A/N: Just for those of you who read a lot of POTC fanfiction, you will note in this chapter that the type and location of Bretta's tattoo is eerily similar to that in one or more other stories. My apologies. I wrote this story back just after the first movie came out, posted it, and I'm replacing it with this heavily edited version. I've decided not the change her tattoo, because it's such a fabulous scene. I give my regards to those of you who have also written stories with this plot point. I thought it was rather brilliant, if I do say so myself. :-P

Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Five

Jack was pretty sure that he was mimicking a fish, mouth moving soundlessly, but he just couldn't help it. He sank slowly to a sitting position onto his small cot. This girl knew where the map to the legendary Inis Foghlaí Mara was. Jack knew everything there was to be known about the island of Inis Foghlaí Mara. His father, Ryan, had been completely obsessed with the place, and as a result, so was Jack. Ryan and Jack had sat together many nights, plotting, planning, discovering, and theorizing about what lay in wait on the island. Most myths of the place spoke of the ghosts of dead pirates. Jack had thought that was supernatural nonsense, but after his exploits with Barbossa and his crew of the undead, his eyes were beginning to open the possibility of ghosts. Ryan had eventually put all of their research together, in a book, which he gave to Jack. Jack kept the book under a loose floorboard in his cabin. Once, Ryan had confided in Jack that he was attempting to draw an accurate map, with the help of a mapmaker. Ryan now lived in Shipwreck Cove and his estranged son hadn't seen him in years. No fault of Ryan's. Jack was the poster child of independence. Regardless, Jack always regretted that he had never seen that map…

"Y-you?" Jack finally stuttered, blinking his eyes in disbelief. He snorted a little. "That's ridiculous."

Bretta's eyes flared brightly with anger and her mouth twisted slightly. "Fine, Captain Sparrow. If you think it's ridiculous, so be it. I'm keeping the location a secret."

"Ooh-oh-oh, no, no love." Jack hastily tried to make amends. He couldn't lose this map because of his blasted big mouth. It was much too important. Lives of work, in fact. "What I meant, is that, well, the map, my rum, parrots... hmm..." He trailed off, staring into space, having lost his train of thought completely. He did that quite often.

"What you mean Captain," Bretta said smoothly. "Is that you're terribly sorry for calling me ridiculous, and you'll now grovel before me to actually get a chance to see the map. Right?"

"Right-o." Jack agreed wholeheartedly. "What you said. Absolutely. Observe my groveling." He gave his best 'I'm-so-sorry' look and hoped it would work.

"Hmmm." Bretta made an indecisive sound and crossed her arms over her breasts looking particularly bored with him, and Jack panicked.

"Honestly, Bretta love, I'm groveling. Please." Jack said, clasping his hands in his lap in an innocent manner, and gazing at her earnestly from where he was sitting on the bed.

She looked sternly at him for another moment, then finally grinned, giving into his pathetic act. "You're not very good at it, you know."

He nodded in total agreement, relieved that she was more amiable now. He hated this whole honestly-asking-questions thing. He found it much easier to simply manipulate people and be done with it. Sure, his schemes had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had always worked out just fine. Trouble was, with the answer to one of his life's pursuits being so apparently near, he couldn't figure out how to manipulate the situation in his favour. "I know. Mostly, I never have to. Mostly, people just give me what I want. Comes with being a pirate. Territory, and all. I'm sure you know how it 'tis."

Bretta just shook her head in apparent amusement, her dark hair moving slightly, as if pushed by a soft breeze. Then she turned her back on him, and started to pull her shirt up a bit. The relatively light skin of her lower back was beginning to show, the barely distinguishable swelling of her spine a testament to her slenderness. "What're you doing love?" Jack asked, with what he hoped was a charming grin. "If you wanted to do that kind of stuff, you should've just asked." He knew that it was a bit far-fetched, but he could never help it.

"Egotistical bastard." He thought he heard Bretta mutter, but he wasn't sure, because her back was turned. He relied on seeing people and the shape of their mouths when they talked, to discern particular words, something that he disliked about himself but found hard to change. She pulled the shirt over her head in a fluid motion, her chestnut hair streaming down her back. She swept her hair over her shoulder, and Jack's eyes widened in absolute shock.

However, this was not simply because she was disrobing in front of him, but because of what was on her back. It… was a map. A beautifully rendered tattoo of a map that stretched from her just above her shoulder blades, to the small of her back.

As if in a trance, Jack slowly rose to his feet, practically against his will. Tracing a finger softly over the dark tattoo that branded the beautiful young woman in front of him, oblivious to feel of her skin, he had to ask… "Where'd you get this, love?"

Bretta felt Jack trail his fingertips across the smooth skin of her back and almost shivered at the soft caress. How could she tell him where she got the tattoo? It had been hard enough even showing it to him. She'd kept this secret for many years. "What if I don't tell you?" She asked, clutching the dirty white shirt to her chest in a feeble attempt to maintain her composure. She felt a little weak in the knees at the exposure of what she'd been hiding for so long. She had hidden it under strict orders from her mother. There was something on that island that no one should ever know about.

"Then I carve th'tattoo from your back, and toss you overboard." He told her with a deep chuckle. She knew he was trying to be funny and charming and all the things she already knew Jack Sparrow to be, but it didn't help much. She was far too nervous. So nervous in fact that she was beginning to take deeper breaths, just to calm herself.

"Really?" She asked, knowing exactly how pathetic she sounded.

Jack's hand that had been tracing the outlines of the map stilled on her back, his palm now flat against her skin just above the tip of her shoulder blade. "No." He said, obviously concerned with her lack of humour in the situation. "I was kidding, love. I'm rather sure I know where you got it."

"Then why did you ask?" Bretta said, getting irrationally irritated with him. It wasn't his fault this was so difficult for her. But dammit, why did he have to be so difficult all the time?

"Just wanted to make sure, darlin'." Jack said smoothly, obviously ignoring her sudden hostility. With a slight rustling of cloth on cloth and a creak of the floorboards, she heard the pirate captain settle himself down on the small bed..

Bretta carefully pulled the shirt back over her head, trying not to show Jack anything that he ought not to see, and turned to face him. "So where did I get it, Captain Sparrow, if you think you know?"

"Your father." He said, lounging against the wall of the cabin, pulling his hat off with one hand, and reaching under the bed with the other. He produced a half-full bottle of rum, and waved it triumphantly at her, pleased as punch with his reasoning. "He was a mapmaker, yes?"

"No." She told him, with a bit of an arrogant smirk. He automatically assumed it was her father. Men. Honestly. They were all fundamentally the same. "You're wrong, Captain. My father had nothing to do with my tattoo."

"Hmm." Jack said and his mouth twitched slightly. He looked very down-heartened at her declaration, his eyebrows furrowing together. Not for very long, however, because he pulled the cork from the rum bottle with his golden teeth, and took a long draught of the heavy liquor. "That does put somewhat of a damper on my original assumption then."

"Think about it, Captain." Bretta encouraged, cocking an eyebrow at him, mocking his apparent inability to see past gender. "If my father wasn't a mapmaker, who was?"

Jack sat silently for a few moments, apparently thinking, his eye flicking back and forth. He moved his mouth as if he were talking, but no sound emerged. Then, "I have no idea."

"Good Lord, Captain Sparrow, you just aren't very bright, are you?" Bretta said shaking her head in disgust. Did he not get this? Would she have to spell it out for him? It was embarrassing.

"Sometimes." He agreed, nodding so emphatically that the beads in his hair flew wildly through the air. "But I make up for it with me looks, don't you agree?" He took another swig of rum, dribbling a little down his chin. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked at her intently.

Apparently he hadn't gotten himself into enough trouble the other night due to his more than obvious drinking problem. She rolled her eyes. She'd been doing that a lot lately, and it was beginning to hurt. "My mother, Captain Sparrow. My mother was a mapmaker. Mapmakers don't have to be men, you know."

Jack's kohl-rimmed eyes widened suddenly and he sat up ramrod straight, jumping up from the bed as if it had turned to hot coals. He was spitting rum everywhere. "Oh damn, it was your mother?" He looked her as if it was the worst news he had every heard, and that seemed strange to Bretta.

"Yes." Bretta said warily, wiping a few droplets of rum off of her cheek with her sleeve, not sure what was wrong with this revelation. "Is that a problem?"

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Thanks to all my reviewers (including Kirsty, who was anonymous).

The pronunciations and meaning of the Irish Gaelic words in the last chapter are as follows.

Inis Foghlaí Mara: in-ish fow-lee mah-ruh. Literally, Pirate Island.

Gruagach: grew-ah-gawk. Hairy goblin. (Sorry to my one reviewer, I got that wrong when I replied to you).

Abby