Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates.

- Mark Twain

"Not so high and mighty now, are you Captain?" the soldier behind Marie spat. He had a gun barrel pressed to the small of her back.

"Not too mighty, no," she said, then cast a downward glance at the short soldier, "But still higher than you."

"Quiet," the man growled.

"Only because you asked," she said sweetly, flashing the man a smile.

The East India Company soldiers and officers were in formation around the slim French girl, forming a large block of men in the middle of the room. It wasn't all that impressive a room, low with a few holes in the walls and ceiling, but it housed the men with ease.

Lord Cutler Beckett shouldered his way towards the girl. He asked, with what could almost be taken as concern, "Are you going to go through with this?"

"I am, ma petite crotte," she answered. Her expression was misleadingly pleasant. If he hadn't learned that she was as intelligent as several scholars, Cutler would have thought she was oblivious to the danger she had put herself in.

"You are aware that these are not nursemaids?" he asked sharply.

"Yes. Your concern is out of character," she pointed out. The smile had dropped off her face. "Just go stand up front and regain your delusional sense of power."

"I'd be delighted to," He stalked off.

She smoothed out the deep purple material of her skirts and fixed a blank stare on the back of the guard standing in front of her. Lord Beckett's voice boomed, "Move out, men. This invasion has been won. By us, obviously."

A loud squawk from above relocated the troops attention from their leader to a blue and yellow parrot that had flown into the room. Marie's eyes searched the room, looking for Cotton, but found Jack instead. He was standing by the door, enjoying the spectacle. When the Captain saw the Captain, he gave a roguish wink and slipped out of the room.

A hole above her whispered, "Captain Villepin!"

Her head snapped upward to face Gibbs. He was lowering a rope towards her. The soldiers, still watching the parrot, were oblivious. She grasped the rope in her be-ringed hands and climbed upwards. She soon rested on the floor of the upper room where Gibbs was located.

"3...2...," Gibbs whispered fiendishly. "1..."

The floor rocked with the boom of a cannon. Visual fireworks flashed before her eyes. Marie winced, trying not to look as countless men were blasted out of the way by the metal ball. One particular yell rose above the clamor. It was Beckett. His anguished cry was cut off suddenly, and Marie suppressed a shudder of horror.

It wasn't until the salty taste of tears tickled her lips that she realized she was crying. Once the realization dawned on her, sobs racked her shoulders.

Jack's arms wrapped around her immediately, seemingly appearing from nowhere. One slipped under her knees, the other around her back, supporting, lifting, carrying her.

"Stop with the tears, love," he whispered roughly. "They are bloody unattractive."

"Go fall off the ship," Marie answered with venom. Nevertheless, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand.

Jack stared at her with a strange expression. The expression still painted on, he gingerly poked one pale cheek with a dirt-encrusted finger.

"You sure you're a pirate, love?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you are?" she replied. "Getting beaten by a French girl. Pathetic, really."

Jack set her on the floor. They stared at each other for a long moment. The silence was finally broken by Jack.

"Love, have you got a sword on you?" he asked, drawing his own with a rasp of steel against leather.

The sound was made again, though at a slighter higher pitch. "Of course."

The two surveyed each other through the eyes of swordsmen, their bodies tensed like a cat preparing to spring. Jack gave a roguish smile and a wink, then launched himself at Marie's slight form.

Their swords met and sparks flashed. Marie's colichemarde flashed through the air with alarming speed; Jack's cutlass was slightly slower, though it hit with greater force.

Neither gained an advantage for a good while. Finally, Jack slipped through her advantages and rested the point of his blade lightly on her collarbone.

Panting, Marie asked, "How did you do that?"

"Pirate," answered Captain Sparrow.

This is the second to last chapter (Or at least it will be unless I can't resolve things sufficiently)!! Oh my gosh!!

P.S. - Ma petite crotte is a French term of endearment and means 'my little poop'.