Rachel lay on the small bed in Gibbs' cabin and failed miserably to turn off her thoughts and find sleep.

According to Master Gibbs, they would reached Tortuga shortly. And then? She had had her encounter with this sea witch, who was possibly her mother, and vowed not to meet the woman again.

Rather, she had an unsubstantiated desire to see this woman again who had appeared with the strange pirates at the hut. Something drew her to her, and she had the certainty that a reunion with her would be more likely on the Pearl than in Port Royal … The best thing would be to ask Jack directly about his further course, and possibly ask him to take her home after all.

The back of her hand gently brushed against the outer wall of the cabin, and she wanted to look outside, but there was no window. Rachel turned to the other side.

That one evening when she'd let herself go and ended in a night when a permanently drunk pirate had showed her constellations and she … Rachel groaned in annoyance.

Come on, girl, there wasn't even a kiss – pull yourself together! Of course, he knows about the constellations, after all he has to navigate somehow. Don't look for something that's not to find in him …

Her fingers drummed around on the bed frame.

Jack was becoming a problem for her.

Depraved and immoral as he was and led his life in the same way, she nevertheless experienced more and more situations with him in which she liked and appreciated aspects of him.

This felt crushingly wrong – especially after he had made it clear to her in the argument four days ago that he simply had no conscience.

In the nice moments, however, it was impossible to keep pretending that she found him completely insufferable. That would be a lie … the truth was much scarier. She was only a few steps – a few more of those strange moments with him – away from opening her heart to the pirate, and she lacked the experience and imagination of what he would do with it.

Twice she had been in love. She had had to leave one of the two men behind in England not so long ago, and the parting had taken its toll on her heart.

It still hurt when she thought about it, and she wished he had mustered the courage to verbally express his feelings for her. Maybe then she would have mustered the courage to once again evade the governor's wishes and stayed in England … then she wouldn't have to bother with Jack Sparrow now.

On the port side, a thunderstorm was hanging over the sea a few miles away, and under the cooled wind the Pearl was floating effortlessly over the water.

Jack was alone on the main deck watching the thunderstorm. Gibbs, asleep behind the helm, drowned out the thunder with his snoring. Annoyed, Jack turned to the quarterdeck and drank from the rum bottle he had been holding above the waves, lost in thought.

Staggering, he climbed up to the helm and nudged Gibbs. He snored deeply once more, muttered something and turned around. He would be quiet for the next few minutes, and Jack walked back to his starting point at the railing.

The air was already tingling on the skin, and that was a clear sign that the storm was approaching. Jack straightened up, drank and was satisfied.

His self promised few minutes of silence were drastically reduced when the rustling of a dress sounded behind him.

He had wanted to have the night to himself on the deck.

His main concern on Tortuga would be to get more men on the crew and when that would have been done, the Pearl would get more crowded – less quiet. A small crew did have its advantages, which Jack did not despise.

He had not spoken to Rachel for four days. He had no idea whether she still welcomed it after the quarrel, and he rather did not feel like thinking about it to judge.

Of course, she had to go to see him now that he wanted to be alone. But he didn't need to chase her away either. The storm would do that for him and if she stayed anyway, his mood was still too good for him to scare her away.

Jack was too frisky to be patient until Rachel arrived at the railing. He turned to her and pointed his finger behind him.

"Thunderstorm coming and I can assure you it will briefly …," Jack's eyes narrowed, "sweep? Sounds unfamiliar …," his finger pointed from port to starboard, "from there, to there, over the Pearl and then be gone."

It was not eloquent, and that was probably where her hesitation came from. Rachel looked at him blankly – as she usually did – and if he didn't want to think better of her, Jack would have to realise that she was assessing his not so firm footing.

She didn't go. Jack shook the bottle, which gave a small remain of rum plenty of room for an accusing swash.

The crack of thunder, no longer a nautical mile away, drew Jack's attention away from Rachel.

She still hadn't left and stood by him with her shoulders slightly raised. If he thought badly, he would have to accuse her of judging his minimally drunk manner.

Jack didn't care. After all, he had wanted to be alone.

She just tugged on her sleeve when the Pearl was hit lengthwise by a wave, forcing Rachel to hastily hold on to the railing. Jack smiled and he made another attempt.

"That thunderstorm there. You see it?"

"Of course I see it, I'm not blind."

"And I wasn't deaf during the last thunderstorm. You are afraid of it."

The rest of the rum changed its whereabouts, and Jack raised a finger.

"Hold on," he said to her.

Gibbs had stopped snoring, so Jack lurched over to his first mate behind the helm. He was still sleeping peacefully, but was no longer lying on his back, but on his side.

Between Gibbs' bent arm, Jack placed the empty bottle and then looked scrutinising at the sails. With Rachel, he couldn't adjust them to the wind, and there was no need to wake anyone for that yet.

Gibbs was allowed to sleep on, and Jack readjusted the helm before going back to Rachel.

"It always works," Jack said.

"What?"

"I drink and good old Gibbs gets the headache the next day. But only when he thinks he's been drinking. That's what the bottle's for. Suggestion, love, an intriguing thing."

His hands were everywhere during the explanation, and he put all the seriousness he could muster into facial expressions and tone. Rachel smiled.

"What is it?" she asked, nodding at him.

"What?"

"Your exhilaration, truly and openly displayed."

Without moving a muscle in his face, Jack pulled his hat further down.

"An exception," he said.

"And what is the exception based on?"

Since when did she try persistence on a personal matter?

It thundered again, Rachel winced and backed away.

Jack was shaking his head with a grin. "To win, sometimes you have to defeat yourself."

He took her hand – not firmly, but decisively – and almost tipped over forwards because he had expected resistance from her side. Rachel simply followed him, almost to the bow. Irritated, Jack looked back at her.

"Then prove for once that you also follow your advices. When have you conquered yourself?" Rachel demanded, smiling again.

Jack looked ahead. The wind had not yet shifted, and the Pearl was rocking leisurely up and down, the waves hitting the bow head-on.

"The last more difficult battle I defeated myself in … er … I had something in my hands, the destruction of which almost granted me something like immortality," Jack said casually, looking up at the foremast as he passed it. "The world is teeming – annoyingly so – with inexperienced whelps who claim permanent protection because they keep doing something stupid and can't face the consequences."

He stopped right by the bow and let go of Rachel, who had followed him willingly and whose hand had barely twitched in his when it thundered or lightning chased across the sky.

Jack leaned over the railing and watched the Pearl dance on the lightly foaming waves.

"There I was. Immortality in one hand and a whelp in front of me about to depart from this life. Surprise: I'm not nearly immortal, and very slowly I'm running out of ideas on how to achieve it – which is also annoying."

Rachel remained unusually silent at first. Jack turned to her and when she saw his grin, she laughed.

"How could I suppose that a compulsive liar would tell me anything true? Say again that I have too active an imagination, and I remind you of this."

Jack nodded. She only saw what she wanted to believe, and in that case he even preferred that she saw a lie.

Thunder cracked above them, and Jack felt it in the planks beneath him as a wave gently lifted the Pearl's bow out of the water.

Rachel gripped the railing with both hands, and Jack was able to double his joy at the sight of this thunderstorm that was about to be directly above them.

He grabbed a rope and surrendered to the Pearl's movements without further ado. He couldn't keep his feet still anyway.

Gibbs' loud call for him, he ignored.

Large raindrops fell on the deck and at the next fairly close flash Rachel's eyes widened and she shivered.

"This is madness. I'm going below deck," she said and didn't move.

The lines of light that lit up briefly above them had drawn Jack's gaze back to the sky.

"How can this give you so much pleasure?" asked Rachel, whose incredulity couldn't quite hide the joy in her voice.

Jack didn't have the capacity to deal with why she rejoiced right now.

"First you should calm down. It's best to take one hand off the railing. Feel the movement and go with it, not against it, and then I advise you to just lift your head and watch. You have an eye for aesthetics. At least you recognise it for yourself in sunsets – in the colours …"

Without lowering his head, Jack squinted briefly at Rachel and grinned even wider when she followed his instruction and looked up. He balanced the Pearl's haphazard dance on the rope. At the next flash, Rachel briefly covered her eyes with one hand and muttered something. The hand did not grip the railing again.

"Then that thunder. Don't you find it extraordinary how, in that void up there, the sound of rock shattering … something colossal – the size of a kraken – stone …" He fluffed the transition from thought to words.

"Statue? Like the Colossus of Rhodes?"

Not really annoyed, Jack rolled his eyes without taking them from the blackness above him.

"You do love your ancient Greeks, aye? For want of a better word, that too – the sound of a thirty-metre high statue of stone or bronze shattering. You know, sometimes you just want to listen to something being irretrievable wrecked …"

When Rachel laughed out loud – as she did just now – it was indescribably silly and infectious at the same time. A sound that one could get used to far too easily.

"Unfortunately, I can only take you up on your word. You are indeed someone who wants to see things burn."

"And know that absolutely nothing happened," Jack finished his sentence, his eyes shining. "I don't know how numb you are, love. I get a strangely pleasant sensation on my skin with the piercingly clear wind, and let's not forget the taste in the air, in a thunderstorm, that clears the head and isn't just salty."

"A nice try to save that," Rachel said, closing her eyes and taking one deep breath, then laughing again. "And don't you forget how difficult it is to look up in the rain when one isn't wearing a hat."

Jack watched the flashes of lightning on the starboard side. A brief pleasure.

Rachel brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and she too watched the sky to the Pearl's right, albeit incredulously. The rocking of the Pearl quietened down.

"Congratulations on passing the battle with yourself. You had an able ally."

"You don't know modesty, do you?"

"Not if it is inappropriate, and only if I get something out of it."

Again he heard Gibbs calling after him, and this time Jack did not ignore him.

Rachel stopped in place. The dress stuck to her skin and she had goose bumps from the fresh air. It didn't bother her in the least and she knew why.

Jack's genuine enthusiasm for the passing thunderstorm was greater than one person should be able to carry within. It had jumped to her like a spark to grass that hadn't seen rain in weeks.

He had been visibly caught at the intersection between the desire to simply absorb the spectacle with his fascination and appreciation, and the urge to want to analyse and understand everything. Fascination had won and he interacted as if he were in a thunderstorm for the first time.

His roguish smile, which she loved to see, became entirely innocent. His insouciance had stealthily wrapped itself around her fear of this weather and secretly suffocated it.

He was like the night he had just absorbed, through which a blinding light flashed now and then.