A/N Although I've had a few reviews on this tale, I've had only one criticism, so far. Someone complained I make my sentences too long, and they suggested I try shortening them. As this story is written primarily from Jack's point of view, I felt that my style suited him. I apologize to anyone else who is unable to tolerate my style, but I don't intend to change it, at least not for this story. I would think it would be a bit of a jolt to suddenly change the tone in the middle.

Chapter 5:

Jack, startled to see Elizabeth again on his ship, approached her cautiously. "You might want to drop that sail there, missy, and invite yourself over to the longboat for a trip back to the shore," he said bitterly. "Or better yet, let me help you over the side and you can walk back, as it is unlikely you will drown here. After all, there is no beastie to take care of you, unless you managed to kill it by causing it fatal indigestion." His brow furrowed as he watched her turn to him, eyes sparking in a suppressed fury.

"Jack," she started, then quickly corrected herself, albeit sarcastically, "Captain Sparrow, you cannot possibly be envisioning yourself actually sailing this ship all on your onesies, can you?" Her chin came up in a challenge as she glared at him, content that she had gotten her point across.

"Where do you suppose we will go, dearest¸ as we do not exactly have bearings out of Hell?" He stepped back and raised his eyebrows in a smirk, knowing he had scored a point with her in their verbal fencing match. Elizabeth's jaw dropped in disgust. He started grinning in victory, when she suddenly dropped the sail and marched over to him, stepping close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck.

"Dearest Captain," she answered mockingly, "You apparently have lost your memory along with all sense you may never have had in the first place." He felt her reach around his middle, and he drew back in shock. This did not seem the time nor place for her to suddenly get fresh with him. After all, death nor danger was imminent, nor was the topic precisely turning to such things. He supposed he could take advantage of it if she was really that interested, but he did not think that was the case.

Reading the expressions across his face correctly, she smirked in response. She shook her head in disgust, then held up the item she had removed from his belt. "Obviously you have forgotten about this," she snapped as she slapped it into his hand. His eyes widened as he grit his teeth in an embarrassed simper, as he opened the compass. He glanced at her briefly as he stepped away, holding the instrument so she could not see the reading, in case it was still not working properly. He shook it a little, and waited for the needle to settle. It hesitantly pointed out over the water, then began its erratic swing, pointing towards the woman next to him, then away. He rolled his eyes in disgust, annoyed that even though the woman had actually ensured his death, and still was being a constant aggravation in his afterlife, he wanted her. One of these days he was going to have to deal with that, even if it was just to scratch that itch as it were.

He turned to her with a smarmy sneer and pointed in the direction the needle had originally. "That may be the direction to go if we had a little wind to get us there. After all, even with two of us on board, I very much doubt that we could manage the sweeps to get it moving. So, my dear Lizzie, unless I help you overboard so you can walk that direction, you are trapped here with me." He cocked an eyebrow, intending to get his meaning across.

Her face fell, as if the idea had not quite occurred to her. She looked at Jack disappointedly and wandered over to the rail and stared at the becalmed water. She actually appeared to be contemplating walking. She turned and gestured towards the longboat. Recognizing where she was going to go with that, he started shaking his head furiously, throwing his hands up as he stalked back off to his cabin. "I am not going to row myself out of Hell, either. You are more than welcome to, darlin', but I shall not be joining you." He reached the shattered remains of his door and shot over his shoulder, "I will be staying right here with me Pearl, thank you very much. We have been through too much together for me to desert her now."

Just at that moment, he felt a draft through the walls of his cabin. He paused, startled. He peered out through the hole from which felt the gust, but saw nothing. He hurried back out onto the deck, checking the skies for any sign of an oncoming storm, but the overcast sky did not look threatening, at least no more so than before. Glancing up into the riggings, he noticed the sails flapping beckoningly, urging him to hurry and finish mending them so they could fill themselves with the breeze. He gazed at Elizabeth and watched her face light up in one of her disarmingly joyous smiles, before she turned and grinned at him.

"Your wish is my command, Captain," she replied saucily, taking credit for the weather phenomenon. Her eyes danced as she made her way back to the sail she had dropped. "Now, are you going to help me, or are you going to continue to rue your fate? We really do have a lot of work to do before we set sail," she added needlessly.

Jack kept his gaze on her as she continued her repairs. He felt his hand wander near the bottle of rum, and allowed himself to pull it out of his sash. He tipped it up, draining half of its contents, hoping that it would calm his nerves. He felt something, somewhere, was not right, which was utterly preposterous. After all, what could be more wrong than finding the things that he loved in Hell?

Three days passed since reboarding his ship. He had done his best just to work on the sails and get them back up on the riggings without spending too much time conversing with Elizabeth. He did watch her surreptitiously, though, as she clambered up and down the ratlines, hoisting the sails into position. He marveled at the strength she displayed in her arms and legs, especially when she allowed them to be exposed to the elements, such as they were. He noted there was no sun to give her the tan that he was used to seeing develop on his crewmates, but the muscles were beginning to show more definition in her calves and forearms. He usually did not care for overdeveloped women, thinking that they should stay soft and cushiony, but her thin figure was becoming more enticing as they worked together to get the Pearl back to sailing condition.

The hold had some of the required materials needed to repair and maintain the sails, but there was little excess wood to fix the damages to the hull and no glass to speak of to place into his broken windows. Despite the wind that would perk up frequently, there was no weather to cause problems. The heat stayed moderate, which was a little perplexing, since he had thought Hell would either be extremely hot, or dreadfully cold, depending upon which vicar he had questioned as he had grown up.

The third day, by chance, Jack stumbled across a barrel of liquid in a storeroom near the crew's sleeping quarters. He excitedly pried the end open, and gleefully took in a whiff. He had found one that his crew had missed in its hurry to find something explosive to fight off the Kraken. He rushed up to his cabin to retrieve a couple of bottles to fill, sidling past the door to the first mate's bunk where Elizabeth had taken up residence. As he hurriedly gathered the bottles together they clinked, earning him an exasperated snort from his one and only crewmate. He winced as she strode through the doorway, glancing around his cabin till she spotted him. He tried hiding them behind his back, but of course, she saw straight through his guile.

"What are you doing now, Jack?" she spoke, warily. She approached him holding her hands out, waiting. He pouted, then deliberately held them away from her as he sashayed past her.

"I am intending to get blisteringly, blindingly, slobberingly smashed." He continued belowdecks with her following on his heels, noting, once again, her exasperation at his pirate like behavior. It never ceased to amaze him that she, among others, would ever expect him to act differently.

"Jack, we are so close to being able to sail out of here, we could probably get started tomorrow. Do you really want to end up sleeping the day away nursing a hangover?" she pleaded. He stopped suddenly on the steps, and peered up at her through the deepening gloom of what passed for night.

"If you recall, dearie, we have the rest of eternity to sail blithely out of here, but as I have just found this keg, I intend to make a rather large hole in the liquid therein. You may join me if you wish, but knowing your rather prudish tendencies, I do not expect you will. However, if you wish to continue your behavioral slide to hedonism that you so adequately displayed on the beach a few days ago, you would be more than welcome." Once again, he cocked his eyebrow, smiling devilishly into her eyes. "After all, luv, when in Hell …" She glared at him and snatched a bottle away from him.

Later that night, they sat on the foredeck above the galley, pretending to see constellations in the sky, imagining where they would be depending on what part of the ocean they were sailing in their minds. The rum turned out to be quite potent, especially as they had had no food in the past few days, neither needing nor desiring it. Elizabeth giggled at yet another snide remark falling out of Jack's lips as he commented about the oddity of their situation, murderer and victim alike sharing a ship and a barrel of rum in the most unlikely of places.

After a little while, Elizabeth grew quiet as her face grew pensive. She lay back on the deck, and he watched as she held her bottle close to her body, as if she was hugging a well loved toy for comfort. He could not forgive himself for passing up an opportune moment and cozied himself up along side her, gazing at her as he took another sip. He hoped she would just see it as an attempt to ingratiate himself with her and show he forgave her for her indiscretions rather than as an attempt to seduce her. Thanks to the overdose of rum, he did not expect to be able to perform if she suddenly decided that she was willing to forgo her wedding night to be with him. He certainly would give it a try, naturally, but …

"Jack," she whispered, breaking through his thoughts. "Do you suppose we will be able to get out of here?" He blinked. After all the determination and drive she had displayed the last couple of days, he was surprised at her sudden turn towards vulnerability. He drained the last few drops out of his bottle, glancing askance at hers to see if she had any left. He knew he probably would not be able to make it back down into the hold to retrieve more rum. Seeing that she still had half a bottle, he decided to merely keep talking, hoping to soothe her into sleep soon, so he could finish hers also.

"Luv, I am certain that if there is a God who is hearing your prayers, we will be out of here soon enough. There can be no way that He could ignore your angelic pleas." He felt quite proud of that little line. Maybe she would take the bait, comfort herself with it and drift off soon.

"I haven't been praying, Jack," she answered, a glare forming on her face. "Who would hear me?"

He peered at her quietly for a few minutes, then said, even quietly surprising himself, "Every time you urge me to move, every time to eagerly climb into the riggings hoisting another sail, every time you splice yet another line together, it is a prayer, a plea. God knows you want out of here, and that you by rights do not belong here, especially to accompany a scallywag like me who deserves to be here." He watched as those words sank into her, watched as the lines on her face softened with his observation. He smiled to himself, eyes slowly closing, as he watched her taking comfort in another one of his lies. He knew that one day he would actually pay for those lies, but right now, he drifted off to sleep knowing that for the moment, she was not worried.

"I suppose you're right," he heard her sigh, as he let unconsciousness take over.