A/N I really do apologize for the jerkiness of the flashback/current scene breaks in the previous chapters. I've been experimenting with various ways to try to get past determination to completely reformat my story once I've uploaded it, but haven't found a method that works. If anyone can help me here (preferably by adding lines rather than the string of letters or having to insert flashback thereby disrupting the visual flow,) let me know. I may have to resort to those methods in the end, but I would rather exhaust my other options first.

Believe it or not… I've never read the Odyssey before I started this. However, the mention of one of its characters being one in the next movie urged me to investigate it to see if there was more that I could use. Since it is an epic with its major character as a sailor, I figured there could be something interesting. Although it is a tough read, I am fascinated by it, and can understand why it has existed for millennia as classic literature. However, also, I may have gotten some things wrong. Just take it as from someone who has never been professionally taught the meanings of the piece, or personal poetic license, or even as a thumb in Homer's face as someone who got it wrong in the first place and I'm just correcting it. (Come on, if the PotC writers can do it… ummm…. Well… they do have a blockbuster movie or two to their credit….)

Ok… enough rambling… (Don't you just hate long a/n's?) On with the story.

Chapter 16: Ruminations and Regrets

"Land, ho!" he heard her call from the crow's nest. He glanced up to her to see where she was pointing, and headed to the nearest rail to aim his telescope in that direction. To the port side, a little ahead of them, a long strip of mountainous land loomed along the horizon, promising a bit of a respite after several days of sailing. He had not really spoken to her except to give the occasional order or the odd bit of small talk over dinner, so he was looking forward to a little bit of exploration to break up the monotony.

Yes, the past several days had been strained. He would catch himself watching her as she conducted herself on her various tasks, only climbing down from the ratlines or crow's nest when the ship was drifting to a stop. He allowed for that since it seemed her best work was done while she was able to keep her eyes open to the sea around her. She could still keep the ship going, even without the wind, but it was more exhausting. With her up in the rigging, he really did not even need to be at the wheel. Her affinity with his ship was a little disturbing, but in light of the facts she finally related to him, he found he could exploit some of her more hidden talents to his liking.

Her confessions to how she came to be were more disturbing. He could almost feel the strings that Tia Dalma had so carefully tied to his limbs, head … even soul … through the years, by simply enchanting the figurehead of his beloved Wicked Wench when Squidhead had lifted her from the ocean's depths. Her wrath when she had discovered the deal he had made with the slimy captain had almost been worse than any Kraken attack.

She had intended for him to take her along when she divulged who their benefactor was to be. Instead, he had slipped away that evening, sailing in a stolen fishing boat, (not unlike the one he stole from Anamaria some years later), to the place where Beckett had destroyed his career with the East India Trading Company. He waited there a few days for a storm which never came. Instead, knowing he was coming to the end of his supplies, he punched a hole in the bottom of his boat, and let it sink under him. He screamed for help, halfheartedly at first, then earnestly when it became clear that he really was in trouble, but until the storm hit while he was feebly clutching onto the last crate still floating, the Dutchman refused to arrive. As the prow of the barnacle encrusted ghost ship finally did break the surface, he saw the aqueous gaze of his rescuer peering over the rail at him. Suddenly, he was not so sure this had been such a good idea.

As the horribly disfigured crew of the Dutchman hauled him aboard to confront their captain, his mind worked feverishly to find a solution to his predicament. All that had been fueling him up until now was the desperate pull to gain his ship, his captaincy, back. Now, his own freedom, the one that Tia Dalma had helped him to gain, was in jeopardy. He wished he had stuck around to find out more of her plan before taking matters into his own hands.

The walking cephalopod clomped his way across the deck to stand before him. He took out his pipe from an inner fold in his jacket, tamped whatever waterproof smoking agent happened to be in the bowl, and lit it. The whole maneuver spoke of a long-practiced ritual, a ceremony played out on every shipwreck visited by this Demon of the Seas. The monster leaned down and took a puff from his pipe, allowing the smoke to escape his lungs, (or gills,) through inhuman orifices on his face. Through the slick, sliding, sucking sound of his tentacles as he studied Jack's face came the equally slimy sound of his voice.

"Do ye fear death?" Jack shuddered at the words, but not in the fear Jones expected, rather in disgust. Before he could go on, Jones's hairless eyebrows dropped into a scowl, betraying his surprise at Jack's reaction.

"I … I am not certain if I understand the question," replied the young captive. Since he had very deliberately sailed to meet Davy Jones to beg the favor, he was not particularly afraid to meet him. He was more concerned with being denied the favor and losing his freedom, but fear was not a factor.

Jones, of course, obviously not having dealt with this sort of behavior from his potential crew, drew back in consternation. "I asked ye if ye feared death," he said slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. Jack, to make certain that Jones did not continue to think him an imbecile, replied just as slowly and succinctly.

"And I said that I did not understand the question." An exasperated snort came from the creature. He turned to his crew, and dismissively waved toward Jack.

"Dispose of him. He will not be useful as dim as he appears to be." With that he began his lumbering stride to his cabin, as Jack felt the appendages of Jones's crew grasp him.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" he cried out as he was being hauled to the rail. "Tia Dalma said that you would be able to help me!" As he felt a claw start to yank his head back to bare his throat for the sword that was poised to slice it, he saw out the corner of his eye the hat jerk up at the mention of the witch's name.

"Belay that order!" came the oily voice of the Dutchman's captain. Jack felt the claws and crusty hands fall away, albeit reluctantly, but the disappointment of the crew at losing their prey was not voiced. They knew their captain well enough to understand the punishments he could mete out for insolence. Instead, they quietly but eagerly stood waiting in case his mind changed once more, as Jack took a few moments to catch his breath again while Jones trundled back to confront him.

"What did ye say?" Jones breathed tersely into Jack's face. Jack swallowed, trying not to lose whatever was left in his belly, which was not much.

"Tia Dalma said you would be able to help me," he emphasized, realizing that it was not the what but the who that had caught Jones's attention. "Lovely young lass … er … woman that. Pretty little tattoos on her cheeks …"

"I know who she be, dolt. Likely much better than ye," hissed Jones. "I wonder how it be that ye know of her."

"Well, I do, and she did promise me that you would be a sport and help me out of a bit of a jam." Jack knew it was a gamble, but he was betting that Jones could not risk the witch's ire by killing her messenger outright without hearing his offer.

"It could not be much more of a jam than what ye are in now, young whelp …," began the creature.

"Which would be easily cleared up and taken care of if my ship were returned to me so I can move on." Jack hurried to get his words out before the captain decided it was not worth his while to continue the conversation.

"Ye have been sittin' here for nigh on a fortnight, boy. Ye could have sailed away durin' that time, but no. Ye thrust yer heel through the keel of yer own vessel, which I could hardly call a ship, and now that I have ye on board, ye think yer in a bit of a jam?"

"Actually, that was not the vessel to which I was referring," began Jack, as he realized he had his audience. This may be easier than he had anticipated. "I was referring to the burnt out hull that is gracing the seabed somewhere beneath us. It was sent down prematurely due to the arson of a wicked, wicked man who only likes the people who work for him …"

"As opposed to those who refuse to follow orders," interjected the captain. "Perhaps burnin' yer ship was too good a punishment fer the likes o' ye." Jones began to circle Jack, inspecting him a little closer. The young captain swore he could feel the tentacles reaching out to touch him and he fought from shying away from them.

"Honestly, mate, I really do not see why he had to treat the ship so reprehensibly as it was my folly what got me into this jam. You see, all I did was release some cargo … human cargo …" He let his voice trail off, vaguely hoping to get some admiration from the monster, at least thereby proving there was some decency left in the mutated form.

"So, ye disobeyed orders and ye expect me to help to get yer hulk back fer ye." He drew on his pipe, continuing to think it over. He finished his inspection and stood before Jack again. "And by what name do ye go by, whelp?"

"I am known as Captain Jack … er … Sparrow," he answered grandiosely, arms swept out in a flamboyant bow.

"Ye may be known as such, but it might help ye to learn yer own name, boy," said the ancient mariner, as the crew chuckled behind him. Jack stood back up again with a disgruntled cough. The monster's blue eyes shut in thought while Jack stood shifting slightly on his feet waiting.

"Boy, yer story touches me, but not as ye think it could. Fer one thing, ye be a pirate, one that does not take orders verra well. I will do this fer ye … on one condition." He turned his eyes back on to Jack's. "Once I give ye yer vessel back, yer to have five years as its master before ye return it to the sea, and serve under me for one hundred years. That will teach ye to follow orders."

Jack almost choked. Five years. Hardly enough time to even get the ship cleaned up and enjoy her before he had to let her go.

"Not good enough," he replied. Jones's head snapped back. He, apparently, had thought he was being more than fair. "Five years is too short a time. I will return her, and come to serve you … but you need to give me twenty-five. What's that length of a time to someone as long-lived as you?"

"Too long fer a pirate, especially one as young and impetuous as the likes of ye. I will grant ye ten years, as long as durin' that time, if ye should die at sea, yer soul is mine to serve out the rest of yer time."

"Still too little time. How about twenty?" Seeing the disapproving glare of the creature he continued. "Fifteen?" He knew he could not go much lower, considering he had a puzzle or two to work out. The Wench was speedy, but even with the wind at her back she still took many long months to sail to the other side of the world. He may need to get there and back, even twice, before he got all the answers he would need.

"Ten. Yer pushin' yer luck, boy. Are ye not aware how difficult it be to wrest the ruins of a ship from the ocean floor intact?"

"All right, all right … thirteen … my final offer. You can't go wrong with lucky number thirteen." A sound resembling a gurgly grumble issued from the creature's throat.

"Fine then, whelp. Thirteen it be. With one more condition. Should ye fail to meet yer end of the bargain, my pet will be along to see that ye do. She be not so fergivin' as I am." He held out his hand, wrapped the tentacle around Jack's forearm tightly, then let go, not leaving Jack any more room for bargaining.

As Jack rubbed his now hickey spotted arm gingerly, he watched the Demon of the Seas work his powerful magic upon the weather and the waves. After carefully scanning the horizon with his mind's eye, he faced off the starboard bow and raised his appendages above his head. His crew began shifting nervously behind him. Jack could only assume that they had only seen him take down ships before this. Now they were watching him raise one.

Off the side of the Dutchman, a vortex formed … a whirlpool centered over one specific part of the seabed. As the vortex flowed in the water, the wind and rain were drawn to dance in a spiral just above it. Feeling suddenly chilled, and stinging from the piercing raindrops, Jack shuddered and sought shelter. Finding none, he sat huddled behind a creaking mast as the ship pitched forcibly towards the forming maelstrom. He watched in awe as the waves pushed up from the center of the whirlpool, forming a waterspout of immense proportions. In the midst of the spout, his beloved Wench hove into view, groaning and protesting her awakening from her deathbed. Her blackened timbers shone with the slime already beginning to form on her masts and decks, and he wondered how she was able to hold together at all from the forces that normally would have torn her apart. The figurehead hung loosely from the bowsprit, seemingly holding on for dear life. It was certainly the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, and he almost passed out from the breath he was holding.

As sudden as it began, the storm faded away, leaving a battered but floating vessel alongside the Flying Dutchman. It was probably the first time in decades when any ship could be seen off the starboard bow of the cursed ship that was not destined to sink anytime in the near future. The crew stood in awe of their captain's powers, most likely understanding for the first time how incredibly dangerous this monster was. Jack felt it was time to leave, and to leave quickly, before the monster backed out on his end of the bargain. He certainly felt that any reneging of any deal should be his to choose, not the other party's.

"And how do you propose to get your vessel back to safer waters, Captain Sparrow?" asked the other party. Suddenly, Jack felt his breath catch again. He had not gotten that far in his plans.

"I will be the one to help him," called a higher-pitched lilting tone from the decks of the recently raised barque. All heads aboard the Dutchman whipped to the side to witness Tia Dalma standing on a railing, holding onto the tattered remains of a ratline with one hand. "Jack, please come join me. We have a long trip back to the swamp."

"Yeh, what she said," he said as he hopped along the gangplank he had managed to pry up from the barnacly deck and put into place while everyone had stood with mouths agape at the sight of the witch. Out the corner of his eye, he watched as Jones's mouth hung loose, eyes softened as he gazed aboard the ruined vessel. He took advantage of the lapse of concentration to kick the gangplank off and rushed the helm. As he steered the ship away from the Dutchman, he thanked his lucky stars that he had powerful friends.

Yes, he had friends. Friends that pulled the strings of his life as if he were some marionette. Friends who were not happy with his desire to do things his way, instead of how they tried to guide him. Friends who set spies on him, even to the end of the world and beyond. Friends who, justifiably, did not trust him.

Jack sighed as he felt the ship slow down. He did need the rest. He was feeling increasingly alive each day, hoping that signaled their approach to the edge of this world and the world he knew. With each added bonus of life came the not so agreeable detriments, such as needing sleep, food, and that certain urge that could be curbed by attending to the only apparent female on board. He was not about to take that route again soon, unless and until some things were worked out between them, such as her getting rid of Elizabeth's face. Oh, and confessing why she knew so much about Barbossa. That was one piece of information he was eager for her to divulge, but not now. Now he wanted rest, and rest he would get.