"See?" she mumbled looking up in his direction and unceremoniously surrendered.

The children were long since asleep, the washing up was history and the city's laughter was gradually quietening as the evening breeze passed through the open window, letting the candlelight dance in flickers across her pretty body for him.

"Why do you stop?"

The question was quite unnecessary – which was already dawning on him. He was too mentally absent.

"That's exactly what I meant." A little gloatingly, she pulled herself up on top of him until he wrapped her in his arms and smiled with his best innocent gaze. "Your mind is on her."

"Darling –"

"No, it's all right, I should've guessed you'd need to be actively challenged."

"Wouldn't hurt, maybe, so why won't you just let me go on with you and –"

"No! No, no." She shooed him and his hands away from her in amusement. "We might really end up expanding the family again, I can do well without that …"

After all he admitted, "Still don't know how that could happen, I mean usually –"

"It was just a touch of destiny. And it's a bit too late to worry about it anyway, don't you think? Our little birds already know how to fly." She sat up and the sight of her made him breathe a blessed sigh of relief, even if his head was buzzing.

"How," she then began again, "do we get the Pearl out of the bottle?"

He briefly stared up to the wooden ceiling that had once been part of a ship.
Bloody irony.
His gaze all too readily wandered right back to her body.

"Getting her out of the bottle isn't the problem," he replied, lost in thought, half-covering Tara, even if the linen fabric didn't end up hiding what decency would have dictated.

"She's still a miniature Pearl after breaking the glass, yes," Tara sighed. "How did that even happen?"

"Magic."

"Seriously, Jack, how –"

"Magic," he repeated, nodding at her. "What else would it be when a huge galleon suddenly fits into a bottle?"

She decided to go straight to the next question. "And who was responsible for it?"

"Doesn't matter in the end either, darling."

"All right, but then I guess we need a witch. Or a magician."

He began to grin. "And afterwards a priest to absolve us of such occultism?"

"Why not, he could also absolve us of other things in the process."

"Your mouth," he said under his breath, stealing a quick kiss, "only ever speaks truth, however."

She smirked before pulling the linen sheet higher, much to his chagrin. "Yours not at all, but you talk more after all …"

"Not always." He winked before pushing the sheet back out of the way again.

"So? Do you know a witch?"

"Only you." He quickly added, "Tia Dalma would've been perfect. But she rules over the sea again instead of letting me find her in the Pantano River."

"You've been to enough countries in the world, think."

"We basically had a witch in the family ourselves once. Only unfortunately she couldn't do magic, if you know what I mean …"

"Grandmama? Was she really that cruel?"

"Oh." He nodded in surprise. "Yeah."

Slightly concerned, she pulled the linen sheet higher again. "How would I have to picture that?"

Quite as if remembering the good old days, he raised an amused eyebrow and said, "When I was a kid, she really thought it necessary to look after me whenever Teague dropped off the face of the earth for months at a time. What she meant by loving discipline, though, made every bar brawl seem like a wedding dance."

She let all air out her lungs, as though the conversation was over. Yet she added, "Teague mentioned ages ago that she must have almost beaten you to death once when you were little. Is that –"

"True? No, no …" He leaned in towards her as though he was about to share a secret. "Not once. Four times. Then I was faster than her for good."

She gulped. "Four times?"

"Not to mention the three terrific days and nights in the brig of her ship."

"What? Why that?"

"Oh, her cousin – considered herself a medium, even if Mabeltrude really doesn't make for an impressive name for a medium, and also she could only dream of magic – prophesied like an oracle that I was about to set fire to Grandmama's ship. So it went without saying that I be stopped at once, and effectively at that."

"How old were you? Juvenile and bold or –"

"I was seven. Or eight." He chuckled. "Maybe bold nevertheless …"

"Who locks a child up for days?"

"A Pirate Lord who won't express her care and love any other way. Unlike you …"

She pushed the sheet away from her again, smiling wearily. "You mean like this?"

"Yes, among other things …"

"She was a Pirate Lord?" Tara continued before he changed his mind about sharing these stories again, now that they were at it. "Which region?"

"The Atlantic Ocean." He knew she loved it whenever he became more transparent to her. Although he talked all the time, about everything under the sun, he was usually very silent about the most important things. For there was no point in telling how he became who he was. He preferred to confuse the world that had created him.

"Mind telling me more?"

"Because it's you …"

She gave him a bleak smile. "Go on, then. What was she like otherwise?"

"Grandmama never tired of mentioning that she was the youngest member of the Brethren Court ever – and by her own admission, the most beautiful one as well. But everyone finds their master." He winked in exuberant self-irony. "I was even younger. And more handsome, obviously. I'm even a little proud of the latter."

She hesitated. That he was a vain peacock she had known the moment she'd met him. But a twisted form of ambition she had also imputed to him all these years. "Not of the former?"

"I tried to fit into the Navy, love, I didn't particularly want this life." All at once he was uncharacteristically serious. "But blood can't be denied in the long run."

"So you believe," she began, taking another deep breath to do so, "that the path of your children is also predetermined because of your blood? That's not true. They can be anything."

"They can't, they're already too free-spirited for blind obedience in all Crown-sanctioned institutions. And you know it."

She protested, as he knew she would. "Yet I have always taught them to act righteously –"

"Righteousness won't get them far, though, Tara. They're my children."

"But they are mine, too," she retorted in defiance, still he was not that infected by it. Much more so, he regretted for the twins what he, too, had always regretted for himself because of his father.

"Prejudice will follow them like bad luck because of me. They can only win if they're smarter than the world."

"They have my last name, Jack, that –"

"Tsikwâ'yä," he interrupted her. He held her gaze until he finally explained, "That's Cherokee, it means little sparrow …"

He let that sink in until he could read in her expression that she understood. She tilted her head, saying, "Your last name also translates to your mother's."

"Exactly. And yet everyone always knew Teague was my father."

"Was your mother … concerned for your soul?"

"As you are for our children's?" He laughed to himself. "Yes, only in a different way, my mother was a phenomenon. Taught me that you get more out of life if you keep moving, like the surface of the sea, and that there need be no rules as long as you have wings and use them. She brought indigenous heritage and the spirit of rebellion into the family, but hated nonsensical conventions, including those of the Cove, and much of Britishness anyway – oddly enough, she didn't exactly hate Teague."

Tara couldn't help but smile. "She went out and found herself a pedant?"

"As did I …"

He let her sigh before she went on asking, "That's where you got those heavenly cheekbones from?"

"You know, Tia looks pretty much like her."

Tara nodded before she fell silent for a moment to do some soul-searching. "Blood is blood, I can see that," she eventually resumed, "but Jack, who even has wings? You can't deny that the world only works with rules …"

"And who abides by them when they no longer grant any advantage?"

"Well …" She blew a strand of hair out of her face and shrugged. "The Navy, for example."

"That's what you think." He groaned, though softer than he would've done years ago. "No, pardon me – you wish to believe it."

"That institutions like that act in good faith and don't serve themselves alone? Yes! Of course I wish to believe that …"

"You haven't seen what I've seen."

It took the wind out of her sails, but she didn't need to get anywhere too soon. Her only goal was to finally understand who he was. And she had never come closer to that until now. So she lay right on his chest and simply looked at him for a while.

"What?"

"Sparrow, you never properly mentioned what happened."

"No."

"Maybe it's time." His glance wanted to testify to the contrary, yet she took heart. "Explain your wings to me."

He still made no move to do so, even after a few heartbeats. All at once all silent – as she knew him. How it suited him.

"I want to understand your worldview," she followed up. "But I can't do that with individual mosaic pieces of your motivations."

His gaze was as cold as it used to be when he was tired of seeing her. "What for?"

"What for?" She felt old familiar anger welling up inside her. "Don't you start that again, I'm the mother of your children! What are your guidelines and why?"

"Your pride of the King's Navy," he said in a low voice, there was something almost devotional about it, "despite all the rules and feigned morality, always liked to look in the favourable direction when the oh-so-righteous Company went their way and 'traded'. I don't know what the afterlife holds for us, apart from Davy's windless locker, but those responsible – may all the forces of Hades and Hell damn them for eternity."

"Trade," Tara repeated. Quietly, she assumed, "Slavery …"

He didn't answer. His eyes were pitch black as always – but possibly they only reflected the darkness they had seen thus far.

"People aren't cargo," he eventually said. "No matter how much blood money is paid." He gave her a cynical smile. "That's why I also wished to believe that at least the Royal Navy abides by agreements, moral and … rules …"

She hesitated. "You refused orders?"

"No, Beckett knew my one condition from the beginning, everyone knew I wouldn't transport people. Especially not on the innocent Wicked Wench …"

"You'd just become her captain, right?"

"Yes, she was as bright as a pearl, 164 feet long – magnificent. Fast as hell, uncatchable. And so huge that I didn't notice one hundred hidden people below decks at first. Until after we'd set sail."

"They smuggled one hundred people aboard?"

He seemed strangely reassured at her dismay. "I had, in addition to my mother's stories of unbroken resistance and fighting spirit – as you now know – also learned, at the early age of seven or eight, how wrong it is to take someone's freedom. Significantly older high officials, however, refused to think that way." He briefly paused, and the silence was stifling. "They were confined in such a small space, given the size of the Wench, it was highly symbolic. And with no prospect of ever being free of chains again, people look at you as though you should finally be the death they so crave because their pride is to be taken away." He nodded to Tara. "Seeking to break it goes against nature."

"What have you done?"

"Opened the chains and iron doors and calculated a new course. My efforts in the Navy had originally been intended precisely not to follow the same path as the rest of the family. But that this was about to end in even more sin and blood on my hands seemed outright ridiculous. Hence the last journey of my career was to the home shore of my involuntary passengers." In quite some lethargy he added, "Enough, however, to follow in the family's footsteps. The Wench was burning."

"Like your forearm," she speculated, "The 'P' …"

"Pirate," he whispered as though it could still frighten her after all these years.

She shook her head in unusual urgency, her eyes glittering, she could feel it herself. "Because you helped people? That's utterly paradox."

"Oh you think so?"

"The Wench," she passed over his cynicism, "you just said she was like a pearl. Like the Black Pearl?"

"One and the same ship, love. She went through hell and was reborn."

"She wasn't black from the start?"

He shrugged his shoulder. "But black suits her better anyway. Even Jones thought so."

"The Captain of the Flying Dutchman, according to legend, only appears to sailors in distress, or about to …" She swallowed. "Die." She felt almost sick. "I thought these were legends. When the Wench burned … you weren't going to do that with her, were you?"

"Oh, very much so," he was quick to admit. And she could literally see his wings. He was completely insane and yet so rational. "And suddenly," he said, lost in reveries, "there was Jones with those egregious tentacles and a bloody good offer, compared to death at least. He's always had a sense for tragedy, and before you, I really wasn't willing enough to save my poor soul from a pact."

"You never told me the whole story. At the time you just said that you'd sold your soul for the Pearl." Tara stared at him, almost unable to speak on. "But that wasn't the truth, at least not the whole story … When you first left me, Jones wanted a hundred souls from you – not one."

He was silent at first, then quipped, "Now perhaps you do understand why I was a little irritated?"

"You didn't bargain with him because you wanted the ship," Tara said. "You wanted the freedom it gave a hundred people. Didn't you? You didn't sell your soul. You gave your freedom for others. Jack …"

"Yes, Tara?" he asked, emphasizing her name as dramatically as she had his. It made her smile through the sadness.

"That's love in its purest form, you've –"

"No, stop it," he immediately moaned, "it was the minimum, the only thing to do, nothing more, nothing less."

She looked at him like never before, incredibly proud, and then she said what she never thought she'd ever truly believe – and what he never wanted to hear. "You're a good man."

"Here's the crux, darling. Not in the eyes of the world."

"But to whoever knows your story."

"The Governor of Port Royal – Lizzy's father – once agreed that one good deed is not enough to redeem a man for a lifetime of wickedness."

"But enough to condemn him?"

All of a sudden, Sparrow grinned. "Was exactly my question to him and Norrington, too."

"Well, and what did they say?"

"What do you think?"

She pressed her lips together.

"And now I ask you … Why play by so-called rules?"

She was silent, even if she didn't want to be.

"The only rules that really matter are these: What you can do, and what you can't do. For instance: You can accept that our children will, to a large extent, take after me and still be good people, or you can't. Freedom is in their blood, Tara, so you'll have to square with that someday."

"I've been doing that for seven years already …"

"Good, see? Another example. I can make you think I'm a good man with just a few words, despite those seven years of absence. But I can't stop the world's prejudice."

She gave him a wry smile. "Have you been lying?"

"Do you think so?"

Wincing, she sighed.

"I found three ways to immortality just to give them up again," he said. "I've been at world's end, literally, I've seen both heaven and hell, many times … But what do people remember?"

"What do you think remains?"

"That I frequently lose my ship. And the completely deranged believe that I escaped from a deserted island on sea turtles."

She really didn't mean to laugh, but unfortunately, it couldn't be avoided.

"After all, that's the fourth way to immortality," he grumbled in semi-seriousness. "Legends …"

"When will you stop striving for immortality and live the life you have?"

"When will you?"

She smirked, all caught. "Come to think of it, by now we're actually already doing more justice to the Desiderata."

"Finally all those words on my back make sense, aye?"

She touched his forearm and eyed the burn scar. "The 'P' also remains, but it will never make sense. I'm glad you told the truth for a change."

"I do that quite a lot yet people are always suprised."

She chuckled, drawing his lips to hers, among other things. "You made your bed, now lie in it."

"I actually agree with that principle," he murmured in amusement, "so if you don't want any more children, you need to keep a little more distance."

"I'm just suddenly so inspired to just make it up as I go along, you know?"

"What about your rules?"

"Maybe guidelines really are enough if we fly …"