Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Title is a poem by Emily Dickinson.

A Prison gets to be a friend

They had set sail in such a hurry; it hadn't even been one week yet and the crew was completely burned out. Jack worked them hard. Gabriel was the only one who got any rest at all because he'd been wounded. Even young Priscilla was working herself to the bone. She was the only one who noticed that Gretchen had confined herself to her room. Priscilla was busy taking care of her brother and making sure that her sister didn't go mad.

Camille was so angry at Jack for his treatment of James, she hadn't slept with him since that first night. She talked to him and addressed him very politely, but she and Ana Maria were in agreement with their avoidance of them. They knew very well this was not the wisest thing to do, and the entire crew was feeling the wrath of Jack's anger and frustration.

Camille sat among the barrels, basking in the ample amount of shade she could find for as long as she could without being caught. She watched the desolate-looking men staggering back and forth. She wasn't worried about Jack catching her; he was most likely at the helm, like he had been for the past three days straight.

She was discovered by Ana Maria shortly, but instead of being reprimanded by her she was joined. Ana's hair was piled underneath a wide-brimmed hat like hers was, and she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt over a light skirt to protect her from the heat. She sighed. "This isn't what I expected at all. You can't imagine the excitement I felt, Camille, to be goin' back out at sea."

"I felt the same way. But you're right, it's not the same." She paused. They were both walking on eggshells about Jack's mood. "I don't know how to talk to him anymore, Ana. This week's been a horrible awakening for me."

"He's like that. Jack's always been alone, and he's always looked inside himself for answers to life's problems, even when it nearly kills him to do so. We all had hope for you, we really did. For awhile it seemed like you would be able to break down his barrier."

"Apparently not."

"Aye. I doubt a man like him would ever be subject to any change." She stiffened. "He's coming. Back to work."

The evenings were a bit less harsh on them, since reluctantly Jack did let his crew sleep. Camille took the free time to read out on the deck where no one else was since they were forced to spend most of the day there.

"Miss Camille!" a young girl said, practically racing across the deck. She looked very worried.

"Priscilla darling, what's the matter?" she said, closing her book.

"It's Gretchen, she's locked herself up in her room and is even refusing me now! She hasn't eaten all day. I'm concerned about her, Miss Camille."

The last thing Camille wanted to do was coach the obnoxious Gretchen into tolerating life on a ship. She had nowhere near enough patience to do it at this point. But she got up and followed Priscilla below. Sure enough, the door would not budge.

"Gretchen!" Camille knocked hard on the door. "Gretchen, you've been in there since we've left! This is complete nonsense, I'm coming in!" she warned. Bracing herself and pushing Priscilla aside, she kicked down the door. She groaned, rubbing her sore foot and immediately regretting her course of action.

Gretchen was inside, her dress and her face tearstained. The curls were gone from her hair, and it looked like a mess. Priscilla stuck her head in cautiously.

Camille placed her hand on her hips. "Gretchen, this is ridiculous. You can't stay in here, look at you. And you must eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Gretchen said in a meek voice.

"You would be if you didn't have that damned corset on," Camille insisted. "Now I'm getting you some clothes, and we are changing you out of that dress."

"No!" she protested. "I don't want to look you, like a…a whore!"

"I guarantee you'll look better than I do, and my profession is NONE of your business. But technically, I suppose being unmarried and having sex does make me a whore."

Priscilla looked shocked to hear this information. "Miss Camille," she stammered. "That doesn't make you a whore," she stated plainly. "Only if you were promiscuous."

"Thank you, that's my opinion on the subject as well," Camille said, looking back at Priscilla and winking. She turned back to Gretchen. "You are going to become a pirate wench, whether you like it or not."

Gretchen screamed in protest, throwing a pillow at Camille who easily dodged it. Priscilla ducked out of the room to go and get some clothes for her sister.

Camille stood her ground. She had been toying with this idea for some time now, teaching another woman as Ana Maria had taught her. She presented her with the same circumstances as she'd been presented with years ago.

"All right Gretchen, I would like you to imagine these two scenarios, and I would like you to think about them carefully."

Gretchen was still angry, but she was listening. She was desperate for any social interaction.

"I want you to think about remaining in this very room for the remainder of the voyage. No one would harass you, you wouldn't have to do any chores, you could relax all day. That is, until the Captain finds out. And he is a very keen observer of the behavior that is conducted aboard his ship. Now I want you imagine his reaction."

Gretchen's eyes grew wide and terrified.

"Ah, there you go. Yes, he will be furious with you. Belligerent, punishing, bellowing, all of those lovely things. And what do you suspect he will do to you, besides make you walk the plank?"
"He wouldn't."

"You've seen his rage. He would most definitely."

Gretchen swallowed. "And what of the other scenario?"

"Well, it wouldn't involve as much relaxation as the first one, but you would be properly clothed, fed, and possibly be clear of Jack's moodiness."

"But I would have to work. I'm much too weak to suffer the demands of a ship like this one," she said, making up an excuse for herself. "I could become ill. I could suffer from heat exhaustion, or twist my ankle running around all day on deck. I could even fall overboard. I'm not accustomed to being on a ship at all."