Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. The title is a mystery poem by William Wordsworth.

Chapter 26: The Thorn

"Jack?" she knocked on the door. A grunt was all that she heard from inside. Taking it as permission to enter, she opened the door. The cabin was very neat and organized, which was the first sign that something was wrong. The floor was almost spotless, the broken window had been patched up, and the books…the books were in alphabetical order, and the shelf cleaned!

She jumped when she heard the slight clanging of bottles together. Jack sat, with his feet up on the table in his typical manner. "Jack, you scared me!"

"Sorry, love."

"What is going on?"

"Eh? He tilted his head back so he could see her from underneath its rim. "Am I not allowed to clean my own cabin? It's not as I've had anything else to do as of late."

"Except work the crew to death."

"Are you going to start telling me how to run my ship, woman?"
"Jack, I have never seen you in this mood before," she admitted. She had become extremely used to Jack's moodiness. When he was depressed, angry, playful, happy, drunk…she could even tell when he was frightened. He solved most every problem by avoidance; that was obvious. But she had become a master at interpreting his attitudes and body language. She knew nothing of this composed sarcasm he was dealing out at her. Therefore she had no idea how to react to him. And that was dangerous. Jack's and Camille's attitudes tended to reflect off one another.

"Does that worry you?"

"Actually, it does. Is there anything you have to tell me?"

"Not that you don't already know. What information have you got?"

"I am not a messenger," she stated defiantly. He was really trying her patience. "If I tell you anything, it is of my own free will."

He leaned forward in his seat. "You are being most unwise, Miss Quartermaine. If you've not been able to guess at my mood yet, I can tell you that it's not a very pleasant one."

"Why not? Is a part of the ship unclean?" she was planning on going further with that comment, but she shut her mouth. The only persons she didn't have to be painstakingly patient with were Gabriel and James. "Apologies, Captain."

"No, go on. Finish your remark," he insisted.

"I'm quite done."

"Are you? Are you done undermining me for this week, Camille? Thank you. Thank you very much," he spat.

She noticed that Jack looked very different. He looked hardened, and angry. She knew that he was no feminine macaroni-like British gentlemen, but he was human. She hadn't been paying that much attention to his physical features, but now she could see that he hadn't been sleeping. And he'd most likely been drinking excessively. Yes, she could clearly see the bottles in perfectly straight rows. All of them were empty. "Oh Jack, what is it?" she prompted him.

With an annoyed look on his face, as if it were Camille's fault she had not by some miracle figured it out, he rolled up his sleeve. The Mark was visible. He slammed his fist down on the table, making an angry sound when he did so.

Camille rolled up her own sleeve without hesitating. Her Mark was also present. Without a flame? Just like Long John's it stood out now. Red as it had been freshly carved into her flesh, only it didn't hurt. She wanted to know what it meant. The Mark could change appearance?

She looked at Jack. She didn't want to go to him; he didn't look very comforting at all. But she was so scared. She reached her hand into her pocket and slipped on the ring. There was still a little sunlight out, and she held her hand toward the window. "The spot, it's gone," she exclaimed.

"What?" Jack said. His chair could be heard falling over and he appeared at her side a second later. She was right. There was no golden dot by Aguadulce.

"The treasure has disappeared?"

"Unless it was never treasure to being with," Jack ruminated.

"Than what was it?"

"I wish I knew, love," he rested his arm on her shoulder, and she shuddered. She longed for his touch on the rest of her body. She began swooning, and he was able to hold her steady. She turned around, and he looked like Jack again. The Jack she knew.

"I've missed you so much," she said innocently, tugging at his dreadlocks.

"I've been here all along," he assured her, half smiling.

"No, you haven't. Something was wrong. Something about you has been missing for the past several days. We thought you were beginning to go mad," she said before she kissed him. He waited until she was done.

"How could I go mad with a woman like you to keep me sane?"

"You certainly do come close, Captain Sparrow."

He sighed. "Camille, you know as much as I do that there is a dark side of me. I never wish to share it…with anyone. It's a past that I sometimes wish I had never lived. I don't want to live it more than once, not even in memory."

She looked at him carefully. He looked sad now. She kissed him gently on the chin. "You don't ever have to remember those things, Jack. You've got me to take your mind off that now."

"Yes, and since you've made such an offer…this week has been a living hell."

"I'll second that. Would you like it rough or sensual?"

He laughed, taking off his jacket. "Torture me."