Is love a tender thing? It is too rough/Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

Lacing his boot while sitting on the edge of the bed, that line certainly described Giselle tonight, still lying spread-eagle, the sheets bundled up at her bosom, her hair covering the pillow and cascading down the edges. The length of time hadn't been any longer or shorter than any other time with her, he thought with worried eyes, and the two of them made the headboard bang into the wall in time with their movement. But this visit with her proved by far the most unsatisfying for him in all the years he requested her from her madam.

"Feel better, Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"I said do you feel better? You had seemed so…tense when you came in," she said, hoisting herself up and rubbing his back, still shirtless. Her fingertips bored into the array of tattoos there, following the text of the poem singed into his flesh, tracing the pattern of one of the designs.

"I needed this, believe me," he said, turning to her. He threw his shirt on over his head, making a face at the door right across from him. Downstairs, Gibbs was setting up a recruiting table of sorts and the rest of the crew joining in the drinking and card playing and fighting. Why didn't he want to go down there? Out that door, a chest stayed hidden in some corner of a big world laughing at him, William was making deals with who knows what sort of men and now was on the Dutchman, probably being used as the bo'sun's plaything, his crew already thought he was selling all of them to the devil of the sea himself…Lizzie was off in some jail cell waiting to be hanged.

"What's bothering you, Jack? You know, you could stay a little longer. Free of charge."

"Can't. Have to set sail tonight." Throwing his coat on, he inhaled when he opened the door, the sound of the hornpipes already filling the little room. Giselle ran over to him, a trail of sheets behind her, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his lips, his chin, his nose. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her forehead and let his lips drop down to her eyes. Most of the women he had had seemed to think so much of eye-kissing and Giselle was no exception. Well, even if the Dutchman claimed his life he could go down saying he knew a woman's body inside and out.

"Ugh, sailing on the Pearl?" She waited for him to confirm. "I hate it. It's like another woman in your life. Tell me-- you don't think of her when we're together, do you?"

"I can honestly tell you I don't."

"Good. That would just be so, so egregious."

"Been reading the dictionary?" he chuckled.

"It's about time I started understanding all those words you use," she said, a smile stamped across her face.

"Well, best sound educated then. You said it wrong."

"Did I? I was so sure…" She looked at the floor, mouthing the word to herself.

"Say 'e-gray-gus.'" He knew he shouldn't trick her like this, he thought, but for whatever reason, he had had enough of her. He found her silky collarbone and creamy torso much more unappetizing than he ought.

"E-gray-gus," she repeated and then clapped her hands. "Oh! It's much simpler that way! All right. If you must go, you must go. Kiss?" He bent down and pecked her lips, still swollen from moments before. Exiting out onto the corridor, he glanced down and saw Gibbs off to the side, Cotton moving another table over before running off to the bar. "I love you, Jack."

"Hm? Oh. Love you too," he muttered without looking at her and going down the stairs. Gibbs saw him and gave a nod.

"All set up!" he said, taking out a chair for Jack. "I figure the Pearl could use a few more deckhands anyway and it keeps up the illusion fairly well. Don't ye think? Marty made this." He held up a small sign that read, "Sailors needed" with a red arrow underneath the print.

"Where's that going to go?"

"Over by the bar."

"Good thinking. I think you can handle the recruiting yourself, Gibbs. I need to get a location for the chest."

"Oh, yes, of course." Gibbs nodded. "How ye be doin' that?"

"I have my ways." He propped himself on a ledge beside the recruiting table and took his compass out of his pocket. He stared at Gibbs, taking a seat and laying his forearms on the table, one hand on top of the other, back straight as a board. He really ought to let Gibbs use the compass, faithful, trustworthy Gibbs. His hand rested on top of the lid. Gibbs would believe him, that much was sure. It might help to have it set in a fresh pair of hands. On the other hand, it would be a truly difficult task to convince Gibbs he wanted the chest more than anything, and finding the chest was far too pressing a matter to leave room for dillydallying. Fine. He would just keep trying the compass himself.

Opening it up, it immediately spun several times, each spin ripping away more of Jack's confidence. At last, it settled at the nine o'clock position. It wavered, then stilled. Just when a smile crept up, it started spinning again. Bloody hell. He closed the lid and opened it again. This time it rested straight ahead of him before jumping back to the two o'clock position, then back to twelve, then back to two.

"I know what I want!" he scolded it out loud, half convincing himself it was true. From the background voices to his right, he could tell Gibbs was making far more progress than he was. Just a heading, he willed the compass to know. Just a direction of the bloody thing and then you can tell me wherever anything in the world is. Promise. Won't ever get frustrated with you again.

The compass kept spinning.

"How we going?" he asked Gibbs, his head throbbing.

"Including those four? That gives us four." Gibbs turned back to the table. "And what's your story?"

"My story?" the voice said, "It's exactly the same as your story, only one chapter behind. I chased a man across the seven seas. The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission, and my life."

Jack snapped his head around with wide eyes at the sight of James Norrington taking a healthy swig from a bottle. The smudges on his skin, his hair mussed, his clothes baggy—he possessed all the makings of a pirate underneath that military air. He had to admit, in spite of his rising terror, it was an improvement from the stuffy creature at Port Royal whose angst reminded him of a pigeon cooing in the darkness. Without taking his eyes off him, he maneuvered to a plant, hoping to make it back upstairs one tiptoe at a time.

"Commodore?" Gibbs' eyes widened as well at the sight in front of him.

"No, I'm not anymore! Weren't you listening? I nearly had you all off at Tripoli. I would have, if not for the hurricane."

Jack repositioned the leaves of the plant around him, wondering how the man managed to fall from the Pearl, swim back to his ship, summon enough bollocks to give the order to sail through the hurricane, and then survive it.

"Lord, you didn't try to sail through it?"

"So do I make your crew or not? You haven't said where you're going. Somewhere nice?" The nearby inebriates and barmaids gasped at the sound of the table being overturned. Even the musicians off in the corner stopped, anxious to tell later patrons how the most recent brawl all began. "So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow?"

It was the tone that told Jack he was seen, not just by the Commodore, but by every single soul in the bar. Magnificent.

"Or should I just kill you now?" Norrington drew his pistol and held it straight out at his side, the barrel right across Jack's chin.

"You're hired!" he said.

"Sorry. Old habits and all."

Deflected shots, bodies tumbling, and glass shattering all whizzed by Jack's ears while he ducked out of range of the pistol. The musicians resumed their song, keeping in time with the somersaults of the men nearest to them. Shards of glass lay on top of puddles of various spirits, and Jack swore he saw a tooth already discarded in the cracks in the floor.

"Time to go?" He gestured to Gibbs.

"Aye!"

XXX

"Serves us right trying this pub," Gibbs said on the way out. "Can't go one night without a brawl."

"Some would say that's what makes it such a success."

"Supposin' all the patrons just killed each other off? What then?"

"Then drinks all around for the establishment," Jack said. "So…four new hands, eh?"

"Aye. I do be apologizin' for that, Jack. I know we don't need 'em for Jones, but the ship is gettin' mighty needful of men. If we had time to call on Anamaria."

"I don't think we'll want to be doin' that."

"No? Just as well. No sense thinkin' of ideas what can't be used. You!" Gibbs yelled to the crew. "Those goats ain't gonna load themselves! Put your backs into it! What's the matter, Jack?"

"Oh," Jack stuttered, realizing he had been caught frowning. "Just that, my sources have informed me a journey to the Virginia colony may be in order." It was as good a place as any to start the search for the chest. "What are we to do with only four more crewmen, eh? Not even a good pretense for Jones. What kind of man goes to all the trouble of carving out his heart and locking it in a chest just to have it hidden away in the first place?"

"I couldn't be tellin' ye."

"Captain Sparrow!"

"Here to join me crew, lad? Welcome aboard," he recited, hardly even turning his head.

"I'm here to find the man I love."

Not one of these.

"I'm deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea." He nodded to Gibbs to make sure the youth stayed firmly on the pier and at no time board his ship. Bad enough Cotton's parrot was on it.

"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow."

His body jerked around before he could even register what he just heard.

"Elizabeth." Bugger. "Hide the rum," he whispered to Gibbs, his mouth dry. It was really her, covered in a boy's coat that looked heavier than a sack full of grain. "You know those clothes do not flatter you at all. It should be a dress or nothing. I happen to have no dress in my cabin." Last he knew, she was sitting in jail and now here she was, looking at him as if she expected him to know what to do with her.

"Jack," she said, slight bags under her eyes now exposed. "Jack, I know Will came to see you. Where is he?"

Sprung from jail, late at night, sneaking all the way to Tortuga, worrying herself sick over that boy—no wonder she looked so tired. He walked up to her, his ears burning from what he was about to do. "Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this but through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that have nothing whatsoever to do with me, poor William has been press-ganged into Davy Jones' crew." Cur! You've never lied to Lizzie, not once. She would have understood.

"Davy Jones?" It was too late.

"Oh please," Norrington managed to spit out in between gags. "The captain of the Flying Dutchman?"

Well, here they all were, Lizzie worrying herself sick over Will and the Commodore playing the part of the reluctant hero who would do whatever she wanted. Truly little had changed in the span of a year.

"You look bloody awful."

"You hired me! I can't help it if your standards are lax."

"You smell funny."

"Jack," Elizabeth said, gaining some strength in her voice. "All I want is to find Will."

XXX

Commodore James Norrington and Elizabeth Swann aboard the Pearl—probably the last two people he would have foreseen actually on his ship. Pintel and Ragetti sent Norrington off into the hull with an armful of cargo…about time they did something right. He smiled in approval. Elizabeth walked up the deck in front of him, her hands busy undoing the tight tail in the back of her head and shaking out her long hair, streaked with more sunlight than the last time he had seen her. He watched her run her hand over the Pearl's rim, the mast, the bulkhead when she climbed up and back down the steps. Maybe it was the moonlight, but he would swear he saw her smile with pride and affection at the ship.

"No plank walking this time, unless you found it agreeable," he said when she came back down the steps. "You can hang your coat up in there." He opened the door to his cabin.

"I know better than that," she said, letting out a small laugh. "It's just good to see her back with her proper captain."

"Take the cabin, love. You look like you haven't slept in months."

She stepped into it and made a lap around his table. "You know, I do remember Barbossa keeping it considerably tidier than it is now."

"Are you trying to tease me? Love, I think when you have been out at sea as long as I have, you learn that the phrase 'a place for everything and everything in its place' can be applied rather loosely on a ship."

"You'll be wanting this back?" She held out the compass to him.

"Why don't you hold onto it? Don't worry with that," he scolded her, seeing her rifle through his charts. "Get some sleep."

"Thank you."

Stepping outside, he climbed up to the crow's nest and let his legs hang over the side. For someone so dirty and tired, it made no sense at all for her to still be so, so tantalizing.

XXX

Sleep had refused him once again and he staggered to the tiny galley after seeing Marty had the helm. Not about to practice walking straight in front of the crew, he stepped on Norrington's hand. A whole row of men swabbing the deck and of course, the one he had to step on was Norrington.

"Not drunk again, are we, Captain?" Norrington rose up to his knees, giving Jack a bemused look. The dead rat that the man called a wig now lay slumped on the deck covered in soapy water.

"Quite the resourceful one," Jack said, tapping the wig with his boot. "It's a shame you failed to bring your uniform. We could have converted it into a new set of colors."

Not waiting for what would either be a boisterous series of offended sounds or some attempt at sarcasm, Jack pushed through the door of the galley only to see Gibbs and Elizabeth sharing a loaf of bread and laughing.

"…and then, just when we all decided crashing the baron's ball was a good idea, in come his two nieces, and let me tell you, they were the drunkest ladies I'd ever set eyes upon! They could put this whole crew to shame! Ah, Jack! Miss Elizabeth and I thought it best to wait for you before we started discussing this chest business. Saved you some bread."

Jack waved it away and took a seat next to Elizabeth.

"Well, I thought you ought to know that whatever Will may have said about himself or me, the only official part of the deal was that you go free," she said to him.

"What are you talking about?"

"The bargain." She looked back over at Gibbs, and then back at Jack. "Surely Will explained why he needed your compass."

"So it is magic!" Gibbs said, leaning up on the table to stare past Elizabeth at Jack. "Might'a saved us some grief had you told me."

"I don't think she's done telling her story, mate."

"You mean to tell me Will didn't say anything?" Her eyes widened.

"All he said was that he needed this compass in exchange for your freedom and seeing as young William is rather good to have around, I was too willing to comply to press for details." He had his suspicions, but hoped he simply wasn't giving Will enough credit by thinking about them. "Who did Will make a deal with?"

"Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company."

Jack unleashed a desperate laugh from his stomach. Just when things couldn't get any worse… He held his head with one hand and continued.

"Might I ask what is so funny?"

"And you want to marry this bloody fool? Lizzie, I had you pegged for much smarter than that! Cutler Beckett is only the most shrewd, heartless villain ever to come into any kind of power, save for maybe Nero. William made a deal with Beckett? Forgive me, darling, but it's too much to take in and try to picture you depending on the poor simpleton for anything."

"Jack!" Gibbs shouted. "Keep your voice down. Let's take this discussion outside."

They all exhaled at the warm sun and open sky after leaving the crammed galley. Elizabeth fumbled through her coat pockets, producing the letters she mentioned. Holding them out in front of her, she said, "He didn't have time to ask questions. All that was known is that the official pardon was for you and that two more would be secured for us later. But we don't have to worry because I have all of them now."

"Beckett!" Gibbs snorted, taking the corner of one of the letters to examine it.

"Yes. They're signed Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company."

Jack recoiled at the name, waking his mind up again. Beckett wants the compass. The compass points to whatever a person wants. Beckett wants something, has always wanted something. Well, matters truly are worse now.

"Will was workin' for Beckett and never said a word," Gibbs mumbled, shaking his head.

Yes, that was a problem, too, but it could be dealt with in due time. Jack's hand flew to the brand, burning at Beckett's name. Keeping just under Beckett's nose all these years and now they were so close to the same thing.

"Beckett wants the chest…only one reason for that."

God keep Gibbs, Jack thought. "Of course. He wants the chest."

"Yes, he did say something about a chest," Elizabeth said, piecing it together herself.

"If the Company controls the chest, they controls the seas."

"A truly discomforting notion, love." It assuredly was. To think of Davy Jones sacking every suspected pirate ship in the ocean, all while hooked to Beckett's leash, made one's head swim.

"Bad. Bad for every mother's son what calls himself pirate!" Gibbs snorted, scanning the deck for a release. "I think there's a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails. Brace the foreyard!" He ran off in the direction of the crew, leaving Jack to ponder what else his Lizzie might know, courtesy of Beckett. A variety of scenarios ran through his mind, most of them bordering on the grotesque.

"Might I inquire as to how you came about these?"

"Persuasion," she said in a mysterious tone, her eyes giving him a knowing look. He did so like to be understood. Leave it to her to know what he wanted to know.

"Friendly?"

"Decidedly not."

Well, that did ease his mind to know she did not have to resort to bedding the knave into signing the letters for her. He had always thought Beckett was…but then a woman like her could make a man change his mind about his lifestyle. Maybe she fought him. Remembering his sword clanging against hers coursed through him, but it was still a lovely image—Lizzie sneaking up on Beckett and making demands. Dare he call her a pirate to her face?

"Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honor, yet you're the one standing here with the prize." He ignored her attempt to look dumbfounded and instead skimmed the letters. "Full pardon, commission as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company…as if I could be bought for such a low price." Nevertheless, it never hurt to have such leverage in one's pocket.

"Jack! The letters…give them back!" She started for them, nearly bumping into his back.

"No. Persuade me."

Truly it would have been a joy to maybe catch her blush or scoff at the request…was it a request?…but he preferred to keep his back to her, savoring the triumph of not only taking her prize but pointing out a deeply suppressed flaw in her character he happened to find quite alluring. But those thoughts flew out of his head when she pressed harder against his back.

"You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword?" she whispered so close to his ear he hardened at the sound of it. Turn around and kiss that filthy mouth, he told himself, but he pushed that away. She wanted to play? He could play, too.

"As I said, persuade me." It took a wave of reserve to refrain from bending his head down and kissing those lips right when they dropped open in shock and quivered at trying to form a response. She gave an awkward tilt and scrunched her mouth up into a tight ball before marching off to the stern. Reminding him of that night when she refused him, he should have been angry with her, but it really had been quite the best thing to say and he was man enough to admit he'd backed her into a corner and forced it out of her. He had not known what to do about her when she showed up at the pier, and part of him still didn't know what to do about her in the long-run, but while she was here, on his ship, a few things came to mind as to what he could do about her.

Her back to him, she looked out to the ocean. Jack nodded his head and climbed back up the steps to relieve Cotton for a brief while, calmed by the steady swaying of the Pearl and by his own confessions going on in his mind. She was a pirate and she belonged on a pirate ship. She belonged on this pirate ship.

She belonged with him.

A/N: The line at the very beginning is from Romeo and Juliet. These chapters get more and more entertaining to write. Please leave reviews and tell your friends. I do not own POTC. Someone beat me to it...gives shifty eyes