He'd hardly survived – in fact, he had died and returned from Davy Jones' locker, and freshly reborn right out of the war with the East India Trading Company, he'd also subsequently been forced to acknowledge that he missed something.
Someone.

And as fate would have it, that very someone had suddenly been within reach again.

She hadn't yet noticed him, but he was right about to change that, sneaking back into her life despite knowing all too well how much mess he'd caused her once already.

"I'm having a thought here …" he'd whisper into her ear in Tortuga's ever busy Faithful Bride. "If you heard me say Hello after everything that's happened between us last year, would you shoot me?"

She held her breath for a second, then she forced herself to get it together and, in obviously cold rage, turn around to glare at him. "You … Are you being serious?"

"Just testing the waters," he admitted, nodding at the bartender for two drinks, "so, hypothetically," he turned to her again, "if I hadn't been as wicked as I was the last time we saw each other –"

"You mean by telling me I was wrong for expecting the bare minimum and all that?"

"That, yes," he sighed, taking those drinks from the bartender, "and all the moody jealousy as well as my general recklessness and taking you for granted –"

"You look like that mad Captain, but the one I used to know would never be that reflective."

"Say, he's had rather a rough year, all things considered, and a lot of time to ponder in some Nirvana … Would you refrain from killing him? You look stunning, by the way."

"You can drink that dirty broth yourself."

"Why, what's wrong with it?"

"Just look at this place," she said, making wide eyes, "that's wrong."

"Don't know what you mean, love, it's just Tortuga." He took a sip, offering her drink to her again, only for her to refuse once more.

"Mind terribly not condemning rum that much?"

"I don't mind the rum, Jack, in fact, drink up, because at times at least drunk you'd shut up for once."

"Way to sober to do that now."

"I can tell!" She frowned. "How the blazes did you even survive Davy Jones?"

She was still very much holding a grudge, so much so that it finally made her grab the rum to chug a couple of sips.

But she hadn't shot him yet. He felt like that was a good omen.

"You forget one very important thing, love –"

"Oh, don't!"

"Huh?"

She shook her head. "Don't even think about saying it."

"Saying what?"

"Something incredibly stupid along the lines of ‚I'm Captain Jack Sparrow'."

He all but shrugged. "Shall we rather go back to the hypothetical Hello then?"

"We go back to nothing at all, Jack, or has the Locker made you that forgetful?"

"How impious of you to make such assumptions about a formerly dead man," he retorted. "Though Jonesy was admittedly quite persistent … But let's not talk too much about death now, darling – how's life?"

"I still don't even want the Hello."

"That's a shame. I couldn't quite forget you, you know? Kept our memories dear. And now here you are, and I'm so alive."

"But for how much longer?"

"That's precisely what I'm trying to find out before taking the risk of greeting you."

"You're just as exhausting as ever, Jack …"

"Yet you haven't run away by now." He winked.

"That's your end, as you know."

"But see? I haven't moved, you neither – it's proven, we're still magnetic, you and I." He couldn't help but stare at her silhouette. "And you know it."

There was really no escaping the fact that he'd monumentally messed things up with her. And that he'd really wanted to make up for it in the most inappropriate way possible.

"They said you were dead."

"I was." Without wind, without water, damned to rethink his entire life for lack of better options, he found his mind wandering to Tara way too much. It was on the tip of his tongue, but she didn't seem as though she wanted to hear it.
She seemed raging mad, and – if he was honest – rightly so. The way he'd left her was a catastrophe …

"Let's just say death has a way of reshuffling one's priorities."

Despite everything that had happened between them, she was infinitely relieved to see him alive … She mourned for him, a lot, but he didn't deserve to know.

"I know that look," he claimed nevertheless.

"Do you now …"

"Did you cry for me when you thought I was dead and gone?"

"No," she whispered her lie, quickly adding, "not at all."

He grinned, his handsome features almost trivialising that impossible attitude of his. "We used to be a lot of fun, the both of us, don't you think? Do you remember that one time I came back from Sri Lanka? You let me show you how to –"

"I do remember," she immediately cut him off, blushing from heat at the very mention, and he just couldn't take his eyes off her. "Was even worth it …"

"Told you so. We might give it another shot."

"I'm not drunk enough for that, but since you bring it up – I want to shoot you indeed."

"But I'll try despite that warning," he claimed. "Hello, love …"

She sighed in annoyance, but he'd walk her home, he couldn't let her go all by herself. Tortuga was a dangerous place at night – and yet she wouldn't let him sleep inside, next to her …

It took a while, several days of apologising and not bearing to be away from her, as confusing as it was, until she'd let him in again.

And it would be like heaven, then came the same old expectations, and the same old Goodbye. Only that this time, their love brought much more consequences than just a broken heart.

And so almost nine years later in Shipwreck Cove, it was suspicious whenever things were quiet.

The door was opened without much fuss – therefore not by the children – still it woke her up. It was bright as day when she ran her hands over her face.

"Don't be bothered, Nyx, sleep on …"

She imagined to hear a cynical tone to it, or perhaps she wanted to. After all, she immediately felt guilty herself. As a matter of principle, she always got up before everyone else. There were things to do, lives to be lived – rules to be played by.
Not everyone could live into the day like Sparrow. And just make it up as they went along …

"I'm awake," she hence claimed – yet it was an obvious white lie while she massaged her temples.

"The price of freedom, darling."

She grumbled into the pillow, a little suffocated. "Don't you gloat, Sparrow."

"Furthest thing from my mind. How are you feeling?"

She took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment, then she rubbed the back of her neck, which wasn't even too tense, and sat up as he took a seat at the edge of the bed. "Could be much worse," she noted in surprise. "Actually, I'm … well."

"Wonderful, you also got quite a lot of water from me before going to bed – and you finally slept through the night for once." He raised his hands promptly. "No, no, it's all right! No need to hurry, thank me later …"

"I wasn't that drunk."

"Drunk enough to be contemplating concepts of … joy …. Sweetness, that was the kind of original thinking I'd hoped for, but in the light of the last few weeks, it was almost scary."

She pouted. "Are you poor thing no longer used to people just talking a bit nicely to you?"

"I was sure delighted you considered holding more than just a weapon for once, aye." He could barely hide the insolent enjoyment he felt because of her languid expression at those words. "We're about to make each other cry if we don't start leveling out soon …"

"You already sound a bit whiny, to be honest …"

He skilfully passed over this acid remark, selective hearing came with his nature. "So you remember yesterday?"

"Of course I remember!" His nerve-racking character did put her nerves on the rack. "I wasn't drunk!"

"Whatever you wish to tell yourself." Blithely, he stared at her. "But then you certainly know. That you still love me."

She indeed recalled that damned realisation vividly, moreover, with utmost remorse. And right there, the last opportunity to plausibly deny it all passed.

"That's good, Tara," he was already adding. "See, I do, too."

She immediately hesitated. "Come again, did I just mishear that?"

"No." Maybe he did himself, though? He'd never said it out loud before, it had merely haunted his thoughts over and over again as he'd searched the oceans for her and rowed through the Devil's Throat cursing.

"Bloody hell," she almost whispered, "I would've bet my life that you'd never get those words out."

"Cogito ergo sum, Descartes already knew that. Cognitive faculties can also be a virtue, so there you go: I love you. Savvy? Satisfied?"

She blinked a few times. "Yes, I am – unromantically put, but that's the way you are. The question is …"

"Yes, please?"

"Are you saying that today …" She paused to continue a little more reproachfully, "And will you still be gone for seven years by tomorrow or –"

He tilted back his head in bafflement and then groaned so audibly that she at once threw herself on top of him to cover his mouth.

"Are you out of your mind? The window is open, how does that sound?"

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something into her palm, she continued to press him into the bed, but in order to actually answer her she obviously had to pull her hand from his mouth first.

"Much better – it probably sounded like an incredibly annoyed man that will, with a woman that is obviously oblivious beyond measure –"

"Yes, what?" she hissed. "What, huh? What will you do?"

"You really can't feel that tired indeed." And he just couldn't help it, he now flipped her so she'd be under him. "Pay attention, once and for all. No. I'm not disappearing for seven years again, but only if you won't hide from me for seven years! How about that?"

"Oh, so now it's my fault again?"

"It is what it is! Savvy? It is … what it is. I shouldn't have left you, I should have looked for you earlier, yes! But you shouldn't have gone to the one place in the entire world where you knew very well I'd be looking for you ever so reluctantly."

Why was he so right … She was to blame as well. At this realisation, angry tension vanished from her body, even beneath him. There was something absurdly reassuring about his weight on her, as it used to be, and his skin against hers was infinitely warm.

"For the last three weeks," he added much more quietly now, "I've been swallowing this not-so-insignificant detail, even though you'd already admitted to it. And I would've continued to, after last night, I would never have brought it up again. But now if you wish to start all over again and throw mud, so be it!"

"I don't."

"Then we'll talk it out to the bitter –" He paused. "Wait. You don't want to?"

"No. You're … also right."

"Also right," he repeated, his eyes holding a glint of disbelief until he just shrugged his shoulders. "Yep, I'm good with it. Do we have an accord?"

"I don't know," Tara sighed, still she nodded. Briefly, her gaze lingered on one of his tattoos because his shirt was so messily wide open. "Well, yeah …" she eventually hummed. "Possibly so."

"No more attempted murder? Are we square?"

"We'll never be quite square, Jack, I've given birth to two rather heavy children of yours, but … that's as square as we'll get, I suppose. Talking of children! I have to make them breakfast –"

"Already did." He wouldn't move an inch and gave her a smug smile when she suddenly so willingly relaxed right underneath him again.

Still, she tilted her head in skepticism. "How so?"

"How? You were still asleep and I made them breakfast." He whispered, "Magic!"

"Indeed," she marvelled.

"By the way, your son was trying to coerce me into sailing with him as soon as possible."

She raised her eyebrows. "All of a sudden it's my son, yeah?"

"I told him he was and you'd end me if I agreed, so I guess he'll continue to stay ashore with you."

"That's a good boy, Sparrow, well done," she praised him. "But now? What are they up to –"

"Currently, they're guarded by our favorite mangy cur and Teague, who intends to find some passage within the Code, so they're playing with that little know-it-all Turner in the sacred halls of the Brethren Court."

"You don't say," she mumbled, smiling at him with unexpected satisfaction.

"Very well done, isn't it?"

"Muy bien, yes." She motioned at both their posture. Without any distance. "Then I suggest, while we're at it, we might also finally play again."

"You want to play?"

"Yes, despite everything that makes me mad."

"Well, we're not perfect," he said as though he was giving away a secret, yet he pressed her a little more into the pillows. "But we were never made for boring perfection, were we?"

"What for then? Remind me …" She held his gaze. She didn't want to argue any more – partly because he was a far better father than she'd ever thought. Perhaps he was also a better man than she'd always assumed. "Virtues?"

"You actually do remember everything …"

"Yes." She pulled him closer, something she hadn't done in a long time. "And I do appreciate how … politely restrained … you were yesterday."

He hung on her lips, it was driving her as crazy as it was him.

"But?" he put into her mouth.

"But …" She took a deep breath, then kissed him fleetingly. "For now, you can be yourself again."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" he asked, it was overly theatrical right before placing an admiring hand on her hip. "You're just testing me …"

"I'm not, I promise," she vowed, "that was an invitation."

She reached for his hand to guide it, as if to prove her words.

He swallowed and confessed, "I suddenly can't think of anything to say."

"Perfect. Then stop talking."

"Thank heavens for that much peaceful sanity," he mumbled into her hair.

"Are you reborn and meek, all for me?"

He shook his head as his hand got creative on its own. "We'll disprove that thesis in a moment. However …" He felt her scars, those of childbirth – and she saw the consternation as he paused in his touch. "You were more dead than alive after that, weren't you?"

"No, it was just a lot of blood." She gave him a bleak smile. "But it's all healed.

"Do they hurt?"

"Not any more."

"But what if I –"

"We'll find out."

He smirked. "Tara, seriously, I need to know –"

"You don't have to worry about it," she talked over him. "It's been years. Bodies heal. Better worry more about my heart this time …"

He nodded, almost too thoughtfully for the moment. "You know, I believed coming here, to the Cove I hate so much – without a ship, without luck – would be a new low. But in fact, the opposite is true."

"I'm glad you recognise blessings as such by now. But be so kind as to begin refuting my thesis, since you're already talking about highs?"

"Where were we?"

"Pity for the scars."

"You don't want any?"

She shook her head.

"Never wanted any of that for mine either, love." He lowered his gaze, ready for conspiracy. "Take another deep breath."

She did and grinned right after. "Oh, don't you say you intend to –"

He did. At his pace – and it already took her breath away.

Dear ella, it's been so great to read your kind words again, thank you! I'm truly relieved you liked how they begin to be on the same page. Three chapters to go, I hope you'll also like those :)