A/N: Well, here it is: the last chapter written by Jinxeh, and my personal favorite. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Ten-year-old Ellie Brodruck was about to be sick.

There was a multitude of reasons behind her sudden urge to open her mouth and empty the contents of her stomach, but she had to guess that the not-so-gentle rocking and swaying of the ship as it played prey to the rough waves of the open sea at least had something to do with it. She'd abandoned her hiding space between the crates when her stomach first began to feel unsettled, and instead crawled out into the open so she could lean back against the flour sacks, one hand clutching her stomach and the other kept clamped firmly over her mouth.

She never thought she would be grateful that the morsels of food given to her in her grandfather's tavern had been so small—if she had been more well-fed, she probably would have been sick all over the creaky wooden floorboards by now. Her grandfather had never starved her or anything of the like, but he was a busy man. He usually ate for himself very quickly whenever he could spare a moment, and whenever he thought Ellie needed to be fed he usually told one of his barmaids to "Feed the girl!", and left it at that. The end result of this was that a harassed and also usually busy barmaid would toss Ellie an apple or something of the sort the next time they walked by the small child.

Ellie never complained about this. Why would she have? She happened to like apples, and besides that fact…she had never had much of an appetite, anyway. The years of her life spent on meager food portions courtesy of her mother's constant unemployment had made sure she'd grown accustomed to living without much food in her life. This was most dutifully proven by the girl's scrawny form, and downright unhealthy appearance.

Of course, even though she left Tortuga with a nearly-empty stomach, what little food that was residing in there now was threatening to come right back up again. Ellie's face, usually very pale and almost white in color, was now tinged most fiercely with green; her odd light eyes were wide and tired-looking, attesting to the lack of sleep she had been put through of late.

It was still night, she was sure, and judging from the shouts she'd heard coming from the deck above her head an hour or so beforehand, the ship was stopped and the anchors were sunken deep beneath the surface of the sea. The Black Pearl wasn't going anywhere…but the sea was rather rough on this night, and Ellie decided that she didn't like that very much.

That was it…she was sure she was going to be sick. The half an apple and bite of rather stale bread she consumed over twelve hours beforehand were threatening to come up once more, and this time she feared there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She knew she was going to be sick, but didn't want to get the mess all over the cargo hold—she was still only ten years old, after all, and there was that childlike fear of getting into trouble that factored into her decision of getting up and stumbling toward the stairway. She didn't know this man, this Jack Sparrow, and father or not…she knew that adults had a tendency to become angry when a child was sick all over their belongings, and the place where they lived.

With one hand—the other was still kept firmly over her mouth—she tucked the letter her mother wrote to her grandfather into a small pocket in the folds of her dress, and then used this free hand to steady herself. She kept it along the wall as she walked up the steps, or else she might have fallen over several times from the rocking and swaying of the vessel that threatened to tip her right over.

When she found herself entering another level of the ship that was not the topmost deck, but rather a sleeping quarters in which the crewmembers were all snoring in their hammocks, she stopped in her tracks. Her eyes even wider than before, she chanced a look about her, trying to see if anyone noticed her presence. No one did; no one was awake enough—or at least sober enough—to take notice of her at all.

The ship suddenly tilted to the side just a bit as a high wave caught it, causing the hammocks to shift slightly on the thick ropes that held them up and nearly making Ellie fall backwards down the short stairway. It was with this movement that the urge to be sick fully overtook the girl—and so, uncaring if anyone saw her anymore, she abandoned all cautiousness and was running as fast as her skinny legs and small feet could take her—which wasn't fast, since she was practically dragging one of her legs. Up the stairs she went, at a pace that was rather impressive given that only one leg was fully functional, clumsily jumping onto the deck when she reached it, and not hesitating to limp quickly to the nearest railing.

It was indeed a rough night for the sea; it was overcast, as could be seen from the lack of stars above, but although the waves below were choppy and sometimes rather high, at least it wasn't raining. Ellie didn't care; she was much too busy leaning over the railing, gripping it tightly with her pale, slender hands as she retched into the sea.

Her stomach was substantially emptier than she first presumed it was, for the retching itself did not last very long—there wasn't much in her stomach in which she could have thrown up in the first place. When she was done she moaned weakly, righting herself and standing up straight, but then sliding down to her knees only a moment later, now gripping the vertical wooden bars that supported the horizontal railing and looking between them, gazing out across the dark sea with rather glazed blue eyes.

Oh, how she hated the sea…

She remembered traveling with her mother to Tortuga a few months ago by means of ship—though it was not as though there was any other way they could have traveled to the pirate-dominated island—and even then, her experience with sailing had been much the same. She became predominately seasick then as well, all the while being incredibly envious of her mother, who was able to travel by ship with ease. Ellie spent most of the voyage below-deck and lying sick in a hammock, her mother right beside her as she brushed her hair back and out of her eyes in a very soothing manner.

Right now, Ellie wished more than ever that her mother was there with her. She wanted to be comforted, and she wanted to feel loved now that she was done being sick over the side of the Black Pearl…but there was no one around that could have done so. No mother, no father…no one. When she finally managed to stumble to her feet, her bleary eyes looked around and saw that the only people anywhere near here were two men that stood up on the platform the wheel was stationed on; no doubt it was their turn to play sentry, but luckily they had their backs to her, and the sounds of the angry sea had drowned out those of her vomiting.

Shaking slightly now, she wrapped her arms around herself, realizing just how chilly it had become this late at night, and wishing she had a shawl or blanket that she could wrap around herself. Her brown dress had long sleeves, true enough, but the fabric itself was thin and did practically nothing to protect her from the cold. It was just a bit warmer down below, she realized after a moment; not much so, but there were no chilly gusts of wind that reached down there, and so she thought that to be her best chance of staying warm.

Blinking tiredly, she turned again to head back the way she came and back to the stairway—but she stopped, gazing up in surprise at the man blocking her way, who was returning the expression of incredulity with fervor. Ellie blinked again, then squinting to see the man in the darkness that resided over the ship. Dark hair, a red bandana, a beard and braided mustache…she gulped and took a step back just as the ship tilted a bit in the other direction.

The effect was immediate; being someone that had about as much of a chance obtaining sea legs as a squid did of growing wings, Ellie fell back on her bum with an "Oof!" of very slight pain and mostly surprise—and the man standing in front of her stood stock-still, as though the rocking of the ship was something he hardly noticed. Indeed; when the ship swayed a certain way, he moved right along with it; his feet staying flat on the wooden planks, and the rest of his body moving side-to-side, front and back in keeping with the ship's motion. It reminded Ellie of when she played with the chickens that ran about Tortuga; she could pick one up and move it just slightly, and although its body would move with her hands, the chicken's head would stay in the same exact place in the air until its body was moved too far in a different direction.

"I…I…" Ellie seemed incapable of forming another word, and instead stammered that single letter over and over again, looking up at the man that she knew to be her father with wide blue eyes. Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, barely seemed to take notice of the girl, or if he did it didn't seem that he was too perturbed by her presence.

"You," he said finally, pointing a finger at her, and taking a quick swig from the bottle of amber-colored liquid in his other hand. "You," he said again when that was done. He paused, a sudden expression of confusion on his face as he looked right above her head, apparently deep in thought. He coughed.

"Yer not allowed on me ship," he said wisely, swaying slightly—though not from the rocking ship this time—and pointing a finger at her again. "You should…get off now," he finished bluntly, waving a hand around vaguely and blinking his dark eyes in a fashion that was not dissimilar to the way she was continuously blinking her own. Apparently this particular bottle of rum was not the first he had taken the liberty to consume this night.

It was about then that Jack seemed to realize the bottle he held in his hands was now empty of rum. He tried to take another swig from it, then frowning and holding the bottle up in front of his kohl-outlined eyes when nothing happened, his confused mind trying to figure out what he didn't taste rum. He blinked again, sniffing slightly in impatience.

"Oh," he said simply, finally figuring out that the bottle was empty. He tossed it over the railing without another word about it before his gaze was drawn back to the girl. She stayed sitting, her eyes as wide as saucers and her mouth open as she stared up at him in shock. He nodded, giving her a two-fingered salute of sorts before he turned around and sauntered off. "More rum…"

His attention now off of her and her heart beating like a drum in her chest, that was all Ellie needed to scramble to her feet the best she could. She was gone an instant later, limping across the deck and down the stairs as fast as she could, intent on putting as much space as possible between herself and her obviously inebriated father. She wasn't ready for this; he was drunk, and she was scared of him; scared of his ship, even. No, she would wait…wait for the opportune moment in which to reveal herself to him…

She wondered if he would remember this meeting when he woke up the next morning…

—xXx—

Jack Sparrow was a strange, and very peculiar man.

There were certain quirks and attributes about him that made most look at him and think of him strangely—such as his swaggering walk, or his impressive use of a wide vocabulary when compared to that of certain other pirates that roamed and pilfered the Caribbean. One of the things that he was most proud of, however, was his seeming immunity towards the common hangover.

Other men would drink as much as he did, and not even be able to push themselves out of bed—or off the ground—the morning after. Jack was different in that he could drink twice as much as most men, and yet the morning after he could wake up tip-top and well-to-do, a grin on his face and a headache nowhere to be felt. After so many years of drinking, his body seemed to have just become…accustomed to being in such a constant state of inebriation.

And so, of course, when Jack Sparrow woke up—on the floor of the captain's quarters—the morning after the Black Pearl sailed from Tortuga, that familiar grin was still in place, and he felt perfectly fine despite the fact that the ship itself was short a few bottles of rum—though to be fair, much of it had gotten sloshed around and ended up on the floor when he had stumbled around in his drunken state.

And then, as what usually happened when he awoke after a night of drunkenness, Jack simply…remembered. He usually did. He remembered finishing off what was left of his 'secret' supply of rum…remembered stumbling around his quarters for a while, muttering something or other to himself…he even remembered sauntering out onto the deck and seeing that pale little girl…and then, he walked back into his quarters and pulled out the maps…and then…

'Wait…'

He thought about this memory for a moment, pondering about the reliability of this small snippet of his memories. Why, he remembered the girl from Tortuga; the one the owner of the tavern had given to Jack along with all of the rum…but did he really see her last night as well? No, that couldn't be…she was nowhere to be seen when the ship sailed away from Tortuga…unless she had somehow hidden away…

He paled considerably despite his tanned skin when he thought about this scenario and was on his feet in an instant, looking around his quarters wildly as though expecting to see the girl sitting there and looking right back at him. Of course she wasn't, and so he took his fearful antics out of the room and onto the deck, unintentionally spinning around in circles as he looked for her with wide outlined eyes. Several of his crewmembers that were already up and about looked at him strangely when he passed by them in such a fashion, but he could only hold their attention for so long—they'd seen stranger antics from the likes of him before, after all.

"Gibbs!" Jack shouted when he stopped spinning around, finding himself next to the mizzenmast as he called for his first mate. "Gibbs!"

"Aye, Cap'n?" Jack jumped slightly when Mr. Gibbs's voice rang out from above him, and looked up and over to see the man on the platform the wheel was kept on. Jack nodded and ran up to greet him, still looking around wildly.

"Gibbs—where is she?" he demanded as soon as he reached the other man. "I saw 'er—she snuck aboard! A stowaway! Undead monkey!"

This statement was actually aimed away from Mr. Gibbs and towards the fuzzy animal that had leapt from above and onto the wheel, and in an instant Jack's gun was out and aimed at the small creature. The monkey was, this time, quicker than Jack and his gun, and it jumped down and onto the main deck before Jack could actually shoot it. The captain scowled but put his gun away nevertheless; he'd shoot it later, when he was more agitated and needed a way to make himself feel better.

"What's this?" asked Gibbs unsurely. "A girl? What girl? Oh, wait one bleedin' minute…" It suddenly dawned upon him who the captain was speaking of, and his own eyes widened considerably. "The girl from Tortuga? She's here? There's a woman on this ship?"

"A miniature one, to be sure," said Jack agreeable, pronouncing the word 'miniature' the way Gibbs usually would. "She was 'ere last night—she's gotta be here still."

"Are yeh sure?" asked Gibbs, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, and of his captain's words. "I saw what yeh were actin' like on deck last night, Cap'n—yeh sure yeh can trust yer memories on this one?"

"Not in the least," said Jack, spinning around and looking down at the deck. "But I have to be sure. Where—" He stopped in mid-sentence, his outlined eyes narrowing slightly when they went upon the stairway before the mizzenmast; the one leading down to the large room in which the crew slept, and then eventually the cargo hold. From what he could see, the girl wasn't on deck, and it seemed unlikely she could be in the riggings…

"I'll be right back…"

—xXx—

The cargo hold of the Black Pearl was not, by far, a very pleasant place to be, but Ellie Brodruck had no complaints about it. The wooden walls were damp and, in some places, slimy; and there was barely enough room for her to sit down, but she did so anyway in front of a gathering of rum barrels, her mother's letter in her hands.

Unlike her mother, Ellie never put much importance on the written word. She could read and write—though her handwriting in itself was fairly abysmal—and her mother made sure that she was well-learned…but Ellie just did not care much for it, and nor could she make herself care for it. Books bored her, and no matter of how many her mother had pushed upon her, she could never keep interest for long.

However, by now it seemed that young Ellie had read her mother's letter so many times that she had it memorized. Some of the words were unfamiliar to her and there were a few pieces of information that made little or no sense to her (what did a Kraken have to do with her father, anyway?), but she drew a feeling of comfort from that little sheet of parchment nonetheless. They were her mother's words; her hands had touched upon this parchment, and her loopy handwriting adorned it prominently. It was all Ellie had of her mother, and her eyes took in these writings with a certain sadness to be perceived in them.

She was only jolted out of her morose reverie when the sounds of footsteps reached her ears, accompanied by the humming and slight singing of a song that was unfamiliar to her ears.

"…and really bad eggs…drink up me hearties, yo ho…"

She gasped, folding the letter over and shoving it within the small pocket of her dress again before she was standing up, looking around with wide light eyes in search of a place to hide. When she looked up towards the stairway, she saw a pair of booted feet descending, and her heart gave an almighty jump and she began looking around even more frantically. She didn't want to be found now…it just didn't seem like the right time…and besides that…well, she had very little experience in dealing with pirates other than those that routinely visited The Faithful Bride and was in no hurry to meet another one now.

Her eyes found the crevice between the supply crates she'd hidden in the night before, and she practically threw herself into it, her light frame hitting the ground with a barely distinctive thump. She crawled forward and out of sight just as a certain Jack Sparrow walked haphazardly down the last few steps. His posture was strange, which Ellie could see even from her hiding spot; his back was slightly arched, his hands held in front of himself and his finger spread wide, as though he'd managed to find an invisible piano floating in midair right in front of him. Ellie blinked, recognizing him once again as the man she ran into the night before—her father.

Still, she didn't come out from her hiding spot. Instead, she tucked herself back even further, always keeping him within her sights, but never revealing anything to him. She was hidden in the shadows. He wasn't. Still, he probably couldn't see her even if he was looking right at her, or at least in her general direction.

"I know you're here, girl," called the pirate captain warningly, taking his steps cautiously, each step echoing hollowly against the wooden planks below him. "I seen you with me own two eyes—might as well come out…"

Ellie chose not to heed those words. Her wide eyes followed him around the cargo hold, watching as he craned his neck to look over stacks of barrels and food sacks. When he passed by a small gathering of half-empty barrels filled with rum, Ellie almost shrieked when he suddenly turned and knocked them aside, thrusting his head into the space created between them, an almost maniacal grin on his face. When he realized that there was no one there, that grin faltered and he backed away, scratching the top of his head in confusion.

"Coulda sworn I saw somethin' movin…"

He blinked his eyes bemusedly as a fat gray rat suddenly scuttled out from behind the water barrels, stopping by Jack's stationary feet for only a small instant to sniff at his boots before it was off again, apparently not finding anything to its interest. Jack watched as it disappeared behind some of the rum bottles, his frown deep and irritated.

"Oh," he said simply, as though the appearance of the rat explained everything. "All right then."

By now he was irate, growing more impatient…and perhaps willing to believe that what he'd seen the night before was not actually real. And so, he did what he usually would have done in such a situation.

He gave up.

"Too early for this," he muttered to himself , shaking his head slightly as he turned around haphazardly on his heels, walking to the staircase and climbing without another word said to the supposedly empty room.

Ellie waited until she was sure he was gone before chancing to crawl out of her hiding place. Still shaking just slightly, she looked down at the ground, cringing at the thought of there being more rats around the cargo hold—of which she was sure there was. She shuddered, crossing her arms in front of herself as though cold. She hated rats.

Wistfully, she looked up at the ceiling, imagining that this day had brought the warm Caribbean sun upon the Black Pearl, and wishing that she could go above deck and see it; or even feel it upon her pale face. She bit her lip, wondering if that was possible. She was certainly feeling better than she felt last night—mostly because her stomach had nothing left in it that she could retch in the first place. Besides…she could feel the ship's movement below her feet, almost…it was moving now, meaning that they were even farther away from Tortuga than before. Surely her father wouldn't turn the ship around just to take her back to Tortuga now?

She sighed, digging her precious letter from her pocket and staring down at it, trying to make up her mind. Apparently the decision itself was not one very difficult for her to make—an instant later she was on her way up the stairs at a slow sort of limp, her mother's letter clutched tightly in her hand and her heart beating wildly within her chest.

—xXx—

"I told yeh, Cap'n—you were just seein' things," said Gibbs wisely as Jack manned the wheel, apparently not having thought anything sour about the captain's claims about seeing the girl before. "There ain't no way a girl would get on the ship anyway, without someone knowin' about it or seein' it…"

Jack nodded tiredly, by now having heard Mr. Gibbs say this more times than he needed to count. For now, he kept his attention halfway divided between the horizon set before him and his great black ship, and the compass that lay open in his tanned and slightly dirt-smudged hand, watching as the needle quivered, but did not move.

It was a simple task to ignore Gibbs when he had other things to worry about, and so for the most part he was able to do so but for the glances he cast over to his first mate every now and then. And so, imagine his surprise the next time he chose to look over, only to find his attention drawn downwards to the mess of black hair and pale face of the small girl standing beside the wheel, who was looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

Jack had nothing to say to this apparently, though the surprised expression on his face said enough for him as it was. Following his gaze, it didn't take long for Gibbs to notice what Jack was staring at, and when his eyes fell upon the small child he gulped and nearly jumped away from her, moving to the other side of the captain's wheel as though the mere sight of her scalded him. The girl, on her part, didn't say anything to either of them. Secretly, Jack wondered how she managed to get to the platform without anyone seeing her…

"Oh…" said Jack in surprise, looking the girl up and down, his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his bandana. He turned back to Gibbs, pointing back at the girl with one sure finger. "See? There is a girl on my ship," he said simply. Blinking, he turned around again to face Ellie. "What are you doing on my ship?"

The girl didn't answer, though if it was because she couldn't or wouldn't, Jack didn't know. Instead, she blinked her huge light-colored eyes at him and then held out a hand, in which was clutched a folded-over piece of parchment. Jack hesitated, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly. Finally…

"Gibbs, take the wheel," he said, waiting for his first mate to put his hands upon the wooden wheel before he himself snatched the paper out of the girl's hands. He looked at her suspiciously as he unfolded it and waved it around a bit, opening it fully. She still didn't say anything; only watched as his eyes went down to the parchment, scanning the artfully written words that were written there in her mother's elegant script.

It seemed like an eternity stretched between them as Ellie waited with bated breath, watching for any sign of a reaction on his face as he read. To her surprise, there was none; his brow furrowed as he read on, true enough, but although the corners of his mouth twitched downward slightly, other than that there was hardly a reaction to be seen upon him. It was only when he finished reading that he allowed his gaze to travel down to the girl again. Dark brown eyes met those of eerie blue, one tired gaze matching with another.

Jack sighed, a slight scowl to be perceived among his tanned features.

"Oh, bugger…"