierra never caught on.

"I… I see," Sierra stuttered, unconsciously wringing her hands. She was silent as she looked closely at the married couple, meticulously studying their behaviour towards one another. Then she cast her eyes towards Dickinson, who had not once paused in his condemnation of Sierra's vile and wicked ways, her eyes distant and contemplative. Finally, she turned her gaze back to the captain.

"Is this what your request of a goodbye kiss is all about? To convince Dickinson to annul your marriage?" she guessed, and he nodded.

"I see," she said, her face alighting with a mischievous grin. She stopped closer to both man and wife, her eyes locked on Jack's all the while, causing Cate to fidget in discomfort.

"Jack…" she murmured to him in that soft, seductive whisper of hers.

"Hmm?" he hummed back, feigning naïveté.

"I'm going to be climbing down into that boat in a moment," she said slowly, her breath tickling his lips. "So I suppose this is our goodbye… isn't it?"

"I assume so…" Jack agreed, leaning slowly closer—

Only to have her spin away from him in a graceful dance, her dark hair whipping his face as she laughed at his foolishness.

"Oh, Jack…" she giggled as he stepped back a little and looked curiously at her. She'd stopped chuckling now, and was standing perfectly still, watching him.

"Jack…" she said again, in that condescending way of hers. "You really are quite naïve, aren't you?"

Before he had a chance to open his mouth and question her on her cryptic words, she'd darted nimbly forward—to Cate.

Jack was rendered powerless, and found that he could do nothing more than merely stand there and stare as Sierra's hand reached up to roughly rest on Cate's skull, elegant fingers digging into that pale hair, forcing the woman to stand still as she brought her lips to hers in a crushing kiss. And even if he was able to move, he didn't think he'd wanted to. It was quite a good view from here.

Never before had the captain seen a more captivating sight, and he'd seen a fair few. Sappho herself would have smiled in admiration.

Cate and Sierra. Sierra and Cate. Both beautiful, both charismatic—and both his, he realised suddenly as Sierra's other hand wrapped about Cate's waist, supporting the blonde, who looked ready to collapse at the excitement of it all; they both, in one way or another, belonged to him. And now, here they stood, pale, slender, striking creatures, one dark, one fair, both blue-eyed—and kissing one another as though their very lives depended upon it. For Cate, it probably did; Jack assumed that this was the first time a woman she had found attractive had initiated any act of intimacy. And as for Sierra… Well, God only knew what she was thinking, what this meant to her.

It appeared that the two women were unaware of the ship, of the ocean, of the entire crew gaping in undisguised fascination (even Dickinson had halted in his tirade to stare at the pair of them): they were too lost in the kiss, that sweet, eternal kiss; lost in one another. Cate's own hands, trembling with delight, had reached up to lightly rest upon Sierra's shoulders; the brunette seemed to purr in approval, or so it seemed to Jack, gawping at them with his mouth hanging shamelessly open. The woman pulled the pirate closer to her, so close that their bodies were pressed against one another's; and then, suddenly, she was stumbling backwards, her skirt flapping rapidly about her legs.

But not once did she let go of Cate, choosing instead to force her to fall with her—and it wasn't until Sierra felt herself pressed flush against the railing of the Pearl did she decide to take control, spinning suddenly so that their positions were reversed, Cate sandwiched pleasantly between the beautiful woman and the ebony ship.

Finally, Sierra drew away, gazing into Cate's eyes, her own blue orbs unfathomable. Cate, breathing heavily, her hair spilling about her shoulders like liquid gold, could do nothing but gaze back, entranced as she was by those beautiful blue eyes that merely moments ago had been closed when they'd kissed…

Jack continued to watch the pair, a frown etched upon his features; was it his imagination, or did something… a sort of spark, he supposed, pass between the two of them?

Before he could further ponder upon this query, however, his thoughts were once again disturbed by Sierra's impetuous actions: only this time, instead of kissing Cate or instigating any further act of intimacy, Sierra had chosen to push her over the railing, and the pirate fell overboard with a scream followed by a splash.

Whatever romantic or sexual atmosphere the kiss had created was immediately shattered; instantaneously, several members of the crew rushed over to peer worryingly down into the turbulent waters, whilst Sierra herself flew daintily away from the railing, wiping her hands on her dress and laughing in malicious mischief.

"So tell me, Father," she crooned, mockingly addressing Dickinson with his title, "What have you to say on the marriage now?"

Dickinson appeared to explode at her teasing, and swore vehemently to renounce all conjugal covenants, declaring such arrangements invalid and void. Sierra grinned, her hands clapping together in delight, and darted as far away from any edge of the Pearl as she could as a soaking Cate clambered back on board, arms wrapped around her shivering body in spite of the warm Caribbean sun beating down upon her. She seemed completely at a loss of what to say or how to respond, choosing instead to look at Sierra in confusion.

But Sierra wasn't looking at Cate; she had eyes only for Jack.

"So…" she said casually to the captain as Cate, realising that her white shirt was very nearly transparent due to her unexpected swim, hurriedly scuttled off to the captain's cabin. "I'll be seeing you later, won't I? To retrieve Pearl and discuss her… future."

Jack, his mind still reeling from both the kiss and Sierra's unexpected act of betrayal, simply nodded, momentarily struck dumb.

"Well, then…" Sierra said, adjusting her sleeves dispassionately as she looked steadily up at him. "I suppose this is goodbye."

Again, an affirmative gesture of his head. Sierra bowed her own head once in return, and spun on her heel, moving gracefully back to the rope ladder, at the end of which awaited a boat, and ignoring all the glances and comments made to her when Jack, finally finding his voice, called out her name.

She paused, her hand resting on one of the ladder's twin knots, and turned to look quizzically up at him.

"Yes, Jack?" she asked politely, and the captain found himself uncertain of what to say.

"What about my goodbye kiss?" he challenged with a winsome grin.

There was a silence as Sierra gawped openly at him before her face cracked open into a smile, and she was laughing softly once more.

"Oh, Jack…" she said patiently, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. "That was your goodbye kiss."

And she had swung herself onto the ladder and was gone without a trace, clearly desperate to be as far away from the Pearl as possible for fear of Cate's wrath at being so greatly humiliated before her colleagues.

For a moment, Jack just stood there, gaping at the spot where the kiss had occurred, and he would very probably have stayed like that for quite a while, had not Father Dickinson stalked over to him, huffing in displeasure.

"How could you!" the cleric raged, angered at the betrayal. "How could you possibly make that abominable and unworthy woman your wife?"

And he then dealt the captain a slap that rivalled all of the whores of Tortuga's before, tears springing to his eyes, dashing across the deck and scurrying down to the crew's quarters, intent on crying his wretched eyes out and howling at the unfairness of it all.

The smack was just what Jack needed to pull him back to earth; with a wince, he shook his head and, rubbing his sore cheek, wandered over to look out to the ocean. He saw Sierra's form, dressed in brown and white, her dark hair flying over her shoulder as she exchanged words with Jean, who Jack assumed was furious at her for throwing Cate overboard. As he watched, he saw her stiffen, as though she knew that there were eyes on her back. He pulled away as she turned, making certain she didn't catch him watching her. It'd only serve to get her hopes up, after all, and if there was thing Jack hated, it was a woman with false hope; well, to a certain extent…

Catching his crew staring at him, he turned on his heel, and barked at them to return to their duties, smirking with satisfaction as they immediately scuttled to do his bidding. He loitered on deck for a minute longer, making certain that his men were working satisfactorily, before swaying over to his cabin.

Cate was inside, sitting on the bed, still in her drenched garments, a pair of fingers hovering over her lips. She jumped as he entered, and blushed in embarrassment at being caught in such a vulnerable position.

"That was… unexpected," she squeaked, wrapping her arms about herself.

Jack merely grunted in agreement, wrapping a spare bed sheet about her shoulders as a makeshift towel. He was about to pull away, but was stopped by Cate's hands snatching up to rest upon his fingers. Quizzical, he looked down at her to see her staring back up at him, her violet eyes wide and pleading.

"Does she know?" she asked softly. "She knows, doesn't she?"

"I doubt it," Jack dismissed, pulling his hands out of her grip and leaving Cate to stand nervously in the middle of his cabin.

"She… She kissed me," Cate breathed, her hands reaching up to brush her lips once more. It was as if the woman had never once been kissed before, and Jack couldn't help but find her childishness irritating.

"It was just a kiss," he reminded her imperiously.

"But it was the first time that anyone's—" Cate began, then stopped, looking suspiciously at him, and despite the fact that he hadn't done anything wrong, Jack found himself overcome with intense feelings of guilt. Silence could do that to a man.

"Jack…" Cate began, moving close. "What's all this about a goodbye kiss?"

"What?"

"A goodbye kiss," Cate repeated, her tone low and accusatory, her eyes narrowing as she stared defiantly up at him. "Sierra had mentioned something about a goodbye kiss to you."

Jack merely stared at her, uncertain as to why Cate would find such a thing so hateful. The silence seemed to be enough for Cate, though, and she stepped menacingly towards him.

"Jack…" she asked him in a low, threatening voice, "Did you happen to… instruct her to kiss me?"

There was a long, awkward pause as Jack silently debated which answer would offend her least. If he replied in the negative, Cate would assume that either Sierra found her attractive of her own accord, or that her hatred towards the pirate was such that she was willing to degrade herself to the level of kissing Cate simply to humiliate her. Whereas if he said yes, Cate would hurtfully assume that Sierra had no attraction towards her at all, but simply loved Jack so much she was willing to do anything he asked of her.

…That was such a wonderful thought…

"Yeah," he tried, feigning nonchalance. "I do believe that I did."

There was a pause as Cate absorbed his words. "Do you mean that?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"…Yes?" he tried, and even though he knew that he was larger and stronger than her, with a band of loyal men behind him, he felt suddenly afraid.

"Cate," he attempted to appease her as she stalked menacingly forwards. "Listen, darling, I…" He paused, stumbling slowly backwards as Cate continued to take her light, intimidating steps.

"Why?" she asked him softly, and Jack swallowed.

"There comes a time in every man's life when he has the chance to choose between right," he gestured towards an imaginary symbol of righteousness, "and wrong," he continued, confusingly waving his hand at some invisible point to his own right. Cate continued to stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

"…He only misses by one," Jack concluded uneasily.

Suddenly, she leapt upon him, and Jack, fearing for the worse, yelped as he stumbled backwards into the desk. He felt a flash of anger course through him as her hands clung tightly to his arms, his shoulders, before travelling to his neck, and he retaliated by grabbing her waist, desperate to push her off before—

Is she kissing me?

Confused by the lunacy of the entire situation, he froze, hands resting gently on her waist as she showered his face with kisses, laughing in delight all the while.

"Jack!" she cried, still laughing. "Oh, Jack!" Her voice was loud, friendly, warm, as was her body, still drenched as it was in the cold water. Finally, she pulled away, her eyes shining, making her appear all the more beautiful to Jack.

"I love you, Jack Sparrow," she grinned, and for the first time in his life Jack was able to experience a woman professing her undying love for him without balking. She pressed her lips briefly to his ear before drawing back slightly and playfully rubbing her nose against his. "I want to marry you and have your children!"

Jack turned his cheek away at this, and pulled back slightly to glare at her.

"You had your chance."

THE END

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