Hello! Halleyjo here! Jinxeh has written the second and third chapters of the story, as well as a bit for the fourth. From then on I'll be taking over. Yep...that's it. Just thought you should know.

Enjoy the rest of her work, because it's freaking amazing!

Chapter 2

Samuel Greene led a very simple life, and as had every other male predecessor in the muddled gene pool that comprised his wayward family. Generations of his family could be traced back to Tortuga; his father was a drunkard that wandered the streets when conscious, his grandfather had been the same way, his great-grandfather had been much the same, and his great-great grandfather…actually, his great-great grandfather had been a highly successful merchant sailor, but his great-great-great grandfather had been a drunk as well.

Either way, even when he was young, Samuel Greene had always known he wouldn't amount to much. Although not exactly to be seen as unattractive, he didn't seem to care much about personal hygiene—or even about shaving and brushing his hair out—and so he spent most of his time alone but for the rare occasions when he got enough gold together to buy some company for a night. Other than that, he was unaccompanied for the most part, leaving him with a fair amount of free time, especially during the day.

Every once in a while, mostly to support his drunken needs, Samuel took an odd job or two, or else ran a few errands for the few people in Tortuga that had managed to keep business going. He'd worked at the docks, hauling cargo and goods back and forth from the docks and the tavern, which was an excellent way to earn a good amount of gold in just a few hours—and which, of course, he could then spend within a few minutes.

On this particular night, Samuel Greene had found himself with nothing to do. He hadn't been able to find any work that day on the docks, therefore he didn't have any money to spend for the night. Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of one of the docks, a half a bottle of rum that he had stolen from his younger brother in one of his hands and his scruffy face set into a firm scowl. Half a small bottle of rum wasn't going to be enough to get him drunk.

"Lousy town…" he mumbled under his breath, finally forcing himself to his feet and, swaying in a way that those accustomed to a life of intoxication often do, making his way down the dock, attempting to avoid the various crates and rope coils that resided there.

He wasn't the only person on the docks, by far; other ships were constantly coming in and out, and he was always finding himself walking around others that were doing their duties, muttering curses under his breath that they refused to move out of their ways for him.

From his vantage point, walking along the deck and then turning when he reached the ground, he had a straight-shot view to the sea and the sky that lied above it—though since it was dark now, he could see nothing but the glimmering lights of the lanterns that hung on said ships. One in particular caught his eye—obviously one that had just arrived in the pirating port, since the crew was still swarming the deck, furling the sails and checking the anchors.

This was a rather strange ship, easily noticed, and when he finally managed to take note of this he stopped in his tracks, squinting his eyes to make sure that what he was seeing was correct. Was it just his imagination, or was this particular ship black in color?

By and by, a sluggish grin began to grow on Samuel's lips, and his dark eyes were suddenly alight with the excitement. He recognized the Black Pearl by description alone, and now that it had docked in Tortuga…

He had a job to do.

—xXx—

Despite the chaotic shenanigans of the normal nighttime hustle and bustle that was within The Faithful Bride, when an almighty CRASH sounded throughout the main room, reverberating along the walls and almost making the tables shudder, nearly everyone present was to be found looking about in confusion, searching for the source of the noise.

It didn't take long for most people to locate it. In the midst of the crowds and drunken fun in the center of the main room, one lone girl stood, pale and shaking and a small crate that had once been filled with rum bottles in her arms, the bottles of which were now lying broken at her feet. She winced, her bare feet moving up and down as she attempted to move away from the broken glass, but being quite unable to walk away since it surrounded her. Mentally, she cursed the fact that her old pair of shoes had finally worn out so much that she could no longer walk in them.

On the outside, however, her face remained as blank as it always was; despite her situation, her sunken eyes were as devoid of emotion as ever, the dark rings and circles always to be perceived beneath them as profound as they had been as long as she could remember—if they hadn't managed to become even worse-looking. In a tattered brown dress and with raggedy hair to match, she was quite a pitiful sight, standing amongst the broken bottles that she'd accidentally dropped.

Most of the tavern's occupants paid attention to her just long enough to scoff at her clumsiness and roll their eyes before life went on as usual, and everything erupted into chaos and disorder once more, just as it was supposed to be.

"Girl!"

Ellie winced again when a familiar voice greeted her ears, piercing and angry and involuntarily making her shudder. A moment later, she was left to look to the side and see her grandfather walking towards her at a rather alarming pace, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his face as red as a beet.

"What did I tell you, girl?" he demanded in a hiss-like voice when he had finally reached her, grabbing her upper arm and forcing her to look up at him. "I said bring 'em from the spare room to the counter, and you couldn't even manage that? Now look at this mess—all that rum! Wasted!"

Ellie had only a small shrug in which to respond to the man, causing his scowl to only grow. His grip tightened on the girl's arm almost painfully, and before he could completely loose control and begin thrashing the girl right then and there, he instead began dragging her away, through the crowd—and through the glass. She whimpered slightly and dragged her feet when she stepped upon a particularly large piece of glass, but he didn't seem to much mind this. He picked her up nevertheless, holding her under his arm as though nothing but a sack of potatoes, and taking her behind the counter that way before setting her unceremoniously on her feet.

"Let's see if you can do anything without breaking somethin' in the process," he said scornfully, thrusting a tattered rag into her hands and pointing to the row of dirty tin pint mugs on the shelf below the counter. "Start cleanin'."

Ellie sighed, but went to her task anyway, grabbing a mug and cleaning it with the dampened rag as he watched, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Her foot was bleeding, true enough, but it was not as though it was gushing a steady stream of blood, and so she forced herself to ignore it.

"Brodruck! Brodruck! 'Ey!"

Both Ellie and her grandfather looked around as a sluggish, yet excited voice cut through the air, their eyes resting on the rather dirty middle-aged man that was edging his way past two younger men that were rolling around, punching and fighting on the floor. For Ellie, the appearance of this man meant absolutely nothing to her; she didn't know him, therefore he was of no importance to her, even if her last name was also Brodruck. She went back to cleaning the mugs and wondering if the small loss of blood from the cut on her foot would be enough to make her pass out, leaving her grandfather to deal with this man.

"Greene," said Nathaniel Brodruck in greeting to the man, raising an eyebrow as he stumbled up to the counter, grinning ear to ear and holding out a hand expectantly. "What d'you want?"

"You told me to keep on the lookout for that ship, the Black Pearl," said Samuel Greene, keeping his hand out and above the counter. "Said you'd give me four shillin's if I did! Well, it's here, I just told yeh that, so now I want my shillin's!"

"The Black Pearl's here?" asked Nathaniel sharply, his piercing gaze now directed at Samuel with such intensity that the other man faltered—though he still didn't withdraw his hand. He nodded, gulping.

"Aye. Er…can I have me shillings, now?"

"Fine," answered Nathaniel absentmindedly, digging into the deep pockets of his dark breeches and pulling out a small handful of coins, which he shoved into the man's hands without really watching; his eyes were scanning the room, looking for something. Samuel, however, happened to notice that the other man had given him six shillings instead of four, but instead of pointing this out he tipped an imaginary hat to the other man, said his hasty thanks, and hurried away before anything was noticed.

"Rosa!" Nathaniel barked after a moment, stopping one of his barmaids—the portly woman in the yellow dress—in her tracks, a bottle of rum in one of her hands, which she had just been about to serve. "Rosa, watch the tavern fer a while—I got somethin' I need to do!"

The woman nodded, though she seemed a little confused, and Nathaniel turned to look down at Ellie, who was ignoring him the best she could as she wiped at another tin mug. Without even an explanation as to what was going on, her grandfather quickly grabbed her arm, wrenching the rag and mug out of her hands before pulling her out from behind the counter, directing her towards the door.

"C'mon, girl. Yer comin' with me…"

—xXx—

Ellie had no idea what her grandfather was going to do to her, but she allowed herself to be led out of the tavern and through the streets. She knew her grandfather well—he was a brash, and sometimes cruel person; sometimes rough with her, but never outright hitting her or causing her any purpose physical harm, though at times his temper made it seem as though he wanted to. He was, however, rather unpredictable, and it was obvious to her that he didn't like her—he could barely stand looking at her. It was impossible to guess why he'd dragged her out of the tavern, though she hardly cared. She hated being in that place, so any excuse to leave it behind was fine by her.

By now, she knew the streets of Tortuga quite well; it was easy for her to tell that he was taking her down to the docks…but why? She'd hardly ever been there on her own before, and he himself had never taken her down there…then again, he never took her anywhere, so that shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"I said I'd look after yeh until that no good street-rat got here…not longer than that, though…" her grandfather was muttering to himself distractedly, the grip he had on her arm unintentionally painful as he pulled her along. He kept his cold eyes straight ahead, never looking back at her and never looking anywhere else but ahead. Once again, this shouldn't have surprised her—he hated looking at her, anyway. Besides the color of her hair and the shape of her eyes, she looked like her mother. He didn't want to have to be reminded of that.

"If he don't take you…" her grandfather began bitterly, "I don't know what I'm gonna do with you. You ain't stayin' at the tavern no more! I can't have a child runnin' around, breakin' bottles and gettin' underfoot…"

Ellie thought that he was being a bit unfair with his words but, as usual, she kept her mouth shut about it. She wasn't always getting underfoot at the tavern, and nor was she always breaking things…but when she did, it wasn't as though it was her fault she was so clumsy. She couldn't run at all with her left leg being the way it was, never mind walk and be able to balance a crate of rum bottles in her arms without falling or tipping it over. Even now, as she was dragged along, her right leg was doing its best to keep up with her grandfather, while her left barely moved up and down at all; she was almost hopping.

When they reached the docks, the grip he had on her arm tightened, and she found herself looking forward to the moment that he would let go, and allow the circulation to return to her hand and wrist. In the meantime, and to get her mind off of this thought, she amused herself by looking around at all of the people and the ships that they passed by as she and her grandfather made their way briskly down one of the main dock passages. His booted feet echoed with each thumping step he took on the wooden planks. Her feet barely made a sound at all, still being bare and without even a thin strip of leather to cover them.

"'Ey! You there!" Her grandfather pulled her to the gangplank of a ship on the very end; a splendid, if not rather dog-eared one, painted black and with rolled up sails to match. Even when her grandfather let go of her arm to address the several men that had stopped with what they were doing when he called to them, Ellie simply stood there, gazing up at the ship with wide, sunken eyes. She'd never seen a ship that was black before, and she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

"Which one a' you is Jack Sparrow?" Ellie's grandfather demanded of the two men that had just walked down the gangplank, who were regarding him with some amount of suspicion. One of them, a man with black hair held back by a red bandana, gave a start, and then put himself behind the other man, pushing him forward a bit.

"He is. This one, right here," said the man with the red bandana, nodding to the generously proportioned, slightly balding man that he had pushed forward, and who was now regarding him with a rather tired expression.

It was obvious that Nathaniel Brodruck didn't believe this one bit, though he didn't say anything about it. To him, Jack Sparrow had been a young teenager and a street-rat the first—and last—time he could ever remember seeing him. Even if he couldn't guess exactly what he looked like now, he had to guess that this stocky man in front of him was not Jack Sparrow. It didn't really matter, either way—he was in a hurry to get Ellie away from Tortuga and away from himself, so it hardly mattered who she went with.

"Fine," Nathaniel sighed tiredly. "Captain Sparrow, I own a tavern 'ere in Tortuga, an' I got a bit of a proposition fer yeh. How would yeh feel if I could stock your cargo hold full a' rum, and not charge yeh fer it?"

The gray-haired and bearded man opened his mouth to reply to Nathaniel, but before he could the man with the red bandana hastily shoved his way past him and came to stand right in front of Nathaniel, grinning and exposing a number of cold-capped teeth.

"Aye, sir! The name's Captain Jack Sparrow!" said the man, grasping Nathaniel's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Sorry 'bout the mix-up, there, mate…y'know, it's dark…" He coughed, as though what he had said made any sense. "Anyway…what say you about this apparently complimentary rum?"

"I'm here to strike a deal with yeh, Sparrow," said Nathaniel between grated teeth, looking the man up and down with distaste. "I'll give yeh as much rum as you ask fer—just this once—fer free…but you gotta take somethin' off my hands, first."

"Really?" asked Jack, obviously intrigued, but also now a little wary since a new bargaining piece had been thrown into the mix. "And what would this little 'something' be, eh?"

"Her," said Nathaniel, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to gesture to the small, pale little girl that was now sitting cross-legged on top of a small crate a few feet behind him. The girl didn't even blink her eyes at this; only cocked her head to the side, her blank stare directed towards the Black Pearl and nothing else. "You take her, and I'll give yeh free rum. Deal?"

"We don't take no children on—" Gibbs began briskly, only to be stopped by Jack thrusting a hand backwards and into his chest, temporarily knocking the breath out of him. Unlike his first mate, Jack was grinning and nodding, as though it was an ordinary occurrence in which he was asked to take a child upon his ship.

"We have an accord," he said easily, shaking the man's hand again, his grin only growing. "We'll need the rum by tonight. I'll send my men fer it. Men!" He was suddenly shouting, spinning around on his heel and aiming his voice to the small number of pirates that were leaning over the railing of the ship, looking down on the scene in amusement. "Follow this man back to his tavern, and take whatever rum he gives yeh, savvy?"

It was as though the word 'rum' was a magical word that could cause even the most exhausted of men to wake up instantly; it seemed like mere seconds before seven of them were walking briskly down the gangplank, gathering behind their grinning captain and looking expectant.

"It's that easy?" asked Nathaniel unbelievingly. Truthfully told, he hadn't quite been expecting it to be this simple—he'd assumed that he would have to do some bartering in order to get the pirate captain to take the child off his hands. "You'll take 'er? Just like that?"

"Copious amounts of rum equals a happy crew, mate," said Jack somberly. "Takin' a child is a small price to pay fer a happy crew, wouldn't yeh agree? Now off yeh go—my men will escort you, and the girl will be well cared for, I assure yeh."

Nathaniel didn't seem like he wanted to jinx his good luck. He nodded stiffly and turned, walking away with the crew members right at his heels. He spared the little girl only a small glance when he passed by her, but that was it—she was out of his life now, and wasn't his problem anymore. He didn't have to concern himself with her well-being.

"Captain…" Gibbs finally muttered when the others were gone, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "The ship ain't no place fer a girl, yeh know that. Why—"

"Once the rum's on board, I hardly think it'll matter," said Jack wisely, turning to face his first mate with a beaming grin. "Let the girl stay here—it means no difference to me. Speakin' a' which, where—"

He whipped around again so he could look at the small child again, only to find that she was suddenly standing less than a foot away from him, staring up at him with sunken, yet light-colored eyes that were so wide, it was almost eerie.

"Er…" Jack cocked his head to the side, looking down at her curiously. "What's your name, girl?"

"Eleanor…" She hesitated before she spoke, and when she finally did her voice was so light and weak, he barely heard it at all. He nodded.

"My deepest sympathies," he said sincerely, clasping his hands together in front of himself, the tips of his fingers forming a steeple and just barely touching the two braids that hung down from his chin, as though he was attempting to silently pray. "Well then…Eleanor…why don't you go run off and find your mother, all right? There's a good girl," he said brightly, patting the top of her dark head before turning around and sauntering back up the gangplank.

"My mother's dead."

He turned in surprise, and involuntarily took a startled step back when he saw that she was right behind him; he was on the deck of his ship, and she stood right below him, still on the gangplank, and still looking up at him with those same eerie eyes.

"Oh…well, I'm sure your father will take care of you then, eh?"

She didn't appear to have a response to this. For some reason, the blank expression on her face slid away when he spoke, to be replaced by a look of slight confusion, and worry. Jack blinked.

"All right, then…" he said unsurely, looking around for someone to help him be rid of this strange little girl that followed him around. "I'm gonna go on my ship now, and you…" he hesitated again. "You just stay…right here…" he began backing away, pointing to the gangplank she stood on and motioning that she shouldn't follow him onto the ship itself.

She listened to him this time, and stood stock-still on the gangplank even when he nodded and turned, disappearing into the captain's quarters with only a sparing glance to her over his shoulder before he was out of her sight. She sighed, bowing her head and closing her eyes, wondering why her father didn't want anything to do with her.

—xXx—

"This 'as to be record time, managin' to get all our supplies—and the rum—in just one night," said Mr. Gibbs, obviously impressed as he watched the crewmembers haul crates and sacks and barrels up the gangplank and toss them down to the other men that were waiting below-deck through the square hole usually covered by the slide-away grate. "What d'you think about that man and his deal with the rum?"

"Doesn't matter," said Jack, waving a hand haphazardly as he stood beside his first mate, watching the crew load the ship with supplies. "She musta run off—haven't seen her since the man brought 'er here. Just get the rum loaded, and we'll get outta here 'fore she comes back."

Meanwhile, his crewmembers were, in all actuality, almost finished with loading their new supplies in the cargo hold. Barrels of freshwater and rum had been stocked and sat by the far wall, with individual bottles shoved into the slots above them, and the other crates and sacks had been put into the corners and kept there with thick straps so they wouldn't move about as the ship sailed.

The few crewmembers still in the hold and rolling the last few barrels to the wall were intent on finishing their job so they could get the ship on its way. In their distracted states, perhaps it was easy for them not to discover the small girl that had wedged herself between a number of the crates in the corner; they formed a barrier around her, making sure she couldn't be seen unless someone chose to actually move them.

Most young children were afraid of the dark. Most young children would be frightened of stowing away on a ship they knew nothing about. Ellie wasn't most children—but despite this, she was completely terrified of the darkness surrounding her, and of what she was doing. She had a feeling that this Jack Sparrow didn't even know she existed, and yet she knew from her mother's stories that he was her father.

In her hand sat the crumpled letter that her mother had written her grandfather those months ago, right before she died. Her grandfather let it fall to the ground, and she'd picked it up again when he hadn't been looking. It was the last thing she had to remind herself of her mother, and she refused to lose it, or leave it behind. Besides…it was all she had that could attest to others that Jack Sparrow was her father.

Maybe…just maybe…when she showed him that letter, he would realize the truth. Maybe…he would even love her. In her hopeful, naïve ten-year-old mind, this made perfect sense to her. He was her father, and like any father he could learn to love his newfound daughter…

Obviously, young Ellie Brodruck had much to learn about the ways and habits of a certain Jack Sparrow.