Author's note: Sorry for the long silence. I've been busy with work and other activities. Once again, a hearty toast goes to all my lovely reviewers, who are absolutely stunning. And I'm not just saying that, either, trust me. Anyway, on with the nonsense...!

Tidal Serenade
Chapter Three: A Wave In the Heart

Jack found himself at the beach without any clear notion of how he had gotten there. He seemed vaguely to remember, in between the incessant, insistent snatches of tidal song rushing through his mind, his feet carrying him along winding side streets—or no, perhaps he had stolen a horse…or…

No, that couldn't have been it. He shook his head like a drenched animal attempting to shake the water from its fur, but to no avail. He could hardly see straight, let alone concentrate; all that he could hear, all that mattered, was the ocean. For a moment he entertained the pleasant thought that he was just three sheets to the wind, but then he realized that it was more along the lines of eight or nine sheets and that he hadn't tasted a sip of rum since the morning before.

That realization stopped him in his tracks, stunned his thoughts into momentary clarity. The last time he had gone this long sober was so long ago he couldn't properly remember when it had been.

"Oh, God," he moaned, listing down the beach in a crazy zigzag. "There's something wrong with me, an' I don't think it's anythin' to do with bein' loaded to the gunwhales…"

An incoming wave splashed across his boots. He started backward with a small noise of indignation and then realized, frowning in consternation, that he had for some inexplicable reason been walking right into the water. "What'd ye want with me?" he demanded of the sea, gesticulating wildly. "I don't owe ye for anythin'!" Breathing raggedly, he whirled around so that his back was to the water. Almost inaudibly, as though not quite consciously realizing the meaning of the words he spoke, he muttered, "I shan't strike me colors yet…"

The sea made no reply. Startled, he saw that he was again facing the water. No, more than that: he was pacing toward it. Why? he thought muzzily. And then the ocean in his head swept through his mind again, echoing the true waves before him, erasing all other thoughts.

To his immense shock, Jack awoke aboard the Black Pearl. He scoured his memory for clues; what had happened? Remembrance came in shattered, confusing fragments: the exotic marketplace; the singer with the dress of midnight waves; a crowd of people, shoving him about like an uprooted piece of seaweed; the beach and then the ocean, everywhere; sand in his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose, down his shirt; voices yelling…

The door to his cabin swung open. There was a soft whoosh of disturbed air and there, suddenly, standing in a sliver of pale sunlight, stood Anamaria.

"Cap'n," she stated crisply, by way of greeting. "Glad to see ye awake."

Jack mumbled something he didn't even understand himself.

"Ye gave us a bit o' a nasty shock last night," she continued. Her voice was calm, but in her eyes he could detect the faintest hint of concern. "We found ye in the water. Ye owe Gibbs a thanks for spottin' ye and to Mr. Cotton for pullin' ye from the waves before ye drowned."

"Drowned?" he managed in the relative quiet after one wave retreated in his head and before the next raced to replace the first. He remembered water enclosing him, sand swirling everywhere…

"Yes, ye daft fool! What did ye think ye were doin', goin' for a swim when ye were drunk?" she demanded, her tone losing a great deal of its former composure.

"Dunno," he muttered, only half-hearing the question. "I can't think."

"Obviously," his first mate answered tartly. "Ye probably have a ragin' hangover, I imagine. Well, I'll leave ye to it," she said. "We'll talk when ye've recovered a bit."

"No," Jack protested. She halted, gazing at him sharply. He heaved himself to his feet and looked around the cabin. There! A bucket full of cold water had thoughtfully been placed on the floor near the entrance to his cabin. He staggered over to it and plunged his entire head into the water.

Anamaria watched, stunned, as her captain abruptly submerged his head in the bucket of wash water. The loud splash that accompanied the inexplicable movement startled her into action. She rushed to his side, seized several floating tendrils of dark hair, and yanked. Jack's head followed obligingly.

Spouting curses, Anamaria dragged him to his bed and flung him down. Jack rubbed his abused head and stared up at her gravely. Something about the expression in his eyes, a vague unsettling muzzy quality, caused her to swallow her imprecations. She studied him carefully, her frown deepening with each passing second.

Jack's normal capricious, self-assured, and utterly maddening easiness had vanished and been replaced by an uncharacteristic tautness, which was displayed in a rigidity of the limbs, a tension about the mouth, a tightness in the gait. His expressive hands lay still at his sides; his dark eyes, usually lit by some unquenchable fiery mischief, had lost their luster.

"Jack," she said, frightened. "Are you ill?"

"I can't—" The pirate captain sighed and rested his head on his hands, rubbing his eyes. Then he glanced back up, and the quiet torment beneath the odd unfocused quality made Anamaria ache. Distractedly, something flickering behind his eyes, he repeated, "I can't think. Am I losing my mind, Ana? Is this insanity?"

"Lie down, Jack, and stay there," Anamaria commanded. "I'm going to fetch Cor." With that, she sprinted off to find the ship's cook, who also served as the Pearl's doctor.

And so there you have it. Questions, comments, or concerns? Reviews are always welcome, as I've mentioned before.