A/N: I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that this was the hardest chapter I've ever had to write. Ever. Bar none. Simply because the terrirory was so unexplored and I was so afraid of this just totally not working in regards to Jack. In the end, I'm comfortable with it. He's blunt without being cold, and yet I think you can tell he's upset. Hey, he's human. I apologize, again, for the wait. Read on, Macduff.

Chapter Fifteen: My Plague

"You've heard the stories," Jack said slowly, cradling his trusted bottle of rum in his hands, looking at Elizabeth harshly. "You can recite them."

For some reason, she took it as an order to do just that. She felt her throat unstuck and her tongue loosen as she looked at him, dutifully listing off what she'd read and been fascinated by as a young child—even still as a teenager.

"Discovered the lost treasure of Cortés. Single-handedly commandeered and pillaged a fleet of Dutch ships. Acquired the fastest ship in the world. Sacked Port Nassau without firing a single shot…and the list goes on."

At the last, his gaze got sharper and he elevated his gaze to just over her shoulder, looking at her without really looking at her.

"I fired a shot." He said, and something about the way he said it gave her a feeling of dread and despair. "One shot."

His voice was so far away now.

"I wasn't always a pirate," he said, and Elizabeth discreetly raised an eyebrow. How exactly was she supposed to see him as anything else? Still, she couldn't speak, so fascinated was she to hear Jack speak. He had a smooth voice, like someone you'd want to read you your bedtime stories. And he was telling a real one, revealing his past. Curious as she'd always been, she pretty much considered that an off limits topic.

"…joined the East India Trading company when I was nineteen...working for a Cutler Beckett."

Elizabeth bit back the derisive snort that bubbled to her lips at the job he said he'd held. The Jack Sparrow she knew would have sold his soul before involving himself with any law-abiding citizens.

"I'd sworn I'd never be the pirate scum my father was…vowed I'd be a better man. Working on these trading ships…conditions were harsh, worse than even the Pearl can be, but it was honest work. Honest,"

He snorted, his eyes darkening to onyx, sparking.

"We were told not to look in the cargo holds, to do our jobs and shut the hell up. I looked. We weren't carrying cloth and spices, Miss Swann," he said slowly, transferring his eyes back to her.

He took a long drink of his rum, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands.

"There were hundreds of Africans down there. Children. Human cargo. 'Honest men' made their money bartering slaves," a grim smirk spread over Jack's face, his head leaning back a little.

"I let' em go. Cost the company hundreds of thousands. They arrested me, threw me in prison, branded me a pirate. And thus…I became one."

He was grinning, but it was an ironic smile that didn't reach his dark eyes. Elizabeth swallowed, mesmerized, drawn away from her own internal pain and into his, into his world. He glared at her, his smile failing a little, as he reached up to his hair and fingered a delicately decorated bead she'd seen him touch absently before.

"'S how it started, anyhow." He said, looking off again. "Your governments, your authorities. You think we come from nowhere, we have no families. You think we're bad." He scoffed; glaring at her again, like his lifestyle was her fault.

And in a way, it was. At least, her aristocracy's.

"I had a family." He said darkly, eyes boring into hers. "Wasn't much of one. I had Carolina."

Elizabeth tilted her head at him, her pulse quickening. She reached up and gently massaged her injured shoulder, focused completely on him, the air thick with unspoken words and questions. He had stopped, and after a moment, it didn't seem like he would continue. He was staring again. A few minutes later, Elizabeth pursed her lips, and asked:

"Who…who was she?"

Eyes snapped back to hers. He drank again. The cabin seemed darker; she noticed it was late, pitch black outside if she judged by the windows.

"My sister."

"I missed you! What did you bring me, Johnny?"

"Been good while I was gone, Carrie?"

"Me? You're the one off robbing the empire!"

Her sweet laughter rang in his ears and he shut his eyes, tilting his head away, against the neck of the welcoming rum bottle. He felt Elizabeth's eyes on him, and regretted ever pushing her to tell him her story. This is how she had felt. Exposed. Watched, stripped, and judged. She must have loathed him as he loathed her right now.

Even if he volunteered the story. Even if catharsis was good.

She said something, but he didn't hear it. He was too busy remembering. Remembering her.

"You saved those poor people, John!"

"Look at what they forced me to become, Carrie. Everything I despised about Teague. They've shredded my morals, I'm leaving you alone—"

"You didn't! Johnny, you didn't! You kept your morals when you let those Africans go! I would have done it! And I'm proud of you."

"I'm a pirate."

"I don't care, be a damn good one!"

"It's despicable."

"You're my brother. I love you. Now go…and bring me some silks from China."

He wanted to see her shining brown eyes again, and watch her face light up as she twirled around in the garden of the house in Spain, prancing with whatever trinket he'd brought her from a faraway land.

"Jack? Jack, what happened to her?"

Elizabeth asked softly, from the bed. He suspected she'd already spoken to him a thousand times.

It was painful to remember. It only made the present bad and the prospect of the future worse.

"I wasn't there to protect her," Jack snapped in response, his eyes flashing open, and yet the black and white memories still swimming before his eyes.

The white cottage with the vines in Barcelona, out by the sea near the sand, where she let the waves chase her, and laid on the beach pointing out constellations at night.

The market where she loved to barter with the merchants and tease the butcher's son, who he'd always thought she had really been fond of to the point of love.

Her books and her fairytales and the way she'd acted out whatever he'd missed, making him play different parts. Her tears when she thought about her mother, and her anger, just as bitter as his, at their father.

"Jack."

Elizabeth's soft voice again. Surprisingly soft. He looked at her like she was some kind of sea creature, confused at hearing the gentle and caring tone of the young girl he'd met so many years ago, who'd bravely taken on Barbossa to save her then-loved one.

She was right next to him now, laying a hand on his arm, standing by the chair he was in. He pulled it away to drink again, and realized it suddenly didn't seem quite so narcotic anymore.

Elizabeth reached up to his hair and touched the bead he'd previously played with. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface, the Japanese symbol that had been carefully painted on it, that was now faded so much. She let her hand fall to his chest, where she pushed aside his open shirt to find the tattoo he'd touched earlier, before they had boarded the Venganza de Beretta and he'd stared so absentmindedly into the horizon.

His skin was warm beneath her fingers as she traced the outline of the smallest Japanese characters she'd ever seen, tattooed onto his chest above his heart, scrawled in black script elegantly over the emblem of a sparrow. She couldn't read it, didn't know its significance, but she looked up, eyes again meeting his.

"Tell me." She said simply, demanding he finish his story.

"I took care of her. I was all she had. She was terrified of our father, hated him and his cruelty, and I was there to take the brunt for her…when he stopped coming back, she danced in the rain for hours. She was five years my junior. She laughed, she sang, she loved. Everything. And the only mistake she ever made was catching the attention of that slimy bastard."

Jack said harshly, seemingly beginning his background story.

"I started leaving when Carolina was fourteen, with the Company. Making money, keeping her safe. When I went Rogue, after prison, when I finally got back to her, I hated what I'd become and she was the one who knocked some sense into me. Reminded me that I'd acted for the good of humans, instead of the greed. I brought her things back from the places I went. Kept her safe."

Jack got up from his chair, shoving it away under the table and moving past Elizabeth to the bed, where he sat down with the absinthe and leaned back, the arm that held the bottle propped up on one leg. His head tilted to the side and he stared at Elizabeth blankly, as if shutting his mind down and running on some kind of half-awake stream of conscious.

"He leers at me. I thought he was a gentleman."

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? I've been leaving you alone, he could have hurt you."

"I got out…I thought he was a good man, John. But...he watches me now. He pursues me. I'm scared of him."

"Carolina, I know the bastard. I know the stories. You trust too easily."

"His eyes are kind."

"And you say he scares you!"

"Please…John, don't over react…Jack. I've got Mr. Butcher to duel him for me."

His sister giggled, twisting her ring finger nervously, her eyes bright.

"He touches a hair on your head and I'll kill him, Carolina."

"When she was sixteen she caught the eyes of the count, this…preying bastard. Took what he wanted, abused his women, and took delight in the submissive girl. Carolina was young, innocent. She was attractive. And sweet. She was kind to everyone. When he showed an interest in her, she found him friendly, handsome. I started coming home to find her bruised a little, scared; she didn't hesitate to tell me what was going on. He scared her. He tried to persuade her to sleep with him. He wanted her; she refused him. Carolina was in love with someone else…she begged me not to, but I sought him out. Threatened him. Swore I'd kill him if he so much as looked at her wrong."

Jack's sardonic, disgusted smirk came back and he shook his head, lifting the bottle to his lips. It burned as it ran down his throat, stinging his eyes and muscles.

"He didn't take kindly to that."

"Petimetre." Elizabeth said softly. He didn't have to nod or say a thing to confirm she was right.

She had been sitting in his recently vacated chair but now she stood, coming to the end of the bed and sitting on a trunk, leaning over to rest her upper body and chin on the mattress and blankets.

Elizabeth felt a very deep sadness emanating from Jack. She felt like she was stepping on eggshells, holding a gun that was about to go off of its own will in her hand, pointed at her heart.

She'd never heard him talk like this. She'd never imagined him with a family, with someone he loved. She'd certainly never thought of him as someone who hated piracy, and who wanted nothing more than to live an honest life. She looked at him raptly, waiting. She wouldn't push him like he had pushed her. She felt her muscles start to unclench and relax; even her mind seemed to ease a little, like proverbial walls were cracking. She watched.

"I wasn't gone long, that time. It was storming when I came back; the waves were more dangerous than I'd ever seen them, made it hard to get to the beach where I docked the Pearl before I found Carolina. There were bloody footprints in the sand, and a torn piece of a yellow dress I'd brought her from the Americas. The trees and gardens around the cottage were in flames. I found her in her bedroom."

Jack turned his head toward the bedside table, and Elizabeth slowly followed his gaze. She wondered if the light blue handkerchief that had been tied around the candlestick there had any significance, as that was what he glared at now.

"I will never forget the blood. He raped her. Slit her throat. And left her."

Elizabeth's eyes stung in a way they hadn't in a while. In sadness and in sympathy, where tears had usually only come in anger or hate when they had made an appearance. Jack's voice had taken on its dead quality again.

"Sick son of a bitch was gone. His manor was left, deserted, his wife disappeared, his son left with a family member in Madrid. Carolina was dead, and he was gone. I snapped," he stopped, voice quieting, his eyes staring off. He'd forgotten she was here. "I went after him. Let it consume me for months. Almost a year."

"Did you find your pretty sister, little Teague?"

"Then I found him. Livin' la Vida dolce. Port Nassau. He was Port Nassau."

"Aye, yes, Mr. Sparrah, was it? 'E showed up…coupla months ago…"

"He's ruined my daughter and me wife. We think he mightah poisoned his pre-decessor.

"I went after him. In the night, but he took it into the streets. Woke the whole town."

"She cried for you. Cried your name while I took her…seemed odd to me, but I like to think she enjoyed it—"

"I will kill you. Stand up and fight, you cowardly fucking son of a bitch, fight someone who can take you!"

"Pretty thing…whisp of a girl…so ripe and ready for plucking…"

"Daddy! Daddy, look—"

BANG.

"He shouted every detail. Illustrated what he did. Mocked her. We fought. I was mad with rage. Hell-bent on killing him…I didn't expect her. Didn't see her. She ran out in the dark…" he trailed off, his head cocked again. His hand moved to his bead again. "Petimetre's daughter, probably the only thing the man honest-to-god adored and cared for sincerely. He picked her up and held in her in front of him, grinning madly, daring. It happened fast…too fast…he swept her up, I pulled the trigger."

The silence fell like the axe of execution, Jack's terrible words hanging in the air. Elizabeth reached out and touched his leg, where the breeches cut off the bare skin, her fingers curling around his ankle. He pulled away.

"I hit her in the forehead."

Elizabeth drew her lip between her teeth, drawing her hand back and cradling her wrist, feeling like her own scars were branded white hot all over her. He still stared away into the distance.

Then he looked at her. His eyes were hollow, dead and black. Fathomless. She stared at him until he finally moved, tossed the bottle of acid green liquid to the floor with a clang and a shatter, that spewed liquid everywhere and caused shards of glass to fly all over.

And he left her; his words almost visible in the air.

My Plague by Slipknot

Please review, I'd love feedback especially on this chapter:]