A/N Sorry it's taking so long to write this story. I keep coming up with great ideas for future chapters, writing them down, then promptly losing my notes. They do say that creative minds are rarely tidy, and I certainly fit that mold. I've been trying to catch up with my schoolwork, and managed to get a couple of important things done on time last weekend, even if it was only by 3 minutes to spare. This weekend my muse is screaming at me, and guilt is piling up knowing that there are some people hitting my story once in a while to see if I've updated. So … although I'm not as fully prepared as I really should be, both in schoolwork and for this story, I'm going to give it a shot. If you don't like the chapter let me know, and I will try to rewrite it.

Chapter 6: Sailing Away

He felt her shift, and his arms tightened around her, embracing her middle comfortably. With the motion he felt her stiffen, and he smiled into her hair, nuzzling it as he slowly awoke.

"No worries, love," he murmured. Then his eyes popped open. With a scramble he pushed her away, and sat up staring at her wildly as he cast around for his hat and bottle. He noted the alarm on her face, as he pulled himself to his feet, standing unsteadily as a wave of nausea hit him. She looked as perturbed as he felt, as she, too, stood, gripping her vest tightly around her, even though there was no sign that anyone had tried to remove it during the night. Her alarm turned to irritation, and she glared at him before picking up her own bottle and stalking away.

He glowered at her retreating back in return. How dare she act as if he had not been the most gentlemanly of … well … gentlemen. "Next time I will bed you since you are so ready to convict me of making the attempt in the first place," he snarled.

"There will be no next time, Jack," she snapped back, pausing to turn and sneer at him.

"That's where you are wrong, missy," he countered, approaching her. "You have twice now spent an evening carousing with me. Once may have been considered forgivable by your society, but twice is the beginning of a habit, dearie. You love spending time with me, and despite all your declarations, you have acquired a taste of this 'vile drink' as you have so aptly put it. And it is not likely you are going anywhere but with me since there really is nowhere but with me to go, so how do you suppose we are going to get anywhere but without me?" Even he looked a little confused with that speech, but he shrugged it off, waiting for an answer.

"First of all, you nonsensical piece of walking filth, it can hardly be called carousing since all we were doing was drinking and looking at the empty sky," she began, and he raised a finger to interject, but she raised her voice to drown him out. "Secondly, I seem to be the only one with any designs on getting out of here since you seem resigned to spend eternity wondering how to spend eternity. I, for one, want to leave, today, right now, so if you are quite done being stupid, I would suggest you take your damned opportune moment when it presents itself instead of trying to make me into what you already are." With that, she spun on her heel and headed to the poopdeck to make ready to sail.

Jack stood feeling a little stunned. For some reason he could not think of something to spout back at her. He blamed it on the nausea, then remembered that he did indeed feel sick. It had not really been that long since he had pulled a good drunk, but then again, he had never pulled one while dead and on an empty stomach. And it did not help when the only woman in his afterlife made no sense. Then again, when did women make sense, except when they were making an effort to be on friendly terms with him.

He dragged a hand down his face and yawned, trying to shake off the heaviness that had started to weigh on him. Even though her enthusiasm for leaving had infected him enough to help her repair the ship, he really did not think that they were going to get far. He had to tamp down his habitual planning for stocking the ship as there were no supplies nor need to stock it, and it left him feeling a little disconcerted, along with everything else that had. He couldn't even plan on where to go using his charts, because there were no charts for Hell. He actually felt a little disgusted that he had had to rely on Elizabeth's idea on using his compass, since she was not an experienced sailor such as he. Why was it that when she was around he suddenly felt like an idiot? She had managed to one-up him on a regular basis since he met her, and the feeling was not one he cared to have.

He wandered down to the main deck, scanning the masts and the limp, unfurled sails, wondering if one of those chance bursts of wind was going to make an appearance. He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Elizabeth approaching him with two buckets of water and a couple large rags slung over her shoulder. He suspected what she wanted him to do, and he winced when she handed a bucket to him.

"I know you usually get some of your crew to do this, but since it's just the two of us, it looks as if we are the ones who have to volunteer. At least until the wind picks up," she said, as she placed her rag into her bucket and started working on swabbing the deck. He rolled his eyes and sent a silent prayer up for the eagerly awaited wind. He wondered what the point was in keeping the wood wet and sealed when it was obvious there was no salt to dry it out, nor was the ship in any danger of sinking at the moment. He decided he really did not want to be around Elizabeth, so he took his bucket to the other end of the deck and started working the water into the wood.

After working for a while he felt a slight tickle on his cheek, and he glanced up to the sails hopefully. They fluttered slightly, and he ran to adjust them, calling Elizabeth to help him. As they worked quickly to loosen and tighten the lines to angle the canvas to catch the wind, he noticed it seemed to be coming from the shore. He glanced landward and hesitated. The gusts were actually picking up the sand, increasingly growing more frenzied. He knew that it had to be quite a storm brewing there, if he could actually see the dust devils forming and dispersing. As they grew more turbulent, the sand began to reach out into the water, coating it with a thin scum before the waves began to disperse the grains. The gusts began to turn into gales, and then into heavy breezes, filling the sails, causing them to billow outward.

The ship began to rock gently with the waves, gliding through them as the wind pushed them away from the shore. Without warning, the breeze whipped into a tempest, circulating on itself, acting as if it wanted to drive the ship backwards towards the land. The sails flapped and snapped with the conflicting torrents, alarming Jack, making him fear for the masts' stability. He glanced towards the shore again, noting the sandstorm picking up speed and ferocity. The quickening tempest pushed the ship, steadily increasing the speed as the two sailors coaxed the Pearl into a headlong race away from the beach.

Jack's stomach, no less queasy than before, threatened to disgorge itself as he worked feverishly to combat the storm. It felt for all the world like Hell did not want to let him nor his ship to leave its bountiful shores. He continued to look back towards the beach as the ship tossed and bounced on the waves, fighting like a whale in a strong current to reach deeper waters. When he chanced yet another look back, he observed with eyes widening in shock as the sand appeared to form an angry screaming face, complete with an ancient Captain's hat and squirming tentacles for a beard.

"NOOOOOOOO, I'LL HAVE YOU YET, SPARROW," came a strange accent issuing from the lipless orifice. Suddenly, another voice cut through the wind, in a singsong chant as the breeze filling the sails threatened to rip them to shreds, pushing the ship away from the influence of the storm that tried to leave them stranded. He felt the Pearl surge forward, as if gaily breaking the grip of the Locker.

He knew he was not free yet. He knew they had a long voyage ahead of them, but with compass in hand, he pointed out the desired direction to Elizabeth before gripping the wheel and aiming his ship toward that horizon.