A/N: As promised, another chapter right after the other. Even if you're reading this long after it's published, go ahead and review. I still read reviews and it still makes me feel good that you take time to let me know what you think. Yes, I'm begging now. Please? I'm about to start taking votes on whether Sally lives or dies.

Chapter Three

The Adventures of Captain Dad

"No, Jack, I won't let you."

"But Jen—!"

"No!"

"It could make Sally better. She could have a chance!"

"The last time you went out after some mythical treasure you were marooned and nearly died!"

"I laid drunk on a beach for three days!"

"Well you could have!"

John and Sally sat in Sally's room, listening. John was at the desk chair and his sister on the bed, legs stretched out. A few weeks ago some neighborhood boys had called her "chicken legs." There had been a big row between John's parents and theirs over whether he had been justified in starting a fight with them over it, and had escaped with nothing more than a stern talking-to. Now he stared at his sister's atrophied legs without really seeing, listening to their parents' muffled voices. He didn't know what it was now, but the general topic of the fight was clear. Dad was leaving again.

"C'mon, Sal," he said quietly, standing. "Let's go play."

John helped his sister up and get situated. Tucked under one arm was Scraps—now having endured several re-stuffings—who went everywhere with Sally Sparrow and had had many adventures when the Sparrow children played at "The Adventures of Captain Dad." They knew their father's "real" name was Captain Jack Sparrow, but it felt unnatural to call him such like everyone else did. Scraps always played the part of Captain Dad, with John's tin soldiers often making an appearance as they made a game out of guessing what their father was doing or where he'd go next. They never even entertained the notion that he might not come back.

"You're so scared of her dying, you're not around for when she's alive!"

"It's been a year, hasn't it?!"

"Oh yes, a year out of the past four!"

John and Sally were certain to make plenty of noise as they came down the hallway. Adult voices abruptly stopped, but in the sitting room they were still standing across the room from each other, red-faced. They looked around in unison, beads in Jack's hair clacking as he moved.

Sally liked making things with beads, so whenever he made port he was sure to buy some beads as souvenirs; she had beads from all over the world. When she was three, he had brought back colorful trinkets from Jamaica and she had put together different lengths as a gift for him. For his birthday, she'd said, though his birthday had still been several months away. She had known even then, however, that he might not be around for his own birthday though he was always home for hers and John's. Having had no other place to put them, Jack had asked her to tie them in his hair and they had been there ever since. The longest, which featured an earring of Jenny's which had been broken for years, fell over his shoulder, being longer than the hair he still kept cropped at his shoulders.

As they passed through the now silent sitting room, Sally stopped to put a hand on her mother's belly. She grinned when a foot pressed out to meet her; the new baby (though Jack thought there might be two this time, considering how much bigger she was than she had been with either Sally or John) was very responsive to touch. The adults smiled, but as soon as the door closed their voices could be heard once more.

"Where d'ya think he's going now?" Sally asked as she stilted after her brother around the side to the back yard. They had to ask to leave the yard to play, and they hadn't thought to on the way out. "Singapore?" Five-year-old Sally didn't know where Singapore was, but she knew they had intricately carved wooden beads and pointy straw hats.

"Nah." John, who was eight now, picked up a stick. "I heard something bout the Holy Grail."

"What's that?"

He shrugged. "Something Jesus had, I guess."

"Jerusalem?" She didn't know where that was either, just that it was in the Bible. Maybe it was in Africa.

"Nah. King Arthur went after it, remember?" The Sparrow children were intimate with Arthurian legend.

Sally's face lit up. "London?" Jack had promised to take them when they were older, and five was older than four. John shrugged.

"Maybe. But he's not going."

"Why not?"

"Mumma won't let 'im. Not with the baby coming. When you got here she didn't go back to Grampa's tavern for a real long time so Dad always came back from the docks after bed time."

When Jack was home he and Jenny earned a good, honest living. It didn't matter much to Jack where money came from so long as he and his family could survive, but he knew his wife cared and so when he was away he tried to sell off plunder instead of sending it directly. He would hold up a ship once a month and promise to spare their lives if they would deliver the money and a letter, and he would know if they kept it for themselves. Jenny for her part tried her best to ignore that even if the money weren't ill-gotten, the goods for which they had been traded were.

"Jack Sparrow don't you dare—!" Slam!

The sound of their father grumbling down the walkway toward town. He kicked something—probably the big oak tree out front—and began to swear loudly. The Sparrow siblings looked at each other and a silent mutual agreement passed between them. They started back towards the front.

"Papa?" Sally called. Jack's footsteps stopped as he waited for them to appear around the side of the house. "Can we come to town with you?"

Jack had looked tense and irritated, but now without an answer his eyes softened and he walked to meet his children. Wordlessly he picked Sally up and put her on his shoulders, tucking her crutches under one arm and feeling a bit of the tension fade from his muscles at the feel of Scraps in his usual riding spot on Jack's head.

"So…where're you going now, Dad?" John asked after a little while of walking. The feel of his father's hand on his neck, steering him down the dirt road, was a familiar and comforting feel.

Jack sighed. "Nowhere, son," he said quietly, squeezing John's neck gently. "Not for a while. Yer mum needs me here for now."

"Is it true? Is it true there's a Holy Grail that Jesus had?"

"Shut up, Sally!" They weren't supposed to have heard any of that.

"Jonathan!" Jack's voice carried a warning tone. His son mumbled an apology and he knew they'd both heard the argument. "I dunno if it's real, sweetheart," he admitted, "but if it is I'll find it for you. Promise."

"Then promise you'll stay home, Papa? Promise? I don't like it when you go away."

Her pleading tone broke his heart. "I promise, love. Just as soon as I find it. Then I promise I'll be home for good. Promise." In his peripheral vision a little hand reached around his head to stick out a pinky. He crooked his little finger around hers in a solemn oath. He would come home.