AN: Ok, so I don't love this chapter. That's ok. I promise the next two chapters are going to be so much better (here's a hint: someone's getting a "mark"). I just have so much to lead up to here.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! Love you! I promise to start replying personally because I am so thankful for the reviews. Extra special thank you to SoftStuff who pointed out some errors in canon I made. Will point them out here as I am working on fixing them: Cutler Beckett shouldn't have yet been a Lord and Jack didn't yet know Gibbs! Sorry!

Now... onto the story!

An Act of Piracy

Chapter Three

"Jack..." a voice called, frail and feeble. Still, somehow, that whisper of a sound carried into Jack's room and into his sleeping mind. His heart thundering, he opened his eyes and felt around in the darkness for his breeches, pulling them up as he weaved and nearly fell. He was still half asleep and yet just awake enough to panic. These middle of the night trips into his mother's room were becoming more and more common as of late.

Not bothering with a shirt, he stepped into the hallway and pushed open his mother's door. He hesitated a moment to take her in as she lay there, weak hand attempting to push the quilt from her body, her face stricken. He rushed at her, stilling her hand and trying to soothe her. Much to his dismay, he felt her body go limp as she began to cry.

Positioning himself on the edge of the bed, Jack held his mother and rocked her while stroking down the length of her thin hair. After an eternity (only a minute or so), she raised her watery eyes to him and said, "Jacky, I'm hot," signaling the end to this familiar episode. He smiled and kissed her sweaty forehead before leaning her back on the pillows so he could pour her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. He helped her with it and generally fussed over her much as she used to do for him when he was a child with a mere cold, and by the time he looked at her again she looked normal. Tired, but normal. Only the sweat still standing out on her face betrayed the incident of a few minutes before.

"Jacky," she said, tiny smile. Then touched his face and added, "Sparrow."

Jack colored at the familiar nickname which only seemed to delight her more.

"My little Sparrow has grown up. You'll be getting married soon, and leaving me." Before he could protest she was leaning over the side of the bed, picking something out the sewing basket that she kept at her bedside. "Look, I have a gift for you and your Caroline."

When she had righted herself (and was breathing harder than Jack thought was good for her) she was holding a long piece of handmade lace, which he assumed was a veil. Rather than be sour about it (which was how he tended to be with all things connected with her) he decided to make fun. Taking it from her, he draped it over his face and fluttered his eyelashes at her from under it.

"Mum, I love it! Thank you!" he cooed. Her smile was indulgent (as always) when she tugged it away.

Jack's smile faded as he watched his mother stare down at the lace, face tightened in concentration as she ran her fingers over the fabric. It was almost as if she was trying to remember something... not a memory of a time and place but a feeling.

"I wore this when I married your father," she said after a moment, her voice barely a whisper. Jack looked at her for a long moment, not sure what to say. Thankfully, she didn't seem to need a response.

Her head came up and she looked at him, knowing him as she always had when he was younger and he was keeping something from her.

"You behave yourself for me, don't you Sparrow." It wasn't a question... not really... but still Jack considered lying. In the end, he just didn't have the heart to do it. Not when she so obviously knew the truth.

"Aye," he said, rather quieter than he meant to. "Only for you."

She continued to look at him, seeing through him in that way that only she could and looking younger than he had seen her look in months. It was a sad thing, watching a mother age, and Jack was suddenly afraid he was handling it all wrong.

"Jack," she said, smiling now. "Jack, you are so much like your father it breaks my heart." When he looked away, she touched his hand, drawing him back. He was surprised to see she was still smiling. He had expected that phrase to be an accusation, accompanied with heartache and hurt.

"I won't lie, Sparrow. I want you to be good. Your father was a pirate and it never did sit well with me, and you know that. But more that... more than I want you to be good, I want you to be happy. I want you to be you. You hear me?"

Jack stared at her, not sure what to say or how to respond. Rather than let the moment continue to draw on and show that she had stunned him, he touched her forehead.

"Are you feeling feverish, mum?" he asked, mock serious. She laughed, a fluttery wonderful sound, and smacked at his hand. Grabbing at his cheek, she held him until they were both serious again and Jack's heart felt sick. She was still smiling just a little, and running her eyes over him as her fingers had done the lace, as if committing him to memory.

"You are so much like your father," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And sometimes I think I love you more because of it. I know you won't believe this, but your father was a good man. A pirate and a good man."

He closed his eyes a moment, relief filling him in places he hadn't even known were in pain, but said nothing except, "Love you, mum," like a little child. She smiled again and patted his arm. She was almost herself again... that woman that had watched her only son jump out of a tree to break his arm and named him Sparrow for it. Blind recklessness she had called it, (like the boy thought he was a damn bird! She had told Mrs. Plath...)and she would never let him forget. Maybe that was what family really was: the people who saw you at your worst, loved you at your best, and never let you forget either of them.

He helped her back down onto her pillows and then slipped out of her room, running her words through his mind.

Two days later...

"And then, all six of the women asked me to help them out of their kimonos at once. Being a gentleman, I of course obliged them," Jack finished, wicked smile filling in any possible blanks in the story. In front him at the table, his good friend Daniel smiled but didn't laugh. He had finally learned not to mock Jack's outrageous stories, after a few of them had been proven true.

Finishing the rum in one gulp, Jack laid his cup back on the table and regarded the young man he often referred to as "a respectable scoundrel." He called Daniel this because in everyday life he was normal, well-to-do even. There were very few men who knew what Daniel really was: a notorious rum-runner who kept the islands soaked in liquor. He was also (and this part of him was quite well known), the son of the governor.

Caroline's older brother, in other words.

Daniel and Jack had been friends a long time, and over the past few months had come to an unspoken agreement of sorts: Daniel didn't discuss Jack's upcoming marriage, and in turn Jack didn't discuss Daniel's "real job" (he was apprenticing with his father for a career in politics, an occupation which he abhorred). It was a good arrangement, and was rarely broken. But on this day just three short weeks before THE WEDDING (that was how it always came to Jack in his mind... all capital letters, very foreboding: THE WEDDING...) and two days after the horrible dinner, it was hardly surprising that the rule was broken.

"There's something I think you should know, Jack," Daniel said, sipping his own rum. He leaned forward, a slip of red hair hanging awry. "Now I know this may come as shock to you, but there is at least one woman out there who doesn't want you."

"Your sister," Jack said, and he looked as surprised as Daniel had thought he might. "I know."

Daniel leaned back again in his chair, laughing even though he knew what a dangerous topic this was. He couldn't help it; Jack was always making him laugh when he didn't mean to.

"Is that so hard to believe? That she might not want you?"

"No." Jack made a face, clearly contradicting his words. "I just can't figure out why."

"But you don't want her either!" Daniel said.

"That's besides the point."

Daniel laughed again and drained his rum glass. Cocking his eyebrow, he gave Jack a wicked smile.

"Between you and me, she thinks you're a bit of a scoundrel."

Jack shared his smile.

"Between you and me, she's right," he said, then looked down into the rum glass, frowning slightly. He supposed he was more than a little drunk, or he wouldn't have sounded quite so forlorn. "I suppose it's best to go into a marriage of this kind with no pretenses." He waited a beat, then asked, "Why does she think I'm a scoundrel?"

Daniel looked at him in disbelief.

"Because you are."

"She barely knows me! The fact that I am, in fact, a scoundrel is secondary. She shouldn't jump to conclusions."

Daniel leveled him with a look, which Jack tried to return but was unsuccessful. It was hard to be indignant with rum pumping through his veins like it was.

"And tell me, Jack... what do you think of my sister?" Daniel asked, still looking amused. Jack stared at the pleasant, red-haired man, wondering for the umpteenth time how two people as different as Danny and Caroline could have shared a womb.

Leaning back, Jack proceeded to count off the many qualities of Caroline Houghton: "She's overly polite, prissy, a bit of a snob, far too quiet for her own good..." Jack could have continued but was stopped by the sight of Daniel with the backs of his fingers over his mouth, fighting back laughter. Frowning further, Jack asked, "Did you have a point Gov'nr?"

That shut him up. The smile immediately dropped off Daniel's face.

"What I'm saying is that you both barely know each other. You're not the only one who can make snap judgments."

Jack nodded, finished off his own rum, and willed himself to smile.

"And on that note, I will take my leave. I have a pressing appointment up river which cannot be missed." He pushed back the chair, wobbling slightly as he stood. He loved rum for exactly that reason: it was like being at sea on solid land.

Daniel set up straight, looking at Jack with a scowl on his face.

"You aren't going to see that voodoo woman are you, Jack?"

Jack just gave him his best devil-may-care smile and tipped his hat (wig and all) at him.

"Up river" was a scary place, even for Jack who prided himself on a general lack of fear and overall recklessness. He had been told about the place going on two years prior by a woman claiming to be a witch that he had met in a pub. The woman in the pub Jack had his doubts about; the small lady in the shack with the black eyes... now she Jack believed in.

As Jack's boat slid through the fog, he felt his stomach begin to twist in the same familiar knots that always appeared when he drew closer to her. He supposed part of it came from the fact that seeing her was so very against his nature (he rarely saw the same woman twice and never visited a woman's home. There was just something about the "voodoo woman" as Daniel called her... she was just so much like him at heart that she was unnerving and comforting at the same time. Jack didn't kid himself that he had deeper emotions for her. He knew better than that and if he hadn't he would have stayed away. Actually, in that case she would have kept him away... and that was another reason why he liked her.

He stopped the boat at the end of the small dock and tied it up so that it couldn't float away. He then got out and, upon walking two steps, remembered he was still wearing his hat and wig. Pulling both off, he threw them into the boat, not even caring what they would look like later. It was so damn humid... the air felt like a solid wall he had to walk through.

He didn't knock on the door. He didn't need to. She always seemed to know when he was coming.

"Jack," she drawled, standing from the small table to walk towards him. Her skirts were thick but he could see the sway of her hips under them as she moved. He smiled.

"Tia Dalma," he said. He had to side-step to avoid a bottle of... something hanging from the ceiling. He made a face at it before directing his attention back to the woman.

Tia leaned into him, her dirty face and teeth unable to draw him away from the pull of her eyes. She always looked at him this way, deep and all knowing, as if she was familiar with every part of him. Today, however, there was something else there in her eyes, something that caused his heart to speed up and not in the good way it usually did around her. She almost looked as if... as if she knew something about him that no one else knew.

"Witty Jack," she purred with a knowing smile. "I knew the winds would blow you back to me someday. You..." here she touched his face and he looked at her, uncertain. "...You have a touch of destiny about you."

Jack shifted under her gaze, suddenly unnerved. Still, he gave her his best roguish grin.

"I bet you say that to all the boys."

She smiled up at him, a slip of a woman really but she seemed so large, so powerful suddenly. Then she said it:

"You are so scared. How long will you run from who ye are, Sparrow?"

Sparrow.

That was it. That changed everything. He felt his mouth settle into a hard line as he glared at her, trying to not betray his fear.

That name... how did she know that name?...

"What did you call me?" he asked quietly. Of all the things she had guessed or gotten right in the past, of all the times she had been waiting for him by the door when he walked in or had known what he was thinking, this was the only time she had scared him. He could feel the air in the room changing, becoming something more.

Sparrow? How could she have called me that?

"You know what you be Jack. You know your destiny. How long will you run from it?" Her arm snaked out, grabbing his wrist in a grip that was surprising in its strength. Smiling, she traced a light 'P' over his forearm, her touch leaving gooseflesh behind. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, a surprising feeling that didn't help things. He jerked his arm away, breathing heavily and not sure why.

How did she know about that name and what did she mean by my destiny?

"You run, Sparrow," she said, still smiling. He trusted Tia Dalma, but this was quite a bit to process. "You run and you come back when you's need me. We both have a destiny to fulfill. You's not gonna run forever."

He took a step back, turned, and collided with the jar of... something hanging from the ceiling. Jumping, he name near scurried to the door and onto the dock.

"You come back," she called behind him, her voice sounding almost otherworldly. "When you ready, you come back."

He made it all the way to the boat before he began to feel silly. After all, this was Tia Dalma... he had shared her bed on and off for nearly two years. She was strange all right, but wasn't that what he liked about her?

Jack looked back at the little hut, fog rolling up around it like curling fingers of smoke. His skin tingled, remembering her touch. He could still feel the whisper of her finger, tracing the letter 'P' over his forearm. He shuddered.

Silly or not, he was leaving.

Jack may have been a lot of things, but stupid surely wasn't one of them.