Author: Ebony
Rating: Mainly PG-13, with some R-rated chapters.
Pairing: You/Jack
Categories: Action/Adventure, Romance

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of the characters, ships, locations or anything else you might recognize from the movie. Disney does. Rub it in, why don’t you? If you wish to sue, you’re welcomed if you settle for my glow-in-the-dark stars and lava lamp. However, I do own every original character and ship you come across in this story.

Summary: Sequel to Call of the Caribbean. You’ve sailed the Caribbean Sea for one year aboard the Black Pearl as a member of Captain Sparrow’s crew. One fine day the Pearl sails across Norrington’s half-sunken ship, and saves the hapless Commodore and his crew. Apparently, there’s a new pirate threat in the Spanish Main; the beautiful Captain Gabriela Delgado, a fierce Spaniard pirate who relentlessly seeks a lost half of a special map, cruelly looting and sacking especially English ships and settlements as she goes. But how come the map Delgado so desperately craves for suddenly gets found in the hold of the Black Pearl? This revelation leads Jack, You, the crew, soon to be wed Will and Elizabeth and even Commodore Norrington into a treasure hunt that doesn’t lack action, danger, old friends or new enemies.

Author's note: This is the sequel to my previous fic, Call of the Caribbean, so I recommend you read that first, although it’s probably not absolutely necessary in order to understand this story. Some things in this fic may have some historical base, and some might not. More likely they will not. So sorry if I mess up some timelines, but folks; I’m no historian. Once again, keep in mind that English is not my native language, and there most likely will be typos and errors because of my sloppy typing. Special thanks go to LuckySparrow, who kindly helped me with the plot. Thanksies lass, you rock! :)

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CHAPTER 1 - Any Given Day

The beautiful colors dance in the horizon; stripes of oranges and pinks painting the blue sky as the first rays of sunlight tentatively peek behind the waterline, as if emerging from the sea its self. A faint, warm breeze blows across the azure sea, and you close your eyes as it caresses your face, inhaling deeply.

Opening your eyes again, you continue to watch the marvellous play that is the sunrise over the Caribbean Sea. Normally you tend to sleep for as long as you can, but this morning you woke up surprisingly early, and instantly felt wide awake. Deciding it’s no use to try to go back to sleep, you got up from your comfy hammock, left the cabin that you have shared with Anamaria for the last twelve months, and made your way up to the deck. Anamaria’s hammock on the other side of the cramped cabin had been empty when you woke up, but she was an early riser anyway. The only allowance you and Anamaria got as females was your own cabin, whereas the rest of the crew slept in the crew quarters together. It was basically just a long hall with hammocks rigged between the hull and certain beams in the middle of the room, but the crewmen seemed very at home there.

The deck had been relatively empty when you arrived, only few men were playing cards in the stern and keeping a half-hearted lookout. The Black Pearl was safely anchored in a secluded cove on the coast of Cuba, safely out of the way of the prowling Navy ships as well as other pirate vessels. Recently, the Spaniards had gotten somewhat aggressive towards the English vessels and settlements, and the Royal Navy was sharp and alert. The word had gotten around that especially Jack’s old buddy Commodore Norrington was frequently sailing the coasts of Jamaica and even the western side of Hispaniola on a lookout for pirates and any hostile Spanish vessels. This left certain two respectable citizens of Port Royal free to leave the city without getting caught under Norrington’s watchful eye, and board the glorious black ship that was the Pearl.

Oh yes; William Turner and Elizabeth Swann, soon to be Turner (precisely in one week, in fact), had boarded the Pearl a few days ago, joining their old friends for the first time after the little adventure with Barbossa. Heck, you and Jack even got invited to the wedding by Will and Lizzie! Something you were a little sceptic of; how were you going slip in without getting caught? Oh well, one can worry about that later.

The last two days had been full of celebrating and joy; everyone had only concentrated in having fun and forgetting about all the troubles. It did good especially for the crew to let loose once in a while and drink themselves into oblivion. Rum flowed, shanties and songs were sung, tales were told; all in all, everyone had a jolly good time. Even Will had drank some rum, but not quite enough though to reduce him into the same, hilarious state of intoxication he’d been on Tortuga when you had docked the Interceptor and headed off to find Gibbs. Finally, you ended up in the Faithful Bride tavern, and you’d been left to look after Will while Jack discussed his plans with Gibbs. You honestly had no idea Will couldn’t hold his liquor, and before you knew it, he was giggling madly and convincing you, Jack and Gibbs that he was seeing pink elephants flying at the ceiling.

You had taken it upon yourself to get both Will and Elizabeth drunk out of their asses before they left the Pearl and returned to Port Royal in few days. Both of them drunk together could be a very amusing sight. You know Elizabeth is a happy drunk as well; she’d shown as much while you were marooned on that bloody island with Jack and had some (alright, quite much) of that fine rum from the cache Jack had revealed, having been marooned on the same island before. You doubt you’ll never forget the sight of Elizabeth suddenly scrambling up from the sand and hiking up the helm of her under gown, proceeding to sing “Pirate’s Life for Me” and dance drunkenly around the bonfire. The fact that you and Jack were in no better shape and followed her actions quite eagerly can be bypassed at this time.

That song had indeed turned out to be Jack’s absolute favourite, and he was singing or humming it constantly. It only reminded you of the island and the talks you had with Elizabeth and Jack there, bringing a fond smile on your lips. But the other crewmembers were growing somewhat tired of it, but only Anamaria had the guts to say so aloud.

And did she ever! She spared no words letting Jack know just what she thought of his singing and the song.

Of course, Jack responded this the very same way he did nearly to every rant of Anamaria’s. He’d either ignore her, letting her words pour in one and out of the other ear, or he’d make some smart mouthed crack that left Anamaria fuming even more, causing her to growl out in frustration and stomp off angrily. That or she’d just slap him silly. Jack was getting pretty good at dodging her palm, lately.

Leaning your forearms on the railing of the ship, you let your gaze travel across the sea, watching the rising sunlight glittering over the gently rippling waters. You can’t believe it has been a year already; it seems like only yesterday when you were thrown in the brig in Port Royal and met Jack. You’ve had some pretty amazing adventures during the past twelve months. Sure, some days have been worse than others, and getting accustomed again to sailing constantly after three years was a bit hard at first, but the sea had never really left your heart. It was only a matter of days when all your talents learned at young age came flooding back, and soon you were again completely at ease with the ship and the beautiful, unpredictable force that was the sea. In addition, you’ve noticed that being around so many pirates around the clock again had left its mark on your vocabulary. From time to time, you catch yourself replacing “my” with “me” and “you” with “ye”, as well as using a lot of other words included in the pirate lingo. But you suppose that’s only good.

And Captain Jack Sparrow, well… He was still the same, really. Odd, eccentric, rum-loving, flirty, and crazy to boot. “Daft as Jack” was Gibbs’ favourite saying when talking about really weird people. Of course, he only said this when the Captain himself wasn’t around to hear; Gibbs had received few appalled rebukes from Jack that nobody could possibly be more daft than Captain Jack Sparrow! To that, you heartily agreed. Doubtlessly there was no match for “Mad” Jack Sparrow, as some people called him.

As for you and Jack, things were quite confusing at times. You have not forgotten the mind-blowing kiss you shared with the roguish Captain when you fell off the battlement in Port Royal nearly a year ago. Bloody hell if that was not the best damn kiss you’ve ever received! But that’s really where it left; there has been no intimacy of that sort between you and him after that. The attraction is clearly there, at least on your part. And you have not missed those brief, but intense looks he gives you from time to time when he thinks you don’t notice him watching. Somehow, you have both settled to keep your relationship on a platonic level, having come to some kind of unspoken agreement. Otherwise you get along perfectly; you trust and respect each others completely and appreciate one another’s wits and thinking.

You know Jack visits his little “friends” in Tortuga again, especially Scarlett. What ever he sees in that rude, red-clad hussy is totally beyond you, but you’ve decided not to dwell on that too much, for the sake of your own sanity. What frustrates you sometimes is the fact that you have this clear friction between the two of you, and obviously at least Anamaria can see that as well. She mercilessly taunts you about that when you head to sleep in your cabin. Luckily she has enough decency not to do it in front of Jack or the other crewmembers, even though you have nothing to hide. Her knowing jibes are just plain annoying most of the times.

Nevertheless, neither you nor Jack have done anything about that connection, but just let it be. You constantly remind yourself of the fact that you are both pirates; love has no place in your lives. The only love pirate has is for the sea and the ship. Love will no doubt only complicate things, and that’s the last thing you or Jack need. And you most certainly don’t want to spoil such a good friendship you have with him. But that doesn’t stop your subconscious from conjuring up rather lewd dreams sometimes that have you blushing like crazy when you wake up. You can only thank your lucky stars Anamaria doesn’t know about those! You’d never live that down.

“The sunrise is certainly a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” A familiar, cheery voice interrupts your thoughts.

You smile, turning your head to the side to face the younger man that has become like a family to you in a short time. “That it is. Good morning, Will. You seem rather cheery today, any particular reason?”

William Turner, the son of Bootstrap Bill Turner, grins in response as he stops to stand beside you, looking out at the sea. “Well, it’s a beautiful day, I’m accompanied by friends and I’m soon to be married to the love of my life,” he lists lightly with a small shrug, turning to look at you with a genuine smile. “Are those good enough reasons?”

You laugh a little, shaking you head. “Very good, I reckon. Being in love obviously suits you. You seem content now,” you say, watching the taller man beside you.

It is true. Will seems to be much happier and brighter in spirit now than a year ago, but that is understandable. From Will’s point of view, the situation was without a doubt very miserable and you suppose he had little to be happy about at that time.

Will nods slowly, keeping his eyes in the horizon. “I am,” he says softly, looking at you again with a smile. “I am happier than in long time.”

You nod back, returning the smile. “That’s good. I’m glad for you, and for Lizzie. But so help me if ye ever hurt her in any may, I’ll hunt you down and do something very mean and unpleasant to you,” You warn him, tone light, but the meaning very serious.

Will smile does not fade. “You know, I have absolutely no doubt that you wouldn’t. But don’t fret; I love Elizabeth with all my heart. I would never do anything to harm or hurt her. I’d rather give my own life before doing such thing.”

You wave with hand a little, grinning. “I know that. But I had to let you know.”

“I don’t think I ever got the change to thank you properly for your help. You and Jack made a rather… swift departure the last time we parted ways,” Will chuckles, looking down at his hands resting on the dark wood of the Pearl’s railing.

You roll your eyes in mock-exasperation. “Don’t remind me of that! I damn near had a heart attack on the way down. Small miracle we missed all those rocks.”

“Indeed,” Will agrees in amusement. “The Commodore’s expression was something to behold, though.”

You grin impishly, raising a brow. “Really? Damn, I wish I could have seen it. Although, I’m surprised you saw anything but Elizabeth at that point…” you trail off, remembering the scene playing on the battlements as you and Jack were finally heaved aboard the Pearl; Will and Elizabeth were emerged in a liplock that probably wouldn’t have been broken even if the battlement would have crumbled down beneath their feet. But then again, you can relate after having been making better acquaintance with Jack’s lips only moments before.

Will blushes faintly and shoots some sort of glare at you, but the small smile playing upon his lips tells you he really took no offence of the statement.

“Speaking of her, is she still sleeping?”

“Yes, she was quite tired last night,” Will says.

“Um-hmm,” you hum noncommittally, pursing your lips and quirking a brow at him in a way that doesn’t go unnoticed by Will.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he cries in aghast, and you burst into laughter.

“Sorry Will,” you say, still chuckling. “But you can’t hang around Jack, I mean Captain Sparrow, for a year and not be effected.”

“Obviously,” Will mutters in sour tone, but a small grin pulls at his lips. He startles a bit as a pair of slender arms suddenly wrap around his middle from behind.

“What’s this?” Elizabeth’s teasing voice speaks up. “My husband-to-be and my cousin on such friendly terms. Should I be concerned?”

You smile as Elizabeth peeks behind Will’s back, leaning the side of her face into his arm while keeping her hands firmly around his waist, smiling brightly.

“Of course not, my love,” Will says lightly, picking up Elizabeth’s right hand in his and kissing it while gazing down at her adoringly.

“Right. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, cross my heart and yadda yadda…” you trail off, small smile playing at your lips as you watch the two of them.

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t think I was that repulsive,” Will retorts in mock-sour tone, raising a brow at you.

You shoot an amused look at Elizabeth, who grins back impishly. Shifting her gaze back to Will, Elizabeth smiles indulgently, batting her lashes exaggeratedly.

“Aww, but you’re not repulsive, sweetheart,” she coos in honeyed tone, standing on her toes and giving a sound smooch on his cheek, “My own Sugarlump,” she finishes with wide grin, and you howl in laughter at the awful nickname and the disbelieving look on Will’s face. Elizabeth joins you, and you both catch your breath after your chuckles gradually die down.

“Sugarlump…?” Will questions in obvious distaste, eyeing both you and Elizabeth in confused distrust as you start laughing again. Sighing defeatedly, Will shakes his head while you finally regain your ability to form at least semi-coherent sentences.

“You’d better hope Jack doesn’t find out about that name,” you say gleefully, and Will closes his eyes in exasperation for a second.

“I’m sure everybody knows about it by noontime if it’s up to you,” he says dryly.

“You really know me too well… Sugarlump,” you finish with amused grin. That name is really priceless.

Will groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “The things I endure for you, Elizabeth…”

Elizabeth smirks. “Oh, suck it up, you’re a grown man. Sugarlump.”

“Can we please, please, go back to love, honey and sweetie? Anything but that,” Will pleads, and before anyone gets to answer, quickly raises his forefinger and points it at you. (A gesture eerily alike the one Jack uses quite frequently on you.) “And no smart comments from you.”

You smile and shrug innocently; I wasn’t going to say anything!

Will gives you a disbelieving look, and you roll your eyes; Alright, so maybe I was…

Elizabeth smiles amusedly at your exchange, while thinking about Will’s plead. “Alright, we’ll forget about the Sugarlump,” she finally allows, and you swear Will exhales in relief.

“Aww,” you mutter in disappointment, earning a dark look from Will. “Oh, fine!”

The sun is shining more brightly now; casting its warm yellow glow everywhere. The rest of the crewmembers are starting to wake up, coming up on the deck. As if on cue, Gibbs makes his way over to you, Will and Elizabeth.

“It be a balmy mornin’, eh?” he states pleasantly, before bidding proper good mornings to Will and Elizabeth.

“It most certainly is,” Elizabeth agrees with a smile. “Mister Gibbs, I was wondering where we’ll be heading off next. Do you have any idea?”

“Ah, that be up to our Capt’n. An’ most of the time I have no inkling on what goes on in that head o’ his, Miss Elizabeth,” Gibbs says with humor. “But prolly somewhere near to restock, we’re runnin’ low on supplies.”

“And after last night, rum,” you point out with a knowing smirk.

“Most importantly!” Gibbs laughs, eliciting chuckles from the rest of you.

“The reason I came to look for ye was to tell you that the breakfast is done soon. Anamaria be cookin’,” Gibbs goes on after a moment. “Ye better head down before these dogs get to it,” he says, meaning the crew.

Will and Elizabeth smile at Gibbs, thanking him. They start making their way below, but Gibbs stops you before you follow them.

“Oy, lass, I was wonderin’…” he starts, and you bet you know what’s coming.

“Aye, Gibbs?”

“If… ye could go an’ wake up the Capt’n? Ye know how he gets in the mornin’,” Gibbs asks, a bit sheepishly.

You scrunch up your nose a little. “Why is it always me that has to wake him?”

“Eh, ye know how to do it better than the rest o’ us… bein’ a woman an’ all. It’s either ye or Anamaria, and ye know how cross he is after Anamaria wakes ‘im up,” Gibbs explains at length, little uncertain under your narrowed gaze.

True, Anamaria’s waking up is not exactly gentle or considerate, and Jack usually is quite snappy after her waking him up. But you’re still not sure how you supposedly ‘know how to do it better’ than Gibbs, for instance. Your stomach rumbles quietly at the moment, reminding you of the lack of sustenance in it. Rolling your eyes slightly, you cave in. “Alright, I’ll go wake him…”

Gibbs seems relieved. “Good! I’ll save ye a seat.” With that, he hurriedly turns around and heads towards the stairs leading below the deck.

With a sigh, you turn and start making your way towards the Captain’s quarters located under the poopdeck. You’ve had to do this a few times before, and you get the feeling Gibbs and the rest of the crew are a little afraid of waking up Jack. Why, you have no idea. You’ve certainly never been afraid of the man, but you guess that is because, like Gibbs said, you are a woman.

Stopping in front of the worn double doors, you rap your knuckles loudly over the wood, waiting for a moment. “Jack?” you call once, and listen. Nowadays you never enter without knocking; once you walked in on him getting changed, catching him nearly naked. Even though Jack apparently had had nothing against you seeing him half-naked, and neither did you really, but you decided it was for your own good to start knocking. A girl can only handle so much visual overload!

You wait for a little while longer, but get no response of any kind. Figures, you think dryly. Jack was drinking rum such considerate amounts last night it is really no surprise his cabin is silent as a tomb now. Carefully pulling open the other door, you step inside, and close the door behind you. Sunlight pours in from the somewhat dirtied windows, hitting the floorboards and illuminating the otherwise dim cabin. There’s an empty rum bottle lying in the middle of the floor, and clothes are strewn across the sparsely decorated cabin. There’s a heavy, wooden table with one chair, various charts, scrolls and maps spread over it. The familiar, three-cornered hat and another empty bottle also rest on the table.

There’s a hammock that doesn’t occupy the Captain himself, but the long sash he wears around his waist, his belt, white shirt, and his pistol and cutlass. God knows he’d never manage to actually stay in the hammock while drunk out of his mind! That’s most likely why he has the bed in his cabin as well. That, and to entertain those little hussies of his, a spiteful voice whispers somewhere in the back of your mind, and you angrily squash it, not wishing to hear more.

Silently stepping past the table and the hammock, you come to stand next to the bed located in the back of the room. A smirk pulls at your lips as you gaze down at the bed, and the sleeping figure of Jack Sparrow. Crossing your hands over your chest, you tilt your head to the side and take a moment to scrutinize the scene.

He’s lying on his stomach, arms spread up, resting on the both sides of his head. His head is turned to the left, and he hasn’t bothered to remove the red bandanna that covers his forehead. Jack’s untamed dark hair is a jumble of thick dreadlocks, small braids and some unbound hair that rests haphazardly over the pillow and his neck, shoulder blades and upper back. His kohl-smudged lids are closed, and a light snore escapes his slightly parted lips from time to time.

You smile in amusement as you notice that he’s still clutching an empty bottle tightly in his left fist. Your smile slowly slips off your lips as your gaze slides greedily across Jack’s exposed skin; over his sinewy arms, past his shoulders and down his back, stopping at his waist where the white sheet covers him. He’s body is quite close to prefect; lean, but at the same time strong and muscular, however not overly so.

Ignoring the slight dryness of your throat, you force yourself to pull your gaze back up, lingering on the almost white lines that catch your eyes amidst the otherwise tanned skin.

They’re scars; some are bigger, some smaller. Some are on his back, some on his arms. Most are obviously from blades, but there are a few round marks on his right shoulder that look like they’re from a gunshot. That’s a pirates life for you, you think absently, while recalling some of your own scars. The recent being the one your old “friend” Francesca Vega gave you in Tortuga while Gibbs and Jack hauled a drunken Will back to Gibbs’ place to sleep. She had dug a dagger on your right side while she chatted with you in the tavern. Even thought it wasn’t a deep wound, you still carry a small, white scar over the spot.

Pulling your eyes from the planes of his back, you suddenly notice his boots and pants on the floor, next to the bed. The fact that he’s sleeping in the nude isn’t much of a surprise to you, but it suddenly makes your throat even drier. Almost unwittingly, your gaze is pulled back to his waist, and even lower. An appreciative smirk spreads on your face. From what you can figure out from the shapes of the sheet, his certain attributes are not bad at all…

Honestly, what are you doing? You almost scream inside your head, questioning your actions. I should just wake him up and leave instead of standing here ogling while he sleeps. It’s invading his privacy…

Hah, like Jack’s bashful or anything, you retort, trying to justify yourself to yourself. You fleetingly wonder if anyone else mentally argues with themselves. Oh well, who cares. Jack Sparrow has got to be one of the most attractive men you’ve ever met, if not the number one. But still, he’s your Captain. Your relationship is platonic, friendship only. You honestly shouldn’t be doing this. But as your gaze once again slides over his back and shoulders in an appreciative once-over, you decide to allow yourself this little guilty pleasure. No woman in your position would pass it up, for sure, so why should you? What’s the harm in watching for a moment…?

“Morning, luv. Enjoying the view?” Jack’s rough, sleep-slurred voice suddenly drawls, breaking the silence.

You damn nearly yelp out loud in surprise, your eyes snapping from his tanned skin on his face. His eyes are still closed, but his lips are curled in that all too familiar smug grin. Your mouth opens and closes rapidly a couple of times, trying to formulate an answer of some kind.

“Can’t really say I blame you…” he goes on lazily, keeping his eyes closed while his grin only broadens, “…but you’ve been standing there for quite a while already.”

He’s been awake the whole time! How come you fell for it, again? That bloody—

“Bilge-rat!” You finish your thought out loud, glaring at him.

Jack finally cracks his eyes open, a peculiar look crossing his face. He draws his left arm down, finding the empty rum bottle he clutches in his fist in front of his face. Jack scowls as he finds it to be completely void of the liquid he so adores. Then, as if just remembering that you had spoken a moment ago, he lifts his head a little from the pillow to take a better look at you.

“Where?” He questions, the much practiced “clueless and innocent” expression on his face.

Inhaling to calm yourself down, you roll your eyes. Crossing your arms again, you fix an unwavering no-nonsense gaze at him. “Why didn’t you just say you were awake?”

Jack smirks, letting go of the empty bottle and leaning on his right elbow before pushing himself up a little, the beads in his hair jingling gently. He turns until he’s resting on his back, his upper body propped up by his elbows in a very similar pose than in that cell in Port Royal while he talked to Will. The action causes the sheet to bunch over his lap, now covering only his most critical area. You fight to keep your eyes on his face, but can’t keep them from sliding downwards to take a quick look at his newly exposed chest and stomach, not to mention the nicely sculpted abdominal muscles, before forcing them to retreat back on his face.

You’re now even more certain that his body does indeed come pretty damned close to perfection, even though you’ve only seen half of it. But damn! You can feel a slight blush starting to creep on your cheeks. Is it hot in here or what? You think to yourself.

Jack catches you taking a quick look at him and smirks even more smugly, his dark brown eyes glinting triumphantly.

“Now, where's the fun in that?” he drawls, repeating the exact words he said to you in that damn cell in Port Royal when you thought he was still unconscious after his capture.

“Ah, but of course,” you reply sarcastically.

Jack doesn’t lose his slightly arrogant smirk. “So, are you going to just stand there or would you like come here and cuddle?” He tempts, patting the mattress slightly with one hand.

You quirk your brow as you recognize the particularly deep tone; that’s the one he uses when he means business or woos ladies. Sometimes those are the one and same thing.

With a smirk of your own, you lean a bit closer to him. “Jack… No,” you tell him sweetly with a small shake of your head, and pull back.

Jack clucks his tongue in amused disappointment, smirking at you. “Ah well, maybe next time... I do enjoy a challenge,” he tells you while looking unwaveringly in your eyes.

His comment makes your heart flutter a little, and you decide it’s time to leave. “I’m sure. Anamaria is cooking breakfast, if Captain Sparrow wishes to grace us with his exuberant presence,” you tell him with pleasant sarcasm.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he shrugs, causing a few dreadlocks to slip from his shoulder to drape over his collarbone. A wicked gleam suddenly lights his eyes, “Want to help me get dressed?”

You smile in amusement, shaking your head while your start retreating back towards the doors. “If you can’t manage that on your own, then I guess you’ll have to come as you are,” you quip over your shoulder as you reach the doors, pulling one open and stepping out.

Jack stared after the woman, until the door to his quarters closed and left him alone again. Small smile pulled his lips upwards and he chuckled quietly to himself.

“I so do enjoy a challenge…” he murmured and sat up, swiping his surroundings with his gaze in search for his clothes. Anamaria was an excellent cook, so maybe he’d actually eat breakfast this time.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 2 - Stirring Allusions

Anamaria’s loudly barked commands to the crew greet your eardrums as you finally emerge from below the deck, having been in the hold counting the supplies. Glancing at the helm, you do indeed see Anamaria steering the Black Pearl instead Jack. Maybe he had something else to do, since he had been standing behind the helm when you went below about fifteen minutes ago. Shrugging, you dismiss the whole thing. Jack has his quirks, and one of them is to sometimes abruptly handle the wheel over to Anamaria, who was the Pearl’s first mate, because something crossed on his sometimes-hard-to-comprehend mind that momentarily required his presence elsewhere. Often it was in order to get him some rum.

Pushing a wind-blown lock of hair away from your eyes, you return your attention to the piece of parchment in your hand, filled with your handwriting. It included the correct amounts of the most essential supplies, such as water, food ingredients, and of course Jack’s liquid diet; rum.

The task of keeping stock of the supplies had been given to you rather suddenly few months back. It had been originally Duncan’s job, since he was one of the few members besides Jack and you, who knew how to write. Well, one time in a town near Tortuga when the Pearl was supposed to be re-stocked, Duncan hadn’t been able to make any sense of the scrawl on the parchment (it was his own handwriting, at that!) and had stocked the ship playing it by ear. Needless to say it was a bloody disaster. As a result, the ship had been stocked with excessive amounts of flour (which were quickly infested with weevils) absolutely inadequate amounts of salted pork, water, and especially rum. Also, there was not a single hardtack or piece of fruit. As you thought about the incident later on, you honestly cannot comprehend how Duncan had managed to mess up so badly.

He obviously had a really poor memory if he couldn’t remember there was no rum in the hold, since that was the one thing Jack kept on reminding. Oh, did he ever keep reminding! He’d been grousing about the fact for hours before you arrived to the town to restock.

Needless to say, Jack had been furious; not about the food of course, but because of the missing rum. You thought for sure that was it for Duncan, for denying Jack Sparrow of his precious rum was a downright felony, an offence so huge Duncan should have damn well been afraid for his life. Luckily for Duncan, the poor man only had to scrub the decks for few months and have his pay cut off for a while. Whatever was said of Jack Sparrow, he was a fair Captain.

Seething, Jack had managed to demand through his clenched teeth if anyone else ‘of this bunch of scabrous cads’ knew how to write comprehensibly. Meekly, you lifted your hand up in answer. Your father, the late Bloodshot Pete, had made sure you learned to write and read when you were a child. Jack had promptly slammed an empty piece of parchment on the table in front of you.

“Write ‘five barrels of rum’,” he growled darkly, poking his finger forcefully on the parchment a few times in emphasis.

Stifling a sigh, you picked up the quill and wrote ‘5 barrels of rum’ neatly on the parchment, handing it to Jack for inspection. Snatching the paper from your hand, Jack read through the line and half-nodded his head once in approval.

“Good. It’s your job from now on,” he’d said, his anger subsiding some.

Browsing through the list for one last time, you check that you’ve managed to count everything. Satisfied, you fold the list and stuff it in the pocket of your breeches.

A colourful flurry of movement in the corner of your eyes suddenly interrupts your musings, and you dodge your head just in time, yelping involuntarily as Cotton's big parrot flies rather unsteadily past your head, landing to sit on one of the booms. Had you not moved, the bird would have slammed straight into the side of your face.

"Bloody feather pile!" you shout, glaring at the yellow-blue-green coloured parrot now calmly sitting on the boom.

"Arck!" the bird croaks in reply, bobbing its head. "Run out the six pounders!"

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head at the parrot. It has a wide variety of different sayings stored in its little head, but even after all these months half of the time nobody fully understands what the bird really means and whether its blabbering has anything to do with what Mr. Cotton's thoughts. The parrot hasn't got a proper name; everyone just calls it "Parrot" since nobody knows its gender. Parrot is the apple of Cotton's eye, even though Jack dislikes the creature; if the bird soils his precious Pearl, there'll be hell to pay. As long as Cotton takes care this doesn't happen, Jack tolerates the bird.

And Gibbs then! The tales among the sailors tell that if an albatross lands on the ship, it brings bad luck. Knowing how hung up Gibbs is on those tales, he figures a parrot is probably just as bad as an albatross, which would mean that Parrot brings bad luck to the Pearl and her crew.

You still remember the day when Gibbs explained this to Jack few months ago. He'd listened to Gibbs' explanation, unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he'd shrugged his shoulders, saying, "I recall you saying that bringing a woman onboard was supposed to bring bad fortune. We have two of 'em and we're still sailing, aye?"

Gibbs thought of this for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded. "Aye…"

Jack seemed satisfied. "Besides, the Pearl was a cursed ship, was it not? We might as well live up to the image."

Leaving the bird sitting upon the beam, you turn on your heels and saunter up the stairs leading to the helm. Anamaria nods and gives you a quick smile in greetings, again fixing her gaze on the horizon.

“So, where are we heading?” you ask her, crossing your hands over your chest as you stand next to the tiller.

“Trinidad,” Anamaria replies shortly, a characteristic trait for the woman. A sudden gush of wind blows behind the Pearl, billowing the black sails and throwing both your and Anamaria’s hair over your shoulders. Distractedly flipping the offending strands of ebony hair off her face, Anamaria returns her palm to rest over the smooth wood of the wheel.

“Have ye ever been there?” she asks, darting her dark eyes quickly over you before returning them to watch the blue waters ahead.

You nod slightly even though Anamaria doesn’t catch this, staring at the horizon as well. “Yeah, once or twice with my father and the Wraith,” you reply vaguely, as the mental image of your father’s grand ship, the White Wraith, swimming before your eyes. Over the months you’ve spent aboard the Black Pearl, the pain of losing your father and the ship you spent you’re the majority of your life has lessened much, even if sometime an overwhelming longing momentarily creeps upon you.

“That was a long time ago, though,” you go on, ridding yourself of the memories. “Is it still the same backwater town slightly resembling Tortuga?”

Anamaria nods in acknowledgement, turning the rudder a few points to the starboard as she does so. “Aye, ‘tis still the same. Places like those need to be sacked and re-established before they change. Trinidad’s a haven for smugglers and pirates, so it's perfect fer supply runs.”

You smile at Anamaria’s knowing tone, slightly amused. Although, she’s probably correct about that.

“Where’d Jack go?” you enquire, remembering the absence of the elusive Captain. “Before I went below to count the supplies, he was still behind the rudder.”

Anamaria shrugs her shoulders, a clear sign that she again has no idea what goes on in the eccentric Captain’s ornamented head. “Half the time I have no idea what the man is thinking. I’ve stopped tryin’ to figure ‘im out. He prolly went to fetch some rum.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, I just came from the hold and didn’t come across him.”

Anamaria’s lips suddenly quirk up and she shoots an inquisitive glance at you. “Why would ye care so much of his whereabouts? We’re on a ship. He won’t be gettin’ away if that’s what yer afraid of…” she smirks, her tone irritatingly suggestive.

You glare at the other woman. “Anamaria… do us a favour and keep your baseless insinuations to yourself,” you say, exasperated.

“Insinuations? I’m not insinuating anythin’…”

“Honestly Anamaria,” you roll your eyes. “Acting clueless doesn’t become you.”

“Pfft,” Anamaria makes a dismissive sound, shaking her head. “I ain’t the one of us who’s clueless ‘ere.”

“Zip it!” you growl, rolling your eyes again as Anamaria only chuckles at your supposedly warning tone. So much for you being menacing.

As good friend as Anamaria has become to you during the months you've been aboard the Pearl, she really get on your nerves when she gets like this. You'd think a woman like her would be the least likely person to act such way. But you guess stranger things have happened. And it's nice to know that there's just a regular woman under that tough-as-nails kick-your-butt pirate, after all.

But still, Anamaria can be like a dog with a bone with all those annoying barbs and implications. Usually the best way to get her to stop is to ignore her. Usually. Sometimes she just keeps doing it even though you ignore her. Luckily she always shuts up if anyone else is in the hearing range. You think that's in order to protect her image rather than yours; Anamaria wouldn't want anybody to think of her as just another gossiper. Even though you know there isn't a single person aboard the ship who'd think that even for a minute, you're not stupid enough to actually tell her that. See, it's in your best interest if she takes caution with what she lets out of her mouth.

Gazing across the glittering waters, you see the outlines of the coast that hosts the city of Trinidad looming in the horizon. The sound of rather distinctive footsteps make you tilt your head a little, just in time to see the Captain in question scramble up the stairs to the helm in his own, unique style.

"Ah. Good day, my lovelies! I hope you didn't miss me too much," Jack says airily, followed by a pleasant smile as he saunters up to you and Anamaria. As always, there's the charming little sway to his steps that usually increases two-fold when he sets feet on dry land.

Anamaria rolls her eyes (albeit good-naturedly, you notice) and you smile at his words. "Hello, Jack," you greet, but instantly regretting your words as you know what's about to come next.

Jack stops dead in his tracks next to you, grimacing slightly. With one, ring adorned forefinger pointing skywards, he corrects you. "Captain! It's Captain Jack! Captain Jack, Captain Sparrow, or my unsurpassed personal favourite, Captain Jack Sparrow."

Lifting the rest of his fingers up, he shakes his whole hand slightly as he talks. "You're part of my crew now, so I'm expecting you to speak as such, savvy?"

"Savvy. Captain," you stress the title, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

A lopsided grin spreads on Jack's lips, the golden teeth peeking out. "Much better, luv." Turning to regard Anamaria, he practically shoos her away from the wheel, gesturing rapidly with his hands. "Thank you Anamaria, I'll be taking over my lady now."

Anamaria shrugs her shoulders, stepping off and allowing Jack to take her place. "As you say, Captain."

At Anamaria's words, Jack shoots a look at you, brows raised and a smirk on his lips. You can all but hear his voice drawl, See? 'S really not that difficult.

Shaking your head, you quickly smirk back humourlessly. This only elicits a chuckle out of him as he fixes his eyes on the horizon, and now you do roll your eyes. Sometimes, you get the strangest feeling that no one really takes you seriously around here.

"Well, I have a few things to take care of before we anchor," Anamaria speaks up nonchalantly, leaving the helm.

You look follow her retreating back with your eyes as she starts descending the stairs leading under the deck, disappearing from sight. You frown suspiciously; did she just go in purpose to leave you and Jack alone?

Wow. You're starting to get really paranoid, you think to yourself, dismissing and forgetting the whole thing.

You hear Jack starting to hum under his breath. "We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs, drink up me 'earties, yo ho…"

You smile as his deep voice absently cites "A Pirate's life for me" as he turns the rudder. Ah, the memories… Even though the situation had been very dreary back then, getting marooned on that bloody island with Jack and Lizzie was not all bad. The dancing and hopping around the bonfire, all of you drunk as skunks, singing (well, yelling was more like it) that song and drinking even more rum had actually been one of the funniest, most memorable moments of your life. Even if you'd been pretty drunk, you still thankfully remember that evening.

As you think back at the evening, that was probably the turning point of some kind in this odd relationship between you and Jack. The pledge you had then given Jack to do your everything to help him get the Pearl back had, you think, assured him that he could trust you not to turn your back on him. That you'd see this one through with him to no matter what end; after all, you had your own scores to settle with Barbossa as well. That was also the time when Jack offered you a place among this crew, if that's what you wanted. Yes, he was drunk when he said that, and you were on the verge of passing out from the alcohol and exhaustion when you replied that you'd love to join his crew. That's why you honestly thought later on that Jack didn't even remember asking that, due to the consumed rum. But apparently he did, maybe he even took it for granted and that's why he never questioned you about that after that night. He made a point when he pulled you down the battlement of Fort Charles with him as he fell, leaving you with little choice but to join his crew. But that suited you just perfectly.

Looking at Jack, you see the small smile on his lips, the look that he always seems to get whenever he stands behind the Pearl's helm. Jack Sparrow is truly the most peculiar person you've ever met. He is so hard to figure out sometimes. He has his odd quirks, unique logic and strange idiosyncrasies.

But sometimes, he is not that hard to understand at all.

Now, as he stands there, behind the wheel of his ship, he looks proud, content and happy, as if he's got everything he's ever wanted in life right there, within his grasp. And that's probably true, you decide; the Black Pearl really is everything to him. There is no Jack Sparrow without the Black Pearl, and the Black Pearl is not herself without the eccentric Captain. No, sometimes you think you have him figured out, at least for a while.

Now that he has his ship, he has his freedom; and that's all he could ever want.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you suddenly take note of the slight, displeased air about Jack. You frown a bit, wondering what’s wrong. “Something the matter?”

Lifting his brow a little, Jack regards your slightly worried frown for a moment. Then he turns his gaze back to the horizon, sighing. “No rum,” he finally replies simply in forlorn tone.

You get the picture. Indeed, there was not rum left in the hold after last nights festivities. You should know, after counting the supplies only moments ago.

“Aha… afraid you’ll be walking a straight line soon?” you ask, teasing smirk pulling at your lips. Like Jack Sparrow would ever walk a straight line. The man must have been born drunk.

“You think it’s very wise to mock Captain Jack Sparrow about his lack of rum?” Jack drawls in reply, gazing you with a look that probably would have intimidated you if you didn’t know the man as well as you did. The “big bad pirate” act ain’t working on you anymore.

“Probably not, but…” you start, shrugging and smiling a little. “Lucky for me, I know I can get away with it.”

The familiar grin finds its way on Jack’s lips, and he fixes his dark brown eyes on yours. “Oh do you, now? And how’s that, I wonder?”

You purse your lips slightly at the question. “Well, I know that you’re a good man,” you tell him sincerely. “And, I know that I could probably say almost anything to you, and you still wouldn’t harm me.” Of that, you’re one hundred percent sure.

“Really,” Jack says noncommittally, a small smile on his face as he looks at the sea. You smile to yourself. Even if Jack refuses to believe it, thinking himself as a bloody scallywag, he really is a good, kind hearted man.

“Well, would you?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. You just wish to hear him say it.

Keeping silent for a moment, Jack keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon. You wait patiently, looking at him. Finally, he shakes his head marginally, only the gentle jingling of the beads in his hair betraying the motion.

“No. I never have and never will raise my hand against a woman. Any woman,” he tells you, his voice low and serious. Turning his head, he fixes his soulful eyes on you intently. “Especially you. I want you to know that.”

You hold his gaze, processing his sincere words. You already knew this, but hearing him say it is a whole another thing. You’re not too surprised at the warm, fuzzy feeling inside you as those words left his mouth.

Smiling a small, sincere smile, you answer. “I do know that.”

Jack holds your gaze for a bit longer, before turning away with one nod. “Good.”

A comfortable silence ensues, and you turn your head away so that Jack can’t see the fond smile spreading on your lips. You have no idea why you’re smiling a like a daft person, you just do. Or maybe you have an idea, but that’s buried deep in the back of your mind, too silly and unrealistic even to be thought of.

After a minute, you break the silence, needing to switch back to the light banter instead of the serious stuff. Too much seriousness is not good, not yet at least.

“So, Captain,” you address him, not about to make the mistake of forgetting the title twice, “Don’t you think there are other more important things than rum?” you ask lightly, returning to the original topic.

Jack turns his head to look at you dubiously. “Such as?”

“Well, such as…” you trail off, thinking.

“Yes…?” Jack prods, grinning expectantly.

“Such as…” you start again, your eyes sweeping over the Pearl’s deck, and landing on Will, Elizabeth and Gibbs as they stand near the rail of the ship, talking and laughing. “Friends! Friends are precious,” you say, looking back at Jack.

“So is rum,” Jack points out, and you roll your eyes.

“My point is that it’s indeed a sad life if you have no friends.”

“And were it so, some rum certainly won’t make it any worse,” Jack shrugs, turning the rudder.

“But it’s not so for you or me, we have wonderful friends,” you reply.

“How is this in any way relevant with the fact that there’s absolutely no rum onboard?” Jack asks, perplexed.

You shake your head. “You’re hopeless Jack. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant of course Captain Jack,” you say with playful sarcasm.

Jack chuckles. “Ah, yes. About that, luv...” he trails off, beckoning you to come closer. Lifting an eyebrow in amused suspicion, you step closer until you’re about a foot away from him.

Bowing his head closer to yours, Jack smirks. “That’s just in front the others. Got to watch the image, you know. When we’re by ourselves, just the two of us, you can still call me Jack, luv.”

Amused smile quirks your lips. “Well, that’s a relief!”

“Oh, and don’t look, but Will, Lizzie and Gibbs are watching us, rather interested,” Jack informs you in a smug tone.

Your brows rise up. You can just imagine what they must be thinking about your close proximity. “Oh?” is all you can get out at the moment.

“Mm-hmm,” Jack purrs, a rather self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “I suppose they’re wondering if maybe we secretly live in a sinful, carnal relationship by the way you're fawning all over me.”

Momentarily distracted by Jack’s delicious mouth uttering the words “sinful” and “carnal” in that low, rough voice of his, it takes you a few seconds to snap yourself out of it and formulate a response. Unfortunately, Jack beats you to it.

“Tell me, do you still wish to be on top, or has that fancy changed for some reason? Just so I know not to be presumptuous…”

“Ah, you horny scallywag!” you exclaim in mixed amusement and incredulity, giving him a light shove on his shoulder and stepping further from him.

Jack’s smirk morphs into a full blown grin, the golden teeth once again coming out to play. “Hey, you’re the one who can’t seem to keep your lil’ hands off of me. I was merely having your best interest on my heart and asking a valid question,” he tells you innocently.

You laugh, honestly not knowing how he manages to do that every time. “Yeah, I’m sure you did Jack. I’m going now,” you smile and start heading towards the stairs.

“Fine, walk away. Just when things were starting to get interesting…” he drawls, the smirk evident in his voice.

Still smiling you descend the stairs, starting to walk towards Will, Elizabeth and Gibbs who stand on the starboard side of the ship, leaning on the railing and watching the coast getting closer and closer. The Pearl was making good way, and it wouldn't take long until you had to anchor the ship.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3 - The Damned Spirit

The spyglass caught a ray of light, the beam glinting for a second on the glass as Commodore Norrington of the King’s Royal Navy swept the horizon slowly with the gadget. Seeing nothing but endless expansions of rippling water, he lowered the spyglass, frowning in thought.

For days, Norrington and his crew aboard the H.M.S Messenger had scouted the coasts of southern Jamaica, looking for any signs of pirates or hostile Spanish vessels, one certain ship in particular. Patrol around the British coastal towns in the Caribbean, such as Port Royal and Port Morant for instance, had been increased.

Tapping his fingers absently over the spyglass in his hands, Norrington gazed at the calm horizon. So far they had not confronted nor seen a trace of any ship, spare for medium sized merchant vessels and small fishing boats. Norrington’s demeanour seemed cool and collected on the outside, but secretly the Commodore felt increasingly more anxious as the hours passed by. He’d had a very strange, uneasy feeling for a while already, like something was about to happen. And he was not sure it would be all good. It was almost too calm, and despite the fact that Norrington was a man who dismissed the notion of forebodings and aphorisms, the saying “calm before the storm” constantly nagged in the back of his mind.

Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, Norrington returned his attention to his current quest. They were sailing towards the islands of Cayman, in the search of the alleged Spanish pirate vessel that was looting and sacking smaller ships, occasionally destroying smaller coastal towns. There seemed to be no logic in the movements and actions of this mysterious ship, from what little Norrington had gathered from the reports. Nevertheless, the ship and its crew were a considerable threat. They left no survivors, aside the people who escaped the attacked towns.

Convinced that the Cayman Islands would reveal them nothing new, Norrington turned his head to the side slightly and spoke to the helmsman. “Set course to north-east,” he ordered curtly. That would take them closer to the east coast of Cuba, and towards the narrow between Cuba and Hispaniola.

“North-east, sir?” The helmsman questioned, puzzled. “But Commodore—“

“Now,” Norrington interrupted with finality, not bothering to spare another glance at the man.

“Yes, sir,” The fellow behind the helm nodded, wordlessly starting to turn the helm.

The ship responded almost instantly, cutting through the clear waters as she changed her course. The Messenger was a sleek, beautiful ship, not unlike Norrington’s previous flagship, the Interceptor. Where the Messenger was undeniably agile and made good way, she still didn’t come near the speed the Interceptor had managed at her best. As Norrington followed the contours of the new ship with his eyes, he silently cursed those wretched pirates for destroying the Interceptor for the umpteenth time.

Cursing every pirate, especially a certain Jack Sparrow, into the deepest pit of hell, Norrington took one last glance at the steady horizon before turning and striding down towards the middle of the ship. The lookout was currently climbing down from the crow’s nest for a shift change, and another man took his place.

“Anything, Simmons?” Norrington addressed the man who had just climbed down from the mast for appearances sake, even though he already knew the answer.

“No, nothing, Commodore Norrington,” he lanky man answered quickly in nervous manner.

Norrington nodded absent-mindedly, about to dismiss the man in front of him when an anxious shout up from the crow’s nest interrupted him.

“Sail ho!!”

The crew of the Messenger was instantly jolted into activity, and Norrington shot a meaningful look at the previous lookout still standing in front of him.

“Commodore, sir, there was nothing a moment ago! I swear!” The poor man cried out even more nervously, shaking his head vigorously.

Norrington narrowed his eyes at him and turned around without a word, hurrying to the helm.

“Commodore Norrington, we’re being chased!” The helmsman cried, and Norrington fixed his gaze on the vessel that was increasingly catching up with the Messenger.

Norrington’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in stunned disbelief; it was a large Spanish galleon, and indeed it was chasing the Navy vessel.

Despite its imposing bulk, the ship seemed to have seen better days. The white sails were dirty and slightly torn from places as they billowed in the wind, and the hull made from dark timber was visibly scraped and splintered. As the galleon rocked over the waves, water lapping around the ship, Norrington could see glimpses of the even layer of barnacles coated the hull slightly below the waterline.

The Commodore still couldn’t believe it; how had the ship of such size managed to sneak up on them like that? Snapping out of it, he quickly lifted the spyglass, following the length of the main brace with it. The visual of the all too familiar black flag confirmed what Norrington already knew; pirates.

“Pirates,” Norrington said aloud to the crew, taking a quick glance at Mullroy and Murtogg who had also arrived to the helm to stare at the ship.

The vessel sailed dead astern from them, but suddenly it altered the course slightly to starboard. Like a prowling predator trying terrorize its prey. And that’s exactly what we are, Norrington realized. If the vessel got close enough to fire, they were done for it. The galleon had many times greater firepower than the Messenger.

“Fasten the sails and lighten the ship!” Norrington barked, “Our only option is to try and outrun them!”

The crewmember sprung into action, obeying the Commodore. Boxes, crates and sacks were thrown overboard, some of them sunk almost instantly.

“Sir, if the wind doesn’t pick up, this is as fast as we can go,” The helmsman informed anxiously after a moment.

Norrington kept his eyes on the closing galleon, shaking his head slightly. “Then ready about and be prepared for a fight,” he said evenly, his voice not betraying his real emotions. The galleon altered its course slightly again, starboard side slightly windward.

Suddenly, a flare of light and a dull “boom” erupted from of the many cannons on the side of the galleon. Norrington’s eyes widened; they’d reached the firing range. More importantly, the position of the chasing vessel was—

“They’re raking!” Norrington shouted a warning, “Watch out!”

The cannonball whistled in the air, and the crew of the Messenger ran in panic. The shot hit in the middle of the Messenger, scouring the whole length of the deck. Almost immediately, another shot cracked the mainmast; the mast and the lookout still in the crow’s nest fell overboard in the sea, the man yelling in fright as he hit the water. The whole ship wavered at the impact, knocking men down.

Another shot boomed, and moment later there was a huge splash of water as the cannonball hit next to the ship, missing the vessel only by few lucky inches. Norrington was horrified at the damage the shot that scoured the deck had made; the floorboards of the deck were severely cracked and splintered, the mainmast had been snapped, and there was a large hole on the left topside of the ship ear the bow. Blood was staining the floorboards where two unfortunate men had been left under the destructive cannonball, crushed to death.

Another shot hit the Messenger, closer to the bow now. It broke the structures of the ship and crashed through the hull, making the ship leak severely. The Messenger had lost speed ever since the first hit, and was now almost completely stopped. The monstrous galleon rushed in on them, coming slowly abreast the limping Navy ship.

Time seemed to stand still to Commodore Norrington; the whole following event seemed to pass as a blur of running mariners, musket shots, screams or the men and the Spanish yells from the pirates who had now boarded the ship.

The pirates boarded the Messenger, rushing fiercely to engage the mariners into battle. The galleon cast an ominous shadow over the smaller Navy vessel and the clang of the cutlasses filled the air.

Norrington blinked in stunned shock as he looked upon the mayhem happening in front of his eyes; the pirates were fighting more fiercely than anyone he’d never seen before, and his men were clearly outnumbered.

But that wasn’t what captured Norrington’s eye. It was the fact that each and every single one of the pirates were… female.

“Sir! They- they’re women!” Mullroy cried from his place beside Norrington, glancing at Murtogg who seemed exactly as anxious.

“Thank you very much for stating the fact!” Norrington snapped, shaking himself out of the stunned stupor. “Don’t just stand there! Defend the ship, as well as your very lives!”

Drawing the sword that a certain young Will Turner had crafted, Norrington rushed down among the battle with the helmsman, Mullroy and Murtogg close behind him.

The women fought like Amazons; ferociously and seemingly without a trace of fright. It seemed pointless; in stead of every woman the mariners fought down, two more would appear. More grapple hooks were thrown from the galleon and a gangplank was rigged between the two ships. Every now and then, few pirates would fling their selves aboard the Messenger by ropes.

Norrington slashed at one pirate that lunged for him, cutting a large gash down the woman’s left shoulder. With a scream, the woman retreated few steps, glaring at Norrington. With a growl, the woman raised her cutlass in order to strike again.

“¡ALTO!” A bellowing scream suddenly commanded in Spanish, the voice reaching everyones ears even over the noise of the fight. In the same instance, every pirate fighting the mariners withdrew, retreating a safe distance from the Navy soldiers. The battle sounds ceased immediately, and the silence that ensued was almost eerie.

Norrington frowned, glancing over his men. Several men, as well as some pirate women, were lying on the deck, lifeless. Some of his men were unarmed, having lost their swords and muskets in the fight. Only a few soldiers had their muskets trained at the women, ready to fire at Norrington’s command. He signalled for them to hold their fire, for now.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing on the gangplank from the galleon down to the Messenger, and the crowd of pirates parted to make way to the ramp. Norrington watched warily with his sword still clutched tightly in his hand as a tall, striking woman descended down the plank.

Every male on the fatally leaking ship found his gaze fixed on the beautiful Spaniard as she strode slowly ahead, finally stepping on the deck of the Messenger and stopping to survey the scene in front of her. Her whole appearance spoke of power; the way she held her head up high and moved with silent confidence. The other women regarded her with respect, perhaps even with a hint of fear. Norrington watched her closely, and drew the apparent conclusion; she was without a doubt the Captain of the galleon.

Her hair was long and dark, so brown it was nearly black. A single, thick braid hung on the either side of her head, pulling the hair off her face. The ends of the braids reached several inches past her shoulders. Her features were sharp, almost regal; high cheekbones, slim eyebrows, almond shaped eyes that were a metallic hue of grey. Her skin was the typical mocha color.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she spoke in a voice that was much lower and huskier than what women normally have. “¿Quién es el Capitán de este barco?”

Norrington searched for his limited knowledge of Spanish language, finally managing to translate the gist of her question. Who is the Captain of this ship? Straightening, he took this as his cue to present himself. Slowly, he stepped diagonally in front of the Spaniard, keeping his distance.

“I am Commodore Norrington of the Royal Navy of England, and in charge of this vessel,” he said calmly, looking at the woman in her eyes.

The woman tilted her head ever so slightly, the braid on her the right side of her head swaying at the motion. A small, predatory smile played upon her lips. The gesture suddenly made Norrington nervous, which was somewhat an oddity for him. He was not a man with a habit of getting nervous easily.

“Comodoro Norrington,” she acknowledged. “Mi nombre es Gabriela Delgado. Capitán Delgado,“ she said smoothly, pressing the title. (My name is Gabriela Delgado. Captain Delgado.)

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Delgado changed into English, her pronunciation sharp and accented.

Norrington memorized the name, but hardly returned the sentiment. “Captain Delgado,” he ground out, “Might I ask for the reason of this attack of yours? We have nothing of here that pirates would appreciate.”

Delgado crossed her arms behind her back, causing the helms of her long, dark blue overcoat swaying. “Sí, you might,” she drawled, a grin curling her lips. “But the real question is; will I let you know?”

The comment caused a ripple of laughter to run through the female pirates. Norrington, however, was not amused. Delgado stared pointedly at Norrington for a moment, before unfolding her arms and waving her hand slightly at the laughing women flanking her.

“¡Hermanas!” she addressed her crew, silencing them. (Sisters!) “Comodoro Norrington here is not in the mood for this,” she purred. Narrowing her eyes, she studied Norrington for a moment.

“Muy bien,” Delgado allowed finally, shrugging her shoulders. (Very well.)

“I doubt you are going to survive long enough tell anybody of this,” she said and grinned maliciously, taking a meaning look around the badly damaged ship. “We are searching for something… perdido. Something very precious...” (Lost)

Taking a small step closer, Delgado again scrutinized the Commodore closely for a second. This was making him very uncomfortable for some reason. Something in her eyes told him that the woman was positively dangerous.

“Our… quest… has been going on for quite some time already,” she went on. “We are searching for something that’s ours, something that now is, we believe, under the possession of an English trader,” Delgado said, fixing a cold look at Norrington, her features growing menacing.

“¡Perros ingleses!” One of Delgado’s crewmembers, a short woman with light brown hair and a scar on her cheek, spat out in distaste. (English dogs!)

Pursing her lips, Delgado turned her head to gaze at the said woman with wide eyes. Norrington felt a cold shudder go down his spine at the sudden, downright insane glint in the Spaniard’s grey eyes. Then, a devious grin broke upon her lips, her teeth flashing in almost feral way.

“Now now, Nerita,” she mock-scolded the woman. Turning her sharp gaze back on Norrington, she smirked. “Such language. Do excuse my crew, Comodoro. They hold no love for the English… dogs, as Nerita so aptly put it,” she drawled condescendingly, casting a cursory glance over the crew of the slowly sinking Messenger. The men visibly bristled at this, only now understanding the content of the woman pirate’s insult, but dared not to move from their places.

Ignoring Delgado’s taunting, Norrington just stared at the female captain, frowning in puzzlement. Suddenly, the realization hit him. “Just because this lost something is allegedly in the hands of an English trader, you and your lot of miscreants have been attacking British vessels and towns?”

Delgado’s eyes widened noticeably, and in a split second the angry expression was replaced with a wide grin, and again that unnerving glint returned in her steely gaze.

Whirling around to face her crew, Delgado laughed. “Hear that, ¿hermanas? Not all of them are as dim as we thought!” she crowed, eliciting mocking laughter from her crew again. Turning to face Norrington, she grinned.

“Very good, Comodoro. And you didn’t even need more clues,” she cooed.

Norrington bristled, disgusted by the female pirate’s lack of respect. “Have you no respect towards people’s lives? You are responsible for the deaths of maybe even hundreds of civilians on your ‘quest’ as you call it!”

Delgado sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. Fixing her eyes on Norrington she tilted her head slightly to one side. “Sí,” she replied in flippant, devil-may-care tone. She smiled wickedly at Norrington’s disbelieving look, pleased with herself. (Yes)

“Ah, Comodoro, you must understand. This quest of mine…” she said, starting to slink closer to Norrington. The few men of Norrington’s crew that still held their muskets instantly cocked them towards the advancing Spaniard. With a flick of his hand, the Commodore signalled for them to lower their weapons.

Delgado was seemingly oblivious to this, and came closer despite the obvious threat of getting shot. Now only some feet apart from the man, she narrowed her eyes dangerously, and lowered her voice. “…is more important to me than the lives of thousands of your petty civilians, ¿comprende?” (Understand?) With a sly smile, she drew back and made her way back to her crew.

Norrington could hardly believe the audacity of her. Thoroughly enraged, he clenched his teeth as he tried to control his anger. “And exactly what is this lost thing that makes you murder innocent people?”

Captain Delgado turned around slowly, having reached her crew again. Mouth unsmiling and eyes narrowed, she stared hard at Norrington for a long moment. Then, she blinked slowly, almost languorously, and the hard expression disappeared; it was replaced with a cunning smile and a gleeful look in her eyes. Then, she suddenly turned her face momentarily up to gaze at the blue sky, before looking back at the Commodore again.

“Ah, I would not call it murdering,” she started slowly, her tone considering. Shrugging a little, she went on lightly. “Those people we really, how do you say… sí, now I remember; victims of circumstances. They were really not any of my responsibility.”

“Not any of your…!” Norrington spluttered, appalled.

“Comodoro Norrington, I am only responsible for myself and my crew. That is it,” Delgado replied coolly, her accent sharp.

“As to your question, the lost item is a map. An ancient map. Well, half of it, actually. One half we already have, but the other…” she shook her head, “Has been missing for several years. Just as many years we have been searching for it. And now that I am this close to finding it, nothing, absolutely nothing, will stand in my way!” Delgado sneered, her eyes again narrowing maliciously.

Norrington was dumbstruck. They were searching for a piece of an old map, and just to get it, the woman was willing to kill everyone that got in her way, accidentally or not? Hanging, he decided, was a punishment too kind for such crimes.

“That’s outrageous! Simply preposterous!” Norrington cried, horrified.

Delgado regarded him indifferently, shrugging her shoulders again. “I thought perhaps you might see it that way, Comodoro. That is why we are standing here now, aboard your sinking ship with no land in sight,” she smirked. “Well, as delighting as this little visit has been, I am wasting my time with you, here. Truthfully, I do have better things to do. ¡Vamanos!” At her command, the women started to retreat back aboard the galleon, leaving as fast as they appeared. (Let’s go!)

Turning to face Norrington again, Delgado saluted him in a mocking manner. “I am truly sorry that we must leave already, but it seems that your vessel shortly ceases to be seaworthy. Oh, I do hope you English know how to swim,” she taunted with a gleeful smirk, and strode up the plank.

The said gangplank was kicked down as soon as Delgado was safely aboard her galleon, falling into the water with a splash. Norrington could do little more than to watch as the shabby galleon’s tattered sails slowly but surely caught the increasing wind, starting to push the big vessel across the glittering waters. Norrington clenched his fists as he watched the galleon make good way ahead, the female pirates on the ship shouting taunts and insults at them as they departed, leaving the battered Navy ship alone and leaking in the middle of the sea. The Messenger was slowly but certain filling with water, the lifeboat had been damaged in the firing, and absolutely no land was to be seen in the horizon anywhere.

Squinting slightly, Norrington’s eyes managed to pick up the elegantly carved name on the stern of the departing galleon; Espíritu Maldito. Damned Spirit.

Ironical, indeed, Norrington thought derisively. For the galleon and its crew had surely damned them all to death.

All they could do now was to pray for a miracle.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4 - Ill Tidings

Trinidad was indeed quite alike Tortuga, you decide as you stand on the long dock in which the Black Pearl has been docked. It was not quite as seedy or noisy as Tortuga, but it had the same feel about it; this was not a fine city for fine folk. That’s why you told Elizabeth to change her clothing for something that was even a bit more common before you docked. Not that she was wearing her finest dresses aboard the Pearl to begin with, but the neat and clean dresses she did have, combined with Elizabeth’s proper manner of speaking and subtle demeanour of someone with high status, she would undeniably stick out like a sore thumb among the folk in Trinidad. And, as you well knew, there were always people in towns like these out to look for some money. What better way to get it than Elizabeth? You’d have to keep an eye on her, even though she probably could handle herself. You still had not forgotten that fight on Isla de Muerta, and most likely never would.

“Hey,” Anamaria’s voice breaks your thoughts, as well as the not too subtle nudge to your side. “Have ye been listenin’ to a word I’ve said?”

You smile sheepishly; no, you hadn’t in fact heard a single word Anamaria had been saying. You weren’t even aware she had been talking to you. “Not really.”

Anamaria rolls her eyes and blows air from her nostrils in irritated manner. “Of course you haven’t.”

“Well, what did you say?” you ask her. “Something important?”

“Ah, forget it,” Anamaria shakes her head, turning her attention back to Jack, Gibbs and Will who stand a little further away talking as you wait for Elizabeth to change.

“’Kay,” you shrug, forgetting the whole thing. Finally, Elizabeth strides down the gangplank onto the dock, dressed in a simple, lightly coloured dress. It lacked all frilly laces and decorations and such things that her better dresses had, but it would still stick out just by being so neat and clean.

“All set to go,” she smiles pleasantly as she stops next to you and Anamaria.

“Well, finally,” Jack mutters, clearly annoyed by the wait. Elizabeth just smiles pleasantly at the disgruntled Captain. Rolling his eyes, Jack turns to regard you and Anamaria.

“Alright, you take care of the food; we’ll get the rum and water, savvy? Anamaria knows the way, don’t you?” Jack made sure, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Aye,” Anamaria assures curtly.

“Splendid!” Jack exclaims merrily, clapping his palms together. “Alright, we’ll meet in the tavern in one hour. Gibbs!”

“Aye, sir?” The older man replied.

“You go with the ladies,” Jack orders, turning to look at you. “This place can get a bit rough. What kind of a Captain were I if I didn’t take care of me crew?” he says, small smirk pulling his lips.

Anamaria narrows her eyes and you smile at this, even though you know for certain that you and Anamaria (and probably Elizabeth, too) can take care of yourselves and that it makes little difference whether or not Gibbs comes with you. But you decide not to point that out. It’s the thought that counts, no?

“Aw, admit it, Captain, you’re just a big softie underneath it all,” you say, smirking.

Gibbs chuckles at this, but quickly sobers under Jack’s narrowed gaze. Returning his dark eyes on you, he takes a small step closer. “I’d just hate to look for new crewmembers should something happen to you two,” he answers smoothly.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. Sure. “Okay, let’s get moving,” you say to no one in particular.

“I’m coming with you,” Elizabeth speaks up, looking from you to Anamaria.

“Elizabeth, are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Will asks, slightly worried frown on his face.

“Aw, lighten up, Sugarlump,” you say, grinning at the awful nickname and Will’s reaction to it. “Lizzie’s a big girl, and she’s got me and Anamaria with her.”

Will cringes at Jack’s raised eyebrows and inquisitive look at the nickname. “I thought I told you not to say that ever again…” he tells you darkly.

The familiar grin creeps on Jack’s lips. “Will, Will, Will… I’m expecting to hear all about this.”

Will sighs, shooting a dark look at you. “Great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” you grin in return.

“Come along Will,” Jack says merrily, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder in friendly manner as he starts guiding him forward. “I’ll show you the best tavern in town, bloody fine rum. And I shall want to know all about this Sugarlump business, savvy…?”

You chuckle as you hear Will groan in humiliation, knowing that Jack will get a kick out of ribbing him about the awful nickname. You should feel ashamed, throwing Will to the wolves - well, to a wolf - but you don’t. He’ll survive.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” Anamaria says brusquely, staring to walk down the dock after Jack and Will who are already a while away, Jack’s steps swaying and hands waving as he animatedly explains something to Will.

You, Gibbs and Elizabeth exchange quick looks, and wordlessly start to follow Anamaria towards the streets of Trinidad.

You curiously inspect the various booths selling all sorts of different items, ranging from handmade artifacts to fruits. Apparently the area around the harbour is something like a marketplace. As your little rag tag team passes by one of the fruit stalls, you nick a small raceme of green grapes when the owner is not watching. You used to like apples very much, but somehow the whole ordeal with Barbossa the particular fruit brings up memories you’d rather just forget. Elizabeth notices your little theft, giving you a scolding look. You just keep your face passive and offer some fruits to her, but she shakes her head. Shrugging, you pop one grape into your mouth. More for you, then!

You pass a particularly shabby looking tavern, and the bunch of dirty men whistle loudly and yell obscene comments at the sight of you, Anamaria and Elizabeth. Elizabeth and Gibbs look disgusted, but you almost laugh out loud as the men suddenly shut up and nearly cower under Anamaria’s harsh glare.

Glancing at Elizabeth who’s walking beside you, you notice that she looks a little uncomfortable. You remember that she’s never been in a town like this before; Trinidad is certainly no Port Royal. You grab her hand with your free one and give it a quick, reassuring squeeze. She looks at you and smiles in thanks, and you return the gesture.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to get used to that in places like this,” you tell her.

Elizabeth nods. “I know. That was just… really vile.”

“The lass is right, Miss Elizabeth,” Gibbs speaks up from his place behind you and Elizabeth. “Most folk ‘ere are the scum of the Caribbean. So you best be keepin’ yer eyes open.”

“I will,” Elizabeth replies, her confidence returning.

You pop another grape in your mouth, chewing slowly as you continue to observe the surroundings. A sudden, rapid flow of Spanish catches your attention, and you turn your head to see the cause of it. You see two women, the other clearly much older, arguing in front of an apartment, both speaking fast and motioning with their hands. They seem to be really agitated. You know some Spanish yourself, but now manage to catch only few random words here and there from the rapid flow of sentences. For some reason, you feel compelled to know what they’re talking about.

“Anamaria?” you say, shifting your gaze on her. Much to your surprise, you see that Anamaria too has taken notice of the heated argument, already listening to it.

“What are they saying?” Elizabeth asks, equally interested. By now, all of you have stopped on your tracks, watching the women who stand a good distance away. Luckily they argue so loudly you can hear them clearly.

Anamaria listens to a while longer before answering. “They’re talkin’ about some Spanish ship that’s been attacking towns, ships and settlements lately. If I got it right, only English ones.”

“Spanish ship that’s been attacking English ships and settlements?” Elizabeth repeats, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Oh yes! Father told me about that before I left Port Royal with Will. Commodore Norrington has increased the patrol especially around the Southern coast of Jamaica because of it.”

“That so?” Gibbs says slowly. “Well, we’ll see if that does any good…”

“I’m sure that if anyone can catch those people and that ship, it’s the Commodore,” Elizabeth says confidently, surprising the rest of you.

You arch your brows. “Since when have you started to praise Norrington so?”

“Actually, he’s become quite a good friend to both me and Will after the incident with Barbossa.”

“Really?” Anamaria asks dubiously, matching your expression.

“Yes. Now I know what you think about him, but he really has changed. He’s not that pompous, arrogant man he was before,” Elizabeth says. “He’s been nothing but friendly towards me and Will, he really is making an effort. Even though I would imagine it can be difficult since… well, since he thought about marrying me.”

Which is exactly the problem, you think. Has Norrington really admitted defeat and given up on Elizabeth? Yes, she is engaged to Will now, but feelings can’t just be shut off like that. The women are gearing up again, and you tilt your head towards Anamaria who again listens in on the argument.

“The older woman says that the ship…” Anamaria starts, but stops, her expression hesitant.

“Yes?” You prod after a moment.

Anamaria turns her head to look at you seriously. “She says that the ship is damned, sailing faster than the wind, and crewed by corrupted amazons searching for a cursed treasure.”

A stunned silence falls over the group.

“Cursed… treasure?” Gibbs repeats quietly after a second.

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” you nearly yell. “Look, you must’ve heard wrong.”

“I heard correctly!” Anamaria says indignantly. “The younger woman thinks the older is a fool, saying that there are no such things as curses.”

“But unfortunately, we know better,” Elizabeth says quietly.

“No no no no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Don’t you think we’ve had our share of curses already? Personally, I never want to hear about any damned ships nor curses ever again!”

Honestly, this news was just too much. No, it couldn’t be true. ...Could it?

“Apparently, there has been many attacks against English trade vessels this week,” Anamaria goes on. Turning to look at you again, she shakes her head dismissively. “But I think that talk about curses is just that. Talk of an old woman with nothing better to do.”

The women are now shouting to each other, until the younger one throws her hands in the air, leaving in a huff. “¡Loco mujer!” she shouts to the older one as she goes. The older woman gets in, slamming the door shut after her. (Crazy woman!)

“Do you really, honestly believe what she said?” you ask Anamaria, Elizabeth and Gibbs.

Anamaria slowly shakes her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything about this ship until now.”

“Me either,” you agree. It’s funny really that you haven’t, after spending a fair amount of time sailing around the Caribbean.

“Well, the ship obviously is real, and it’s targeting the English only. But why? And who’s captaining it? I heard from father that the Spanish royals know nothing about this,” Elizabeth speaks up.

“It’s possible that they’re pirates, on their own little crusade,” Anamaria offers.

“Then maybe the ship is cursed!” Gibbs says, taking a look at all of you before continuing. “We all know curses are real enough, who’s to say this one isn’t?”

“And, Isla de Muerta is still out there, as well as the treasure of Cortés. It won’t stay hidden forever...” Anamaria hesitantly reminds.

Elizabeth looks worried. “You don’t think they’re looking for it, do you?”

Anamaria just shrugs in return, unable to give any certain answer.

You frown, thinking about this. “I don’t think they’d be sacking English towns and vessels if they would. It doesn’t make too much sense.”

“Aye,” Gibbs agrees. “It doesn’t. Isla de Muerta cannot be found except-“

“...By those who already know where it is,” you, Elizabeth and Anamaria finish together, having heard this one time too many.

You gaze down at the grapes in your hand, your appetite now lost. Dropping them on the ground, your hand rises to grab the silver pendant hanging around your neck, the one from your very first loot with your father. You absently finger the piece of silver, trying to rid yourself of the slight nervousness.

“Do you think Jack knows about this?” you ask Gibbs, who inclines his head a little in a gesture of uncertainness.

“I don’t know, lass. But then, I know of Jack’s thoughts only on the odd occasion...”

Anamaria shakes her head finally. “Let’s be realistic. All we have proving that the ship is supposed to be cursed is a silly tale from an old woman. You heard the younger one, she called her crazy. Maybe she’s the local spinster weaving tales to amuse herself. Or maybe she really is crazy!”

You nod. “I think you’re right, Anamaria.”

Gibbs still looks doubtful. “Aye, but still the ship could be cursed.”

“Could be, but that’s not very likely,” you counter, really wanting to drop this subject already. “All we know for certain is that some Spanish ship, for some reason, is attacking English settlements and ships. I agree with Anamaria, they sound like a bunch of normal pirates.”

Gibbs thinks for a moment, and finally nods reluctantly. “Yer probably right. Either way, Jack won’t be likin’ this.”

“Look, why don’t we forget about this for a while? We still have the Pearl to stock,” Elizabeth suggests.

You, Anamaria and Gibbs agree. Silence falls over the group again, everyone immersed in their own thoughts as you continue your way to see the man who can provide the needed goods.

* * *

Finally after what seemed ages, you’re finally making your way to the tavern you’re supposed to meet Jack and Will before heading back to the Pearl.

You, Anamaria, Elizabeth and Gibbs had found the short, friendly looking man that helped you restock for food. Gibbs and Anamaria obviously knew the man, and you were introduced to him as the newest addition to the Pearl’s crew. As you shook his hand and gave him your name, the man’s face had bee lit with recognition. He’d known you were Bloodshot Pete’s daughter, though God knows how. He had been really friendly and sympathetic person, amiably helping you to restock the ship.

Walking beside Elizabeth, after Anamaria and Gibbs, you start thinking about what jack and Will are doing. Well, jack’s probably drinking rum and trying to Will to drink some too.

“We’d better make haste before Jack gets your little Sugarlump drunk,” you jibe Elizabeth with a grin, who mock-glares at you in return.

“I’ll let you know that Will doesn’t drink,” she informs you, and you snort.

“Oh, no?” you ask, arching your brow. “If you had only seen the state of drunkenness he was in on Tortuga when we were on our way to save you. I’ve never seen anything so hilarious!”

Elizabeth looks surprised. “Really? And just who was it that got him drunk in the first place?”

“Well, uh…” you start, grin faltering a little. “I… might have bought him the first round, but it was really all Jack’s doing! He just kept giving him more rum. I did try to stop him, but you know how he never listens…”

“That figures,” Elizabeth replies in amusement.

“Figures that I offered him the first round, or that Jack never listens?”

Elizabeth just smiles and looks ahead instead of answering your question. Oh well.

You almost run into Anamaria, as you didn’t notice that she and Gibbs had stopped walking.

“There’s still some time before we’re to meet the Captain and Will. An old friend o’ mine keeps a shop ‘round the corner, I’d like to go see ‘im. I’ll meet ye back at the tavern,” Gibbs says, taking a look at you and Anamaria.

“Sure, Gibbs. We’ll see you there,” Anamaria nods with a small smile. Gibbs starts walking away, turning left from the crossroad.

“Maybe we should head for the tavern already…?” Elizabeth suggests.

You look at Anamaria. “Do you have anywhere you need to go or something?”

She shakes her head. “No. I say we go to see if Jack an’ Will are ready.”

“Aye,” you nod. But before anyone of you can take even one step in any direction, a sickeningly sly voice interrupts.

“Ah, lookie what we gots ‘ere, lads! Three pretty lasses, an’ all alone in a town like this…”

Turning around, you see three dirty, foul-smelling and damn ugly men standing in front of you, Anamaria and Elizabeth. And from the looks on their faces, they didn’t exactly have any nice thoughts in their mind.

“Aye, real bonny ladies,” another one says, smirking nastily. He’s missing five of his teeth, and the ones still attached are yellow and decayed. “We can’t leave ‘em alone, can we? There are lots of people ‘ere that wouldn’t be nearly as nice as us.”

The men chortle at this, eyeing the three of you up and down. A disgusted shiver goes down your spine. Nice, indeed!

Anamaria gives them her nastiest death glare. “It’d be best for ye divvies to walk away right now.”

“Oy, this one’s sassy!” one man with a red beard chuckles.

“Aye. But me thinks we ain’t leaving just yet. Not without sum pretty company…” one man with a long scar on his face says, reaching his meaty hand towards Elizabeth’s wrist.

Unsheathing your cutlass, you quickly shove the end of the blade under the man’s chin as Elizabeth takes a quick step back, moving out of his reach. He halts his movement immediately, the smirk vanishing from his face.

“I don’t think you’ll be touching her with your filthy paws, ye bloody swab,” you say coldly, eyes narrowing.

By now Anamaria has too drawn her cutlass, ready to attack if the men should try anything. The men stay still, except Red Beard who takes a slow step back to distant himself from your blade.

“Pirates, eh?” Missing Teeth, who is obviously the “leader” of the little gang, murmurs. “Ne’er have I heard o’ pirate wenches.”

Anamaria smirks humourlessly. “Probably because we’re no wenches.”

Scarface glares angrily, miffed that things aren’t going as planned. “Ah, they’re no pirates! Prolly don’t even know one name of them pirate ships sailing the Caribbean!”

The other men think about this, and then turn to look at you with grins. “Aye, there’s a point,” Red Beard says.

“Oh, really? Well, at least we know the ship that’s crew we are,” you say, cocking your eyebrow. “The Black Pearl? Sound familiar?”

Instantly, Scarface and Missing Teeth go pale, eyes widening at sound of the name.

“The B-black… Pearl!” Scarface stammers, shaking his head.

“Can’t be!” Missing Teeth choruses, but Red Beard looks confused. “Eh?”

“That ship be cursed! ‘S crewed by the damned! Undead!” Scarface shouts, his eyes widening even more as he looks at you, Anamaria and Elizabeth again. “They could be undead wenches, fer all we know! I ain’t touching a hair of ‘em!” With that, he runs off.

“Me either!” Missing Teeth yelps, quick to follow his fleeing mate.

This leaves Red Beard all alone, and you and Anamaria point your cutlasses at him. The man takes a look from one blade to another, and grins nervously.

“Ah… I jest thought o’ somethin’ that had to be done hours ago,” Red Bear says slowly, before turning on his heels and running off.

The three of you look after him for a moment, before Elizabeth starts to laugh. You can’t help but to chuckle, and Anamaria looks amused as well. Sheathing your cutlass, you glance at Anamaria.

“Should we have informed them that the Pearl isn’t actually cursed any longer?” you ask, mirth coloring your voice.

“Nah,” Anamaria shakes her head. “Look how it played to our advantage. We don’t have to waste time fightin’.”

“True. Obviously news don’t travel too fast here,” you muse.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with. Why don’t we go now,” Elizabeth says, and you start walking again, heading to wards the certain tavern to meet up with Jack and Will.

* * *

The tavern, which had a very interesting name, Pollo de Diablo, Devil Chicken, [AN1] was quite like any other tavern in Tortuga, for example. Dim, lit with candles, noisy, and full of drunken men and over make-upped wenches wooing the said men. Few scuffles and downright fistfights were ensuing here and there, but not as much as you had expected.

You start making your way through the mostly intoxicated crowd, Elizabeth trailing close at your heels and Anamaria coming behind her. The men in the tavern give the three of your leers as you pass them by, but you ignore them like you always do. Few fellows who are obviously feeling lucky try to grab your wrist, but you pull your hand out of their reach and glare at them in return. That and the cutlass over your hip are enough to convince them not to try any further.

Sweeping your eyes across the tavern, you try to locate either Jack or Will amidst the other patrons. Finally, you spot them in the back of the establishment. But unlike normally, the sight makes you frown in annoyance. Both Will and Jack are seated at a sturdy wooden table, tankards on the tabletop. On Jack’s lap, in turn, sits a scantily clad wench with curly, dirty blond hair and much too much make up, giggling and cooing something in Jack’s ear. You’re loath to admit it, but at the moment you feel like stomping over there and pulling the wench off of him by her puffy hair.

Next to Will sits another girl, a short brunette. She’s so close to him she’s almost on his lap, but not quite. Will, however, doesn’t seem to be enjoining her company, but looks very uncomfortable.

Jack on the other hand seems to be full enjoying that hussy’s advances, grinning slyly and telling something to the woman, making her laugh. You can feel your scowl deepening. Shaking your head a little, you bring yourself back to your senses. You cannot honestly be jealous of that little wench! No way!

“Lizzie, you’d better go fend that lass off your man,” you say with an amused edge, glancing at you cousin.

As Elizabeth takes in the scene going on some distance ahead, her eyes narrow angrily. Pushing past you, she makes a beeline towards the table, her shoulders set.

“That’s evil,” Anamaria’s knowing tone say behind you and you turn to look at her. She’s smirking in that very annoying way of hers. “Pushing your cousin to attack the girl tryin’ to do her job just because our Captain has a lass on his lap that’s not you…”

You roll your eyes in exasperated irritation. “Anamaria, once again I have no idea where you get all this stuff.”

“From you,” she replies instantly. “You’re jealous. I can see that from the look on your face.”

“Please,” you say indignantly. “Let’s get this settled, aye? I am not jealous of anyone. I don’t get jealous, it’s not me. So please, drop this already! Honestly, Anamaria…”

Shaking your head, you turn around, starting to walk towards Jack and Will.

“Well, you’re certainly bitchy if nothing else…” you hear Anamaria mutter dryly behind your back, and you grin in amusement.

You and Anamaria reach the table just in time to hear Elizabeth almost growl to the brunette rubbing her side against Will’s, “Get your filthy hands off my fiancé!”

You raise your brows in surprise at her words; very unladylike! The girl does a doubletake, but quickly gets up and leaves with a huff.

“Elizabeth,” Will says, tone clearly relieved as Elizabeth sits down next to him, smiling at him.

“Elizabeth! Anamaria!” Jack exclaims, glancing at them and then looking at you with a grin, “Luv. So nice of you to finally join us!”

“Mmm,” you hum with a rather forced smile, looking pointedly at the woman still on his lap.

Jack notices you look, following your eyes. “Oh, this is…” he trails off, dark eyes darting from left to right as he thinks. Finally, he frowns a little, looking down at the girl who looks expectant. “What was yer name again?”

The wench promptly raises her palm and slaps Jack on the cheek, getting up and storming off. You narrow your eyes at her, glaring as she goes.

Jack purses his lips, rubbing the stinging cheek absently. “Probably deserved that,” he mumbles with a feeble smile. “Where’s Gibbs?” he asks with a small frown, suddenly noticing the absence of his quartermaster.

“Went to see his old mate,” Anamaria replies. “Said he’d meet us ‘ere soon.”

Jack nods, reaching for his tankard on the table. “The supplies?” he asks without raising his gaze from the tankard, peering inside. An appalled sneer appears on his face, and he slams the tankard back on the wooden table. “Bloody empty already…!”

“Taken care of. The Pearl’s being stocked as we speak,” Anamaria tells him, even though Jack doesn’t seem to be listening very attentively at the moment.

“Aha,” he replies distractedly, gazing towards the direction of the bar longingly.

Anamaria rolls her eyes. “Jack!”

Jack’s eyes shift back to regard Anamaria. “Aye, splendid! Good work, couldn’t have done better myself,” he tells her with a agreeing smirk, and Anamaria rolls her eyes again. “And it’s Captain Jack!”

You smile a little at their exchange, but your smile quickly vanishes as someone behind you slaps you on your ass. Your eyes widen in anger, and you whirl around to see who did it. A drunken, bearded man stands there, grinning slyly. “Fancy a little fun?” he slurs. Even the mere thought is repulsive; judging by his appearance (and smell!) personal hygiene is something he obviously doesn’t care for too much.

You narrow your eyes crossly, wondering if whether you should say something nasty first or just proceed to punch him. As your about to open your mouth, Jack suddenly comes to stand next to you, lazily placing his arm around your shoulders and drawing you closer to his side. You throw him a questioning look, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.

“Good afternoon there, mate,” he says friendly to the man, nodding his head in greeting. “Is there a problem? Is the lass troubling you?”

You frown indignantly at him; this is hardly your doing!

“C-captain Sparrow…” the man mumbles in recognition, seemingly sobering some at the sight of the infamous pirate.

“Aye, in the flesh,” Jack grins charmingly, before going on. “Or,” he starts, pointing the forefinger of his right hand that currently rests on your shoulder towards the man, “Perhaps the trouble here actually is you bothering one of my finest crewmembers, eh?” he says, slanting his head a little to the side and narrowing his eyes questioningly.

The man shakes his head nervously. “No, no, I- I didn’t mean to, really…! I’m terribly sorry!” he mumbles hastily, turning on his heels and disappearing in the crowd.

Jack looks down at you with a pleasant smile, his arm still around your shoulders. “Well, what can I say? My reputation precedes me.”

You shake your head. A part of you feels touched that Jack would “come to your rescue” like that, but other part is starting to feel irritated that he thinks you obviously can’t handle such a simple situation by yourself. How does he think you survived the three years by yourself after Bloodshot’s death and before joining his crew?

“Well thank you so much, Captain,” you say, taking a hold of his hand and dropping his arm off your shoulders. “But I don’t need to be coddled.”

“’Course you don’t,” Jack replies smoothly, again placing his arm over your shoulders. “But I couldn’t resist aiding a bonny lady such as you. Apologies.”

You roll your eyes, but your irritation is already diminishing under Jack’s charming smile. Damn the man for knowing just how persuading he can be!

“Alright, forget it,” you sigh finally, your tone relaying that you didn’t take offence. “But don’t let it get into your head,” you warn Jack hurriedly, seeing the smug smirk starting to form on his lips.

Jack quickly wipes the smile off his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, luv!”

“Right,” you say, not too certain about that. Jack chuckles quietly, and at the same moment Gibbs finally appears, weaving through the crowd of drunks.

“Did I miss somethin’?” He asks, taking a look at you and Jack.

* * *

You gaze absently down the blue waters that lick the sides of the Black Pearl. The wind was fast and the ship was making a good way towards Port Royal, and you were already hours away from Trinidad. It was time take Will and Elizabeth back to Pot Royal so that they could continue making the final arrangements for their oncoming wedding.

After finally getting out of the tavern, you, Jack, Gibbs, Anamaria, Will and Elizabeth had made it back to the harbour. During your absence, the Black Pearl had been fully stocked by the rest of the crew with the supplies that Gibbs and Anamaria had bargained, and with the fresh water and of course the rum acquired by Jack and Will as promised. So, she’d been ready to make way again when you’d arrived to the port.

Gibbs had told Jack about the conversation you had overheard between the two Spanish women about the ship, but in a very characteristic way, he had made a noncommittal remark about the whole thing, obviously not reading too much into it. Or if he did, he was keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself.

“Captain!” a shout up at the crow’s nest echoed and interrupted your musings, reaching the ears of everyone on deck. “Ship ahead!”

Frowning, you push yourself off the rail you’d been leaning on, and stride over to the stairs leading up to the helm. Climbing up the stairs, you see that Jack’s accompanied by Gibbs, who’s offering Jack a spyglass.

“What’s going on?” you ask as you reach them, watching as Jack peers into the spyglass, balancing it almost daintily on the tips of his fingers.

“What’s happening?” Elizabeth’s voice suddenly speaks up repeating your question, as she and Will join you.

The four of you watch Jack, as he stands behind the rudder and looks into the spyglass, seemingly unperturbed by the questions. A slow, smug smile suddenly starts to creep on his lips, the smile in turn transforming into the familiar, toothy grin.

“Well, sink me…” Jack mutters with gleeful tone, lowering the spyglass and looking at you with the smug grin firmly in place. “It’s our dear old mate Commodore Norrington! And seems to be in a bit of a trouble, by the looks of things.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 5 - Black Miracle

It was a typical day in the Caribbean; the sun was shining brightly, coloring the waves of the sea momentarily with white and pale yellow before they merged back into the blue masses. Warm wind blew across the vast sea, lending the proverbial helping hand to the various sailors travelling across the waters. It was a beautiful day, and Commodore Norrington wondered why he had never paid any attention to these things before.

Now, standing aboard the leaking Messenger, doomed to drown, he suddenly noticed all this, as if he was gazing upon the beauty of the Caribbean for the first time in his life. Indeed, it was a beautiful day, too beautiful for him to die.

Silently he watched his men as they desperately tried to stop the leaking, knowing that no matter how hard they struggled, it would be for nothing. It was a valiant effort for their part, but the cruel truth was that it was for vain. The Spanish galleon and its spiteful Captain were long gone, and they were done for it, unless some manner of miracle should suddenly occur.

Commodore James Norrington had dedicated his life to the Royal Navy. Ever since the passing from England to Jamaica nine years ago [AN2], when he was still but a lieutenant, he had made it his goal to do everything in his powers to protect the city of Port Royal and help purge the sea surrounding the land from the pirates and other vile raiders terrorizing the waters. He’d worked hard and obeyed the laws and rules meticulously, and along the years his work had paid off. He had advanced quickly in the ranks, and the day when he was informed about the promotion that would make him a Commodore was forever etched in his mind.

However, he’d been so absorbed in his work that one very important part of life had been left out completely; he had never found his significant other. True, young Elizabeth Swann had captured his interests with her fine manners and upbringing, but it came clear that his feelings were unrequited. Elizabeth had loved the blacksmith, William Turner, obviously for longer than Norrington had first guessed. As odd as the thought of such fine lady with a common blacksmith had been to him the day he’d found out about it, Norrington had come to see how much Will Turner cared for Elizabeth. It would undoubtedly be a good, strong match in the end.

But that was not the only thing Norrington had failed to fully accomplish. In the midst of pursuing his ever ascending career, he never really made any friends. The men under his command respected him, even looked up at him, but they didn’t know the person behind the Commodore status. Nobody did. Norrington realized that it was greatly his own doing; he now understood how arrogant he’d been for the most years of his life. Recently, he had become increasingly more acquainted with both Elizabeth and Will Turner, true enough, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been a lonely workaholic almost his whole life.

And now, only some odd minutes away from his untimely death, Norrington felt deeply morose and ashamed that he had never taken the time to be a normal human being.

“Commodore Norrington!” Mullroy’s voice suddenly shouted, shaking Norrington out of his stupor. The man and his ever present comrade in arms, Mr. Murtogg, made their way towards him as fast as they could in the badly listing vessel. Both of them wore expressions of something akin to stunned excitement.

“Commodore Norrington, look! It’s a ship, and it seems to be heading our way!” Murtogg spoke, exited about the possibility of a rescue. Most of the mariners and soldiers aboard had heard this, and were now looking at them expectantly.

Frowning, Norrington gazed in the direction that Murtogg was pointing at. A ship heading their way? That sounded almost too convenient. Narrowing his eyes, he could make out the figure of large ship, but barely anything else. Glancing around, he searched for the telescope he’d dropped before the battle with Delgado’s crew. Finally spotting it, he quickly picked the gadget up, lifting it on his eye and aiming it towards the swiftly approaching vessel.

Norrington could feel his jaw dropping at the sight of the dark sails and the familiar structure of the ship. Only one ship in the Caribbean had black sails. Only one.

Lowering the spyglass slowly, Norrington kept his eyes on the advancing ship. The black sails were quickly becoming identifiable now even without a spyglass as the ship drew closer.

“Um, that...” Murtogg started hesitantly, pointing with his finger. “Isn’t that... the Black Pearl?”

Norrington still kept his eyes on the pirate ship. “Obviously,” he said, gripping the spyglass more tightly in his hands. He couldn’t smother the short, mirthless chuckle that escaped him.

He had prayed for a miracle, and God had sent him Jack Sparrow.

* * *

You watch Jack with an amused smile as he steers the Pearl closer to Norrington obviously damaged ship, the grin never leaving his face. You can tell how much Jack is anticipating the meeting with Norrington; it’s been a while since he’s got to jibe and taunt the arrogant Commodore.

Your eyes widen slightly as the Pearl glides closer, now seeing the full damage done to Norrington’s ship. It’s barely staying afloat, listing badly. The main mast is cracked and the deck scoured, with many holes and cracks littering the hull.

“Oh my God, what has happened to them?” Elizabeth asks quietly, her eyes on the ship.

“We’ll soon find out,” Will replies softly beside her.

“Won’t be long till that vessel scuttles,” Gibbs remarks.

“Aye,” Jack agrees, looking at Gibbs with a devious grin. “Lucky for the Commodore we happened across, eh?”

Gibbs chuckles in reply, a grin forming on his lips. Jack barks his commands to the crew, and the men on the deck jump into action, repeating the commands and lower the sails as well as dropping the anchor as the Pearl edges closer.

“Anamaria!” Jack bellows, his rough voice reaching everybody’s ears.

“Aye, Captain?” Anamaria replies as she rushes up the stairs to the helm.

“Take the wheel,” Jack tells her, stepping away from the rudder. “I must exchange few words with the good Commodore,” he goes on with a gleeful smirk, traipsing down the stairs and striding over to the port side of the Pearl.

You, Will and Elizabeth follow on his heels, while Gibbs stays with Anamaria.

Jack leans leisurely on the railing of the ship, lazily propping his forearms over it and crossing his wrists. A wide grin breaks upon his face, the golden teeth flashing as he spots the hapless Commodore over at the helm of the navy ship, holding on to the rigging to stay upright.

“Commodore Norrington!” he crowes pleasantly. “Fancy meeting you here, mate. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You smirk in amusement from you spot on Jack’s side, standing sideways so that your body’s facing him, leaning your hip against the railing and resting your left palm on it, your right hand propped on your waist as you gaze down at the unlucky men.

“Captain Sparrow,” Norrington says slowly, slight edge of disbelief in his tone. “It has indeed been a while, thank God for that.”

“Oh? And here I was under the impression that you couldn’t wait to see the noose around my neck again...” Jack says smoothly, before going on with a smirk. “I hope you haven’t missed me too greatly.”

“The day I start missing you is the day the hell officially freezes over,” comes Norrington’s dry reply, which makes Jack chuckle.

“Commodore, are you alright?” Elizabeth asks, worried.

Norrington doesn’t seem too surprised to see Will and Elizabeth aboard the Pearl. “Yes, we’re fine. Few are injured, but not seriously so. And few men were lost in the attack,” Norrington replies, shaking his head sorrowfully.

“What happened to you?” Will asks in turn.

“Pirates,” Norrington answers darkly. “We were attacked by a Spanish galleon and its crew. They were all women.”

By now, the rest of the Pearl’s crew have gathered to the port side, listening. A collective murmur runs through them at this revelation.

Jack lifts his brows. “Well, that sounds like fun,” he says mostly to himself.

You give him a light shove with your right hand, accompanied by a “get serious”-look. Jack looks back with his “what’d I do now?”-expression.

You shake your head slightly, rolling your eyes. “Forget it.”

“Spanish galleon?” Elizabeth repeats, looking at you from his place on the other side of Jack. “That’s probably the ship those women spoke of!”

You nod once, thinking about it. Spanish galleons with all-female crews were a rarity, so it probably was the same ship.

“Captain Sparrow,” Norrington starts, looking very reluctant. He takes a moment before going on, and you see it’s clearly taking an effort from him to say whatever it is he’s about to say. “As you can see, the Messenger won’t stay afloat much longer, and the lives of my men are in danger...”

“Aye, I’d say you’re in a bit of a fix, there.” Jack interjects with a smirk, receiving a glare from Norrington.

“As I was saying…” Norrington goes on pointedly, “Our vessel will sink in a matter of minutes, and...” he stops, clearing his throat and taking a breath. “Captain Sparrow, I’m asking for permission for me and my crew to board your ship.”

You look at Jack, just in time to see the broad, gold-toothed smirk spread on his lips. Oh, he’ll be having fun with this...

“Why, Commodore! So you’re asking me to let you and your esteemed little militia men to climb aboard and clomp all over me pride and joy? Is that what you’re saying?” Jack asks with a pondering tone, cocking his head as he waits for the answer.

Norrington sighs. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” he replies wryly.

“Well, let me think about that, mate,” Jack says, lifting his right forefinger on his chin in a contemplative manner. “Ah yes,” he says after a second, dropping his hand and looking at the Commodore impassively. “How’s about no? Actually, no bloody way would be more fitting.”

You raise your brows, slightly incredulous about Jack’s brusque comment. The Commodore obviously feels the same way.

“Mister Sparrow, you cannot be serious! You would leave us here to drown and have the lives of all these men on your conscience?!” he splutters in stunner outrage.

“Jack!” Elizabeth exclaims. “You can’t do this!”

“Really Captain, I know they aren’t the best possible visitors, but we really can’t just leave them there...” you trail off nonchalantly.

Jack only grins, not bothering to look away from the furious Norrington. “Now, Commodore, don’t go get your pants all in a twist. I was just kidding you,” Jack grins and chuckles gleefully, delighted at Norrington’s red face and his little hoax.

You can’t help but to grin too, Jack’s light mood is contagious.

“Alright,” Jack goes on, his tone all-business this time. “I’ll grant you the permission to come aboard, but! There are a few conditions to that...”

Norrington clenches his jaw, obviously holding on to the last remains of his patience. “And what would those be?”

“Oh, nothing too fiddly, mate. Being such sharp and able men as yourself and your crew there are, you’re sure to get them the first time around,” Jack drawls with a slightly patronizing edge in his tone.

“Firstly, you will all address me as Captain Sparrow, savvy? That matter is not negotiable. Secondly, like referred to in the first term, the Captain and commander on my ship is me. What I say, goes. Again, a topic that’s not open for discussion. And thirdly,” Jack stops, propping his palms on the Pearl’s railing and leans a bit forward, the beads jingling at the sudden motion. “If anyone of you so much as scrapes me Pearl when you come up here, ends up a head shorter!” Jack says fervently, eyes wide. Then he relaxes, and shrugs slightly. “Well, at least takes up the swabbing duty. So… do we have an accord?”

Commodore Norrington rolls his eyes subtly, and nods. “We agree to your terms. Captain Sparrow,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Good!” Jack exclaims merrily, before throwing an exploratory glance at the damaged vessel. “You’d better make haste, mate. In another moment you’ll have to learn how to grow fins.”

* * *

You watch curiously at the mariners as they gaze around the Pearl, clearly never seen a ship such as her up close like this. You spot Murtogg and Mullroy as they look around in awe, and you can’t help but to grin at their expressions. Your grin broadens as you spot someone else who is very familiar to you; it’s Smith, your old buddy! The guy still looks just as wet behind his ears as he did in Port Royal when he found you at the docks after you’d witnessed Jack’s cunning escape from Norrington and his men after using Elizabeth as a shield.

Anamaria is still behind the rudder, taking the Pearl away from the nearly sunken navy ship. As you stand near the rail and watch the ship as is slowly but certainly submerges under the blue water masses, a cold chill runs down your spine. Unpleasant memories about the doom of your father and his beloved ship, the White Wraith, suddenly come to your mind involuntarily. Your throat feels tight at the memory; even though it happened over four years ago, you still can’t recall the event without the feeling of a cold fist curling around your heart. But, on the other hand; if Barbossa hadn’t been the poxy murderer he was and attacked Bloodshot with the intent to kill him, would you have ever sought out Elizabeth or met Jack Sparrow, the pirate Captain extraordinaire? Probably not. It’s funny how life can turn out to be, isn’t it?

“Oy, luv, I’ll be needing your help with something…” Jack’s voice breaks into your thoughts and snaps you out of it. You turn your head to face him, noticing the slightly hesitant look on his face. Jack quickly sums up the situation, noticing what you were staring at a moment ago.

With a small sigh, he takes your hand and squeezes it quickly, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, starting to steer you away from the railing. “Come on, luv. Would you and Elizabeth help the ones that were injured? Nothing big, only some cuts and things like that.”

You smile at his effort of trying to take your mind off your obvious thoughts, and nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply, and smirk. “Why are you suddenly caring about the injured ones? I told you once and I’ll tell you again, you’re really just one big softie.”

“Careful, luv!” Jack warns, squeezing your shoulder with his hand slightly. “I let you get away with it once; I may not be so kind the second time around.”

“Aha,” you say, trying to smother the smile threatening to break out. “You do understand that I need to use some rum to clean the cuts...?”

Jack stops dead in his tracks, pulling his arm off your shoulders. “My rum?!”

“Yeees, yours,” you roll your eyes. “Who else’s?”

Jack’s expression is appalled, much like the time when Lizzie burned the rum, and you quickly grab his forearms and look him straight in the eyes, talking to him slowly and calmly like you would to an animal you’re trying to tame. “Jack, I only need... one... single... bottle. Only one, and you’ll still have all those other lovely barrels and bottles left, alright?”

Jack cringes at the thought, and you smile at his pathetic expression. “Jack, just one bottle,” you repeat, lifting your forefinger in demonstration.

“That’s one bottle too much,” Jack mutters sourly, but nods reluctantly. “Fine. But just one!”

“Just one, I swear,” you assure.

“On pain of death?” Jack prods with narrowed eyes.

“I swear on pain of death, that I will only take one bottle of your rum, Jack.”

Jack inhales deeply. “Fine.” Taking a pointed look at your hands still clutching his arms, he smirks smugly. “You can let go now. Unless you don’t want to, which I completely understand of course...”

With a sigh, you let go of him and shake your head. “Incorrigible, Jack. That’s what you are.”

“Oh, that’s not all I am, luv...” he grins broadly, raising his brows suggestively.

You smirk humorously, throwing a look at him. “Don’t I know that!” you say, grinning as you walk towards Elizabeth and hearing Jack chuckle behind you.

Dodging the still awe-stuck redcoats, you make your way towards Elizabeth, Will and Norrington, who seem to be deep in discussion. You watch them, mulling over that Elizabeth told you earlier about Norrington, that he wasn’t the same pompous man anymore. Well, you believed that only when you see it with your own eyes.

“Elizabeth,” you call as you reach them. You nod at Norrington, feeling obliged to acknowledge him. “Commodore. Welcome aboard on my behalf as well,” you smile politely. “It’s not everyday we get such... esteemed visitors.”

“Thank you, miss,” Norrington nods, smiling a little hesitantly, obviously wondering whether or not you were serious. Well, you weren’t.

“Did you need me for something?” Elizabeth says, saving the poor Commodore.

“Actually, yes. Would you help me check out the wounded?”

Norrington looks at you, very surprised to hear this. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Of course,” Elizabeth replies, and you nod, turning your attention to Norrington.

“Now Commodore, we might be pirates, but were basically at least semi-decent folks here. It was actually Jack’s idea, but you didn’t hear it from me,” you say, wagging your finger a little in emphasis. “I even managed to persuade Jack to give one bottle of his precious rum to clean the wounds of your men. So really, our Captain is not as bad as you’d like to believe. After all, he did just save your lives,” you smirk, and you can see Will trying to smother a smile from the corner of your eyes.

Turning towards Elizabeth, you beckon her to follow you. “C’mon, let’s the rum and some bandages.”

“Was that really necessary?” she asks you immediately after you’re out of Norrington’s earshot.

“What? I just told him the way things are! I believe that tale of him changing only after I see it.”

Elizabeth sighs as you reach the stairs leading below the deck. “Sometimes, you’re just as impossible as Jack.”

You shoot an amused look at her over your shoulder as you descend the stairs. “Oh? I guess the company makes alike, then.”

“God save us all,” Elizabeth groans as you reach the first floor.

“Bloody smart mouth,” you say wryly, and now it’s Elizabeth’s turn to laugh.

* * *

“There you go, mate. Keep an eye on that, aye?” you say to the redcoat as you finish tying the bandage around his wrist, and the man nods with a small but genuine smile.

Grabbing the small bottle of rum (you tried to pick the smallest one just in case Jack should happen to pass by) and the small pile of bandages, you straighten your spine and look around the deck which looks odd with all the soldiers littering it. Anamaria had taken the Pearl to a calm cove housed by one of the islands not too far North-East from the Cayman Islands, anchoring the ship there until the matters with Norrington and his men were straightened.

Looking at the next and fortunately the last man who was injured, you can’t stop the smirk spreading to your lips as you notice that it’s your old friend Smith. Crouching down alongside him, you set the rum and the bandages down as well.

“Why, hello Smithy!” you greet him pleasantly, and he looks at you with a slight startle. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be seeing me anymore, didn’t you?”

The poor boy opens and closes his mouth feebly a few times, but doesn’t get anything out. Obviously he hasn’t grown any kind of backbone during the last twelve months.

“Okay, let’s skip the pleasantries then...” you say, growing tired of watching the fish-act. “Where are you- oh, never mind,” you interrupt yourself, spotting the horizontal gash on Smith’s upper arm, below his shoulder.

His red uniform jacket is torn and tattered with blood, and you ask him to remove it so you can see the cut properly. You wait patiently as he does so, albeit rather clumsily. As you wait, you glance over at Elizabeth who’s tending to another man, wrapping a bandage around his shoulder. Most of the men that were injured had (luckily for them) only suffered some wounds from cutlasses to their upper bodies.

You snap you gaze back to Smith as he finally gets the jacket off, and you carefully lift the torn fabric of the crisp white shirt he’s wearing under the jacket off the wound; the blood effectively sticking the shirt to the cut. This causes Smith to flinch in pain, and you smile apolitically.

“Sorry,” you say and let go of the shirt.

“It’s alright,” Smith manages to mumble, rather unconvincingly. You reach for your right leg, pulling out a small knife from its sheath inside your boot. You got it some months back, and it had proved very handy; despite it being mainly a tool, it could be used as a weapon too if need be. It could also be used to pick few specific sized locks.

Smith jumps like a scared rabbit at the sight of the smallish blade. “What are you doing?” he exclaims.

You roll your eyes. “Amputate your arm, of course,” you deadpan dryly, watching as Smith grows slightly pale. You smirk, smothering a laugh. Deciding to have pity on him, you explain in a friendlier tone, “I need to cut of that sleeve; I can’t even see the cut properly.”

“Oh,” Smith says sheepishly, and you shake your head in amusement. Grabbing his wrist, you pull his arm straight, and slip the knife under the fabric carefully from the tear. Slicing the sleeve off over the wound, you slowly peel it off so as not to cause Smith any unnecessary pain and take a closer look at the bloodied cut.

You cluck your tongue at the sight; the cut is deeper and wider than you expected. “Well, that’s most likely gonna need some sewing up,” you muse, eyeing the red gash. “I’ll clean and bandage it now, but you’ll have to drop by to see a doctor after you get home.”

As you start cleaning the cut, you absently wonder what Jack intends to do with Norrington and his unlucky men now. Despite the fact that he agreed to save their hides some moments ago, you know better than to assume he likes the idea of having them around the Black Pearl, his pride and joy, like the so aptly called her. Jack is not fond of the navy, and that’s an understatement, but he is not a cold-blooded murderer. He may be a pirate, but you’ve noticed over the time that killing people is something Jack is very disapproving of.

Anyway, if Smith here doesn’t see a doctor in few days, someone will have to stitch that wound up with what little necessities could be found aboard; that meant a plain sewing needle and some fishing line for the actual task and some internally consumed alcohol for the patient to dull some of the pain. Deftly, you clean the wound and start wrapping the bandage around it. You’re surprised that Smith stayed so quiet during the process; you were certain he’d make more noise then the rum was introduced to the cut.

“Okay, all done,” you announce with a smile as you make sure the bandage is securely in place. “Take it easy with that arm, alright?”

“I will,” Smith says, ducking his head slightly. As he raises his head, you can see the faint blush on his cheeks. “Thank you, miss,” he smiles back shyly.

You nod somewhat hesitantly, struggling to keep the laughter bubbling up inside you in check. Oh for goodness sake! The boy has a crush on you!

Bloody hell, you think incredulously. I’m a target of a naval soldier’s puppy love!

“Uh, no problem,” you reply, gathering your things and walking away, the laughter barely staying inside you. Oh, this is just what you needed, a lovesick redcoat. Great!

You walk over to Elizabeth, who’d obviously just finished her part. “Okay, that was the last,” she tells you with a relieved tone as you reach her.

“Good,” you nod, glancing at Jack, Will, Gibbs and Commodore who are standing a while away, talking. “Maybe we ought to head there to see what happens next,” you say, and Elizabeth nods her agreement. Together, you make a beeline towards the men.

“The wounds of the injured ones have been treated,” you say mainly to Norrington and Jack. “But few need to see a doctor as soon as possible.”

Norrington nods. “Thank you for you assistance,” he smiles slightly at you and Elizabeth.

“I’ll be taking that, luv...” Jack says, plucking the rum bottle from your grasp, making you roll your eyes.

“Now Commodore, I think I’d be best if you’d tell us what had you trying to scuttle your little boat in the middle of the Caribbean,” Jack tells Norrington. “I must tell you, mate...” he pauses, a smug smirk pulling his lips, “...you have a god awful luck with ships!”

You grin a little at Jack’s remark. “Though it was really Barbossa’s fault that the Interceptor got blown up,” you remind him with mirth in your tone.

“Aye, but the Commodore here fell for the Dauntless trick back in Port Royal,” Jack reminds you, and you think this.

“True,” you nod in agreement.

“Could we get back to the point?” Will in turn reminds you both, even though there’s a small smile on his lips after watching the interaction between you and Jack.

“My thoughts exactly,” Norrington agrees with dry voice, obviously not too appreciative of your and Jack’s discussion.

“But of course. Apologies,” Jack smiles craftily at Norrington, waving with his free hand a little.

Norrington sighs a little in an exasperated manner before composing himself. “We were returning back towards Jamaica from our scouting trip when a Spanish galleon, in a very poor condition, I might add, attacked us. It appeared rather unexpectedly behind us and chased us from astern. We tried to lighten our ship, but it was of no use. It was faster than us, and quickly reached firing distance.

“They fired repeatedly, damaging the Messenger badly and reducing our speed. After that, the galleon closed in on us, coming side by side. The pirates from the galleon boarded the Messenger in a matter of minutes, and a battle ensued. What astounded me the most was the fact that the whole crew of the Galleon were indeed women. As was the Captain of the vessel.”

“Who was it?” Will voiced the question that was puzzling you as well.

“She introduced herself as Captain Gabriela Delgado. The vessel was named Espíritu Maldito, the Damned Spirit,” Norrington tells you, and you memorize the name. It says nothing to you, and you glance at Jack, just in time to catch him trading quick glances with Gibbs. You frown as you notice the surprise on Jack’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared and his features are once again cool and collected.

“The Damned Spirit…” Elizabeth repeats quietly.

You arch your brow a little in suspicion, eyes firmly on Jack. “Do you know this Captain Delgado?”

Jack turns his head to look at you, but his expression lets you know absolutely nothing. “And why exactly would you think that?”

You shrug casually, not about to let him know your initial idea of how exactly Jack would know her. “I just figured that since you’ve been around and seen a lot of people, maybe you’d know something.”

Jack waves both his hands once in a small circle, shrugging eccentrically. The rum sloshes around in the bottle he’s holding in his left hand in time to his movements. “Oh, I’ve heard of her. They say she’s not a very nice person.”

You narrow your eyes slightly at his rather evasive answer. Something tells you that Jack knows more about this mysterious Captain Delgado than he lets you know. However, you let the matter drop now, but make a mental note to yourself to ask him about that later.

“Indeed,” Norrington replies. “She had absolutely no qualms about leaving us to drown. Actually, she seemed to enjoy the prospect immensely,” he went on sardonically.

“But why would they attack a navy vessel like that?” Will, ever the voice of reason, asks in a puzzled tone.

Norrington shakes his head tiredly. “Judging from that woman, I wouldn’t be surprised if they only wanted to send us to our graves. But, she did mention something that was most likely the cause for all the recent sacking of British towns and vessels.”

“And?” Elizabeth encourages, obviously eager to hear more.

“She spoke of some ancient map that they were looking for,” Norrington goes on with a frown. “She said that they had been searching for a half of an ancient map for years, and that they already have the other half. Delgado also mentioned that they believe this missing half is in the hands of an English trader.”

“And that’s why they sack especially the English merchant- and trade vessels,” you say slowly, your mind going mile a minute.

“Apparently so,” Norrington agrees. “The most appalling thing is that this woman has absolutely no respect towards fellow men. She’s willing to kill each and everyone who dares to step in her way. And she already has, hundreds of people have been killed in the attacks made to the settlements and towns, not to mention the vessels,” he says seriously, looking all of you in turn. “This woman is positively dangerous.”

You chew your lower lip slightly, glancing at Jack. He’s expression is grim, fully understanding the gravity of the situation. You suddenly get a sinking feeling in your stomach; you already strongly dislike this Delgado woman.

“An ancient map,” Elizabeth repeats, trying to fit together two and two. “Is that’s all she said?”

Norrington thinks for a moment, and nods once. “Yes. She said nothing else about that,” he replies, and chuckles ironically. “She wouldn’t have told us that much if she wasn’t sure that we were about to die soon. There was no danger of us telling this information forward.”

“Well...” Jack finally breaks the following silence, his voice characteristically low with a fine edge of smugness in it. “Guess she didn’t count on us being your saving grace, now did she?” he smirks, before lifting the ring-adorned forefinger of his right hand. “Now, if you and your mates are looking for a ride home, you’re going to have to work for it, savvy?”

Norrington frowns at Jack’s sudden, but not at all unusual change of subject. “Of course, but what of Delgado?”

Jack regards him with a blank look. “What of her? She’s none of my or my crew’s concern, as I see it.”

“But Jack, we have to do something!” Elizabeth interjects, and at that moment you see how young she in reality is. Usually she acts in manner suggesting that she’s much older than her years, but sometimes the slight naiveté in her peeks out momentarily.

“And what do you suggest we do, young missy?” Jack asks her in a slightly pointed way, reminding you of the time when you were marooned on the damn island and Elizabeth was badgering him about getting off to save Will.

“All we know is that Captain Delgado and her little women are running amuck the Caribbean, being mean and killing people as they search for a piece of parchment. At the risk out sounding insensitive, there’s nothing we, more especially me and my crew, can or will do about it. We have our own inconveniences, if you will,” Jack finishes with low voice, glancing quickly up at the already darkening sky. “We’ll stay here tonight and set course towards Port Royal the first thing tomorrow morning.”

With that, Jack turns on his heels and swaggers off, leaving an obviously angered Elizabeth behind. She whirls to face you, and you raise your brow, wary of what’s about to come. “Can’t you do anything? Talk to him or something?”

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask incredulously. “Elizabeth, I happen to think Jack is right. We know nothing about this map and Delgado, it doesn’t concern us. Besides, when Jack makes up his mind, there’s little anyone can do to sway him.”

You know that sounds insensitive, but that’s just the way it is. Delgado is Norrington’s and the Navy’s problem, and you don’t think a chase after some silly piece of old parchment will do anyone much good. You wonder why this Delgado wants that piece so badly, anyway. You tell yourself to forget the whole matter, but a small part of you is curious of this map. But at the moment, you’re more curious about Jack’s real connection with Delgado. Does Jack really know Delgado after all, and how well? You do not know, but you are damn sure going to find out.

CHAPTERS 6-10

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