A/N: Halleyjo here! This is my first chapter. Jinxeh wrote the first couple of pages, but everything beyond that, it's all mine which is why it's much shorter (she has her writing style, I have mine). Hope you like it...

Chapter 4

In hindsight, Ellie had to think that her father didn't react in exactly the sort of way that she had first hoped upon handing him the letter that her mother wrote. When first stowing away upon the Black Pearl, Ellie thought that maybe she could catch a glimpse of an actual father within the inebriated facade that the pirate captain so zealously put forth…but, and unfortunately enough, she was sorely disappointed.

With a dark mutter of "Gibbs, take the wheel…" to the man that was standing next to him at the time, Jack made haste in grabbing the girl's arm and pulling her with him as he swaggered to the set of steps that would take them down to the main deck. Unfortunately, Ellie's bad left leg wasn't going to allow her to keep pace with him and so, becoming aggravated that he was practically dragging her, Jack had to resort to another tactic—namely lifting her up under her arms and holding him away from himself as he walked with brash steps.

The way he was trying to avoid as much physical with her as possible was something that confused Ellie, though she couldn't really force herself to say anything about it; or speak at all, for that matter. He acted as though touching her was something that scalded him, and so was moving along quickly so as to get it over with. Many of his crewmembers looked up in shock when he passed by them, but he ignored them altogether—he had more pressing things on his mind, after all.

In what seemed to be no time at all, they'd reached the main deck and then the door to the captain's quarters, which was where he deposited her rather roughly on her feet before opening the door and practically shoving her inside. One quick look over his shoulder was all he had to offer to those members of his crew that were standing on the deck and gawking before he scowled and was gone, stepping within the quarters and slamming the door shut behind him.

—xXx—

Ellie nearly stumbled when pushed into the captain's quarters, but managed to catch herself at the last minute by grabbing the edge of the table that stood in the middle of the room. Wincing slightly as she forced herself to stand up straight and put weight on her bad leg, she made herself turn around just in time to see Jack shutting the doors leading out of the quarters.

It was strange…it seemed that in the exact moment the doors were shut, therefore cutting off the view any of his crewmembers might have had of him, the pirate captain seemed to…change…in a way that was not entirely discernable. His posture was suddenly not quite so tall and proud, and the expression he was wearing before—which was one of moderate overconfidence—was gone, to be replaced by one of mixed confusion and apprehension. Sighing, he turned around to face the girl, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

It seemed that they just stood there for a small number of seconds, staring at one another and not saying a word. Ellie's sunken, light-colored eyes did not waver; even though her heart was pounding she refused to show this on the outside, resulting in her looking emotionless and completely blank in expression. Jack didn't seem to like this eerie front she was putting up very much, judging from the rather disturbed expression that crossed upon his own features. He sighed once again, shaking his head in defeat.

"I need rum…"

He passed by Ellie on his way to the desks that were attached to the far wall, and she instinctively took a step back when he did. It was not beyond her to notice, however, that he still had her mother's letter in his hand, though now it was even more crumpled than before since he was holding it when he picked her, Ellie, up. She eyed it apprehensively, wishing she could have it back and know for sure that it was safe. It was the only thing she had left from her mother; she didn't want to lose it…

"Can I have my letter back?"

Jack managed to reach the desk and pull several drawers open in his nearly frantic, and yet aggravated search for rum by the time her small voice reached him, but he decided against turning around and facing her.

"No," he responded dryly, his face then brightening considerably when he happened upon a small bottle of the liquid he so craved, and pulled it from a drawer. He always kept a few bottles stored in his personal quarters in case the stores below deck ran dry; the problem was that he usually couldn't remember where he hid the bottles after he did so. "Think I'll hold onto it for a while."

She wanted to protest against this, but somehow the words that she so craved to spill forth from her tongue just wouldn't come to her. Her thoughts were jumbled and erratic; she couldn't hold onto one for long without another pushing it aside and taking its place. She suddenly felt very small and childish as he backed away from the desk, the bottle now open and tipped forward so he could drink from it almost greedily. A cringe almost overtook her when she watched how eagerly he consumed this liquid, remembering the bitter taste when she'd tried it for herself.

She'd tried rum only once before, when she was in her grandfather's tavern. She remembered a man sitting in the back of the front room that continuously ordered pint after pint, until he simply collapsed at his table with one half-filled mug still left on its surface. For the longest time, she'd found herself curious about what it was about this drink that men and women alike seemed to crave, and what better way to find out than to try it? She snuck one sip of the drink when she was sure no one was looking, and ended up spitting it out all over the table in disgust. Now, as she watched him gulp a good amount of the drink before even lowering the bottle, she felt that she would like to throw up—she would have, if there was anything left in her stomach with which she could.

"What?" he asked edgily, the bottle lowered and allowing for him to take in the repulsed expression on her pale, somewhat narrow face. She shook her head quickly, hating how his kohl-outlined eyes were narrowed upon her; she hated when people looked at her like that.

With a 'hmpth' sort of sound grunted from between his lips, Jack pulled a rather rickety wooden chair towards himself and sat in it, then immediately swinging his legs up and putting his booted feet atop the table. It only seemed natural to Ellie that she would take the seat opposite him, but she hesitated before she could do so. This wasn't her quarters, and she didn't know what his reaction was going to be if she did something that he didn't agree with.

Being brought up solely by her mother, who was a vivacious woman who constantly defied what was expected of her by society—no matter where they were living at the time—the woman had tried to teach these ideals to her only daughter, but they didn't stick. Ellie was simply too meek and submissive; she did what people who had power over her expected her to do, and tried to avoid conflict whenever she could…or, as her grandfather was fond of stating, "The girl ain't got no backbone!". The only things she'd ever done that could be considered as breaking any unwritten rules—intentionally—was going after her mother's letter after her grandfather had dropped it, and stowing away on the ship she knew belonged to her father.

In a situation such as this, she didn't dare to do anything when she wasn't sure if she was allowed to. Even such a small thing as pulling out a chair and sitting down was an uncertainty to her, and she wouldn't do it until she was told to.

"Are yeh gonna stand there all day, or are yeh gonna sit down?" This came out in more of a snappish way than Jack might have originally intended, but it seemed to do the trick, and the little girl made haste in pulling out a chair and climbing into it. "That's what I thought…"

—xXx—

At first, neither of them spoke. Ellie sat in the chair that was too big for her, feeling small and weak, and Jack seemed to think that ignoring her for a little while in favor of concentrating on the drink in his hand was a good idea. She watched him with wide blue eyes, patiently waiting for him to finish his drink, and not daring to say a word the whole time. This was seen as most unnerving to Jack, who hated glancing across the table, only to see those strange eyes looking right back at him.

So instead of looking at her, he focused on the glass bottle in his rough, calloused palm. There was still a good amount of the beverage left inside, and it provided welcome relief from the sight of the child. Sighing as contentedly as he could in such a situation, he poured more of the rum into his mouth, savoring it as long as he could before swallowing. The powerful tingling sensation of it traveling down his throat was something he was more than used to, but because he was drinking so quickly, some of it went down into his throat. Before he could stop himself, he was coughing uncontrollably.

Jack swung his legs off the table and sat upright, pounding his fist on his chest and gasping for breath. He could feel his diaphragm convulsing as he hacked. There was no doubt in his mind that he looked incredibly dense at the moment, and was a bit relieved that only the girl was witnessing this. She hadn't spoken a word since asking for her mother's letter, the most he had heard from her ever since he had discovered her on his ship. Even if she found the sight of him trying to expel a large amount of rum from his lungs to be less than impressive, he did not feel as though he had any real need to worry about her telling the crew about it.

Finally he could breathe regularly again, after a final grand cough, and he was able to return to his drink. There wasn't much left now – a good amount had spilled onto the floor during his attack – but the remaining liquid offered a few more gulps for his eager mouth and mind. He downed it quickly, taking care not to inhale any of it again, before setting the empty bottle on the table between him and his daughter.

Now that there was alcohol blurring his thoughts just enough for them to be bearable, Jack was finally able to concentrate on the matter at hand. There was the entirely likely possibility that the mother of the child had simply been looking for a man to pin fatherhood onto, and he had been the unlucky victim in this case. Jack had been with an abundant number of women in his days, and, well...several of them spent their nights in male company for a fee. It was definite that some of them were burdened with children after such business transactions. Honestly, he had thought once or twice about the chance of this happening, but he was the captain of a ship. He could not be bothered by fretting about these odds; there simply was no use, so instead he had put it out of his mind entirely.

But as he had read the letter in the girl's possession, he had begun thinking about a woman he had not seen for many years. He hadn't been able to remember her name straightaway, but the signature brought back quite a few memories. Jack had been young at the time, at a place in his life where female creatures were more than just people that were able to give their clientele the sort of satisfaction one could not attain from material objects such as magnificent ships and good rum. The only reason he was able to recall those more innocent times was because of the letter. He knew that Celia had been quite fond of the written word, spending a good amount of time working on her penmanship and eloquence. He couldn't say that none of this had rubbed off on him; he had a particular affinity for articulacy himself, something that made him stand out in the pirating world even more than the legends already being told.

And this was the only motivation for Jack to study, truly study the features of the girl before him. There were absolutely traces of Celia in the girl's face, even though she was much skinnier than her mother had been: her pucker of a mouth, her narrow, pointed nose. Even their skin was the same, pale, as though it had never seen the sun, even though that wasn't true. This was her daughter.

However, what frightened Jack even more than this blow from the past was what he realized next. The girl had his eyes.

They weren't the same color, not even close, but they had the exact same shape. The only difference was that hers were devoid of kohl. This was not the only similarity between the man and the child, however. She also had the same dark, messy hair, now that he inspected it. Even the way their hands moved were alike, though hers were currently folded in her lap. But he had seen how swiftly she had moved the chair she was now sitting in. She had the grip and the speediness of a thief, even if that was not how she'd been raised (Celia was not a typical woman, but Jack did not believe she would teach her daughter to steal – that was evident by the ridges and divets in her skin created by her protruding bones). It took more than practice to obtain that sort of ability: it had to be in the blood first.

Jack made a noise with that realization, a cross between a snort and a sigh. The girl did not respond, but instead blinked her large blue eyes, as she had done several times since sitting down. The man couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved by this lack of motion. Most of the children he had come across in his life were fidgety, noisy little creatures. The one sitting across from him – his daughter – was the exact opposite, though. Quiet wasn't a good word to describe her, because it indicated that some sound was being made. Silent was much better.

Whatever she was, nevertheless, he found it terrifying.

"So," he muttered, finally trying to disturb the stillness of the room. "May I inquire as to why you're on me ship?"

The only change in her expression was a pair of raised eyebrows, giving her an air of juvenile confusion. Her mouth remained closed.

"I asked, 'what are yeh doing here?' " He leaned forward over the desk, his dreadlocks grazing the top of the wood. His hands gripped the arms of his chair. The girl shrank back slightly, her lips parting momentarily before clamping shut again.

"All righ', then, that's how we'll play it." Jack pulled back, nestling his shoulders into his chair. "Allow me to explain somethin' to yeh. This-" he gestured around, indicating the entire area – "is my ship. It is, in my humble opinion, the best on the seas. I tell the crew what to do, they do it...it's beautiful, really."

He paused, partly for dramatic effect, partly to reflect on what he had just said. He smiled slightly before continuing.

"And for the crew of the best ship on the seas to make sure said ship sails well on said seas, there cannot be any small creatures running about underfoot. And you happen to be a small creature." Jack sniffed. "Actually, tha's not quite right. We got an undead monkey. But unless you're capable of swabbing the deck or climbin' the rigs - which I'm supposin' yeh ain't - there's no real need for you to be here."

"But-" For the first time, the girl appeared to be trying to reply. However, it looked as though she was having difficulty getting the words out. Even so, Jack did not need a translation. He knew what she was going to say.

"How long 'ave you had this letter? Can you read?"

She nodded.

"D'yeh know wha' this says?" he asked her, pulling the well-fingered note from his pocket and unfolding it, placing it on the desk before him.

With a single jerk of her head, the girl gave her assent, eyeing the piece of paper hopefully. Jack pressed his bejeweled forefinger on the edge of the letter, pulling it back towards himself. The child slumped down a little then, looking disappointed.

"All righ' then...why are you here?"

Her response gave him all he needed to know. She only blinked twice, but there was a trace of sadness in her gaunt features now.

"I'm unable to take care of yeh, girl," he told her, using a quieter voice than before. "I refer yeh back to wha' I said about the ship. No children, even if they..." he sought for a word to use. "...might be related to the captain."

The girl, if possible, looked even more crushed.

"Think abou' it...me an' my crew need to be...as focused as possible on this vessel. No distractions. A child-" he pointed at the girl – "is a distraction. Now, that man who asked me to take yeh before – was he yer grandfather?"

Once again, she nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Why can't yeh stay with him?"

"Underfoot," she muttered sullenly.

"Ah. What about...yer grandmother?"

The girl frowned.

"Any aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Relations of any sort?"

She hummed a little, a noise that could have been interpreted as a "no."

"So...I'm the only one tha's able to nurture, cherish, treasure, an' otherwise care for you?"

Once again, her eyes did not meet his. Instead, they focused on a chip on the edge of the desk, her fingers picking at it with a bit more vehemence than necessary. He sighed.

"Very well. What's yer name again? Gertrude?"

"Eleanor," she corrected, though it came out in barely a whisper, as if she were terrified.

Jack stood up from his chair, walking over to the door and opening it, motioning for the girl to follow suit and leave the quarters. However, it took her much longer than he would have preferred. The problem, of course, was the twisted leg. She dragged it about like it was nothing but dead weight, which it technically was, and the slow effect was irritating in a situation such as the one they were currently in. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, pulling her along in a manner similar to his earlier actions.

He wasn't moving in his usual sauntering style, but rather with intense rapidity. There wasn't time for any sort of ostentation, not even if it was second nature for him. Jack Sparrow could have no interruptions, because he now had a difficult task to accomplish.