Deleted Scenes reel: For some reason or another, these bits did not make it into the story. But I still like them!

Bootstrap Bill in Trouble Again... or, Where Will Gets It From

This takes place before my story, during Barbossa's trip home from World's End after Jack shoots him in CotBP. I guess by timeline it's between CotBP and DMC.

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Barbossa prowled the misty deck of the Dutchman without his coat or hat or anything else that might draw attention to himself. In fact, considering he was soaked to the bone and so chilled his lips were blue, he blended in better with Davy's crew than he would have liked.

He was prowling because even though it was only his fifth night aboard, he was already feeling trapped and suffocated in his room. The deck was quiet except for a few creatures keeping watch, and one sailor on the ground scrubbing steadily at the deck. Surprise, surprise, it was Bootstrap Bill. Barbossa went over to him.

"Care to lend a hand?" chuckled Bill when he saw who his visitor was.

Barbossa looked down and watched the slow progress for a little while. Bill might have been joking but it was still an interesting thought. "Have ye any idea how many years it's been since I swabbed a deck?"

Bill shrugged. "Days, years, they don't mean much around here. Time just... happens." He looked up, the ghost of a spark in his eyes. "I scrubbed decks with you once upon a time."

"So you did." Barbossa knelt carefully down next to him and reached for a rag. "For old times' sake," he said.

They worked in silence for a little while. Barbossa found the rhythm of it soothing and, had it not been hell on his knees and back, might almost have decided to come help tomorrow night, too.

Bootstrap Bill had been out here slaving away instead of resting for four nights now. That, and the fact that his back had been shredded so badly he still couldn't wear a shirt after half a week, suggested that he had said or done something to provoke Davy Jones very intensely.

Barbossa had a feeling he knew what it was. "I suppose this be the cannon all over again."

Bootstrap laughed helplessly, a low, wheezing sound that brought him dangerously close to coughing. "Yes," he said. "I just can't seem to keep this mouth shut when it matters, can I?"

"Shut it now; bosun's watching," Barbossa breathed quickly.

When the bosun had gone away again Bill said, "Jones is going to bargain with you and let you go."

"You're a fool," Barbossa growled wearily, reaching over him to get at the bucket. He tried not to notice that some of the lash marks still oozed blood.

"I owed it to you," Bill reminded him. "I condemned you all to a fate that... well..."

"I wouldn't wish it on anyone," Barbossa agreed, then paused in his scrubbing to think about it. "Well. Perhaps there are one or two..."

Bill looked over at him and they both laughed quietly.

Davy Plays Doctor

The day of the bachelor party, hanging about the Dutchman waiting for the guest of honor to arrive, Davy notices that Barbossa is pale and hot and nearly delirious.

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"What happened to you?"

Before Barbossa could answer, Jack jumped in. "Actually Davy, it's a very good thing you asked mate, because, you see, Barbossa here could use a little bit of help, and word is you're able to just lay hands on people and sort of clean them right up, eh? Rather like you know who." He made a prayerful gesture.

"Charming, Sparrow," Davy said flatly. "It's a shame it's not you - I'd take great pleasure in refusing and seeing you rot. Well, let me see."

Barbossa shook his head. "Thank ye, but I think I'll just wait until-"

"You don't have that long." Jack's voice was firm and his eyes hard. "Show it to Davy. You don't have to let him touch it," he overrode his friend's protest, "Just let him see."

Barbossa's insistence that he would be fine for a little longer was seriously undermined by the difficulty he had in getting his coat off and shirt open. "There. Lovely, is it not?"

Jack leaned away from the awful fishy smell and kept his eyes on Davy. "Tell him the truth."

Davy plurrped. "The truth is you're not dying yet. But at the rate you're going I'll be extending you an invitation within three or four days."

"Well you can take that invitation, and stow it up-"

"Did you even hear him?" demanded Jack.

Barbossa froze. "Three or four days?" he whispered.

Jones's nose wrinkled. "Five at the outside - I'll give you that you're tough. But if we wait any longer than that..." he shrugged. "I can't take an oath from a dead man, now, can I."

"See?" Jack demanded. "What've you got to lose?" No answer. Jack looked over at Davy and suggested, "How about if I hold him down?

"Try that and I'll shoot you dead." Barbossa already had his hand on his pistol. He was trying to think things through. Obviously Jack was not trying to trick him into a lifetime on the Dutchman (was he?), but who knew what happens when Davy starts sticking those squirmy little arms up inside your body and poking around in there? Were you all right after? Did your hair start to turn to seaweed? Could you still die on schedule?

"All right, mate, easy." Jack held up his hands to illustrate that holding people down was no longer on the menu. He took a slow step forward, holding eye contact as he approached, the way he would with a dangerous wild animal. "Come on. It's me - Jack. I only want to help. Please trust me."

Barbossa felt prickly and dizzy, and he suddenly realized that he was probably not quite right in the head. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm bein silly, aren't I?"

Jack broke into a grin, relieved beyond measure. "Entirely." He looked back at Davy. "All yours, Doctor."

Will Finally Accepts the Consequences of his Actions.

I debated having Will suffer for trying to kill Davy - why should Elizabeth always be in trouble for him? So this is how I think it might have gone down...

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"Please, don't-"

Barbossa followed his gaze to Elizabeth. "Oh, I think we're past that," he assured with with a smile that boded no good at all. "This one you get to take all by yourself."

"Thank you," Will breathed, relieved.

Barbossa's eyes flashed. "I don't think you'll be thankin me when it's over." He gestured for men to come and collect the prisoner, then cocked his head thoughtfully while he dreamed up something appropriate. "Tie him to the bowsprit, and drop him off the bow," he ordered at last.

Elizabeth didn't seem to understand, so as they carted Will away Barbossa explained it to her. "I've always liked keelhaulin, except we haven't scraped the hull in so long that I can't even imagine the barnacles we've got down there. It would literally shred Will alive. He'd lose chunks of flesh bigger than your hand and he'd probably bleed to death. So this way we can give him the same pleasant experience of nearly drownin, without puttin his life to significant risk."

"Significant," Elizabeth echoed unhappily. "Captain, this really isn't funny." She watched them lower Will off the bow by a sturdy rope around his ankles. She rushed over and peered over the side. "Will? Are you all right?"

He was actually clinging to the figurehead, having a rough time of it because his feet were tied together. "Will!"

He looked up and coughed the spray out of his mouth. "Elizabeth?" But then his grip slipped and he fell. For a moment he hung by the rope around his ankles, bouncing wildly, upside down just above the surface of the water. He was dunked twice before he managed to twist around and raise his body enough to grab onto the rope with his hands. "I'm fine," he shouted once he was right side up again. After long moments of hanging on, when he knew his strength was about to give out, he called up to Elizabeth, "Darling I think I'd rather you didn't watch this!"

He didn't know if she answered or even if she heard him, because a moment later he was dangling by his feet again, arms flailing, crashing hard into the hull of the ship and choking on seawater.

Barbossa came to check on him twice. The first time, Will was latched on to the wooden woman's legs, hanging on by his arms and knees because his arms were too exhausted to do it alone. He was throwing up water and trying vainly to get his wet hair de-plastered from his face. He heard the laugh from above and tried to look up. "Captain is that you?" His eyes burned with too much salt to see. "How long do I have to stay d-" the ship bucked and dislodged him, dropping him so suddenly that his whole body jerked with the shock of it. "Aough!" But several swells broke over him and when there was finally a break, he had to cough up everything he had inhaled. It took a while before he could drag himself back up the rope out of reach of the sea, and by that time, the captain had gone.

The second time Barbossa came back, Will had given up trying to climb. He was dangling at the end of the rope, wiping at his face every now and again, only really becoming active when the ship dipped and his head was submerged. Then he would thrash wildly and pull himself up enough to break the water.

It was obviously getting more and more difficult for him – he was so exhausted that there eventually came a time when he couldn't curl up enough to pull free of the ocean. When the wave receded on its own, Will gasped and retched, arms hanging uselessly over his head, no longer even struggling. He had gone for all intents and purposes completely limp. Water dripped down from his soaked clothes over his face, into his nose, and every few breaths he would choke on it a little and have to cough it up.

Barbossa called for men to come pull him up. The boy could probably take another ten or twenty minutes, but it was better to be safe than sorry when dealing with such an important member of the crew.

He considered calling Elizabeth to come coo over the boy, then decided the boy didn't deserve it - he deserved a punishing combination of mocking laughter and pity from someone he didn't like. Barbossa himself caught Will as he was hauled onto the deck, then shooed everyone else away and eased the half-drowned boy to the floor.

Will was gagging, and clinging to him, and couldn't see the nasty smile because his eyes were swollen shut after so long in the ocean and spray.

"All right, all right. Breathe. Here-" Barbossa splashed fresh water over his eyes and then poured it up his nose, too. Will started to choke all over again. "All right, enough. Drink some, come on. It'll stop you throwin up."

Will did, then groped blindly for the captain's sleeve and rubbed his eyes with it. "It's not funny. I can't see."

"That be the salt." Barbossa tilted his head back and poured more water into his eyes. Will tried to jerk away but was too exhausted to manage much. He wiped his face again. "Better?"

"A little." Will didn't even try to sit up. "I can hear you smiling. Stop it. I can't feel my feet."

"That be the rope." The captain tried for a moment to pick at the knot, but the strain on it had made it impossible so he just used a knife. He pulled off Will's shoes, too, a gesture whose purpose Will didn't immediately guess.

But then the blood flow began returning to his feet, and Will cried for the first time since the ordeal started. Barbossa had to help him into a sitting position so that he could double up and try to rub out the terrible pins and needles.

But the effort was too much and the payoff too little, so Will eventually collapsed again and just endured the pain in a moaning heap on the ground. He was shivering now.

The pirate sighed. "Stand up," he advised after a moment. "It'll hurt at first, but you'll feel better."

"Can't," Will answered tightly. "Leave me alone." Barbossa moved behind him, reached under Will's arms, and in one rough motion hauled him to his feet.

It hurt so much that Will started to fall down again. "Oh no, stay where you are. Give it a minute, you'll feel better." Barbossa draped him forwards over the railing and rubbed his back. "Now don't fall overboard. I think you've had enough of a swim for the day, don't you?" he teased gently, having dropped everything sadistic from his voice. "Are you all right?"

"You're a fiend from Hell."

Barbossa reminded him, laughing, "I told you you wouldn't be thankin me."

Apparently the punishment hadn't done much to tame Will's stubbornness. "And I told you I would," Will said wearily over his shoulder. "So thank you."

Barbossa decided it was time to add insult to injury - make the boy feel stupid as well as half-killed. He asked, "Did you think I meant to drown you?"

Will heaved a sigh. "No," he admitted. "I guess I trust you that far, at least."

"If that's the case, mind tellin me why you didn't go limp sooner?" Will jerked upright in surprise. "This is what you get for being brave instead of thinkin," Barbossa lectured. "You should've took a leaf from your friend Norrington's book and surrendered early. Instead, ye fought it with everything you had, and now you won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow."

"You mean you would have pulled me up as soon as..." Will shook his head. At this point there was little he could do but laugh. "You're unholy."

Barbossa thought it over. "Aye," he agreed after a bit, "I suppose so."

The story of Wench.

This came about because I was wondering about Barbossa's old girlfriends. Jack, Lizzie, and Barbossa are sitting around chitchatting. Jack says...

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"D'you remember Wench?"

"Leave it be, Jack." Barbossa glared at him. "I liked Wench."

"Wench?" Elizabeth had to ask. Barbossa could see her preparing to press, so he decided to simply tell her the story straight off to save himself half an hour of wheedling. He knew he would end up giving in in the end anyway.

Wench was a girl he met many years ago in Tortuga... "met" in this case being a euphamism for "rented." She was younger and more pixielike than he usually liked his women, but there was something in her manner that puzzled him. Her shyness seemed a little forced. Her graceful, delicate gestures were somehow unnatural. There was something a little too aware and wary in her eyes. Almost as if... as if the whole thing were a disguise or an act of some kind.

A girl of no more than fifteen or sixteen, already keeping dark secrets? Keeping them well enough that he wasn't even sure? Intrigued, he took her upstairs.

The remainder of the evening was not something he described in detail to Elizabeth.

He picked up the story the next morning, when he first got a look at the girl in daylight. He knew at once, from her impressive set of scars (and also from the bruises her powerful grip had left on his thighs, and also from the blood on the sheets, neither of which he mentioned to Elizabeth) that she was definitely not a... erm... companion by trade.

It was far more likely, given her age and haircut, that until now the girl had made a living aboard a ship disguised as a cabin boy. Someone had finally found her out, and they'd thrown her off the ship.

That was a shame - she was clever and passably pretty, and he saw no reason why a woman couldn't crew a pirate ship as well as a man. In his experience women were generally the fiercer sex anyway. So he invited her aboard.

After years of frequenting many different women who all took exception to being addressed by the wrong name, Barbossa had developed a policy of calling every woman "miss" to be formal and "wench" once they were, err, a little more familiar with one another. He thought nothing of continuing with that strategy now, promptly forgetting whatever name the girl gave him on that first night. He called her Wench to her face, and let the crew follow his example or just invent their own names for her.

Then, by the time the captain realized how much he liked her and was considering inviting her to move her things into the cabin permanently instead of just sneaking in and out every evening, it was much too late to ask what she really wanted to be called.

He enlisted Jack's help, deciding that if anyone could get the girl talking it was a boy her own age who was at least as effeminate as she was. He sent them off on some chore together, and Jack came straight out and said, "You know, I feel awful, but I don't even know your name."

She laughed. "You can just call me Wench like everybody else if you want, I think it's nice after so long being boy."

"No, really - I want to know your name."

"Why? Jack Sparrow, you ain't sweet on me, are you? You know what Captain'll say to that."

Jack assured her that he was not sweet on her, decided it would be too suspicious to press the matter further, and reported his failure back to Barbossa.

The next attempt (an idea that originated, like all bad ideas, in the malfunctional brain of Jack) was the one that spoiled everything. One night, after they had taken a very fancy ship, the captain was showing off a lovely gold writing set he had kept for himself. He wrote his name with a flourish and offered the pen to her. "You try. Write yours."

Wench laughed. "Who'd have took the time to teach me to write?" She pushed it back to him. "You write my name."

Later on it occurred to him that he ought to have just written a very large swear word and she wouldn't have known the difference. At the time, though, he was caught off guard and froze for a split second.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I..."

It hit her. "You don't know," she breathed. "After all this time you don't know my name? But I thought you were just teasing, calling me 'Wench' all the time!"

She paused and he knew it was his one chance but he couldn't think of an answer fast enough.

"So that's... that's all I ever am with you? Wench?" She stormed out of the cabin.

He couldn't even call after her properly, because he didn't know her name. He followed her up on deck and found her in tears, trying to wheedle the men into lowering a boat for her. "What's this foolishness?" he demanded.

"I- I want to go," Wench sniffed. "I used to be fine, I didn't care a fig for men-" the way she spat the word made him wince, "-but now you've made me like you and it's obviously a bad idea and I want to leave."

He was silent and she seemed to take it as a sign that he was going to refuse. "Please - you can have my share of the ship we took today, all I want in return's a boat. Please."

He couldn't very well hold her against her will, could he? He nodded at his mate. "Provision her so she doesn't starve. Give her a boat without a hole in it. And as for you... I bid you a fond farewell, miss." He got her by the shoulders and kissed her quickly on the lips, then turned and left the scene. He was thinking about how unfathomable women are - who would ask to be marooned?

It was many women later that it occurred to him that Wench had not actually wanted to be marooned at all. Quite the opposite - her vanity had been wounded and she had merely wanted him to follow her, plead with her to stay, and first and foremost, beg to know her name.

Well, live and learn. And that was the story of Wench.

Barbossa Eats an Apple

In honor of Golumfryingeggs, who asked about Barbossa getting an apple. I didn't find a place for this, but I think it's cute.

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Barbossa was stretched out on the deck munching on an apple. Jack the monkey was hovering nearby. Apparently his curse had been broken - he went up and tugged on the pirate's coat and held his little hands out until Barbossa bit off a piece and gave it to him.

Jack sat down next to him and started munching. Elizabeth thought it was adorable, until the monkey looked over to her and licked his lips and flashed her a big nasty smile.

I don't believe it - a MONKEY is trying to make me jealous, she thought. And a moment later: I don't believe it - it's working.

She went over to them and tugged on Barbossa's coat herself, made monkey noises and held out her hands.

He handed over his apple and she took a bite and gave it back. She smirked down at her furry rival, which made Barbossa laugh aloud.

After they had passed the apple back and forth a few more times, Barbossa beckoned Elizabeth closer and whispered, "We're bein watched," into her ear.

She followed the tiny jerk of his head and saw her father who, embarrassed to be caught staring, immediately jumped and conspicuously turned his back.

She turned back around to Barbossa, all ready to make some joke about their cladestine love affair being found out, and discovered that he had drawn his dagger.

For a second she was shocked - he couldn't be serious! Over a few disapproving glances?

But she soon realized that a fight was not at all on his agenda. He waited til Governor Swann snuck another peek, then made a big show of cutting the apple in half and giving Elizabeth her own piece. There, see? said his body language. Isn't that better?

Realizing he was being humored and made fun of, Governor Swann stalked off to find someone who would treat him with a little more dignity.

Barbossa laughed and licked his dagger and put it away. Elizabeth laughed too, until she noticed that Jack the monkey had migrated to her lap, and was actually eating directly out of her hands when she wasn't paying attention. "Hey! That's mine!" She jerked it up and held it over her head.

Jack bounced around furiously and tried to hiss at her. Being that he was now just an ordinary monkey, Elizabeth was not in the least intimidated. She found that teasing Jack with her snack was even better than eating it.

Barbossa was feeling mellow enough not to comment on this fact, or to wonder aloud how the blazes she thought she was going to get along as a straightlaced Port Royal citizen for the rest of her life.

The Noisiest Hostage

I wrote this because I love writing Davy/Barbossa interaction, but then it turns out the story didn't really need it.

On the Dutchman setting up for the party, Barbossa notices that only a select few of Davy's fishpeople are hanging about.

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"Where's the rest of your crew?"

"They failed me... so I ate them," Davy explained complacently. Barbossa's eyes widened. "You fool. Imagine what they would taste like! I sent them off to run an errand underwater. Didn't need your girl to take me to task for failing to respect the men's feelings again... whatever that means."

Barbossa snorted. "On the one hand she's right - there's no need to rub their nose in joy they're never going to know... on the other hand, what nerve to say anything about it! She's got to be the noisiest hostage I've ever taken."

"You have no idea. She-"

"I really think I do. I tried to quiet her down by scarin her, and first thing she did was stab me. Right here. Still got the mark."

Davy gave only a small smile, but by now Barbossa recognized the lively wriggling of his mustache as a sign that he was extremely amused. "That girl gave me a sermon about the way I run my ship."

Now that was a touchy subject for any captain. Barbossa winced in sympathy. "Aye, I'll admit she's never dared broach the subject with me. Of course, that's probably because I'm so good to her she just doesn't notice how I trample over everybody else."

Barbossa hadn't heard the way his tone was changing, but Davy had. "I sincerely hope you're ready for her to trample over you, friend," he said with a dark and unfriendly smile. "Because take my word she's about to."

Barbossa didn't misinterpret his glee. "Well, at least I'll know where to come for sympathy if I find I need a shoulder to cry on," he sneered. He just barely caught his tongue before it ran away with him and added, Although I doubt it'll be necessary; some people can take a little lady trouble in stride, "friend."

He looked down and prayed that Davy hadn't guessed what he was thinking. He needn't have worried - Davy assumed that naturally Barbossa was in a foul mood from his impending heartbreak and that of course he was prone to lashing out as a result. For a brief moment Davy actually felt bad about torturing him over such a sacred subject.

At the same time, Barbossa thought of the favor Davy had done de-sliming his shoulder wound for him, and for a brief moment felt bad for even thinking such cruel thoughts about Davy and his lost love.

Neither of them apologized, of course. They just clinked glasses and moved the conversation into more neutral waters.

And that's all, folks! Leave me some love!