Look at me, bein' so awesome that I add a whole new scene before the canon part. It holds a sneaky secret, and if anyone thinks they can guess the plot twist, inbox me. IF YOU CAN GUESS IT, I will write a scene of your choosing. If I like what comes out, I will include it in this story. Who knows, you might get it right! For my extra work, you should show your love through reviews.

-Han

Tonight was a word whispered on the wind until sundown, passing from sailor to sailor down the line, gruffly mumbled high in the rigging and in between the back-breaking strokes of soapy water into the deck. Fingers trembled over rope when the Quartermaster stalked by, breath catching and the word frozen on their lips. Unwilling to speak.

It circled back to Jack and Anna, now on opposite sides of the ship to spread their infection of mutiny as far as possible, so often it was marginally comical. But Jack's face was still stony and his eyes were still broken on the edges and hollow, his movements were monotonous and hollow. His boots found home on the mast, a loose rope tied around his waist for safety he didn't need, his eyes staring off at the horizon, sending prayers to the sweet moving ocean like it could answer him. His lips barely moved, and his voice was carried away on the soft wind, but something told him Calypso heard him.

"I've heard that prayer is the last act of a desperate man," a calm voice told him, floating and weaving through the salt air until it registered to Jack. He turned, facing the missionary tied securely to the mast only two or three feet away from him.

The young man was handsome, wind-swept blonde hair tangled around him, blue-green eyes that seemed to swell and change like the sea, facing away from him. Jack grinned, but it didn't feel natural.

"S'that so?" Jack inquired, feigning casual while his eyes scanned the crew below, watching the constant whispers of tonight be carried from man to man. The missionary smiled, his lips turning up in a soul-deep expression of content.

"That's what I've heard, but I don't agree with it," he said brightly, as if this brave new world was still beautiful, though rope bound him to the mast, biting into his skin uncomfortably. "I think prayer is the soul reaching out for answers, trying to reach God because it's known all along that He is listening."

"Still preachin' from here? You are a resilient one, I'll give you that," Jack answered with a roughish grin plastered onto his tan face. "But perhaps prayer would be of better use to you."

"Phillip," he said in greeting, the smile on his lips flicking between bright and content, unsure what emotion to take and Jack was the first real contact he'd had since Angelica had ordered him to be taken alive. Everyone else spat their words, threatened violence, laughed with the enthusiasm of the devil himself. But this one had that retrievable spark of humanity still burning in his chest.

"Jack."

"Who was your companion?" Phillip asked after a beat of silence that lasted long enough for Jack to realize he should be working. He went back to pulling ropes, keeping his footing steady and his place close to the young man firm. Phillip looked down as best he could from his bound position and searched with aqua eyes for the hard worker with the tangled brown hair and warm eyes. He found her elegantly tangled in ropes, pulling where she ought to and using others for support as she hung tipped to the side over the railing, eyes on the horizon like Jack's had been only moments before.

"Annie, my partner in crime, as it were," Jack explained as best he could without delving deeper into realms he didn't completely understand. Trying to define her was like trying to define the sea, it was so real and faraway and mysterious but he knew it better than he knew himself. And she was beautiful but the shadows in her heart were terrible. There was danger and fragility.

"She seems to be willing to follow you anywhere," Phillip commented with genuine interest, watching the way she tossed ropes to other sailors by her side, heaving in time with barked orders.

"It's a mutual agreement designed to maximize our chances at the ultimate adventure," Jack answered assuredly, and leaving out the details didn't mean anything. This tied up missionary didn't care about the emotions that swirled in the pirate Captain's chest, the knowledge that Captain Jack Sparrow didn't follow just anyone.

"You're the famous two aren't you? The ones that have seen the Locker and defeated Jones?" Phillip asked despite himself and Jack swore he saw excitement behind those sea-colored eyes, like he was perched delicately on the edge of a waterfall, everything in him begging to jump and feel the air rushing past his skin.

"Aye," Jack said with another smirk, baiting and he knew it and he didn't care. The pressure of Tonight was weighing on his mind and he didn't want to think about it. He wanted something to do, someone to play, something to distract himself from the reality of becoming the enemy.

"So, she's the Pirate Princess?" he asked, reiterating what he'd already said but he had to be sure. Blue-green eyes were trying to restrain their brightness, remember his vows to a God who was just, one who saved him, brought him away from the sins of the sea and the pirates that rode it.

"That she is," Jack said brightly, a new danger in his eyes, black and brown warring for dominance in his gaze and black won out, a raw protectiveness he pretended he didn't have. "And she's not to be trifled with."

"Wasn't intending to," Phillip replied quickly, turning his eyes back to the horizon with a kind of peace in them Jack only found in the middle of the night, when he allowed himself to trace his fingers up and down Anna's spine without worrying about appearances or the fear in his own chest.

They stood in silence, ropes around their waist, one to keep him safe, and the other to keep him bound, both to an uncertain future.

Xx

A candle was lit in the darkness, flickered, warm yellow-orange light bathing the cramped crewmen's cabin with light, grey smoke curling elegantly above the open flame. Sailors leaned forward, dirty faces illuminated and fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of their clothes.

"The topic, gentlemen, is mutiny," Jack said softly, blowing out the matchstick and watching the effect of his rough voice on the men. A collective shiver was forced down the backs of those crowded around the barrels serving as a table.

"Mutiny most foul," Anna added without missing a beat, her hair finally combed down so it fell in almost graceful waves around her face, curling in some places. Her blue eyes glowed in the firelight, while Jack's seemed to swallow the glimmer in blackness.

"Aye. I signed up to sail under Jack Sparrow, not some pretender," Salaman said darkly, rubbing a hand over his greying beard. Other men nodded along.

"And a lady at that!" Ezekiel added in a hoarse whisper, brown hair plastered to his face. Anna glared, moving so swiftly some of the men almost didn't see her stab a small dagger into the barrel, within an inch of the sailor's hand.

"Is there something wrong with a lady?" Anna asked in a deadly whisper, calm and danger mingled in her words and Jack smirked at Ezekiel from next to her as if enjoying his icy fear. Silence enveloped the table, her words sinking in and men leaned back, away, anything to avoid her anger.

She smiled to herself, just the slightest bit proud, and leaned back in her seat as the Cabin Boy rushed in. The entirety of the armory was laid down in a clatter of steel on wood, swords wrapped tightly in a burlap sack to keep the boy's hands safe from razor edges.

"I got 'em," he said with a bright smile, boyish face lighting with childish pride. "All of 'em."

"Good lad!" the sailors said boisterously, patting him on the back with roughish glee. He sat next to Anna, pleased with himself as his dirty face was bathed in the warm glow of the candle. The pirate woman gave him a warm nod, something that made him sit even straighter, and tipped his hat back for him, allowing him to see better. He grinned, she smiled back.

"On to it, then. Blackbeard. What are his habits?" Jack asked, leaning forward with a reluctant commitment that he couldn't back down from.

"Stays mostly to his cabin," Scrum said quietly, among mummers of consent from the rest of the men, repeating what the scruffy man said with growing confidence.

"Yes. But when he comes out…" Anna trailed off, hoping someone would fill in the blanks and lead them to something substantial, something they could use.

"He don't really come out," the Cabin Boy said with a furrowed brow, straining to remember an instant the feared pirate Captain had graced the deck with his presence.

"He must come out sometime," Jack insisted, eyes wide and surprise coloring his features, his fingers tapping a random beat on the barrel. The crew muttered incoherently. "Have any of you sailed with him before?" he asked, his brow rising and tapping halting. More muttering met his statement and suddenly none of the sailors could meet his eyes.

"Have any of you even seen him before?" Anna asked, leaning forward in shocked interest. She hadn't been expecting that, and when more mumbling met her words, she realized they might make it out of this.

"Stays to his cabin," Jack listed.

"No one's sailed with him," Anna added.

"Seen him," Jack muttered disbelievingly.

"Good news, gentlemen," Anna said brightly after a beat of silence, a cocky grin rising to her lips.

"This is not Blackbeard's ship," they said together, as if they'd planned out their conversation, decided who would say what and when. The men watched the volley of words with rapt attention, the way they were able to operate without even a glance at the other was all the proof they needed that they were a team.

"This is not the Queen Anne's Revenge," Jack finished with a slap to the table that clanged through the room from the impact of his rings. The sailors remained silent, awkwardly fiddling with the edges of their clothing in an attempt to dispel their doubt. Blackbeard's name alone struck fear down the spines of pirates everywhere, and his presence was palpable aboard the ship, the heavy air of death and punishment.

"Oh, oh, now, this be the Queen Anne's Revenge, right enough," Scrum said insistently, shaking his head at Jack as if the pirate were a poor confused soul who needed to be shown the light. Jack cocked his head in feigned interest.

"How do you know?" he asked, leaning back slightly in his seat, his leg brushing Anna's slightly. The contact sent sparks dancing across his body and he hadn't really spoken to her all day, hadn't really touched her, held her. They'd gone weeks before without real contact, but when he got it back it was always intoxicating.

When this was over, when the world slowed down a bit more and they had time to enjoy the night, they'd lie on the deck and watch the stars. They did that often, Gibbs had grown used to it by now.

"I've seen the name. On the back of the ship," Scrum said in his thick accent, making the words sound uneducated. He nodded with a sloppy grin on his lips that didn't help the image. Jack stared, silent, seeming shocked by the idiocy.

"Gentlemen...sirs...fellow conscriptees," Anna said quietly, turning the coin from the Amazon over in her fingers, watching it glitter in the low light of the candle. "You have been monstrously deceived."

"We've been decepted, then?" Salaman asked, repeating what she'd just said. The pirate team rolled their eyes as one and wondered how long they'd be forced to suffer such a crew. They were used to quick wit and quicker swords and the understanding of their mannerisms. This was new and they didn't like it.

"Yes. You've nay been informed of the destination," Jack pressed, hoping to infect the minds of the men with mutiny, with the desire to rid themselves of a Captain they'd never even seen. "Death lies before us, as we sail...for the Fountain of Youth."

Silence met his words; Anna stopped turning the coin, the sound of cool metal against skin fading into the background of heavy breathing and stuttering heartbeats.

"It be a sorry plight," Jack added, his eyes sympathetic to nearly a fault but they couldn't tell the difference. Annie hid a smile, taking a moment to give the little boy a soothing pat on his shoulder. He reminded her of little Will, the boy she pulled from the confines of a burning ship, the one she took scars for, flames to her arms and leg. The boy who jerked her from the cold shell she'd created for her and made her be the child she wanted to. The boy who loved Elizabeth from the start, and needed a sister to protect him, to whisper that it'd be okay. And she stayed with him and poured her heart into everything he needed and was there for him.

The boy she missed.

So she comforted the dirty Cabin Boy and prayed he wouldn't suffer as much as Will had. Prayed someone would protect him past this adventure, shield him from the horrors of a world he shouldn't have to face so young.

"Death…for certain," a crewman whispered, and Anna felt the boy lean into her touch, just the slightest. Jack caught the motion and sent her a soft look, one that screamed understanding. The boy was afraid, and fear wasn't treated well amongst the harsh seas and hardened pirates. But Anna still remembered what it was like to hear Will wake up screaming nonsense about a ship catching fire and he was drowning and he couldn't breathe and she had to help him breathe.

Anna remembered rubbing soothing circles on the boys back, softly whispering or singing off-key but reassuringly. And when he was older, she would run her fingers through his hair and pretend he was small. It was easier that way and she knew he needed the comfort. Almost as much as she did.

"Unless we take the ship," Jack reminded them quickly, taking up where Anna might have with an ease he associated with the tides and water running over rocks and slipping through his fingers.

He stood strongly, hoping to encourage the men into action. Scrum stood as well, slamming a knife into the barrel in front of him with more vigor than Jack had thought the small man could muster.

"We take the ship. Now!" He screamed, running up stairs with his sword drawn and a battle cry falling from his lips and echoing. Silence consumed them and no one else had moved.

"Go on, then," Jack said dismissively, waving his hands at them expectantly.

The roar of men could be heard for miles, the sound of swords being grabbed quickly, boots on the stairs like thunder from above. The mutiny was in motion. Weapons were past as they moved, everyone armed and everyone ready. Only Jack, Anna, and the Cabin Boy remained behind.

"Go lay in your hammock," Anna instructed softly, her eyes soft but insistent. "If this goes wrong, pretend to be asleep."

The boy left reluctantly, throwing concerned glances back at the pirate lady, who stood straight in the half-lit room, Jack beside her and her sword in her hand. She may not come back. An encouraging smile swept over her features and the boy watched her face change, soften, become something bright and beautiful and ignorant to the hardships of the world.

"You're good with him," Jack commented quietly, as if suddenly doubting her ability to handle their job, their mission, their intent to kill and take over and move on. She shrugged.

"I've had enough experience with saving little boys," she said brightly, recalling the Pirate Boy and Will. He chuckled despite himself, a grin that seemed to glow in the dark room.

Jack took back his doubts. He could see the thrill of the hunt working its way back into her eyes, blue lighting up and spreading out and becoming so alive he could taste it. She led the way up the stairs, expertly dodging major attacks until they arrived at the first mate's cabin. The night was already filled with sounds of bloodshed, the marionette-crewmen trying to fight back with disjointed lumbering moves of power and impact while the mutineers pushed on with a quick agility. The sick sound of steel passing through skin and muscle and sinew filled their ears along with the strangled cry, half-shouted expression of pain.

Jack hesitated at the door, briefly considering going inside, speaking to Angelica, telling her something important about the kind of person he'd become. The way he'd changed.

Annie sensed his hesitation.

She knew, and she didn't want to and she wished she could believe that he wasn't thinking about the Spanish beauty. She turned, launching herself into the fray with abandon, reckless moves driving her heartbeats in an attempt to avoid the awkward conversation. The pain that would follow.

She had already come to terms with the knowledge that Jack would slip up, eventually. She hadn't expected the reality to hurt this much, a deep, stabbing pain that went deeper than any blade could have. She caught glimpses of him standing at her door as she drove steel into her enemy, clashed swords and turned in a flurry of movements Jack didn't see. Jack wasn't looking at her.

She'd left in only a second, was engaged in fierce battle in the next and Jack barely had time to take a breath before he realized that she was no longer beside him. The air around him was cold and he wished he could convince himself that she'd been pulled away. That she hadn't gone willingly.

He rather doubted it.

Jack turned away from the heavy wooden door, taking only a moment to slam the latch down, locking it in place and eventually Angelica would wake, would find a way out and the fury which Hell hath no would reign down on him. Maybe Anna would fight her.

That would be something to see. He scanned the masses of warring bodies until he caught her familiar face.

The way she fought made a knot of dread rise in his stomach. She was uncontrolled, inattentive, moving on instinct without looking, without thinking. Anna's usually graceful movements were weighted down and smashed and cracked with a visible pain, something in her soul that was leeching the fight from her body with each parry. She was losing it.

Jack moved before he was sure of it, blocking a deadly slash aimed her way with an ease she should have had too.

"You don't have to help me," Anna shouted above the screams of bloodshed, and her words weren't bitter but Jack could tell something hurt in her. It hit him a moment later and he twisted, pressing his back against hers. The silent communication was all it took and he could feel her muscles relaxing, her movements returning to their fluid nature, the ingrained understanding of a sword flooding back to her.

Jack had her back.

He wasn't leaving any time soon.

The zombies weren't going down, and though the pirate team half-expected them not to, disappointment and anxiety rose in their minds. They'd been down this road before and their first adventure was back in their heads and Barbossa was the bad guy then, and Will didn't like Jack, and her secret had come out and they were all over the place.

They swung around as on, hands clasped as the free slashed outward, cutting through the puppet-sailors with ease. They kept coming.

In his peripheral, Jack could see Angelica fighting her way through the mutineer's with practiced affluence. He suddenly wished he'd never arrived at that Spanish Convent, a thought he'd never had before, when those few weeks had been some of his best and the swell of pride he thought at the moment had never been anything less than satisfying. But she had already escaped her quarters and was cutting her way through to him with fury in her eyes and angry Spanish spewing from her lips.

Anna saw her too, and swung again, pulling Jack with her as they made their way towards the mast together. The harder they fought, they realized the enemy was losing consciousness, not dying but no longer a threat, they were dropping heavily to the deck with each hard stab, punch, kick, hit to the head.

Jack stopped at the sight of Salaman, and both of them glanced up the mast as one to see the missionary, Phillip, looking down on them with something like regret. He nodded to his comrade as Anna grinned at him in understanding. She shifted, bracing herself against the mast to provide cover and signaled him and Salaman to go up.

She slashed as Gunner came at her with an axe, dancing out of the way as it slammed into the wood behind her head. She swallowed, taking the opportunity to stomp down on his foot with the heel of her boot and jerk up with her knee, driving it into his stomach. He wobbled, his grip on the axe slipping and she punched him, following it immediately with her elbow, smashing it into his temple. He flew back far enough for a passing sailor to throw a weighted net over him that sent him crumpling to the ground. Anna grinned to herself, satisfied with her work.

Overhead Jack had reached Phillip, bracing himself on the missionary's left side while Salaman took the right.

"You're either with us or against us," the sailor said threateningly, holding his knife to the young man's throat.

"I'm not with you neither am I against you!" Phillip shouted imploringly, pleading as he met Jack's eyes.

"Can he do that?" Salaman asked Jack in confusion, the knife held still. Jack shrugged.

"He's religious, I believe it's required," Jack supplied nonchalantly, taking the initiative and slicing the ropes at Phillip's waist with ease. The young man groped out for a rope to hold on to, breathing heavily with relief written on his face.

Jack propelled down, rope burning his palms but he didn't care. A moment later and his boots hit the deck, ready to take the fight again.

"Fight to the bitter end, you cack-handed deck apes!" Anna shouted from her position at the foot of the stairs, spinning quickly to kick back another zombie. Her eyes were narrowed, bloodlust and excitement warring over her features and Jack could see the strength behind every move, the coiled, dangerous way her body moved reminded him of a viper. She could bite you before you were even sure of what was happening.

He joined her as soon as he could, chuckling in spite of himself when he realized they were winning. Zombies were being tied down, pinned up, and slapped around. They were going to survive this.

The Quartermaster had been attracted to her shouts, and was bearing down on Anna by the time Jack arrived, his ugly face twisted even further into a scowl of rage. He stabbed, hating that it had no effect, but glad it took the attention away from Annie. She was strong, but not strong enough to take the brunt of the huge zombie's force. Jack punched, a quick shot to the jaw that had the enemy stumbling back into a pocket of mutineers.

"Take him, tie him down," Jack ordered as he grabbed Anna's hand and rushed up the stairs with her. Subtly, he checked her for injuries as they mounted the steps, casting his dark eyes over her body for wounds. She wasn't bleeding, and he realized this was the first fight out of three recent and violent ones she hadn't been hurt on.

Maybe things were starting to change, their luck was turning, things were going to get better. Her hand clasped in his, they faced the deck and their new crew together.

"The ship is ours!" Jack shouted, his rough voice ringing across the ship and the water and this life and into the next. There was a rough kind of joy there, an animalistic pride, and Anna shared it in her bloodstream, every heartbeat screaming wedidit.

Cheers rose from the crowd of sailors and Angelica glared from her location, grabbed back by two men with steady hands refusing to let go. Feral joy and happiness rippled through the men and for a moment they were on top of the world and nothing could hurt them and they would be okay.

The Captain's cabin doors opened, heavy footfalls breaking a new, heavy silence and Jack and Anna's grins froze on their faces, dread pooling in their stomachs, and their minds racing to get out of this somehow, any way they could. They turned as one, slow hesitant move of their bodies until they could face the new arrival.

Blackbeard stood proudly on the deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge, his eyes roaming the frozen crew below him with lazy contempt and a flask of whisky at his side, his beard smoldering faintly, curls of smoke dancing through the night air.

Jack's luck had changed. For the worse.