CHAPTER 41 – All At Sea

“Alright, enough is enough,” you declare aloud, breaking the silence that ensued a small while ago in the Captain’s quarters of the Black Pearl when Anamaria found some book that interested her. Promptly, she’d sat down by the round table to inspect it further and hadn’t said a word since, leaving you to hatch ideas in your head.

Anamaria lifted her gaze from the volume she’d been studying, pausing for a moment to take in the defiant set of your shoulders and the stubbornly determined look on your face before casting her eyes back down. And here we go again, she thought dryly to herself.

“Stubborn as a mule, that one,” the first mate muttered under her breath, the comment drowned out by the soft rustle of a turning page.

This was hardly the first time you had made a similar threat during the past three days, but so far all your attempts to get up and about had been foiled either by someone’s interference (mostly Jack’s or Anamaria’s, nobody else seemed to be brave enough to tell you in no-nonsense terms to get back to bed) or your own realization that you simply hadn’t enough vigour to make it past the entrance of the quarters, in which cases you’d been forced to swallow your pride and limp back to bed.

Anamaria resisted the urge to snort aloud at those recent memories: if there ever was a poorer convalescent in the entire world than you, it had to be Jack. It seemed that staying put in one place for longer than some odd minutes was a serious problem for both, as was admitting the fact that anything was wrong. The first mate was all the more convinced that you and the daft Captain made the most suitable pair. Oh, but Anamaria was not ignorant when it came to relationships, even if one might not see that about her on the outside. She knew perfectly well that the coinciding traits in your personalities would more than likely lead into several, intense clashes of wills and wits in the days yet to come – something Anamaria wasn’t exactly looking forward to, really – but such was the flipside of a passionate love such as the one you and Jack obviously shared.

You cast a narrow-eyed look at the mulatto woman, predicting the track Anamaria’s thoughts have taken. “I mean it this time, you know,” you affirm with a touch of obstinacy. “I’m getting out of this bed today.”

Anamaria makes an agreeing noise from her throat without lifting her eyes from the book, the sound having a slightly patronizing edge to it: like a tolerant mother humouring a wayward child. Your hackles threaten to rise, for your patience is beginning to wear dangerously thin already. Being confined to bed for several days with little to keep you entertained tends to do that to you.

“This is the fifth day of my bed rest, Anamaria. Fifth day!” you repeat expressively, before huffing heatedly, “This idleness is slowly but certainly eating away the last remnants of my sanity!”

“Wouldn’t be a big loss,” Anamaria remarks drolly, turning another page. “I’ve always thought you’re a bit mad in one way or the other.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks very much for the overflowing sympathy,” you return dryly. “It’s reassuring to know I can always turn to you when I need some.”

Anamaria’s lips quirk into momentary smirk once more, but she makes no further comment nor lifts her gaze away from the pages of the book. You heave a quiet sigh, thinking back on the three days that have passed. Since departing Rincon, the Black Pearl and the Dauntless have sailed through the days and nights without stops, and the final destination was finally close at hand: if all went well, Guadeloupe would be looming in the horizon sometime tomorrow night. And while everyone else have pulled their weight, you have slept, read books, slept, had an occasional conversation with either Elizabeth or Anamaria, read some more books, slept, spent time with Jack whenever he could spare it, and slept some more. You feel as if you’ve slept more than ever in your life. But resting plenty has admittedly proven rewarding: your body has slowly but certainly been recovering slightly from the brutal ordeal. Your muscles no longer sent painful jolts through you at each and every move, although the all-around soreness still lingered. Your skin is a little less dappled by bruises than it was five days ago: the smallest ones have started to disappear entirely and even the largest, nastiest ones have lost colour somewhat. Most of the small scratches on your skin have also faded into barely noticeable pink lines, and the skin on soles of your feet is now mostly unbroken – even if still tender. To play it safe, you keep them lightly bandaged even now.

No, you could not be called ‘fully recuperated’ yet, not by a long shot, but you do feel well enough to finally get up and spend at least a little time on deck today; the mere thought of feeling the fresh, salty sea-air on your face and warm sunlight upon your skin is downright divine and only spurs on your determination to leave the bed further.

A strong sense of purpose washes through you, and you throw aside the blanket and carefully swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare toes resting upon the smooth floorboards as you contemplate your appearance, stubbornly pushing aside the aches that occur at your movements. You were already wearing your breeches, but you decide you want your own shirt. You have been wearing one of Jack’s light shirts while confined in bed, and despite tightening the strings on the front to close the gaping neckline, it still isn’t a garment in which you feel comfortable in going outside amongst the crew; least not without wearing anything underneath it.

Drawing in a breath, you set your entire weight carefully on your feet, pushing yourself upright little by little and taking a moment to ascertain everything was all right. You inhale and close your eyes as a wave of dizziness washes over you. You keep on breathing deeply, and after a moment the feeling mercifully passes. You open your eyes again slowly, wary of another spell, but the second one never comes.

You find that your muscles do not protest as much as you’d expected when you move – or at least not as much as they did some days ago, when every move would’ve brought forth a painful groan from your lips had you not doggedly forced them in. Hence in comparison, the soreness you feel now is tolerable, if very unpleasant – it was all a matter of viewpoint, really. Your soles tingle curiously under the bandages, but do not actually ache. A tiny smile of triumph lifts the corners of your mouth at this small victory, and slowly, you begin to walk over to your very own sea chest that now contained what little personal items and clothes you possessed. Anamaria and Elizabeth had been kind enough to bring them over yesterday from the cabin you’d shared with the first mate for a year. Despite all the gibes Anamaria had given you about being finally able to rest her nights without having to listen to you snore and mumble in your sleep, you think you caught a fleeting timbre of despondency in her voice. You’d felt it, as well. Despite being extremely happy about the new turn in your relationship with Jack, you would miss the calm moments every night when you and Anamaria would lie in your hammocks and talk this and that before falling asleep, your topics ranging from serious, grave matters to entirely frivolous ones. She’d become a true friend to you, one you could always count on. She was just the kind of friend you wish you’d had earlier on in your life.

Casting a fond look over your shoulder at your friend as you reach the chest, you notice that Anamaria is still engrossed in her book. Or gives out the impression of being so: you know better than to be fooled. She has in all likeliness kept one eye on you the entire time. Shrewd woman, if ever there was one. Pushing up the heavy lid of the chest, you grit your teeth together as your arms ache over of the movement. You drive away the instinctive reaction to rub your arms to dispel the lingering vestiges of soreness from them as you become mindful of Anamaria’s scrutinizing gaze settling on your back. Stiffly sitting back on your hunches, you rifle through the neat stack of clothes on the left side of the trunk, careful not to make too much of a mess while you’re at it. A small sound of triumph escapes your lips as you locate your old, sleeveless shirt, the sturdy black fabric somewhat frayed in places. Nevertheless, it was one of your best shirts, and you wouldn’t be getting rid of it anytime soon. Pulling the shirt out of the chest, you straighten your spine and give the lid a slight shove, letting the gravity handle the rest. The lid slams shut with a dull noise, and you brace one hand against it as you push yourself on your feet once again, stifling a pained groan.

“You sure this is such a good idea?” Anamaria asks as you hobble back to sit on the end of the bed, sounding rather sceptical.

You smirk as you start loosening the drawstring of the shirt, glancing briefly at Anamaria. Her eyes are still fixed on the pages of the book. “Aye, Ana,” you respond evenly, gingerly pulling your arms from the billowing sleeves and inside the shirt, grunting as you feel a fierce sting somewhere about your shoulder blade. “I’m absolutely certain this is a marvellous idea,” you go on, the sentence slightly choppy as the twinges of pain make you involuntarily catch your breath while you struggle to rid yourself of the shirt that clearly refuses to co-operate.

Anamaria snorts as you start pushing the shirt off, the neckline slipping over your head. “Aye, a marvellous idea indeed.”

That tone of Anamaria’s is very easily recognizable: you don’t even need to see her face in order to do that. “Don’t you roll your eyes, Anamaria,” you comment from within the shirt, giving a small growl of frustration as you yank at the stubborn shirt, finally managing to pull it over your head, your ruffled hair sticking in every which way. “Eye-rolling is my forte,” you go on with a wide grin.

“Well, excuse me,” Anamaria responds sarcastically, but chuckles a little. Glancing at you as you’re discarding the shirt, she points out amusedly, “Someone could walk in, you know.”

Now it’s your turn to snort. You know only a few people would walk, and only one person without bothering to knock first – and that would be Jack. “Let them, then,” you reply in carefree tone as you stiffly work the sleeveless shirt over your head, smirking. “They’re only a pair of glands, anyway.”

Anamaria shakes her head but smirks back, wry mirth lacing her words as she again concentrates on her book. “Well, they are your glands, who am I to tell you what to do with ‘em...”

You chuckle as you the shirt down your torso, liking the familiarity of the garment. Abruptly you realize you forgot to take a shirt to pull over the black top from the chest. Mentally rebuking yourself, you decide you can’t be bothered to make another trip to the chest, but instead grab the shirt you just discarded and pull it on once more, tugging at the drawstrings in the front to shrink the dipping neckline slightly but leaving them untied. Pushing the loose sleeves up to your elbows, you proceed to bend down slowly to grab one of your boots from the floorboards where they’ve been discarded days earlier, lying nearly all the way under the bed. Wicked jolts of dull ache shoot across your back at the movement, making you pause involuntarily and catch your breath sharply. Hastily, you school your features back to normal before Anamaria sees your discomfort.

Having caught your small gasp, Anamaria watched as you carefully pulled one boot on and bent to grab the other with a doubtful frown. She knew you truly were not well enough physically yet to be walking around, at least not for very long. But as it were, that mulish hard-headedness of yours sometimes won over common sense when you got some idea in your head that you simply had to follow through, or at least try your very hardest to. This was obviously one of those times. She knew there was little she could say to deter you now, so why waste her breath? She would leave that part for Jack. Anamaria met you gaze as you stood up and turned around to face her, both boots now on.

“Going now. Bye,” you smiled without a care in the world, your tone belying all signs of discomfort Anamaria had witnessed with her own eyes mere moments ago – she had to admit, you knew how to put on a convincing show. With that, you turned again and began making your way towards the entrance of the quarters.

Anamaria didn’t say a word; merely followed you progress with her gaze. Your walk was slow and stiff like all your movements, but you’d already made it over half-way and still not showing any obvious signs of tiring, like you’d done on all the previous times. One dark eyebrow rose as Anamaria witnessed you almost reach the doors, only some odd feet away from them. She really is going to do it this time, Anamaria thought to herself, a smile of amusement flickering briefly across her lips.

Determinately, you grabbed the handle and pushed open the door, stepping outside and closing it in your wake, leaving behind only silence. Anamaria shook her head, setting her eyes back on the passage she’d been reading. She’d finish the chapter she had been reading before appearing at the deck to accept Jack’s rants about letting you get out of the bed. It would actually be fun to trade a few barbs with the daft Captain and watch him jerk his head back at each of her sudden hand movements in fear of getting slapped – Anamaria had noticed a while back he did that every time she unexpectedly raised her hand a little higher. Which was why she’d started to do that during their spats a little more often nowadays; some things were simply too amusing to pass up.

* * * *

The cool, fresh air that fills your nostrils and blows gently against your skin the moment you set your feet upon the deck feels absolutely heavenly. For a moment you merely stand still with your hand resting on the handle of the door, drawing in deep breaths while gazing out to the sea, watching the vibrant shades of blue swirling and melding together in the lazy waves. The sun is behind the Pearl’s rudder, the entrance of the Captain’s quarters shaded from the bright afternoon glare by the deck above. You’d had some fresh air from an open window while under bed rest, but that was really a poor substitute to the wonderful breeze that blows from the sea, far beyond the horizon.

Focusing your attention, you shift your gaze from the blue surfs to the bustling activity upon the Pearl’s decks, your eyes wandering from the familiar forms of the crewmembers attending to their everyday duties to two, similarly familiar persons practising the fine art of fencing some odd yards away from you in the middle of the deck, away from the crewmen’s paths. You tilt your head to the side contemplatively as you stand still before the entrance of the Captain’s quarters, just watching the two people move; one with sure, practiced ease, and the other slightly more hesitantly, watching the other and mirroring his moves. That was Will was teaching Elizabeth how to use a blade.

You take in Elizabeth’s attire, realizing it’s the same one in which she sneaked out of the Governor’s mansion with you several days ago. A grin spreads to your lips as you watch Elizabeth nod to something Will is explaining her, before launching into a carefully choreographed series of thrusts and parries, the familiar clashes of blade meeting blade reaching your ears easily. Your brows rise in admiration as you watch Elizabeth. Her timing and form is wonderful for a beginner. You see that Will is obviously proud to agree with you, judging by the wide grin on his lips as he speaks to his fiancée again when they come to halt, their blades still held against one another.

You watch them a little while longer from your shaded vantage point, your respect for both growing after each sparring bout. You knew beforehand that Will had considerable skill when it came to handling a blade, but he also seems to be a talented teacher as well. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is obviously a quick learner or just has some natural knack for handling the nature of fencing so admirably – she couldn’t had been practising for longer than a few days, or at least she has not mentioned anything of the sort to you before. Well, those lessons would hardly go amiss. You have a foreboding feeling that you’ll all need skills with a weapon of some sort tomorrow. Not wanting to dwell longer on the ominous reflection, you resolutely push it aside and finally start making your slow way towards Will and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth in the first to notice you, a brilliant smile on her lips as she takes a quick look in your way. Her reaction makes Will frown in puzzlement and instinctively mimic her glance; you give a cheery smile and a small wave as Will’s eyes land on you. Elizabeth takes advantage of Will’s momentary lack of attention immediately and swings her blade sharply against his, disarming him with a triumphant cry. Will snaps his gaze back to Elizabeth, shifting it from her victorious grin to his sword that lies uselessly on the deck – you grin amusedly at his agape expression.

“Excellent work, Lizzie!” you compliment with an approving nod of your head. “You’re a natural.”

Will puts his hands on his hips, looking back at his bride-to-be with a raised brow. “That was a dirty trick, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s grin hardly falters. “But didn’t you just tell me to look for weaknesses in the opponents defence and use them to my advantage? That’s exactly what I did!”

“She’s got a point there,” you put in with a raised finger. “It was a perfectly acceptable move.”

“Perhaps to a pirate it would’ve been,” Will counters, a tiny small tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, then. Company makes alike, I suppose,” Elizabeth replies pleasantly.

Will chuckles as he takes a few steps to the side, picking up his sword. “Very well,” he allows, sheathing the fine blade. “As long as it doesn’t become a habit! I had enough of dirty tricks from Jack a year ago,” he adds with dry mirth. “That man doesn’t know how to fight fair.”

“It just so happened that I was a little rushed back then and really didn’t have the time to put up with a by-the-book match against a righteous blacksmith with a scorn for pirates,” Jack’s voice suddenly drawls lazily from behind you, tinged with amusement.

You turn your head a little to glance at his face as Jack halts his leisurely swagger beside you, his attention fixed on Will but his right hand coming to settle lightly over the small of your back, the caring gesture and the warmth of his palm causing a small smile of pleasure to pass over your lips.

Will crosses his arms and raises a brow at Jack, an unexpected, downright devious smirk starting to spread on his lips. “Strange. I seem to remember that you resorted to questionable tactics only after I’d disarmed you of your cutlass, fairly and without trickery.”

The expectant, amused gazes are all on Jack now, who actually has to pause to think of a comeback to that claim – albeit, a very short one.

“Which would naturally be another reason for my ‘cheating’, as you so called it,” Jack responds with his typical nonchalance, never one to lose his face. “Still, I didn’t expect you to be that persistent. Would you really have taken a bullet in your head just to keep me from my getaway?” Jack questions with his eyes narrowed in thought, head slanted slightly to the side. He’s quite cleverly steering the conversation away from him, you observe privately with a smile.

“And would you really have shot me if not for mister Brown’s intervention?” Will counters craftily. “With a bullet intended for another, no less?”

Jack makes a dismissive motion with his free hand as if to wave away the question, rolling his eyes – you know he certainly wouldn’t be admitting anything aloud, with his reputation to protect. Unfortunately for him, all the people in immediate vicinity already knew that Jack wasn’t as ignorant or uncaring as he liked to present himself as being. That didn’t stop Jack from trying to convince otherwise, though, you doubted nothing would; but in the end, the fact that Jack was a good man under that bravado remained unchanged. A good man with a handful of character faults and shortcomings that made themselves known occasionally, but a good man, nonetheless. He knew the fundamental wrong from right, which was often more important than knowing the lawful wrong from right.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know that now, will we?” Jack replies in frivolous manner, flashing a quick smirk. “But do go on with the lessons! Elizabeth; looking good, exceptional form. Some sloppiness with the defence here and there…” Jack trails off under Elizabeth’s warning glare, adding quickly, “But that’s already improving nicely! Come along, luv,” he addresses his next words to you, applying gentle pressure on the hand resting upon your back, “Why don’t we leave the lovebirds to their practises.”

Elizabeth hides a smile as you roll your eyes at her, allowing Jack to guide you away while Will and Elizabeth pick up the lessons. From the corner of your eye, you see that Anamaria has taken over the helm, having apparently followed your example and left the cabin not long after you. Jack’s hand slides from your back to your waist, his arm settling about your middle in a gesture that’s more supportive rather than embracing, but you don’t really mind.

“Suppose you have a reasonable explanation as to why exactly you’re limping about the decks when you know you shouldn’t?” Jack finally asks dryly as you make your way towards the Pearl’s starboard side.

“I was bored,” you reply straightforwardly, expecting Jack’s query on the matter.

“Not reasonable enough,” Jack states, a small edge of amusement in his tone. “Care to try again or should I just save everyone’s time and haul you back inside myself?”

You cast a narrow-eyed look at Jack, speaking warningly, “Jack, I love you, but I will slap you if you dare try that. Or mention that I need rest.”

“You do need rest,” Jack counters smoothly. “And getting on your nerves is hardly why I keep reminding you of that.”

A pang of shame goes through you at those softly spoken words, dissipating your slight annoyance entirely. You heave a sigh; Jack is only looking after you because he cares, and there is no reason to be tetchy about it.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you apologise quietly, dry humour in your following words. “All this laying about doing nothing makes me a bit short-tempered, I guess.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Jack smirks. “Well, at least you’re not throwing things.”

“Nah, I save that for when I get truly angry,” you grin broadly. “So for future reference, consider yourself cautioned.”

Jack raises a brow as he glances at you, his smirk never fading. “Are you actually implying that I’d be capable of driving you to a state where you feel the need to throw things?”

You chuckle. “Jack, I have a feeling that we’ll drive each other to our wits’ end more than a few times…”

“Aye, you could be right in that,” Jack admits slowly after a moment, a sly grin forming on his lips as he leans down slightly to murmur in your ear, “But think of what fun we’ll have making up afterwards.”

You laugh, thumping your hand lightly against his chest in mockery of a reprimand. “You really do always see the bright side in everything, don’t you?” you remark with a fond smile as you finally reach the sable rail, resting one hand upon the smooth wood.

“It’s far more inspiring than brooding over the bad, certainly,” Jack replies with a small smile. “And speaking of inspiration… any ideas as to what we should do after we’re rid of this entire debacle with the Abyss once and for all?”

You worry your lower lip slightly with your teeth while gazing out at the vast ocean before you, quietly voicing the ominous thought that abruptly enters your mind, “What if we won’t make it through the next skirmish unscathed?”

Jack gazes down at you sharply, frowning. “What nonsense is that? ‘Course we will!” he states with adamant confidence, his arm around you tightening its hold carefully and drawing you closer to him still, his free hand reaching out to turn your head gently to face him. “You listen to me now, and listen good. Whatever will happen on that island isn’t going to get the best of us. We’ve been through plenty of predicaments by now and always made it out more or less on top. Know why?” he asks, his voice dropping to a whisper, one finger drawing an unhurried path along your jawbone.

You gaze intently into Jack’s beautiful brown eyes that are so close to yours, tilting your head to the side a fraction in a questioning manner, suddenly feeling unwilling to put your query into words.

The smallest smile lifts the corners of Jack’s mouth as he leans in slightly, his forehead almost touching yours. “Because we’re immortal together, you and I,” he replies in a husky murmur meant for your ears only. “Never doubt that, darling.”

Your slow smile is tinged with fleeting sadness as your rational mind contradicts Jack’s statement and deems it impossible; and yet another part of you holds onto the belief in which nothing is impossible – just slightly improbable. You’re more inclined to believe the latter choice. You lower your chin so that your forehead rests against Jack’s, nodding once as you stare into his eyes. “Immortal,” you whisper in agreement, smiling fully. “And Tortuga.”

With a puzzled expression on his face, Jack pulls away from you slightly. “Tortuga?”

“Aye, Tortuga,” you repeat with a grin. “That’s where I’d like to go after this mess if finally over. I would love to visit your uncle and his lovely wife again and get to know them a little better.”

Jack blinks with an air of astonishment. “You would?”

“Of course I would!” you exclaim, bemused as to why Jack would think anything else. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“Well,” Jack begins, pausing as he shrugs his shoulders a little, “They’re a little peculiar sort of people...”

You snort, an amused smile on your lips as you retort, “In case you haven’t noticed, Jack, you beat them in peculiarity fivefold and still I’m knowingly involved with you. Trust me, peculiar people are not a problem for me.”

Grinning, Jack snakes his both of his arms about your middle. “Tortuga it shall be, then. Yet another excellent choice, luv.”

“Naturally,” you smirk back, enjoying the feel of Jack’s arms around you and his palms against your back. Suddenly mindful of all the curious eye pairs upon you and Jack, you go on wryly, “People are staring at us, you know.”

“Mmm. They’ve been doing so for a while already,” Jack replies, typically unflustered. His expression grows sly as he goes on, “Guess we should give them something to gawk at, then.”

You raise your brows curiously, but Jack closes the few inches of space between you and captures your lips with his, kissing you softly and slowly. Immediately, the air is filled with loud whistling and animated catcalling from the crew, some of the slightly lewder things hollered causing you to snicker in the kiss and finally pull away with a chuckle. Jack turns his head to look at the handful of crewmen crowding the deck.

“I assume you men are looking for more work, seeing as you have the time to just stand around and do nothing?” Jack addresses the men sarcastically, smirking in amusement as they mumble their excuses with a slight air of awkwardness and sluggishly begin to disperse, returning to their duties. “And you,” he turns his gaze back to you, “You are going back inside now. Really, you need your rest – and enough with the eye-rolling, I mean it.”

You huff a little in exasperation, not really fancying the idea of going back inside when you only just got out, but knowing at the same time that if Jack got it in his head to make you go, he would – even if it meant carrying you there against your will. Flat out, obstinate refusal would likely prompt that reaction out of him; hence another tactic is required now. And that would be guile.

“Fine. Alright, I’ll go,” you reply, sighing a little.

Jack’s eyes narrow immediately in suspicion. “No griping or whinging?”

Lifting one finger in the air, you ignore Jack and go on, “Under one condition!”

“You’re in no position to be bargaining, luv.”

“Two hours!” you put in quickly, undaunted by Jack’s piercing look. “Two hours out, and then I’ll go back inside, no complaints. Fresh air is good for the recovery, you know, I’m already feeling a lot better!”

“No. You can’t sweet-talk yourself out of this one,” Jack counters, a small smirk of amusement tugging at his lips.

Damn it. This wasn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped. Pig-headed man! With an inward sigh, you decide to crank up what little female charm you have as the last resort. Lowering your chin a little, you gaze up at Jack through your lashes pleadingly, mimicking the behaviour you’ve seen the women in the Faithful Bride use successfully when wanting something from the opposite sex.

“Please, Jack?” you entreat in a soft, husky tone, lifting your hand to trail your index finger in erratic little patterns over his chest, where the warm skin is left bare by the neckline of his shirt. “Just for a few hours… I promise I’ll take it easy...”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking as you see Jack swallow, his jaw tightening a bit; he’s clearly trying his best to hold onto his decision before your beseeching gaze. Going for the kill before Jack gets a hold of himself, you purse your lips into a small pout, careful not to over-do it – that does the trick, for Jack squeezes his eyes shut and makes an exasperated noise between a growl and a hiss, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “not the pout” to you, but then, you could’ve been mistaken. You make a quick work of wiping the victorious smirk from your lips as Jack snaps his eyes open, staring at you sternly and pulling one hand away from your waist, pointing the forefinger at you.

“One hour,” Jack grounds out. “One hour and not a minute longer, savvy?”

“One hour,” you confirm with a nod, beaming with satisfaction while Jack heaves a sigh of defeat.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this…” he pauses to glance back down at you, his tone wry as he goes on, “but you cheated.”

Pecking him quickly on the lips, you grin. “Someone told me not very long ago that pirates don’t have to play fair.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “And I wonder who that could’ve possibly been,” he mutters sarcastically, mostly to himself.

You chuckle in amusement. “You’re such a sore loser, Jack,” you remark affectionately, patting your hand against his chest a few times as if to comfort him. “Now… find us a little something to eat? It’s strange how just lying about builds one an appetite.”

Jack gives you a wry look, releasing you long enough to situate himself beside you once more, one arm sliding about you. “If that keeps you from using any more of my words against me, your wish is my command.”

You give a small laugh as you stroll slowly alongside Jack towards the stairs below. “You’re dangerously close to being what people call ‘henpecked’, you know.”

“I assure you it’s all very temporary,” Jack counters with a devious smirk. “You’d best be on your guard for a little payback as soon as you get better.”

“Hah. I’d like to see you try.”

Jack chuckles. “You will, make no mistake...”

You trade barbs with each other all the way down to the galley, the familiar banter taking your mind off entirely of your aches and the dismal day that would be dawning tomorrow.

* * * * *

A/N: Well, this chapter... was a little difficult to write. It is what it is, I frankly wasn't entirely happy with it... but that's just me. I hope you still like it, mates! The plot is finally starting to thicken and the final confrontation is not far away... what does Delgado have planned and which party will get to the Abyss first? Stay tuned for Chapter 42 - Collision Courses. Until then, ta ta!

* * * * *

CHAPTER 42 – Collision Courses

As you stand on the busy deck of the Black Pearl, taking in the new surroundings, you come to a decision that Guadeloupe is indeed beautiful – but then, most islands in the Caribbean were. The white sand climbs high upon the land from the clear waters before a gently rustling wall of lush, jungle-like greenery halts it, spreading out as far as the eye can see. In the distance, the ground ascends gradually, rising to green slopes teeming with trees and shrubberies; but the most dominant feature in the scenery before you looms above the green hills: a chain of rocky mountains, especially the largest one of them. It’s a peculiarly dark one, a steady, lazy stream of gray vapor rising from the highest peak of its uneven, vaguely table-like shape – enough tips to realize that it’s most likely volcanic. And naturally, that was more or less where you would be heading soon enough, for the X on the map was not too far away from the base of the said volcano.

You can’t quite curb the weary sigh that passes from your lips at the thought of what lies ahead of you. It has finally come to this; somewhere out there, hidden in the midst of those rocky mountains and lush foliage rests the earthly remains of the ancient Abyss, along with her fabled treasures and the cursed sword of Aeneas – a blade that had to be found and destroyed before Delgado got her hands on it. Were the Spaniard to get a hold of the weapon, the consequences had every chance of being utterly unthinkable. If the story about the malicious curse attached to the sword was indeed true and it made people turn against each other in blind rage, Delgado could single-handedly wipe out entire nations if she were to unleash the curse somewhere densely populated and significant… you wouldn’t put that idea past her.

Still, you suspect that her fierce hatred for you and your parentage might be stronger than her liking for death and devastation. Either way, the undertaking looming before you and your friends is far from being uplifting. But if there was one positive thing to be found in this, it was the fact that Delgado and her crew were left far behind the Pearl and the Dauntless, giving you and your friends the advantage: if you were quick, you might make it to the Abyss and perhaps even back again before the shabby Spanish galleon would loom in the sun-gilded horizon. And if not, Commodore Norrington had ascertained that the Dauntless was fully prepared for a battle, and the Pearl would offer assistance if needed.

Almost without conscious though, your left hand steals up to settle against your back in hopes to rub away the ache in the muscles, but in vain; the sores still persist. You would be lying if you claimed you weren’t worried about your current physical shape. The travel over to the ancient ship was one thing, but if for one reason or the other Delgado did catch up and it did come down to a battle with her, you weren’t certain how well you’d be able to hold your ground with a blade. You’re perfectly aware of your reduced stamina and the sore stiffness that still lingers on your limbs. But there was nothing to be done about that now, apart from biting your teeth and bearing the pain. You aren’t exactly brimming with enthusiasm to go roving deep into the lush island, but staying aboard the Pearl was simply out of the question and a luxury you couldn’t afford; if the curse was unleashed, you are in all likeliness the only person who can break it. A cold shiver goes through you at the notion, as always happened when you thought about this elusive prophetess business. It’s all quite disconcerting, really, no matter how hard you tried not to put too much weight upon the matter.

A warm hand settles on your shoulder, and you unconsciously lean your side slightly against Jack’s as he comes to stand beside you, his arm curled about your shoulder blades. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” Jack tells you quietly, the small, jovial lilt in his tone not quite hiding the small hope he has that you’d indeed change your mind.

You smile slightly, touched by his worry, and place your own hand over his larger one that rests on your shoulder. You’d had this conversation with Jack last night, as he had pointed out the fact that Delgado was still a good way behind; if they were swift, then you might not need to come along after all but stay aboard the Pearl while Jack and Will got rid of the sword. You knew very well he was worried about your health as well, which had prompted the suggestion. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about it as well, but it was simply a too big of a risk to take.

“We already went through this last night, Jack,” you remind softly, glancing at him. “You know as well as I that I have to be there. Just in case.”

Nodding his head once, Jack heaves a small, weary sigh. “I know.”

Squeezing his hand gently, you give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. You know me, I’ll tough it out.”

Jack chuckles quietly at this, a tiny smile passing over his lips. “Yes, I know very well you will,” he agrees while catching your gaze with his, tone solemn as he adds softly, “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“None of us should really have to be in this fix, but there’s nothing to be done about that now,” you point out, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly. “We’re all together in this mess.”

“Which means,” Jack begins emphatically, a resolute expression on his face. “You’ll not stray away from my sight this time, savvy? No exceptions of any sort on this, especially when you’re still on the mend. Do I make myself clear enough?”

You sigh in slight aggravation, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Yes, perfectly so. Really, Jack, you make it sound as if I’d bound off the moment you look elsewhere!”

“And can you honestly find fault with that?” Jack counters dryly with a raised brow.

“…Ouch,” you mutter after a moment of silence, frowning at the veiled reprimand. A low blow, to be sure, but suppose a deserved one, all the same. Nevertheless, you cannot stop an annoyed mutter from escaping your mouth, “How much longer will you keep reminding me about that?”

Jack fixes you with a serious, intent look. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you again, and I fully intend to keep that promise,” he says as he watches you, an edge of steel in his smooth voice. “Don’t even for a moment believe otherwise.”

Your irritation melts away. What can you really say to that? Jack’s tone of voice is leaving no room for arguments or second-guesses. Your father loved you deeply and his crewmen cared for you, but you believe none has ever cared about you in such unconditional way as Jack does, and the awareness causes such a fierce wave of affection and appreciation to wash through you that it strikes you speechless. You’ve always considered yourself to be reasonably fluent with words and swift comebacks, but ever since entering into an intimate relationship with Jack, finding yourself bereft of words seems to have become a fairly common occurrence for you. Such just happened once again, for try as you might, you can’t seem to find the words that would suitably convey even a fraction the emotions you feel within and do them justice. You come to a decision that sometimes words simply were not enough, and give up from trying to find the correct ones. You hope Jack can read your love from your eyes and your smile instead, before you give into your whimsical urge and lay your head against his shoulder, wanting this brief moment of closeness before departing to the island. Fleetingly, Jack’s fingers curl tighter about your shoulder in silent reassurance, his arm about you pressing your frame closer to his. You close your eyes tiredly, inhaling Jack’s familiar scent and relishing the calmness of the momentary lull, for once not caring one damn if someone should see you appearing so weak and in need of Jack’s support, both physical and emotional.

You don’t know if you’ve stood there for a half a minute or five full ones when Jack finally murmurs into your hair, vaguely reluctantly, “We have to go now, darling.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you lift your head from his shoulder and nod in understanding, straightening your spine. Determination replaces your earlier weariness as you look at Jack in the eyes. “Right. Let’s do this.”

Jack responds with a nod of his own, the corner of his mouth lifting fleetingly at your steadfast fortitude; not a trace of hesitation was there to be found neither in your tone nor your eyes. That was one of the things so typical for your character; when you made up your mind, there was very little that could sway you or deter you from seeing things through. You called it willpower, whereas Jack saw it as stubbornness. It was a double-edged sword if there ever was one, and still it was a trait that Jack couldn’t even begin to imagine you without. No matter the harrowing trouble it could manage to land you and those around you in. He truly must be mad, to love a woman like that, Jack thought with amusement, thought he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jack leads you over to where few of the crewmen are preparing to lower the boat, Will and Elizabeth standing close by waiting with Anamaria and Gibbs, who is busy taking a swig out of his trusty flask he never seems to leave behind.

“Captain,” Gibbs acknowledges with a slight cough as you and Jack draw closer, quickly corking and pocketing his flask. “The men know their stands and their priorities should it come to blows with Delgado. Ladbroc has command till we get back, and I daresay he knows his responsibility.”

Jack raises his brow at this bit of information, glancing from Gibbs to Anamaria and back to Gibbs. “The pair of you want to come along?”

“On a possibly dicey venture into unexplored territories?” Gibbs reiterates, cracking a sudden grin. “Aye, why not?”

You smile in amusement and Jack chuckles, smirking at the older man. “Gibbs, my good man, you have a hidden streak for dodgy undertakings and a bit of brawling, it seems. And what would be your excuse, Anamaria?”

Anamaria narrows her eyes a fraction, speaking up wryly, “As if leaving something of this magnitude in your hands bodes anything good.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “As always, you inspire me with your unwavering trust,” he replies, heavy sarcasm lacing his voice. “My heartfelt thanks.” Anamaria merely gives a smirk in response, prompting Jack to go on with a touch of exasperation, gesturing impatiently with his hands, “If everyone would kindly relocate themselves in the boat now, we might even get started on this little relic hunt of ours.”

While you obey Jack’s demand with a roll of your eyes along with Elizabeth and Will, Ladbroc’s arrival diverts Jack’s attention. With narrowed eyes, he addresses the towering second mate of the Pearl. “Ladbroc?”

Ladbroc straightens his spine. “Aye, Captain?”

“I’ve one requirement I expect you to hold on to during these following hours under all circumstances... no holes on my ship.”

You’re not quite certain, but you think you see a ghost of a smile ever so fleetingly tug at the corner of Ladbroc’s mouth, but his tone is dead-serious as he responds, “Naturally not, sir.”

Jack nods, satisfied with the answer. “Good man.”

As Jack turns around to climb in the boat, now you do indeed see an amused smile spreading to Ladbroc’s lips. He however wipes it off with impressively quick reflexes as Jack unexpectedly turns his torso a bit to glance at the taller man once more over his shoulder, right index finger raised. “That also includes dents and other such scores–”

“Drag your daft self in the bloody boat already!” Anamaria’s irritable shout interrupts Jack, who turns around to shoot an irked glare at the impatient first mate, while Ladbroc, Will, Elizabeth and you unsuccessfully try to keep the amusement from showing on your faces.

“Should’ve listened to Gibbs when he declared women aboard were bad luck,” Jack grouses to himself – though not exactly quietly – as he seats himself in the prow of the boat, causing Anamaria to throw a narrow-eyed look at the said quartermaster and poor Gibbs to choke slightly on the mouthful he just took from his flask prior to Jack’s comment.

“Mother’s love, Jack!” Gibbs splutters hastily between coughs, “Don’t ye dare go pulling me into this!”

You breathe out a long-suffering sigh as the crewmen begin lowering the boat, remarks and retorts flying back and forth between Jack, Anamaria and Gibbs. You glance at Will and Elizabeth who seem to be torn between amusement and exasperation, speaking up dryly, “See what I put up with everyday?”

* * * *

The river flows through the thick forests like a serpent, occasional, small creeks breaking away from the main brook and slithering to the sides, cutting through the rich foliage and disappearing from view soon after. The jungle around the river is alive with dozens of different birds calling out to each other, with a lazy wind weaving through the high treetops, gently rustling the leaves and branches. Every now and then, you can spot dashes of reds and yellows amidst the vivid shades of green where the exotic flowers still lean towards the already waning sunlight of the early evening.

Upon further examination of different maps about the island, both the ancient, cloven one as well as slightly more recent charts, it was decided that the most sensible way of reaching the Abyss was to take advantage of the small river that lead from the coast all the way past the mountain, where the ancient vessel was supposed to lie. And so here you were now, all six of you crammed into the boat that Will and Gibbs were steadily rowing ahead in the sluggish stream. The river was not too wide, perhaps only four, five times as wide as your boat, but still the slowness of the current in it was somewhat perplexing. The train of thought escapes your mind, however, as Anamaria’s elbow accidentally collides with your side, making you hiss aloud as pain blooms in the sore muscles.

“Ow!” you gripe. “Watch it a little, please!”

“Sorry,” Anamaria returns, her irritable tone belying the meaning of the word. “But there’s hardly enough room here for three! Can’t you shove over a bit?” Anamaria addresses her words to Elizabeth, who’s sitting next to her.

“To where, exactly?” Elizabeth demands tartly. “I’m already pressed against the side as it is!”

Anamaria makes a frustrated noise, glancing at you. “There has to be more room on that side,” she says bluntly.

“But there isn’t,” you return curtly. “I can’t shrink my hips at will, you know!”

“Ladies, ladies, keep calm,” Jack interjects lazily from his place in the prow, seeming vaguely amused by the bickering.

“Easy for you to say, Sparrow,” Anamaria hisses in annoyance.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth agrees slowly with narrowed eyes. “Why is it, exactly, that you have the front all to yourself while the three of us have to cram ourselves on this one seat?”

“The prow, luv,” Jack corrects with a small smirk. “It’s the Captain’s prerogative. Besides, logically, the greater weight needs to be situated in the stern…” Jack’s words trail off slowly as the weight of three peeved glares lands upon him, prompting a nervous smile for the pirate. “I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, really,” he mutters.

“That was smooth,” Will comments, mirth in his soft tone.

“I hope that wasn’t supposed to imply anything, Jack?” you say, in a deceivingly sweet voice that Jack knows promises trouble – for him.

“What I meant to say, of course, is that you ladies with your more…” Jack pauses, desperately searching for the correct words. “Delicate… attributes can better fit your respective selves there.”

Will is obviously greatly entertained by Jack’s predicament. “Great save, Jack,” he says wryly.

“When I wish for your opinion, whelp, I’ll ask for it, alright?” Jack hisses between his teeth, obviously not nearly as amused as Will is.

Elizabeth seems somewhat willing to let the matter pass, rolling her eyes, but Anamaria is glaring at Jack over Gibbs’ head and your brows are knit together in as you similarly stare at Jack.

“Attributes…?” you finally repeat slowly, torn between hilarity and incredulity over the choice of word.

“Delicate?” Anamaria cries out in affront. “Delicate! You meaning to insinuate we’re weak in some way?!”

Jack throws his hands up in the air in frustration, rolling his eyes. “There’s simply no pleasing women, is there?!”

Gibbs heaves a weary sigh, one hand patting his vest in search of the flask hidden beneath – you hope the trip is not much longer, lest the quartermaster drinks himself into stupor before reaching your destination – while Will chuckles in blatant amusement.

But before another word can be uttered, an explosive, dull boom suddenly fills the air, the deep, rumbling noise alike a distant crack of thunder; a small wave of tremors sweeps instantly across the surface the river, and the wildlife in the forests goes silent as if it were never there. The phenomenon is over as soon as it started, leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Only the dribbling of droplets from the oars into the river can be heard, both Will and Gibbs having unconsciously lifted them from the water. After some odd seconds that feel like hours, the birds in the woods slowly begin calling out again, but the sense of unease still lingers.

“What on earth was that?” Elizabeth breaks the silence in the boat, sounding slightly shaken.

“Likely the mountain we’re heading towards. Well, a volcano, really,” Jack replies in the typical, unfussy manner of his. “Must say I wasn’t expecting it to be that lively, though.”

Elizabeth blinks. “That mountain is a volcano?”

Jack frowns slightly, looking puzzled. “Did I fail to mention that before?”

“Yes, you did!” Elizabeth snaps, accusation in her brown eyes.

“Oh,” Jack replies, very much unperturbed. “Well, then. It’s a volcano. More to the right, Will,” he instructs and taps Will once on his shoulder with one finger as the river begins curving to the right.

You have no doubt Elizabeth would readily slap Jack if she could reach him. Will glances behind his shoulder at Jack, speaking up before Elizabeth has the chance to reprimand Jack with furious words. “Then can we be sure it’s safe to go anywhere near it?” he asks, plunging the oar deep in the water while Gibbs lifts his from the river, the boat slowly but surely turning to the right.

Jack waves his hand dismissively, his tone unconcerned as he responds, “The thing hasn’t erupted since God knows when. Besides, we don’t have too much of a choice here, now do we? That’s enough, straight ahead,” he adds, and Gibbs resumes rowing in sync with Will – you notice absently that the stream is even more sluggish now and that the entire river appears to be slightly narrower, as well. The leafy branches of some of the trees growing on the riverbank nod over the water, casting rippling shadows upon the surface.

“Just because it hasn’t erupted in a while doesn’t mean it couldn’t do so,” Elizabeth points out, having calmed down but still sounding faintly irritable.

Gibbs chuckles with dark mirth. “That’d be one rotten bout of bad luck, eh!”

Anamaria snorts, glancing at the quartermaster. “Better hope ye didn’t just jinx us.”

“What in the devil is that?” You question abruptly, catching a glimpse of some strange structure looming ahead in the water.

Another silence descends upon the boat as everyone takes a look ahead, stunned by the sight. Wordlessly, Will and Gibbs stop rowing, allowing the oars to drag in the water and gradually slowing the boat down.

“Well, I’ll be…” Gibbs breathes as the boat slowly glides closer.

About twenty feet away from your boat, imbedded in the stream, stands a high wall of thick, wooden stakes from which the bark has been whittled away, the sharpened ends pointing towards the skies. The barrier clogs the entire river, stretching from one riverbank to the other. As your boat edges closer still, you can tell that the fence is about six and half feet high from the waterline, the poles roughly a palm’s width apart from one another. Masses of dead branches, leaves and other such things have gotten stuck on it – you now understand why the stream is so slow. Short but thick branches have been stuck horizontally between the vertical poles about twenty inches above the waterline, creating a curious bridge on the barrier. As unexpected as this construction is, you believe it to be the adornment of the fence that gives everyone such a pause.

Woven between the pickets are bones: long, ashen ones that distinctly resemble human shinbones. A group of smaller, curved bones that you guess are ribs hang from strings upon the stakes, waving slightly in the faint wind and beating together like a grotesque wind chime. The most shiver-inducing features in the barricade have to be the three human skulls that rest on top of the construction, having been impaled on the pointed ends of the stakes. There’s also a medium-sized, half-rotten bird of some sort, hung to dangle on the barrier from one leg; feathers in different colors have been stuck here and there along the stakes. All the while, the boat glides slowly closer to the foul fence, now only mere feet away from colliding with it.

“Suppose it’s safe to say we’re not the first ones to drop in on here,” Jack finally comments nonchalantly while standing up in the prow, lifting one leg and pushing the sole against the rudimentary bridge built into the barricade, bringing the boats already snail-paced advance to a complete halt.

“And safe to say there are obviously natives in here who do not appreciate visitors,” you add apprehensively, shifting your gaze from the unpleasant barricade to the similarly uneasy faces of your friends.

Jack gives a smirk. “Then we’ll just have to make sure our presence goes undetected, won’t we? To the shore then, lads and ladies, it seems we’re forced to continue by foot.”

“Undetected, aye?” Gibbs mutters dryly. “I think I’ve heard you say that one before…”

Jack merely makes a belittling noise from his throat and waves his hand, brushing the undermining comment away.

Getting out of the boat is a relief, quite frankly; all that sitting still was already starting to stiffen your muscles more than they already are, not to mention numbing your arse. Waiting for everyone else to clamber out of the boat and onto the land first, you get up on slightly aching feet as well, not shunning Jack’s assistance when he offers you his hand and helps you out of the boat.

“So,” Anamaria begins while tying the rope of the boat around one of the posts in the barricade, voicing the pressing question, “Where to?”

“We’ll follow the river,” Jack replies, having dug out a map from his pocket and scrutinizing it with a small frown of concentration. “That should takes us more or less where we’re supposed to go.”

“Should? More or less?” Elizabeth repeats questioningly, raising a brow.

“This map is aged, Elizabeth,” Jack points out. “And we have to consider the changes this land has gone through since it was drawn. But I’d hazard to guess this river here hasn’t changed its site too much from where it was in the past.”

“What about the builders of this?” Will questions, nodding his head at the construction. “They’re probably out there, and we have no way of knowing how badly we’re outnumbered.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Will,” you put in slowly, still getting the creeps about that blockade; you didn’t necessarily wish to come face to face with the party responsible about that.

Jack rolls his eyes. “Let’s try to keep a bit more positive outlook on things, mates!” he cries out, the map fluttering audibly in his grip as his hands make agitated gestures along with his exclamation. “This constant questioning isn’t building a constructive atmosphere. Besides, we were outnumbered the last time around as well and everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

“After a whole lot of peril and trouble, not to mention lack of trust,” Will remarks dryly in response.

Jack pretends not to hear that, instead lifting the map in his hands over his head, towards the waning sunlight, and studying it. “I wager we’ve only about half a mile–”

THOCK!

The dull, short sound echoes loudly in the quieted forest, and Jack’s eyes widen as he realizes there’s nothing in his hands anymore – instead, the map is skewered through by a crude, wooden arrow that has imbedded itself into a tree only a few feet away from Jack, the fletched end still quivering slightly at the force of the impact.

In stunned silence, your group stares across the river to the opposite bank, taking in a crowd of the island’s natives standing there. They are not looking very pleased. Their faces and bodies are painted with different symbols and shapes of many colors, many of the men have their wrists, ankles and necks adorned with makeshift jewelry made of bones. They walk barefoot, and wear either a leather loincloth or a skirt of some sort made out of some kind of long rushes that swish quietly in the faint wind. Most of them carry sharpened spears in their hands, but the tall one in the middle is clutching a bow, as crude as the arrow it fired. You’re betting that the stern expressions on their faces bode nothing good for anyone who trespasses on their lands.

“…Does he have a very good or a very bad aim?” Elizabeth whispers slowly, recovering her wits.

Jack takes a slow, careful side step towards you, all the while keeping an eye on the natives, his hand finding your wrist. “I, for one, have no interest to stay and find out…”

“Any ideas?” Gibbs asks in a low voice, as if speaking any louder would set the natives into attacking.

“One…” Jack replies while curling his fingers tight about your wrist.

“That is?”

“RUN!”

Oh no, the weary thought flashes through your mind for a second, before Jack’s hand clutching your wrist yanks you on the move and ceases all thoughts except one: ignore the pain and keep on running!

Jack pulls you with him into the lush forest flanking the sides of the river, both of you running as if the very flames of hell were licking at your backs. A cacophony of loud, bloodcurdling battle cries explodes behind your back, mixing with the sounds of bare feel slapping against the smooth wood poles of the barricade, the meaning for the makeshift bridge becoming very clear. Your heart hammers so hard you swear you can feel it slamming against your ribs as you dash through the foliage, desperately trying not to stumble on your aching legs, shoving aside leafy branches with your free hand as you go. Jack’s tight, near painful, grip on your wrist is the only focus point you have while running madly a pace behind him – and absurdly, a snort of laughter escapes your lips as you happen to take a quick glance in his direction, seeing how his free hand waves haphazardly about, not unlike a lizard running across water.

“Have you any idea where you’re going?” you shout to Jack as you continue to run, each stride painful for your thighs and soles, but the angry cries behind you force you to push the aches aside and concentrate on running.

“Anywhere away from them, that’s where!” Jack throws back, eliciting a yelp from you as he suddenly veers slightly more to the left, pulling you with him none too gently.

Hopping over a tiny tree stump and cursing aloud as a small branch slaps you in the face, you risk a quick glance over your shoulder in hoped to see where everyone else is. Your heart skips a beat as you cannot sight Will, Elizabeth, Gibbs or Anamaria from the thick jungle, but you can hear the natives that are running somewhere behind you, intent on catching you.

“Jack!” you gasp, starting to get out of breath and tired. “I can’t spot Will or Lizzie or Ana or Gibbs anywhere!”

“They’ll take care of themselves, just keep running!” At least I wish they will, Jack added grimly in his mind – a rescue mission would be the last thing needed right now!

The testy ‘I bloody am running!’ is right on the tip of your tongue, but you come to the decision that you haven’t enough breath left to save for talking, so you stay silent and grind your teeth together against the pain that burns so ferociously in your muscles – you fervently hope you get to wherever it was where you could stop running soon before the fatigue makes you collapse.

Jack’s mind was working mile a minute, desperately trying to come up with a plan to get out of this fix. He knew you couldn’t hold up much longer and that you likely were in pain, but there was simply no way you could stop now. Nor could he very well fend off dozens of armed natives all by his onesies–

“AAAH!” the agitated holler Jack belatedly recognized as his own interrupted that train of thought as a spear whooshes through the air by his head, passing close enough to stir the hairs of the long tail under the bone.

You shriek in startled surprise as the pursuing natives fling another one forward, passing your side by mere inches and landing in the dense foliage with loud rustle.

“Not good,” you hear Jack blurt out, and you’d agree if you weren’t so out of breath, gasping and panting as you force your legs to keep on running, despite the fact that they’re getting increasingly more sore and feel heavier to lift after each pace.

And suddenly, the forest was gone, and you and Jack burst through thick bushes into an open field littered with few shrubs and absolutely nothing else: the grassy field stretches on for roughly about twenty yards until the bare roots of the mountains begin to rise up from the level ground, gradually ascending into high, rocky hills. The abrupt change in the scenery brings you and Jack into a momentary halt, exchanging a look: both of you know your chances of escape just got considerably slimmer with nowhere to hide.

“Definitely not good…” you manage through gasps of heavy breathing, before Jack tugs at your wrist again, forcing you on the move once more. Swallowing the whine of pain threatening to escape your lips, you comply and run across the meadow, trampling the ankle-length grass beneath your boots. Wearily, you glance over your shoulder, expecting the natives to be chasing right at your heels…

…Instead, you see that the men have halted by the outskirts of the forest, staring silently after your retreating forms.

“Jack, wait,” you tell him as you slow down, pulling back your hand to make him do the same. “They’ve stopped chasing us!”

“What?” Jack asks in confusion, halting his steps and turning around. The natives are still standing near the edge of the forest, none of them entering on the field. Some of them are visibly furious, clutching their spears tightly in their hands; others settle for passive staring. Frown pulls at your brows as you catch your breath, wondering why the natives would stop now, after they were so close to catching you and Jack? But before you get to wonder about that any further, you sight familiar figures emerging from the forest, some ten yards away from the natives that were chasing you and Jack. You raise your hand and wave for them to come on over, relief flooding you as it appears that they are all seemingly unharmed.

“How are you?” Jack asks, eyeing you with concern as you try to settle your breathing, wrapping an arm around you in support.

You nod your head, flashing him a quick smile. “Fine… just need a little breather, is all.”

Jack doesn’t look convinced nor does the worry leave his eyes, but the arrival of Will, Elizabeth, Gibbs and Anamaria distracts him from arguing the matter.

“Everybody in one piece?” Jack queries with a raised brow.

“Aye, we’re good,” Gibbs replies. “Majority of ‘em took after you two. We only had a few fellows tailin’ us!”

Jack’s smile is as insincere as his tone is sarcastic. “So glad we could be of assistance.”

“I wonder why they ceased to chase us the moment we reached this field?” Elizabeth questions, gazing out at the natives with a frown.

Will is silent for a moment, glancing about thoughtfully. “Perhaps this is some kind of hallowed or forbidden ground for them.”

Gibbs takes a drink from his flask before speaking up dryly, “That, or they just have enough sense not to be goin’ near a volcano.”

You draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing your palms over your thighs in attempts to soothe away the stinging burn in them. Damn, but that run really did do a number on you. “Well, I’m just happy they did stop, whatever the reason.”

“We should probably be on our way,” Anamaria says after a moment of silence, throwing a distrustful glance at the natives. “Some more distance between us and them might not be an entirely bad idea.”

Her suggestion is met with general agreement, and the march across the green field is away shortly after that, Jack’s arm still wrapped about your middle.

* * * *

“Sail ho!”

The lookout’s abrupt shout from the crow’s nest of the Dauntless brought forth a jolt of activity as the crewmen rushed to the sides of the ship, curious to see the approaching vessel.

Up in the helm, James Norrington fixed his gaze upon the enemy vessel that was sailing closer from northwest, the bulk of the ship slowly appearing behind a strait of land stretching far out in the sea.

“No doubt as to whom that might be,” he said aloud dryly, mostly to himself.

“Your orders, sir?” Gillette asked after a moment from his place beside the Commodore – the lieutenant rarely seemed to stray too far from his superior.

James kept his eyes on the Spanish galleon, still a good enough distance away. “Hold your fire,” he replied calmly. “We engage only to defend, the first shot will not be ours.”

“Very well,” Gillette acknowledged, relaying the order to the other officers.

Moments crawled by in silence, and as he stared at the still approaching vessel, doubt began to gnaw at James and a frown creased his brow. He had not expected Delgado to launch into such a blatantly aggressive action as her opening move; from what James had gathered from his own dealings with the Spaniard and what he had heard from Will and Jack, he was under the impression that Delgado valued her own hide above anything else. Moreover, she was after the treasures in the ancient vessel, likely having her own copy of the map that lead to it – she had to be aware that Sparrow was already looking for it on land. Considering these things, it seemed exceedingly strange for Delgado to pursue an attack, especially when the odds were so clearly against her.

The sudden realization bore down on him with the intensity of a ton of bricks, and he snapped at Gillette to hand him the telescope. Snatching the offered gadget quickly, he peered through it, studying the decks and the female crew of the shabby galleon. He sighted a strongly built woman with long brown hair, shouting orders to the other women – the name eluded James, but he remembered her to be Delgado’s quartermaster. He couldn’t, however, spot Delgado’s distinctive form anywhere, and he doubted she would be hiding away in her cabin during a time like this.

Slowly, he lowered the spyglass, a grim expression on his face. His ominous hunch had proven to be correct. That’s why the galleon was attacking so seemingly recklessly, because it had no other purpose any longer than to take down as many of them as possible. Delgado was not onboard the galleon; she was already on the island with Sparrow and the rest of his team. They were all in danger, William and Elizabeth included. And there was no way he could warm them about Delgado, he didn’t even know where exactly they were right now. All he could do was to pray they’d be all right, and to prepare his men for the battle that seemed about to occur soon.

“Gillette. Change of plans,” James said, his tone all business. “Alert the men, load the guns. Prepare for confrontation.”

“At once, sir!”

“And give word to fire a shot across their bow the moment they’re within reach,” James added before Gillette could stride off, sparing a glance at the shorter man before returning his gaze to the galleon. “I will not enter into uneven battle without a fair warning of what’s in store should they still pursue their reckless course of action.”

The galleon had been able to sink the small Messenger the last time they encountered at sea, but even with the impressive guns she carried, she was not a match to the Dauntless, not in firepower nor in general condition. And with the Black Pearl looming behind them like an imposing sable ghost, the Spaniards were the underdogs in this battle. But if there was one thing James knew, it was never to underestimate your assailants – especially desperate ones working under the fear of Delgado’s lethal wrath. They had nothing to lose, and that made them all the more dangerous.

With purpose, James left the helm and strode down the stairs, making beeline towards the cabin he knew the Governor to currently biding time in, having tea with Gemma. There was something he needed to discuss with the girl he’d became increasingly more fond of before the push came to shove.

* * * *

“This is hopeless,” you declare, throwing your hands in the air in frustration. “We’ve combed through every inch of this area for the past half an hour and have found nothing!”

After trudging through the grassy meadow towards the rising hills of the mountains looming ahead, you eventually came across some more forest again. Weaving slowly through the lush woods, you’d finally arrived to the river once more; it had gained some more width, but streamed as slowly as ever. Following the river had taken you right under the sleeping volcano where large trees blocked most of the sunlight and thick shrubberies and leafy bushes covered the fertile ground of black soot and decaying leaves. This was about where the Abyss was supposed to be resting on, but after careful searching, none of you had found any place where a ship could possibly be lying in.

Will pulls a twig from his hair and chucks it away. “This does seem like something of a wild goose chase.”

“Surely it must be here somewhere,” Elizabeth puts in pensively, before casting a questioning look at Jack, who’s casually leaning his back against a nearby tree. “That is, if we’re looking for it from a correct spot.”

“I think I’ve learned to read a map correctly by now, thanks very much,” Jack returns with a touch of sarcasm.

“Oh, just show us the map, Jack!”

Jack takes on a look of incredulity and hurt, pointing a finger at himself. “You don’t take my word for it?”

“It’s not that, I just want to take a look at it,” Elizabeth sighs.

“Well, go fetch it then, it’s still stuck in that tree by the river.”

“You lost the bloody map?” Anamaria demands.

“Technically, it’s not lost since I know exactly where it is,” Jack points out, but Anamaria’s not too amused. “Alright! I might have just been too busy avoiding being skewered to care,” he replies pointedly. “But, I memorized it earlier. This is the right place, and that I can swear on pain of death.”

“Mind ye…” Gibbs starts contemplatively. “We’re lookin’ for an ancient wooden ship in a humid jungle. So rather I should be saying we’re lookin’ for what’s left of her. In these conditions, I’d say it’s a miracle if we find so much as her bones.”

Silence ensues as everyone ponders on this. You sit down heavily on a large rock with a sigh, feeling absolutely drained all of a sudden. “You know, what if this is all just one big sham?” you finally say aloud, receiving some curious looks and raised brows. “What if there are no ship and no treasure to begin with? What if that map was someone’s idea of a good practical joke?”

Jack gives a laugh, grinning as he leans his head back against the tree, staring up at the leafy canopy. “Then we’ve all gone through a hell of a lot of bother and all for naught,” he replies languidly, appreciating the irony of the thought as much as he loathes it.

“Imagine the look on Delgado’s face if her little quest was all because of some ancient chap thought it fun to pull a fast one on his mates,” you chuckle, finding the thought rather entertaining.

“Doubt she’d be very happy,” Anamaria replies wryly, smirking. “That’d actually be exactly what she’d deserve, the crazy wench.”

“Is there something wrong with your neck, Jack?” Will abruptly asks, and you gaze at Jack to see that Jack is still craning his neck, staring up at the treetops with a frown on his face.

“No,” Jack answers slowly, never taking his eyes from whatever it is that he’s gazing at. “I was just thinking how exceptionally smooth and straight that branch up there is. That peculiar shape could easily be mistaken for…” he pauses, lowering his face and gazing at you with a broad grin of success. “A mast.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to gather around where Jack is standing, necks craned, staring up into the rustling canopy. Following the direction Jack points his finger to, you too sight the smooth beam amidst the twisted, knobby tree branches, perhaps eight yards up from the ground – it’s mostly covered in moss and other such growth and seems to be close to deteriorating entirely, but there’s no mistake to be made on what it once was. It seems to be resting over the tree branches. Eagerly following the horizontal length of the mast, you reach the point where it has cracked, the other half leading diagonally downward and disappearing into the foliage.

The big picture starts to unravel right before your very eyes: you suddenly realize the dark pieces of old wood half-hidden by the leaves and hanging vines and branches are in actuality the remains of the ship. Jack’s words about the changes in the land come back to you, and you begin to decipher what had happened to the vessel in your mind; Aeneas must have sailed the ship here along the very same river you used not long ago – the waterway must have been much wider back in those days. By some action, either deliberate or accidental, the ship stopped her journey here by the mountains, the keel perhaps finally catching against the bottom of the river. Then perhaps the river had along the centuries pulled away and shifted its location, possibly having dried up some; the stream flowed now roughly about ten yards away. After that, the ship was vulnerable on dry land, and nature stepped in; saplings begun to sprout in the rich soil about the already decomposing ship, growing up to be tall, strong trees that grew through the ship, breaking the brittle structures and lifting the broken vessel up in the air with them as they kept growing year after year. Along the passing decades, nature has further exploited the ship and grown all around and on it, devouring and living off from it, leaving behind but mere scant remains that now rest up in the dense roof of the forest, hidden among the fully-grown trees and thick greenery.

“Not just could be, but really is a mast,” you at last breathe out, astonished.

“Hiding in plain sight,” Jack agrees with a smirk, amusement in his tone.

Will shakes his head slowly. “All this time we were looking for the Abyss on the ground. No wonder we didn’t find it before.”

“Good thing you did, my dear friends.”

The all too familiar husky purr makes your body tense, as do the sounds of several pistols being cocked. Slowly, you turn around with everyone else. Gabriela Delgado herself is standing tall on the other side of the small clearing, about five yards away. She’s flanked by a good dozen of her faithful – and very much armed – women, with Nerita by her right side.

Smirking smugly, Delgado adds gleefully, “You lot just saved me quite a bit of time and effort.”

* * * * *

A/N: If this chapter held your interest all the way over here, then good. This one turned out to be pretty long! And on a side note, I’ve taken artistic license with the natives (aren’t based on any real tribes) and the general descriptions of the island and the forests; I’ve no idea about how the flora of Guadeloupe is in detail. Ta, dears!

…And reviews are love. *smiles*

A/N: I warn you beforehand: this chapter is a BEAST. It's the longest freaking chapter I've ever written: 26 pages on Word. But I did promise you an extra long chapter for the long wait, I can only hope it lives up to your expectations. And that you have enough energy to actually read through it all... Yeah. Oh, and the DMC soundtrack is my new writing crack: especially The Kraken theme. I don't know if I'd managed to finish this as quickly (I wrote half of this chapter in two days) without the aid of that soundtrack. GET IT unless you already haven't! Okay. Now you can read the chapter. *smiles and plays The Kraken theme again*

* * * * *

CHAPTER 43 – No Quarter Given

Time seems to slow down. Standing still, mindful of all the pistols aimed at you and your friends, you shift your eyes from one person to the other, turning your head only marginally.

Jack is standing beside you, staring at Delgado with an impassive expression that tells you next to nothing, but his eyes give him away; an intense anger burns in his narrowed, darkened gaze. Will and Anamaria do not bother with hiding their contempt, their emotions clearly reflected on their faces. Elizabeth is holding onto Will’s forearm with one hand, but her attention is fixed on Delgado and her cronies, watching them suspiciously. Gibbs is looking a bit on the grim side, cagey attentiveness in his eyes.

Delgado’s face is a familiar mask of confident arrogance, mixed with certain amount of amusement as she regards mainly you and Jack. Nerita’s expression is completely blank, and she’s avoiding your sharp gaze entirely, discreetly looking elsewhere when you try to reach her eyes. For a second, you wonder if she does that out of guilt or simple self-preservation. The rest of the women, all unfamiliar to you, don’t seem to be feeling too much else but disdain, indifference or eagerness to hurt someone, judging by the looks on their faces. Still, you can’t help but to notice the dark shadows some of the women have under their eyes, and the general, even if subtle, air of weariness about them. Frown creases your brow as you muse upon this, but Delgado seems to have come to the decision that the time for silence has now come to an end.

“It is such a delight to meet with you people again, truly it is,” Delgado smirks as the eerie fog grey irises slide languidly across the whites to settle upon you. “Especially you. We had so much fun the last time you visited us, did we not?”

“Yeah, it was a real blast. Your hospitality leaves something to be desired, though,” you respond slowly, an edge of sarcasm creeping in your voice even without conscious effort.

“Oh, yes?” Delgado purrs with faux surprise. “The brig wasn’t to your liking? Oh, now! It’s not very polite to be so picky,” she scolds, her lips pulling into a devious smile, “If anyone should be complaining, it’s me. You left something of a mess on my deck. It took my crew a while to scrub away that blood.”

You can practically feel Jack’s entire being tensing as his vehemence intensifies over the Spaniard’s goading. Discreetly, you lay your palm against his hand in hopes to soothe his temper, thumb curling to rest over the inside of his wrist. You know it’s unlikely that Jack would do something rash even when madly furious, but perhaps some preventive measures on your part would not go amiss, all the same.

“Well,” you return impassively, “You’ll excuse me my lack of remorse.”

Delgado’s answering smirk is slow and insufferably superior; the kind that makes your knuckles itch to punch it from her face. The thought makes your own lips twitch for a second, but you beat down the urge and instead just follow silently as Delgado’s gaze climbs up to the treetops, a contemplative gleam darkening her eyes.

“I must admit, I wasn’t expecting our bounty to be found in quite that awkward location,” she says slowly while her eyes keep skimming the rustling canopy. “Well, nothing to it. Time for some treasure seeking, I think,” she surmises casually, her gaze sliding back down to skim over all of you. Her expression turns decidedly wicked as she goes on, “I wonder who gets to do the honours, hm?”

Her grey eyes narrow as they linger upon you, and for a moment you entertain the notion of Delgado barking at you to climb up the bloody tree despite your lame state and fetch the sword for her. She would do it, too, just out of perverse enjoyment – but you know that Delgado wouldn’t be stupid enough to hand over the weapon to the one person here who has at least theoretical power to break the curse should it be unleashed.

Your hypothesis is proven correct when Delgado finally tears his gaze from you, glancing down at Nerita instead. “I want that sword, Nerita. Make it happen.”

Nerita gives no outward reaction to the uncompromising command aside from the barest nods of her head. She turns her head slightly to the side so that her words are heard clearly by the crew standing behind, her voice steady and void of emotion. “Pilar, Lupe, Maria,” she lists easily, “Climb up. Search for a sheathed blade from the ships remains and bring it down.”

“And be swift about it! I won’t be kept waiting,” Delgado growls as the three women step forward, all more or less visibly cowering under the Captain’s harsh glare, murmuring their assurances. Once again, you’re disgusted by the tyrannical hold Delgado has over her crew. Disciplinary words spoken, Delgado’s attention turns back to you and Jack, mainly.

“My dear friends. I suggest that you all relocate yourselves over to the side there while we look for what we came to get,” she says with a smug smile, pointing with a long-nailed forefinger to her left, “Nice and calm, please.”

You give Jack a wry glance, who shrugs slightly in return, small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if the situation was nothing to worry about. His earlier silent fury has been replaced by the easy nonchalance that’s so characteristic of him, and you wonder if he has already begun to think of something that resembles a plan.

“Well, you heard the nice lady,” Jack says mockingly, naturally not bothering to control his volume. “In orderly fashion, lads and lasses!”

While you and your friends are “kindly” escorted a bit to the side, the three Spaniards reach the towering trees and begin to climb them.

* * * *

James Norrington strode across the lengthy main deck of the Dauntless, paying only scant attention to the busy mariners that bustled about, hurrying to take their respective stations as ordered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could sight the shape of the approaching Spanish vessel looming in the distance, and he quickened his pace almost instinctively. Reaching the door of the guest quarters a moment later, James grasped the doorknob and pushed, overlooking to knock in his haste.

Governor Swann and Gemma both stood up from where they’d been sitting by the ornate dinner table, slightly startled by his sudden entrance. Had it not been such a dire situation, James knew for certain he would’ve allowed himself to admire the beautiful sight Gemma made even in a simple dress that was slightly too big for her frame, few small curls that had escaped the bun on the back of her head framing her face charmingly. But seeing as it was an extremely dire situation, he denied himself of such fanciful thoughts and slipped into the professional mode he was most familiar with.

“Governor Swann, miss Wickham,” he begun steadily. “We’ve sighted the Spaniards galleon, and it’s approaching us at rapid speed. Without any doubt, their purpose is to engage us in battle,” he said, pausing for a moment to briefly glance from the Governor to Gemma, trying not to be affected by the way she had paled at the news. “We’ve also every reason to believe Delgado has vacated the ship and is currently on the island, leaving her crew to assault us and use any means necessary to ascertain their victory. We’re expecting to launch into defensive in a matter of minutes.”

Silence hung in the quarters for a few minutes, before the Governor broke it, a grim expression on his face. “And what do you think the outcome of this battle shall be, Commodore?”

James considered this for a moment. “While the Dauntless is larger and has better firepower, I still wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating our enemy. They’re fierce in battle and won’t be easily deterred. However, I feel confident that we’ll ward off their attack. If all goes well, it should not come to boarding,” he stressed with determination. “Nevertheless to ensure your safety, Governor Swann, I still suggest that you and miss Wickham barricade yourselves in here for the duration of the battle.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” Governor Swann agreed with an understanding nod of his head, which James returned. He then shifted his eyes on Gemma, who’d been silent during the exchange, softening his tone as he requested, “A word with you, please?”

Gemma looked surprised for a second, before nodding and closing the distance between them – discreetly, the Governor moved on the other side of the quarters to gaze out of the windows in the stern. James took Gemma gently by the elbow and led her a few paces further toward the entrance before turning to face her.

“You know better than any of us what these women capable of,” James begun quietly in solemn tone, gazing at the young woman before him with a mixture of concern and consternation. “Which is why I feel I must ask this of you.”

Something in James’ tone made Gemma instantly feel hesitant. “What is it?”

“I want you to take this,” James said, his tone quiet and serious as he handed a pistol to Gemma.

Gemma stiffened uneasily at the sight of the weapon, blue eyes troubled and a frown knitting her brows together. Seeing that she was about to protest, James spoke up before she could, firmly but gently.

“Take it, and don’t be afraid to use it. I’m hoping it will not come to that, but if they board us…” he trailed off, looking Gemma intently in the eyes. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you with no means of defence. I want you to take this and keep yourself safe, do you understand me?”

Gemma drew in a steadying breath and gingerly took the pistol from James, nodding her head. “Yes,” she replied with the same quiet seriousness. When she met his eyes, the hesitation was replaced with resolve unlike James had ever seen in the young woman before. “I understand.”

James gave her a tiny, cheerless smile, loathing the situation. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to put a weapon in her small hands and expect her to use it if need be, no less, but the thought of leaving her unprotected and risk something happening to her during the mêlée was more unbearable.

“I must go,” James finally broke the silence. “Lock the door behind me and do not open it under any circumstances.”

Turning to leave, James had taken but one step when Gemma’s soft voice brought him to halt.

“James?” The use of his first name and the entreating look in Gemma’s sky blue eyes made his heart miss a beat. “Please, be careful.”

James didn’t trust his voice to remain steady and keep the appreciation the simple, sincere words had caused in him from reflecting on it – when was the last time anyone had cared for his safety? – so he merely nodded his head in return and held Gemma’s gaze keenly for a few moments, before striding out of the quarters and closing the door in his wake.

As soon as the door had clicked softly shut and Gemma had it locked, a solitary boom of the Dauntless’ cannon broke the ensuing silence, the warning shot signalling the first move in the oncoming attack.

* * * *

“We’re just gonna sit here and not do a thing?” Anamaria’s annoyed hiss meant only for friendly ears sums up the current situation rather aptly. The Spaniards had made the six of you sit down to the side of the clearing, with two women loitering some yards away keeping a sharp eye on your movements. Delgado is overseeing the search of the blade yet some odd yards away from your guards, having sent a couple of more hands up in the trees – all the while you six remain perched on the small boulders, nattering amongst yourselves like magpies.

“I didn’t say that,” Jack returns, a mite defensively. “Did I say that? I really don’t remember saying that.”

“Coming up with a plan would be nice, now,” Elizabeth murmurs in agreement from her place on your right side. “A good plan.”

“Well, terribly sorry there isn’t any rum here to burn,” mutters Jack sarcastically, “knowing your notions about good plans.”

“Oh, you are unbelievable!” Elizabeth hisses back exasperatedly. “Let that go already, Jack! Must I remind you how that particular plan actually worked? Unlike some of yours?”

Jack manages to summon equal amounts of affront and objection in his tone. “My plans might not be as obvious as yours, but they work like they’re supposed to.” Pensive pause. “Most of the time. It’s the sum of the variables, you know.”

Discreetly, you watch the two Spaniards guarding you with wary eyes, noting how they’re following the increasingly heated prattle around you suspiciously.

“Sorry to interrupt a promising feud, but do you think these two know any English?” you mutter your question before Elizabeth manages to deliver her retort, shifting your gaze from one woman to another. “Because if they do, discussing any plans of action before them wouldn’t be very good.”

“Such cultured ladies as these? ‘Course they do! English is, after all, superior to Spanish not only as language but as nationality, too,” Jack laughs as if this was an especially good joke, and you sink your teeth in your lip to keep from groaning aloud in frustration at the perilous words.

Everyone is absolutely silent as they watch the Spaniards expectantly – the one on the left narrows her eyes at the sudden interest in her and her friend, and the other shifts her weight from one foot to another. Other than that, they give no reaction to Jack’s unforgivable slander.

“Well, I’d hazard a guess that the answer is ‘no’, luv,” Jack drawls nonchalantly, giving you a triumphant smirk. “Doubt they would’ve let me get away with that had they understood.”

“You really are insane, Jack,” mutters Gibbs gruffly while carefully searching for his trusty flask, and Jack chuckles with merriment the current situation doesn’t really merit – nevertheless, you find yourself smirking in amusement.

“That’s you telling me something I already know, Gibbs.”

“Can we get back to the topic?” Anamaria demands irritably. The recent turn of events has done nothing to improve her patience. “Do we have a plan or not?”

“I’m working on it!” Jack defends himself, seeing as how the firstmate’s words seemed to be addressed mostly in his direction. “Nothing left to do now but to wait for the–”

“Say ‘opportune moment’ and I’ll wring your bleeding neck!” interrupts the first mate snappily.

You heave a sigh, rolling your eyes while muttering mainly to yourself, “Can’t we ever manage these situations without squabbling?”

“Apparently not,” Will puts in dryly, breaking his silence.

“Whatever do you mean, Anamaria?” Jack asks innocently while palming his neck and bringing his hand up, showing it to Anamaria with a smirk on his lips. “See, no blood.”

The angry rumble issuing deep from the back Anamaria’s throat brings to your mind the stories you’ve heard of the giant cats in Africa – that’s probably more or less how they’d sound like.

“Sometimes I can’t help but to wonder how we’ve managed to come this far alive,” Will suddenly deadpans with such wryness your reaction is instantaneous: the snort of amusement turns into a fit of giggles that shake your entire body as you try to in vain smother them.

Out of the corner of you eye, you see the two Spaniards standing in guard exchange nonplussed glances, and your amusement doubles. You can only imagine the picture before the Spaniards; Jack, Anamaria and Elizabeth all waving hands and fierce words, you overcome with near frenzied giggles, Gibbs doing his best to empty his flask while Will is busy being the very embodiment of sardonic tedium.

“So delightful to see that your spirits aren’t dimmed even by your impending doom,” Delgado drawls as she makes her way unhurriedly towards you, her steps that of a prowling feline. You cough slightly as you curb your snickers, clearing your throat a little.

“Ah, we deal with that so regularly the novelty’s long since worn off,” Jack returns with lazy nonchalance.

A noncommittal, terse “Hmm,” is Delgado’s only response, and she eyes the lot of you with calculating eyes as if she could not quite come to a decision about something.

All of a sudden, the ominous sound of breaking wood cracks sharply in the air, followed immediately by a shrill scream of terror. The loud rustling of branches and snapping of twigs seems to last only a few seconds as the gravity does its task, slamming the body of one of the women – Pilar, Lupe or Maria, you recall dimly – forcefully to the ground with a sickening thud, a handful of green leaves fluttering silently down from the tree and landing on top of the woman.

There’s a momentary lull in the activity, the abrupt silence broken only by the chattering birds in the forests as the Spaniards stand rooted to their spots, some casting hesitant glances at their Captain. Even Delgado seems momentarily thrown off her guard by the sudden incident, staring at the dead woman with her head tilted slightly to the side.

And then she chuckles. A deep, amused chuckle that turns into outright laughter after a moment.

Slowly, you turn your head and meet Jack’s gaze, feeling disbelieving and disturbed as you quirk a brow. Jack gives an uneven shrug of his shoulders, apparently having missed the punch line as well. Recovering from her laughter, Delgado turns back to regard you and the others, a wicked grin on her lips.

“I wasn’t expecting them to be that quick when I told them earlier to be swift,” she snickers, her grin broadening.

Elizabeth’s scowl is heavily laden with contempt and disgust. “You’re insane.”

Delgado gives a smirk and stalks closer, coming to stand before you as she bends her significant frame, leaning downward enough to stare in Elizabeth’s direction, black hair falling down from her shoulders. “I just might be, yes.”

Bending down like that proves to be a mistake on Delgado’s part. You jump slightly in surprise as Jack’s arm suddenly shots forward; before the tall Spaniard can so much as blink, Jack has the barrel of his pistol tucked firmly against her jaw, his forefinger curled to rest over the trigger.

Astonishment stuns you for a moment, but you shrug it off a second after. The two Spaniards who’d guarded you start in shock, beginning to take steps forward to aid Delgado. However, Gibbs and Anamaria are quicker, pointing their own pistols and warning the Spaniards with their stern expressions not to try anything foolish. Taking the hint, the two women halt their advance immediately, uncertainty on their faces as they first glance at each other, and then fix their gazes on Delgado, who still hasn’t spoken or moved but stares at Jack blankly, still hunched over awkwardly.

Jack returns Delgado’s stare, his face passive – almost uninterested. The silence stretches on as everybody waits someone to speak or do something, all eyes fixed upon the two Captains. Well, you think, this is certainly an interesting turn of events.

“Another one of your insipid jokes, Sparrow?” Delgado finally speaks slowly, irritation and disbelief sharpening her words.

“I didn’t realize I was laughing,” Jack returns dispassionately, his detached expression not chancing one bit.

Delgado’s brow quirks and a husky chuckle leaves her lips unexpectedly. “You do realize that you’re greatly outnumbered, here?” she questions, amused despite being held at gunpoint. “You cannot come out as the winner this time, I’m afraid. It’s simple math: there’s too few of you and too many of us.”

“Could be that I have no interest in anything but a bit of retribution,” Jack replies slowly in a contemplative tone, almost as if he’s summarizing his reasoning to himself rather than talking to Delgado – yet, he never takes his eyes from Delgado’s. “Blowing a hole in your head would serve that purpose rather nicely, I imagine.”

“My crew would strike all of you down quicker than you could ever manage that,” Delgado counters, her full lips pulling slowly into a devious smile.

“Oh,” Jack murmurs, head tilting slightly to one side as he gazes at Delgado almost curiously. “So now you’re finally willing to put faith in your crew, then. From what I’ve heard, there isn’t any love lost between you and your ladies. Fact, I hear tell you couldn’t care less about them. You don’t seem too heartbroken over that unlucky strumpet who took a straighter route down from that tree. Actually, that little misfortune seemed to amuse you greatly, didn’t it?”

The arrogant smile has slipped from Delgado’s lips by now, replaced by an irritable glower and flashing eyes. “What do you think you’re talking about, Sparrow?” she asks in freezing tone, but despite her outward annoyance, her gaze strays to the sides quickly in a nervous manner – catching the quick glance, a small smirk slowly slides on your lips as you contemplate this. Well, what do you know! Seems like the infallible Captain Delgado is not entirely bereft of apprehension, after all. She must know taking the conversation down the path Jack is determined to steer it towards may prove dangerous to her.

Jack’s free hand makes a flippant little flick. “Just wondering if all these women here would really be ready to take up arms for you. Whether they would truly stay loyal to you if given a choice. Or, if we are to wax poetics a bit: if the head of the serpent is cut off, what happens to the rest?” he grins, slanting his head to the side slightly. “I must say that particular question wholly intrigues me. What do you think… Gabby?”

You feel a smile of pride and approval tugging at your lips at the exchange, marvelling how Jack nails all the touchy subjects that could just turn the tables to your favour. Your smile widens as you watch the reactions of the Spaniards who understand English, Jack’s words having been loud enough to be heard by everybody. Confused murmurs ripple through the crowd of suddenly hesitant women as Jack’s implications are translated to those who didn’t understand them, doubt beginning to creep upon their faces as they watch their Captain closely, waiting for her next words.

Your eyes find Nerita, seeing that her stoic face is now wearing a small frown as she stares at the back of Delgado’s head, seeming somewhat expectant. You still have no idea what Nerita’s endgame is, or whether she has one to begin with. Shaking away any thoughts of her, you return your attention to the situation at hand. The Spaniards especially are waiting for Delgado’s answer with tense postures, the atmosphere having changed drastically.

“Well?” Jack prompts smugly when Delgado stays quiet, taking a bratty shot at jabbing the barrel of the pistol sharply against her skin, slightly harder than necessary. “Everyone here is expecting your opinion on this burning issue. Do indulge us!”

Delgado’s glare is pure malice as she hisses between clenched teeth, “You are in no position to make such demands, Sparrow!”

“No?” Asks Jack, summoning a perfect look of bewilderment on his face. “A funny thing, that, because it looks to me as if I’m the one with a pistol trained at your head.”

“This is ridiculous!” Delgado snaps angrily, her temper finally flaring. “This desperate little attempt of yours will accomplish nothing!”

A smile tugs at Jack’s lips, but it’s far from being a pleasant one. The wicked, near malevolent glint in his eyes is something you’ve seen only rarely, of which you’re very grateful about. It’s disconcerting to see it in the eyes that are usually so jovial and playful.

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Jack replies calmly, almost lazily. “As I said, it would give me the personal satisfaction of putting this shot in your head. That would be plenty enough.”

Perhaps it’s the intent she can read in Jack’s eyes, or the certain edge in his low tone; whatever it is, Jack’s words give Delgado a pause and quell her anger, her eyes narrowing speculatively. “You wouldn’t,” she says at last, gaze fixed unblinkingly on Jack’s – her voice is hushed and a touch uncertain, something you’ve never heard before. “You’re bluffing, Jack. That’s what you’re doing.”

“You really want to take that chance?” Jack counters sharply, some of his irritation now leaking into his voice. “You don’t exactly bring to mind any feelings of warmth at the moment. Now, given the nature of our occupation, I might have let slide the entire unpleasantness of endangering me crew and mates, but snatching and abusing the woman I love?” Jack’s eyes narrow and his tone turns another degree darker. “That was the line you shouldn’t have crossed. So I ask you again…” he thumbs down the safety of the pistol with an audible click, his voice roughened by anger as he continues, “Do you really want to take that chance?”

You see Delgado swallow slowly, mindful of the barrel pressed hard against her skin. Her steely eyes narrow at Jack and she glares fiercely, but remains silent. No resentful hisses, no stinging words. You raise your brows at this rare sign of submission, shifting your eyes to Jack.

His smirk is darkly triumphant and lacks all amusement. “I didn’t think so.”

* * * *

“All stations manned and ready, Commodore!”

Commodore Norrington nodded curtly his acknowledgement to lieutenant Gillette, his lips pressed tightly into thin line as he grimly fixed his gaze upon the approaching Spanish galleon once more. They were ready to do battle. The Spaniards had ignored the warning shot that had been fired across their bow earlier, just as James had expected them to do. Neither did the enemy vessel slow down or show any signs of submission. Very well, James thought resolutely. If even a smallest bit mercy is unacceptable to them, then none shall they receive. These women were hardly deserving of it, in any case.

With that thought, James turned to Gillette and gave his order. “All hands, collective fire the moment we’re within reach.”

The Commodore hardly heard Gillette’s, “Yes, sir!” or his repeating the command to other officers. His steady gaze was on the galleon and his thoughts in his duty: detaining the enemy and protecting the civilians aboard the Dauntless.

“Collective fire!”

The order echoed from the deck minutes later, and a mere moment after that the air was thick with loud booms of the cannons, smoke and the smell of gunpowder.

* * * *

A good mile away from the sea battle, a clash of another kind is taking place.

The odds of the situation at hand were toppled over entirely to your favour a few minutes ago when Jack took Delgado at gunpoint, forcing the Spaniards to back down. First thing, Jack had forced Delgado to order the two women who were still up in the trees searching for the sword to descend. She had done so, even if grudgingly. Now, Delgado is standing in the middle of the small clearing, hands curled into fists at her sides and a dark glower on her face. The Spaniards stand still by the edge of the forest, Anamaria and Gibbs keeping a close eye on them. Will is standing by Nerita, his blade pulled out and held steady at her throat – yet, the first mate looks entirely impassive, face void of emotion. Elizabeth is standing not far from Will, while you took a place slightly closer to Jack, one hand resting on the handle of your cutlass, fingers curled tightly around the familiar hilt.

Jack, on the other hand, is in his element, holding everyone’s attention as he saunters about in lazy circles around Delgado’s towering frame, even if mindful to keep a respectable distance. He’s clutching his pistol in one hand, ready to put it to good use if need be. His posture exudes easy confidence and the familiar touch of arrogance so habitual of him, his intonation casual and untroubled.

“Since your esteemed leader seems somewhat unwilling to give her piece about this little issue we’re facing, I believe it’s your chance to speak up now,” Jack addresses the throng of perplexed Spaniards. “Time for decision making, ladies. You can remain acquiescent and keep to your Captain to whatever end – a Captain who, let’s be honest about it, doesn’t really much care what becomes of you… Or,” he pauses his lethargic strides, letting his wrist droop limply so that the barrel of his pistol points towards the surrounding forest, “You can turn around and take your chances out there. Sure, you probably have to dodge a few angry natives and make sure you don’t run straight for the Commodore’s welcoming care, but your odds are still infinitely better than they will be under your Captain’s command, savvy?”

“I won’t tolerate insubordination!” Delgado all but growls, turning her glare from Jack to her crew. “You dare to even think of abandoning your posts and I swear I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” Jack cuts her off with a smirk. “Kill them? How does that fate differ any from the one they’ll have if they stay? Surely you’ve told them of the curse and the likeliest outcome should you pull that sword from its sheath, eh?”

Another silence follows Jack’s words, before a new wave of murmurs sweeps through the Spaniards: this time you make out a clearly more annoyed quality in them and see the irritable confusion on the women’s faces as they try to decide what exactly is the truth of the matter.

“You never shut up, do you, Sparrow?” Delgado hisses venomously.

“If you’d ask nicely, I might consider it,” Jack responds blithely. “But I was merely stating facts as they are, no reason to get so worked up,” he adds, glancing at you. “For it’s all true, isn’t it, darling?”

“Oh, yes,” you agree with a small smile, glancing sideways at the silent Spaniards. “Anyone who removes the sword from its scabbard curses every soul near it to blind rage so powerful they’ll turn against even those they love. And this is something your precious Captain Delgado has known perfectly for a while, already…”

More anxious murmurs go through the swarm of women, and Delgado’s anger visibly intensifies. “You knew what you were getting into when you joined my crew!” she shouts irately at the hesitant women. “You all scribbled your marks on the articles out of your own free will, and you will damn well respect them and me to the end!”

“But we never signed up to be your personal mercenaries, Captain,” interjects a quiet, solemn voice abruptly. You raise your brow in interest and watch as Delgado regards her diminutive first mate with an expression that could almost be called incredulous. “Nor did we sign up to be killed needlessly over some ancient piece of weaponry,” Nerita finishes, softly but unwaveringly.

The first mate’s unexpected words give everyone a pause, and Will glances at Jack doubtfully. Jack responds with a small shrug, jerking his head sideways a little. Will turns his attention back to Nerita, and slowly takes a step away, carefully drawing his blade from her throat. Nerita doesn’t even acknowledge this, but keeps his gaze unwaveringly on Delgado.

Delgado is quiet for the longest moment, staring at the considerably shorter woman piercingly. “What’s this? A traitor in my midst?” she finally says slowly, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I had my doubts, but I must say I never expected them to become true. I’m very disappointed, Nerita. Very disappointed…”

Nerita evades her gaze, looking at the women around her instead. “I can’t be the only one tired of this. For those who have wished for a way out, this is it. Your one chance to walk away, once and for all. Leave now.” Nerita’s sage green eyes return to meet the storm grey of Delgado’s. “Don’t throw your lives away needlessly for one woman’s anger and bitterness.”

The words appear to strike some hidden chord in Delgado, for her tall frame jerks as if physically stung – slightly and briefly, but the reaction is closest to actual shock you’ve even seen Delgado illustrate. She’s staring at the smaller woman unblinkingly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. Nerita ducks her head once more, breaking eye contact with Delgado to look at the women around her instead, nodding once in encouragement at the anxious faces. Slowly, two of the women begin to step away, edging toward the dense forests while throwing a fearful glance at Delgado – who’s still staring at Nerita, anger clouding her gaze. The Spaniards mutter and argue amongst themselves, some of them anxious, some angry, most of them moving about tensely.

Taking advantage of Delgado’s distraction with Nerita, Jack soundlessly circles over to you. “We still need to get to that sword before her,” he murmurs quietly, meeting your eyes quickly.

“I know,” you whisper back, shifting your gaze into the rustling branches above head and suppress a weary sigh. Why did everything always have to be so difficult?

The two women who managed to gather their courage and leave first are like pebbles thrown in a pond, creating ripples; one by one, more Spaniards slowly start to pull back, turning away and disappearing among the lush greenery. The women who obviously have no intention of leaving their Captain scowl angrily at the deserters, some shouting taunts in Spanish, but dare not to stop the ones leaving – though Nerita’s narrow-eyed look might have something to do with that. Soon enough, seven out of fourteen women have left and fled into the surrounding forests, leaving another seven behind.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Jack remarks into the ensued silence, and a quick smile tugs at your lips.

The air is suddenly pregnant with tense expectation, like heavy air building up before the thunder. And as you’re about to witness, the lighting is quick to strike.

“You haven’t seen anger yet, ungrateful little TRAITOR!!” Delgado suddenly roars at Nerita, and in a movement too quick to properly even see, she grabs something from her belt and hurls it across the air.

All happens in a matter of seconds – the dagger imbedding itself into Nerita’s chest and the small woman crumpling to the ground without a sound; Delgado’s furious bellow to her crew, “¡Mataros! ¡Mataros todos!” and the charging of the remaining seven Spaniards; the air is suddenly full of infuriated screams, sounds of rushed footfalls and a gunshot or two. (“Kill them! Kill them all!”)

Instincts take over you immediately and you pull out your cutlass in a flash, a hot rush of adrenaline flooding your veins as your muscles tense on their own volition in anticipation of a fight. A tall woman with long brown hair charges at you with a shriek, and you grind your teeth against the twinge of pain while bringing your arm up to block her strike with your cutlass, the blades glancing together loudly.

In the meanwhile, Jack doesn’t hesitate as he levels his pistol at Delgado’s approaching form, grim determination on his face as he takes the chance and pulls the trigger…

…but instead of the familiar kick of a successful shot, the pistol only gives a flickering spark and a short sputter, followed by a small curl of smoke. Jack’s eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly as he stares at the weapon, incredulous and annoyed by its betrayal. Shifting his eyes quickly up from the pistol, he finds Delgado looking down at him with a smug, and entirely feral, smirk. “Bugger!” he manages, before Delgado’s closed fist makes painful contact with his face, stars dancing across his vision as the heavy impetus toppling him off balance and making him fall flat on his back.

“Jack!” you yelp as you catch him falling down out of the corner of your eye, the Spaniard you’re trying to fend off using your distraction to her advantage and slashing at your middle, a strike that you only barely manage to dodge.

“Men,” Delgado drawled in condescending amusement as Jack went down, before stalking over to Nerita’s prone body without a backwards glance, ignoring the chaos about her. The former first mate was grasping the hilt of the dagger deeply buried in her left shoulder, her breath coming in wheezing gasps. Delgado crouched down to stare at her in the eyes and spoke slowly, her tone freezing, “You were nothing but a pitiful, abused wreck when I met you, Nerita. I gave you power. I gave you respect. I gave you everything!” she hissed furiously, eyes widening. “I made you into what you are, and this is how you repay me?”

“Yes, you did,” Nerita chokes between clenched teeth, “And I came to hate… you… for it,” she drew in a shuddering breath. “I never… had any wish… to be… like you…” With an effort, Nerita gathered her waning strength and spat at Delgado’s face, blood mingling with the saliva and dyeing it pink. Delgado stared down at Nerita silently, her right eye twitching.

Anger and worry boost your swing as you smash your fist into the brown-haired woman’s face, following that with a sweeping kick at her ankles that takes her down momentarily. You leave her lie and rush over to Jack, who’s hoisting himself up from the ground, shaking his head slightly to clear it – his footing wobbles slightly, but you’re not certain if that’s because of the punch or just him. He sneers down at the pistol in his hand as you reach him.

“Bloody piece of––”

“Jack,” you interrupt, “You alright?”

“Well enough. You can kiss it all better later,” he smirks while shoving the pistol behind his belt.

“Obviously she didn’t punch you on the mouth,” you roll your eyes, before taking a quick glance around. Elizabeth seems to be doing alright, fighting alongside with Will, whose expertise with sword-handling is undeniable. Mister Gibbs’ methods have slightly less flair, but are none less efficient. Anamaria on the other hand is like a woman possessed, easily matching any of the Spaniards’ ferocity. Still, the women make up in sheer tenacity what they lack in skill with a blade.

“Looks like they have everything under control so far,” you say, a surprised squeak leaving your throat when Jack grabs your hand and starts pulling you along towards the trees holding the secrets of the Abyss.

“Which leaves it upon us to save the day properly. Snap to it, luv!”

On the other side of the clearing, Delgado slowly wiped Nerita’s spittle from her cheek with one finger, scoffing.

“Have it your way, then… old friend,” she purred low in her throat, and grabbed the hilt of the dagger in her own hand, twisting it violently around in the wound. Nerita’s piercing scream of pain brought a smile of sick satisfaction to her lips. Rising slightly, Delgado planted one foot on Nerita’s shoulder near the wound, and pulled the blade out none too gently, drawing another agonized cry from the injured woman. As Nerita lay on the ground bleeding, trying to control her pained breathing, Delgado wiped the blood on the dagger on Nerita’s shirt. “Have a good death!” she then growled to the woman she once considered a friend, and turned away. Nerita struggled to hold onto her consciousness, but the searing pain that radiated from the deep wound was incapacitating – try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the wave of black oblivion that rolled over her like rising tide.

Scanning her stormy eyes over the surroundings, Delgado drew in a sharp breath of irritation as her gaze fell on you and Jack under the trees. “No, no, no, you can’t do that, I’m afraid…” she singsonged darkly as she realized your intents.

Reaching the towering trees, you crane your neck to stare at the impressive sight of the numerous, leafy branches, curbing another sigh as you realize just how tall the tree in actuality is.

“Alright, no big deal. Climb up, get the sword, climb down, destroy the sword,” Jack recaps, and looks at you with a small smirk. “Simple, really.”

You give him a wry look in return, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. Jack rolls his eyes slightly, heaving an impatient sigh. “Fine, so it’s simple in theory. Let’s not split hairs here, luv.”

“No, let’s split something else instead,” drawls a familiar, husky voice slowly from behind you, accompanied by a metallic shling of a blade pulled out of a scabbard. “A fine enough plan, but I’m afraid I cannot let you do that.”

Neither you nor Jack turns around to face Delgado, but tilt your heads just marginally enough to trade glances with one another. Jack looks at you in the eyes with meaningful intensity for a moment, and then flicks his gaze up the tree, before meeting your eyes again. You understand the message well enough; climb up. You widen your eyes a little, before frowning and shifting your gaze quickly in Delgado’s general direction; and leave you with her? Jack sneers a bit in irritation, a tiny growl-like noise coming from his throat. Go, the wide eyes and a jerky nod of his head convey. Your eyes narrow and an exasperated huff leaves your lips in response; that finally snaps Jack’s attempt at discretion.

“Do it!” he shouts, not waiting for response but whirling around instead. His cutlass is drawn a second later and he swings it at Delgado, the tall woman cursing in Spanish and springing back a few steps in surprise.

Left with little choice, you spit out the foulest expletive you know while lifting your arms over your head, jumping up and grabbing the lowest branch. Your muscles ache dully and you don’t bother holding back the pained groan that spills from your lips as you stiffly hoist yourself up on the sturdy branch, already grabbing another overhead and finding footholds on the lower ones. Resolutely, you push away the loud sounds of blade meeting blade underneath the tree from your mind, concentrating on climbing the bloody tree as quickly as you possibly can in your half-fit state. You narrow your world to revolve around the thick trunk and the leafy branches around it, your only objective being reaching the rotten bits of wood you can see looming up in the heights, amidst the rustling leaves and hanging vines. The coarse bark beneath your palms snags at your skin, but you ignore it. Curling one hand around a bough in level with your shoulder, you glance down at your feet and lift one leg up, placing your sole firmly on another branch before hoisting yourself upward, your weight on your right foot while you search for a proper footing for the left. Luckily climbing around the rigging was one of your favourite pastimes as a kid; that particular skill is proving very handy now. Exhaling slightly breathlessly through your mouth, you hoist yourself up on another branch, and another after that, keeping a steady pace while trying not to think about your rapidly tiring muscles and your friends down on the ground.

Jack’s eyes narrowed calculatingly as he parried yet one of Delgado’s blows, pushing her blade away with his. She was not as skilled as she could have been – probably close to Jack’s own level – but she did possess a fair enough amount of physical strength in her swipes. Her size gave her stamina, but it took away some of her swiftness; this was something Jack strived to take advantage on.

“You know, Sparrow,” Delgado mused, swiping her blade in an upward arc which Jack deflected with his own, “I really think it’s a shame things had to come to this. We could’ve made a good team, you and I. It’s still not too late to come over to my side…”

“Why, Gabby,” Jack quipped with a smirk, sidestepping deftly and parrying another blow, “Are you propositioning me? I’m afraid my affections are already rather spoken for. Just what kind of a man do you think I am?”

A sour expression crossed Delgado’s face, and she delivered another swing with slightly more aggression behind it, “Obviously an idiotic one! Never thought you’d throw such a chance away over some loudmouthed, half-breed hussy!”

Delgado couldn’t hold back a short scream of outrage when Jack’s cutlass abruptly slashed through the air and sliced a long cut across the Spaniard’s upper arm, crimson flooding from the wound and staining her white shirt. The surprise made Delgado stagger two steps away, blade held defensively before her as she stared at Jack. The pirate stood still as well, the tip of his blade stained with her blood. Amusement had fled his face, and Delgado saw ire in his dark eyes that held hers challengingly, as if daring her to say more things along those lines.

Delgado glanced down at her bleeding arm, and spoke up thoughtfully, “The first blood has been drawn. You win.” Then she raised her gaze to meet his, smiled wickedly, and whistled a short, shrill tune.

Three of the Spaniards that had been engaging Will, Elizabeth, Anamaria and Gibbs removed themselves from the fray at the sound, hurrying to their Captain’s side. Delgado smiled smugly at Jack, speaking with flourish, “As the rules of engagement dictate, I, the beaten party, shall now step down. Take care.”

With that, Delgado stepped away and made her way over to the tree you were currently climbing up, the three women inconveniently standing between Jack and the tree. Jack pursed his lips and shifted his widened gaze from one smirking Spaniard to another, knowing this wasn’t particularly good. “…Bugger.”

* * *

A frustrated rumble resounds through your clenched teeth as you once more haul yourself one branch higher. Your biceps and thighs are practically burning from the strain, your hands are filled with scratches from the twigs and your breathing is turning more laboured – your advance isn’t as steady anymore as it was when you started, you body growing increasingly more tired. You’re high enough to feel the brisk wind blow through your clothes, the sharp gusts weaving through the leafy boughs. You pause for a moment, grabbing a firm hold of the branches and gaze up through the swaying limbs and rustling leaves; a lazy grin of achievement spreads to your lips as you see to your surprise that you’re only few odd yards away from the decomposing vestiges of the Abyss. The blade couldn’t be very far!

Sunlight streams through the thick canopy of greenery, the leaves rustling in the wind making it dance amidst the branches. A sudden beam hits you right in the eyes, and you squeeze them shut instinctively for a moment; blinking, you frown in puzzlement at the bright glinting that’s visible every now and then amidst the leaves. As you climb on, you realize that the branches are strewn with valuables. There’s jewellery everywhere, it seems; rings and necklaces stuck on twigs, twined around small branches, precious stones and gold here and there. Most of them are dirtied and covered with a growth or some kind, but some of them still glint brightly in the revealing sunlight as it permeates the leafy canopy. You draw in a breath of amazement as you gaze down; the trees around glimmer in similar way. It’s too shady down on the ground to see them from there, but from above… it’s a different story. A smirk tugs as your lips as you think about it; this has to be what’s left of the famous treasures the Abyss was supposed to carry inside of her. You’re guessing the rest can be found buried in the ground, if there is any more to begin with.

Focusing your concentration, you hoist yourself up on a sturdy branch, finally crouching right under the corpse of the Abyss. You suspect that what you’re looking at is her keel, or perhaps her side. You wouldn’t bet on it. There’s a jagged hole in the dark, moss-covered planks right overhead, and you figure it might just be large enough for you to wiggle through. Here goes nothing, you think to yourself, pushing first your arms through the crack, and then your head and torso, carefully balancing on the branch below. Spreading your arms to the sides and planting your palms on the old wood, fingers spread, you squeeze yourself through the opening while fervently wishing the wood holds your weight. With a grunt, you plop yourself on your stomach over the worn planks, carefully crawling forward enough to pull your legs up. It’s quite a bit darker in the ‘inside’, the sunlight mostly blocked by the ship’s scant remains and the heavy greenery.

Pushing yourself on your hands and knees, your sigh of relief suddenly turns into a cry of shock. “Christ!” you yelp, jumping involuntarily as you realize you’re staring at a hand, hanging right there mere inches from your face. Getting over your fright, you take a deep breath, staring at the hand silently. Well, it has been a hand once – now it’s just mere bones, dried up and fungi-covered, in places. A frown knits your brows together as you think about it. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone onboard this ship, except…

Slowly, you tilt your head up and follow the limply hanging skeleton-arm with your gaze, coming to stare at a human skull, right in the hollows that once housed a pair of eyes. The bone is ashen grey and similarly growth-covered here and there. The skeleton hangs limply in the air, impaled by a couple of branches as thick as your arm at the ribs. Some of the bones are missing or cracked, as are some teeth, and the left leg is gone entirely. It’s a rather sordid sight.

“Prince Aeneas, I presume,” you speak to the ancient skeleton, running your eyes over it. Tearing your eyes from the pile of bones after a moment, you gaze around for the scabbard, squinting in the dimness. Your body tenses as you finally sight something promising: about six feet away, a long leather casing. It’s hanging in the air, suspended by a fine cord twined intricately around the scabbard – a cord that’s incessantly tangled in more branches. Biting at your lip, you begin to slowly and carefully crawl along the old floorboards, the wood moaning and creaking under each movement you make. Your process is agonizingly slow, and you can feel cold sweat beading upon your brow. Holding your breath, you halt entirely as a particularly load groan sounds right under your left palm. Staying still for a moment, you exhale slowly and lift your right hand, placing it further along the wood. Slowly, ever so slowly, you finally reach the scabbard what feels like ages. Wanting to get away as quickly as possible, you slowly reach inside your boot and pull out your small knife, intending to cut the cords twined to the scabbard. On your knees, you reach out and grab the sheath with your other hand – but the moment your fingertips touch it, a bizarre, almost burning current rushes through your body like a tidal wave, making you gasp and pull your hand away.

“What the hell?” you cry out, staring at the scabbard, and then your hand. That was strange. Gazing suspiciously at the scabbard again, you narrow your eyes at it. “I don’t believe in this prophetess stuff,” you declare out loud, wondering in the back of your mind whom exactly were you trying to convince. Grabbing the scabbard again, you cut the two cords on it and pull it free, this time feeling nothing.

Pushing the knife back in your boot, you hold the scabbard with both hands, looking at it for a moment. The scabbard is beautifully adorned, and the hilt of the sword is golden, intricately engraved with winding patterns of immense detail. You idly wonder how strange it was that such a pretty object could be capable of causing utter destruction in wrong hands. Snapping out of it, you carefully slide the scabbard under your belt, making sure it stays there, before backing up the same trail in the same slow pace.

Squirming down from the hole in the planks, you blink in the sudden brightness, lowering yourself on the same branch you used to climb up. Exhaling, you make sure once more that the sword is secured before starting to ascend from the tree. You’re about to lower yourself one branch down when something clamps tightly around your ankle, drawing a startled cry from you.

“Hello again, sister,” Delgado sneers maliciously up at you, yanking at your leg. Your eye twitches; that word does it. You tighten your hold of the overhead branches, and with a cry of annoyance and anger, pull your free leg up before slamming it down, driving your sole straight into Delgado’s face. Delgado shrieks in fury and pain and lets go of your leg, holding her nose with one hand. You don’t bother curbing a victorious laugh – that was highly satisfying!

With a furious scream, Delgado grabs at your ankle again and yanks harder than you thought she could, making you stagger and claw at the trunk to keep your balance, but in vain; to your horror, you realize that you’re about to fall down. With a spark of angry stubbornness, you decide as you stagger that you will not be going down alone – you grab onto Delgado with both hands as you topple off the branch, pushing her off balance as well.

Screaming your head off, you fall down from the tree, the leaves and tiny twigs slapping at you all over, the loud rustle of branches deafening in your ears – you cry out in pain as you slam stomach first into a knobbly branch, breath leaving your lungs at the impact. You try to grab onto the branch, but can’t hold on with your tired hands – you fall again, on your back this time, another branch knocking you on your upper back, pain blooming within you at the contact. Your body twists again, and this time you see the oncoming impact before it happens and are prepared for it; flinging out your arms, the catch the branch under your arms, curling them around it as tightly as you can, squeezing your eyes shut and groaning as the collision jars your ill-treated body painfully.

“Oh god,” you moan quietly through irregular breathing, your body suffused with all kinds of pains and aches. Cracking your eyes open at last, you glance down to notice that you’re only about three yards from the ground – which would mean you fell down at least five. You notice another slimmer branch underneath you, and almost weep in relief; you think you can set your feet on the lower branch if you give it a shot. Drawing in a pained breath, you grit your teeth and slowly ease yourself downward, grabbing on the branch with your hands instead of curling your arms around it. It’s a slow process, but your feet finally touch the lower branch. Holding tightly on to the one you just hung from, you slowly step along the thinner branch, reaching the trunk with a sigh. Relief turns into alarm, however, as you realize the cursed sword is not in your belt anymore.

“Flaming hell!” you hiss, gazing up and down frantically – heaving a sigh of relief as you spot the blade in question after many agonizing seconds on the ground, lying amidst the undergrowth around the tree. “There is a god after all,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t bet on it!” Your eyes widen at the all too familiar snarl from above you, and you only barely manage to dodge a kick to your head by dropping into a precarious crouch on the branch, leaning on the trunk with both hands. Delgado growls low from her throat, steely eyes wide and flashing with frenzied vehemence as she clambers downwards. Anger simmers within you as you steady yourself and reach into your boot with one hand, pulling out your knife – you did not just fall down from a bloody tree to have his Amazon get away with the sword!

You spring up just as Delgado drops at your side, and with all your might plunge the knife through the back of her left hand that’s leaning against the trunk, driving the sharp blade through her palm up to the hilt and imbedding it deep in the tree. Delgado roars a loud, wordless cry of pain, and you use her distraction to drop one branch downward.

“BRUJA!” Delgado howls fiercely and swings a punch at you with her free hand, but you drop yourself down another branch, avoiding her fist just in time. (“Bitch!”)

“That’s payback for you!” you shout back sarcastically, never pausing your descend. Quickly climbing down from the tree (which is never as easy as climbing up), you breathe a sigh of relief when you finally feel solid ground under your feet again. Picking up the ancient sword, you scowl up at the tree as your catch the fierce string of Spanish Delgado is spewing down at you, more likely than not being something entirely unflattering.

Glancing around, you take in the sight of Jack fencing with two Spaniards at once some odd feet away; third one is lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious. You shake your head in annoyance, grab the heavy sword tightly with both hands and stalk over. Hefting the sword up, you swing it sideways and smash it against woman out cold with it. The second one forgets all about Jack and whirls around in startled surprise, only to have the solid golden hilt connect squarely with her jaw; her head snaps to the side and she crumples down, unmoving.

Jack stares at you with an expression that’s a cross between incredulity and surprise, his cutlass still held in mid-air.

“Got it,” you state the obvious, lifting the sword in the air a little, before adding with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks so much for all your help.”

Jack grins as he sheathes his blade. “I knew you could do it, darling. Never had a doubt in me mind.”

“Of course,” you return dryly. “…Men.”

He glances up at the tree with an inscrutable look. “Delgado?”

“Let’s just say that I nailed her into place for a while,” you reply with a smirk, but sober up as you glance down at the sword in your hand. “We need to destroy this somehow, Delgado can’t have her hands on it.”

You watch as Jack scrutinizes the mountain that looms above the forests to the side – the volcano, you recall suddenly – with a thoughtful, narrow-eyed gaze for a moment, before turning back to you with a devilish smirk. You raise your brows. “You’re serious?”

“By no means or methods will she ever be able to fetch it from there, wouldn’t you say?” he responds shrewdly, and you grin.

“I would say so,” you agree. “Let’s go!”

“Mister Gibbs!” Jack turns to holler at the quartermaster who is aiding Anamaria fend back two of the Spaniards a while away while Elizabeth and Will take on two more, “We’re going up to toss the blade in the volcano. You stay here and hold the fort! Oh, and mind the shrew in the tree as well, aye?”

“You what?” Gibbs shouts back, incredulity colouring his gruff tone. Grunting in frustration, he punches one of the women on the jaw before turning to look at Jack, but he’s already hurrying towards the mountain with you. “Jack! Byrne!” Resigned, he shakes his head. “Can’t help but to have an ill feel ‘bout this…”

* * * *

Even the strong wind that had begun to blow from the sea could not engulf the boom of the guns or the fierce battle cries under its howling.

Espirítu Maldito shook violently as three shots from the British man-o-war found her stern and easily broke through old wood as if it were glass, timbers cracking and groaning loudly as the galleons rudder was ruined. Commodore Norrington noted with grim satisfaction that the Spanish vessel was already taking in water, the barnacle-coated hull littered with gaping holes. He stalked along the Dauntless’ shuddering deck, shouting commands to the mariners as if the mayhem about him didn’t exist, forcing himself to stay focused on the battle even when he heard one of the desperate shots from the damaged galleon shatter windows in the stern of the Dauntless.

“Commodore!” Gillette rushed up next to Norrington, his pale face pinched with anxiety as he cried out, “The wind is pushing them straight to us!”

That was something James could have predicted himself, but made no comment upon it. The galleon was indeed slowly but certainly being pushed towards the Dauntless by the fierce gales; impact would be imminent. Scanning his eyes over the deck of enemy vessel, James grit his teeth as he followed the activity of the women, realizing that the Spaniards had understood the same thing he had.

“Prepare for defence,” James spoke calmly but firmly, “They will be boarding us soon.”

Gillette balked. “Sir! You would allow them to––”

“Would you rather have us move over to an unsteady and entirely unfamiliar vessel and by doing so decrease our dominance over the battle?” James countered irritably before Gillette managed to finish. “Permission to open fire at first convenience.”

Once more, Gillette hurried to relay the order while Norrington rested his palm over the hilt of his sword, knowing the fine blade would have to be put to use soon enough.

* * * *

Up in the tree, Delgado curled her right hand around the hilt of the knife that pierced her left hand and pulled hard, a hissing in fury and pain between her clenched teeth. With a sharp scream, she yanked the blade out of the trunk and pulled it from her palm, a burning pain numbing the hand that was a mere bleeding mess now. Cursing foully in Spanish, she threw the bloodstained knife away angrily and began her descent from the tree, promising herself to return you the favour. Multiple times. Seething with rage, she made her way down the leafy branches, her ruined hand leaving crimson splatters and smudges on the dark wood as she went. She ignored the pain in her palm, too angry to pay attention. After making sure Sparrow’s friends were too busy with her crew – quite frankly, Delgado was slightly surprised that four of her crew were still standing; perhaps they weren’t utter incompetents, after all – she dropped herself from the tree, sparing but a brief scoff in the direction of the skirmish between her crew and Jack’s before turning her narrow-eyed glare towards the mountain, taking off after you and Jack.

Elizabeth pushed off one of the Spaniard’s blade, parrying the sloppy blow quite easily. Growing tired and fed up, she cast the proper rules of combat to the winds and promptly slammed the hilt of her cutlass against the woman’s temple with a cry of annoyance. The other crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut out, and Elizabeth hurried to Will’s side. But before she managed that, her gaze was drawn to a sole, tall figure in the distance, approaching the roots of the mountain. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she realized Delgado had slipped away and was going after Jack and Byrne. She could catch them off guard if none gave a warning…

“Will!” Elizabeth cried out, distress in her voice.

Slashing his blade across his combatant’s middle and cutting down the woman, Will spun around at Elizabeth’s fretful exclamation.

“It’s Delgado!” Elizabeth went on anxiously as she met Will’s gaze, “She went after the blade! We must do something, we must help!”

“Gibbs!” Will hollered as his eyes found the quartermaster, but the older man was already one step ahead of him.

“Go! Jack and Byrne will be needing what help they can get!” Gibbs shouted back, while forcing the two remaining women into retreat with Anamaria.

“What’re you doing still standing there?” Anamaria demanded irately as Will and Elizabeth didn’t take off immediately, slashing angrily with her blade at one of the women, “Be off already, damn you!”

Neither Will nor Elizabeth needed to be told twice as they rushed after Delgado, while Gibbs and Anamaria concentrated on their unrelenting opponents. In the heat of the moment, nobody noticed how the wounded, former first mate of Delgado’s, presumed dead by all, wearily flickered open her unfocused eyes and drew in a shuddering breath between blood splattered lips…

* * *

You grind your teeth against the burning pain in your muscles as you hurriedly hike up the mountainside alongside Jack, the fabled scabbard clutched tightly under your right arm while Jack’s fingers curl around your left in support. You have pain in muscles and places in your body you never knew even existed! God, you’re so tired and in too much pain, but you have got to see this one through – to whatever end.

“You know, Captain,” you tell Jack, finding yourself increasingly more breathless as you go higher, “I’d like to officially request some time off duty after this little escapade. Otherwise I might just keel over and die of exhaustion.”

“Believe me, darling,” Jack replies grimly, “You’re not the only one having that thought in mind.”

“So our interests coincide yet again,” you quip, managing a quick smile.

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Jack throws back, glancing at you with a small smirk before eyeing the surroundings.

The rocky mountainside you’re scaling rises upwards gently, loose boulders and tiny pebbles littering it. The vegetation got increasingly sparser as you passed the root of the mountain, and it died out entirely the higher you climbed. The hill seems to taper off and form some level land few odd yards away. Up in the distance, the mountain towers up towards the skies once more, forming the peak of the volcano. You can see columns of smoke curl lazily into the air from where the hillside levels down.

“Ah. That looks promising,” Jack says in a tone laced with satisfaction. “Where there’s smoke, there’s bound to be fire.”

Too out of breath to answer, you settle for nodding your head, grasping the sword under your arm tightly to reassure yourself it’s still there. Jack grasps your free hand in his and helps you climb over the cliff, the pair of you standing there for a moment and take in the new environment. The ground is nearly black, littered with pebbles and soot, void of any greenery; large boulders sit forebodingly all over, amidst some jagged stone peaks that protrude from the ground like the devil’s horns; small plumes of smoke twirl into the air here and there from the ground.

Wordlessly, you and Jack trade a look before starting to make your way ahead, circling the boulders that sit everywhere. The land seems to be inclining over to the left and gain more free space, so you and Jack head over in that direction, cautious in your steps. The silence that hangs over the mountain is almost eerie, broken only by the quiet hiss of the small steam currents breaking free through the black ground and the howl of the wind that buffets the rocky hills.

And all of the sudden, the ground trembles and shakes underfoot, a deep, groaning rumble echoing in the air. Your free hand grabs onto Jack’s arm out of instinct and your body goes tense, breath catching in your throat. And then, as quickly as it started, the vibrations die out, and the mountain is silent once more.

You’re still grasping on Jack’s arm as you meet his gaze, widened similarly just like yours. For a second, neither of you talks, as if afraid words will upset the mountain anew. Long at last, Jack breaks the oppressing silence, voicing your opinion exactly, “I’m thinking we shouldn’t stay longer than absolutely necessary.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” you reply shakily, nodding in emphasis.

Weaving amidst the boulders and dodging the blasts of steam hissing from the ground, you and Jack at least find what might suit your purposes. In the distance looms a large, jagged crack the ground, translucent curtain of steam rising slowly from its dark depths. Glancing at Jack, you notice him eyeing the ravine calculatingly, turning to you and nodding when he feels your gaze on him. Advancing the gaping rift, you halt a safe distance away, feeling the heat of the steam on your skin. Jack picks up a stone the size of his fist from the ground, throwing it from one hand to another before he tosses it in into the chasm; both of you listen intently at the silence as the stone hurls down, the quiet broken by a hissing splash as the stone hits the steaming liquid below.

“Water,” Jack muses, one hand rising to tug at the plaits on his chin absently. “Extremely hot water. Not exactly a river of lava, but it’ll do. Delgado will get herself a good skin peel if she plans to fetch the sword back from there. Alright, chuck it down and we’ll make ourselves scarce.”

“Not so fast, my friends!”

Not again! The thought flashes through your mind after the split-second it takes you to register the accented drawl; another second later, a yelp falls from your lips as you stumble to the right, the spot on your left upper arm where Jack shoved at you throbbing painfully – in a flash of gleaming metal, Delgado’s blade scours the air where your neck was only seconds earlier, now cutting through naught but steamy air instead.

Snarling like an enraged wild animal at her miss, Delgado wastes no time to divert her attack to Jack, who has already drawn out his cutlass and parries her aggressive swing fluidly, launching his own offensive. Staggering to regain your balance, you switch the sword of Aeneas in its scabbard under your left arm and pull out your blade with your right hand, gripping the handle tightly when Delgado shoves Jack’s blade away with an annoyed growl, whirling around with surprising grace to block the swipe you make at her back. Her left hand is covered with blood, you note, knowing it has to hurt like hell – you file the information away for later use, backtracking a step as Delgado tries to drive your blade away from hers, thus avoiding the stumble you know would’ve been inevitable; Delgado’s physical strength surpasses yours, especially in your current state.

While you take a quick step back, Jack makes to slash his cutlass across Delgado’s back; but anticipating an attack, the tall Spaniard twists her torso and brings her blade down vertically, sharp clash of metal ringing in the air as Jack’s blade collides with it. You seize the chance and lift your arm, slashing downward with every intention to bringing an end to this skirmish, but Delgado surprises you by grabbing the wrist of your sword hand with her left one – the one slicked with blood from the gaping wound. Your jaw drops in astonishment as you stare at Delgado’s hand, certain it must be paining her something fierce. And yet here she is, squeezing your wrist in a vice-like grip as if pain was a foreign concept to her. She smirks smugly at your stunned expression, before bodily pushing you away like you weighed nothing, whirling around and lashing out with her blade just in time to parry Jack’s thrust.

Regaining your footing, you charge again with a growl of annoyance while Delgado has her back turned, her blade clashing against Jack’s as they take turns thrusting and parrying. Shoving away Jack’s offensive, Delgado spins around while you raise your arm high for momentum and twirl your wrist while bringing your arm down, slanting the blade correctly as you aim for Delgado’s midsection. Quick as lighting, Delgado counters the strike, turning aside the course of your swing by sliding her blade down along yours with such force the sudden change in balance causes you to stumble a half-step forward.

Drawing her free arm ahead, Delgado suddenly twists her torso again and rams her elbow back forcefully, smacking it straight into Jack’s solar plexus; you barely have the time to register the fact that he goes down with a pained grunt, before Delgado lifts her leg up and drives the sole of her boot viciously to the susceptible spot where your right thigh meets your hip. Your body crumples forward at the painful contact but remains standing – until Delgado follows the kick with a fierce smack across your face, the force of the blow so hard that you see white spots dancing across your vision when you land flat on your stomach, air leaving your lungs for the second time today. You lose your grip on the sword in the violent tumble, the sheathed blade landing by the edge of the steaming ravine with a dull thud.

Delgado laughs, arrogance and spitefulness in the sound – but her laugh abruptly morphs into a scream of surprise when Jack turns to his side on the ground and flings one leg up, catching Delgado squarely on the backs of her knees, causing them to buckle beneath her. Jack scrambles up while Delgado falls on her back, quickly jumping to the side to avoid the swipe of Delgado’s cutlass as she tries to slice at his ankles, shrieking angrily. Jack’s blade cuts through the air as Delgado regains her footing, and this time she parries only barely in time to avoid injury, a cross screech on her lips as she returns the strike; the tip of her blade catches Jack’s right above the hilt with a force stronger than Jack was expecting, knocking the cutlass from his grasp entirely. Jack’s widened eyes follow the blade as it flies across the air, clattering on the ground a good distance away. Jerking his head back to stare at Delgado, Jack catches her smug smile – this looks too familiar, the thought has just enough time to run through his mind – before her closed fist collides with his jaw and a knee with his stomach, snapping his head back and slamming his back to the ground, his senses reeling.

Only half recovered from the blow, you push yourself up with trembling arms, only barely suppressing a groan of pain as your muscles protest at the movement. You’re so tired, worn down to the bone. Everywhere hurts, your head feels stuffy and your vision threatens to swim; but still your force yourself to get up, to get the sword – everything depends on it, you couldn’t fail now…

A cry of pain and startled surprise leaves your mouth as a lone boot sole suddenly lands heavily on the base of your neck, pushing your front violently back to the ground, keeping pressure. “Eat dirt, darling,” Delgado singsongs in wicked amusement from above you. With one final, painful push of her foot, she steps away and kicks your cutlass away from your reach. Groaning and cursing at the same time, you raise your head and catch Delgado stalking over to the cursed sword, a wave of despair washing through you; she would take it, she would––

“Delgado!” A deep voice suddenly bellows with angry vehemence, and everyone’s gaze is drawn to William, standing there with his blade drawn, accompanied by equally stern Elizabeth.

Delgado stares at the young couple with her head tilted to the side, the scabbard in her hands. “Yes?” she questions slowly, an air of nonchalance about the word.

Will points his blade at the Spaniard, his voice darkly intense as he demands, “Hand over that sword.”

Still lying on the ground, propped up by your forearms, you draw in a slow breath while shifting your gaze from Will to Delgado, your ribs aching. You have such a bad feeling about this all. Jack steadies his swaying form as he hoists himself up, placing one hand on his jaw and rubbing it with a displeased expression, his eyes darting from Delgado to Will and back to Delgado again.

Blinking languidly, Delgado keeps staring at Will in silence. “I must have heard you wrong,” she finally drawls, genuine interest in her voice, “What did you say, again?”

“I said––”

“You heard perfectly well what the boy said!” Jack interrupts impatiently, hands motioning haphazardly in annoyance. “Do us all a favour and just hand over that bloody sword. We might even put in a word for you for the Commodore if you’ll oblige. Who knows, might even get a trial first instead of being hanged on the spot!” he smirks.

Delgado isn’t impressed. “Are you stupid or just slow on the uptake?” she laughs. “I’m the one with the sword, here. If I so wish, I can pull it out of the scabbard and watch you kill each other under the curse’s influence. I am the one with the bargaining chip, not you,” she pauses, summoning faux regret in her tone, “It’s a shame that I really have no desire for bargaining, as it happens.”

Jack is quiet for a moment, eyes darting to the sides before settling on Delgado again. “So is that a ‘no’, then?”

Delgado’s answering smile is slow and evil, but no words are forthcoming. Instead, she pulls the ancient sword free from its scabbard.

“No!”

The cry has fallen from your lips long before you realize having uttered it, your wide-eyed gaze riveted to the naked blade Delgado is holding over her head; a strange, simmering sensation unfurls somewhere deep in your belly as you stare at the magnificently crafted sword – the very air seems to stand still, as if in expectation of something to happen.

“…Hah!”

Jack’s gleeful exclamation shatters the charged moment, and you blink, tearing your gaze from the sword. “I don’t see anything happening, Gabby. Seems like you’ve got yourself a broken merchandise,” he sniggers in amusement, but instead of getting upset, Delgado smiles like the cat that ate the canary, her eyes fixed on something beyond Jack.

Realizing this, Jack’s snickers slowly die out, and he turns around to see what interests Delgado so – and promptly loses his smile altogether. “Oh. Not good,” he gulps, holding his palms up in the air in a placating gesture. Will and Elizabeth are advancing on him, blades held ready and complete looks of anger upon their faces. Their eyes are glazed over, unfocused and without a glimmer of recognition in them.

“Now, mates,” Jack forces a smile, taking a cautious step back, “We’re all at least in semi-friendly terms here, are we not? No need to be pointing those sharp things at my person, savvy?”

Your jaw drops, and you haul yourself upright, uncertain on how to proceed. Will and Elizabeth are obviously affected by the curse, but why isn’t the same happening to you, Jack and Delgado?

Jack’s hand reaches down for his cutlass instinctively, a look of panic crossing his face as his hand meets nothing but thin air. Frowning, he tilts his head down to ascertain things visually. Remembering that his blade still lies several feet away on the ground where Delgado flung it earlier, he snaps his head back up. With another forced smile on his lips, he speaks up again, slowly retreating while Will and Elizabeth keep advancing, “You wouldn’t attack an unarmed man, would you…?”

In response, Will slashes his blade towards Jack with a furious yell. Jack jumps back just in time, turns tail and runs, hollering loudly and waving his arms in the air as he goes; Will and Elizabeth are both hot in pursuit, their screams nigh bloodthirsty.

Concern and anger flooding your veins, you dash over to your own blade that Delgado kicked further away earlier. Picking it up, you whirl around and level it at Delgado who’s looking all too smug and satisfied for her own good. “That blade. Give it to me,” you demand harshly. You would need it, apparently; you dare not think what would happen if you do not prove to be the one whose blood can lift the curse.

“You want this?” Delgado purrs, waving the gleaming sword lazily in the air, her gaze hardening as she goes on in a malicious sneer, “The only way you’ll get this is when I run you through with it!”

With that, she charges at you with a furious shriek, swinging the heavy blade towards you with all the vehemence she possesses.

* * * *

Carmen cursed fiercely in Spanish, damning everything: the English and their ship, her bumbling crewmates, this idiotic quest, Delgado – everything and everyone. Her blade was gone, lost in the heat of battle. Her skin was cut and bruised, sore and stained with blood, but she hardly noticed. All she was aware of was the nagging sense of defeat, and boiling fury at everything. It was all over, she knew. Espirítu Maldito was listing badly and taking in water rapidly abreast the lofty Dauntless that had suffered only minor damage in the attack – the galleon would vanish beneath the crystalline waters soon. The boarding had not gone at all as it should have; the women were weakened from malnutrition, tired from sailing for so long without respite. Many were cut down even before their soles touched the decks of the Dauntless, and numerous more were easily beaten in their weakened state.

Carmen saw the women she’d served alongside with for years, most now lying dead on the decks of the English man-o-war, few of them still fighting, still trying to turn the tide. But Carmen knew it was useless. Soon enough, they would all be dead or captured, locked up in the brig to await hanging at Gallow’s Point. Death was the only alternative left now.

This was the end.

Another furious oath spilled from her lips, small flecks of blood flying from her split lip. Carmen’s rage at her fate overflowed and bubbled over the rim, and that’s when she spied the Commodore of the enemy forces not too far from her, locked in a duel with Juana – and clearly about to win. Carmen’s eyes narrowed and she grasped her pistol. If she was to die, she would sure as hell take him with her.

Her aim wavered from anger and exhaustion as she pointed the barrel at the Commodore’s back. Carmen watched as the tall man disarmed Juana easily, forcing her to surrender. A growl rumbled from her throat as she followed how he ordered one of the mariners to detain Juana. Carmen’s grip of the pistol tightened and her forefinger begun to put pressure on the trigger…

“NO!!”

A muffled squeal of surprise left Carmen’s mouth as a sudden shockwave ran through her body, a burst of hot fire spreading within her chest like liquid from a shattered bottle. Distantly, she realized her fingers had gone slack and dropped the pistol on the deck at the same time the Commodore turned around, staring at Carmen with a flash of stunned surprise on his face. Dumbfounded, Carmen belatedly understood that he was staring at her front, his surprise giving way to grimness now. A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of Carmen’s stomach and a wave nausea swept through her as she finally lowered her eyes, gazing down at the crimson stain right below her breasts, the blood seeping through her shirt and running down in thin rivulets.

Touching a numb hand to the spot, she brought her palm away and stared at the stains of sticky, crimson substance. A disbelieving noise came from her bleeding lips as she gaped at her hand, fingers coated with her own blood. Her body had started to tremble and now she finally felt pain; a burning, white-hot pain that ate away at her innards and made her weak. She didn’t understand that her knees had buckled from beneath her until her face slammed hard against the wooden deck – and with that final flare of pain, Carmen knew no more.

James watched stonily as the mortally wounded Spaniard before him slowly realized the extent of her injury, staring at her bloodied hand. At last, she made an odd noise, almost like a chuckle, and crumpled on the deck as her knees gave out, dead as stone – the red spot in the middle of her back was rapidly spreading.

James’ unemotional stare melted away and something tugged at his heart painfully when he found himself staring at Gemma, her lovely face pale and raised hand trembling as she still clutched the pistol he had given her prior the attack, a thin plume of smoke twirling into the air from the barrel. James’ throat felt tight as he realized Gemma had just saved his life. Had she not appeared there and taken the shot, it would be him lying on the deck now with a bullet in his back instead of the Spaniard.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” James blurted out before he properly even realized it, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

Gemma’s arm fell limply to her side and the pistol clattered on the floorboards as she met his eyes, her breath coming in shuddery gasps that boded tears. “You did,” she agreed tremulously, blinking her bright blue eyes rapidly.

James’ fine blade fell to the deck and his arms wrapped around Gemma the moment she ran to him, burying her face in his chest as the tears finally came, her shoulders shaking from quiet sobs. One arm around her trembling form and the other gently stroking her hair, James whispered soothing words into the ochre curls while the rest of the world around them fell away, the bustling mariners hauling away any surviving Spaniards, the cries of the wounded and the slowly sinking galleon beside the Dauntless forgotten.

* * * *

You gasp as Delgado’s kick sends you flying flat on your back, your head spinning and body aching. With effort, you summon enough strength to stave off Delgado’s attempt to cleave your head in two, holding your cutlass with both hands to push the sword away. Delgado brings the sword down again, aiming for your shoulder, but you roll away from her reach and the blade hits the ground instead. Grasping a fistful of dirt in your hand, you hurl the soot and pebbles at Delgado’s face as she makes for another strike, hoisting yourself up while Delgado screams in outrage, wiping her eyes.

Distancing yourself a few paces from her, you take a defensive pose, trying to calm your erratic breathing. Despair tugs at your heart once more; you know you cannot hold her off for much longer. You do not have enough strength left. And you know that Delgado knows it. She’s toying with you, not unlike a cat with a mouse before the kill.

“All you have to do is to stay still,” Delgado chuckles at you patronizingly, “You know it’s your blood that has to be spilled for the curse to be lifted. How can you stand the sight of your friends so plagued? And the love of your life,” she drawls mockingly, “About to be killed by those said friends? You can end it all. If you’ll just accept your fate… your death for their lives.”

Tightening your sweaty grip on the cutlass, you clench your jaw. Will and Elizabeth have driven Jack further away from you than you feel comfortable with; Jack managed to find his cutlass earlier and was trying to keep the young couple from killing him the last you saw him few minutes ago. Worry gnaws at you; you know that when it comes to fencing, Will has skills that surpass Jack’s. You have to break the curse, and you have to do it quickly before someone got hurt… or worse.

“To cease bloodshed, there must be bloodshed,” you quietly quote the sentence that Jack’s uncle, old Lucas Fowler, read you in his cottage in Tortuga about the curse in the sword – those days seem like a lifetime away, now.

Delgado catches your words, and smiles beguilingly. “That’s right… you already know what you must do. Don’t you?”

You stare at Delgado, a slow smirk spreading to your lips. Oh, you knew, indeed. “Aye…” you reply, “But I don’t discuss my plans with the sad bastards of common whores.”

The words have a desired effect. Delgado’s eyes widen so much you can see the whites all around the flashing orbs of grey, and she lunges at you with a yell of utter, mad fury. She slashes at you with near reckless vehemence, the impact of the colliding blades making your hands tremble. You force yourself to stay focused while Delgado’s mind is hazy with wrath, parrying her bone-shattering swipes while pulling into subtle retreat, hoping Delgado is too caught up in her anger not to notice that you’re leading her towards the yawning chasm filled with boiling water.

Abruptly, the mountain gives a loud rumble, the ground beneath your feet shaking and trembling – both you and Delgado halt your movements in alarm, staring down at the jumping pebbles while struggling to keep your footing. The vibrations die out, and you snap your head up to look at Delgado, who’s still caught up in the surprise. Quickly, you reach out and curl your free hand around the tip of the ancient blade before you, squeezing lightly and yanking your hand up along the metal, cringing as the sharp edge slices through the skin of your palm.

Delgado emits a strange noise of disbelief from her throat and you spring back, opening your palm and allowing the blood to snake freely down your skin from the cut. You eye the crimson smudge staining the edge of the sword (that suddenly seems to shine less brightly) before meeting Delgado’s gaze and saying with a smirk, “There’s your bloodshed. The prophecy never specified how much blood there was supposed to be and in which manner it was supposed to be shed, now did it?”

Delgado gapes at you for a moment in stunned silence. Slowly, as the surprise gives away, her expression starts to turn dark and furious once more. “I will have my revenge, you miserable little sea rat! One way or the other!”

You barely have time to take up the defensive pose before Delgado is attacking you again, driving you further back; the adrenaline rush has waned, leaving behind an aching, numbing weariness you can feel in the very marrows of your bones. That’s why your consciousness is not overly surprised when you lose your balance after a particularly powerful and violent strike of Delgado’s, your back making painful contact with the ground yet again.

* * *

Eyes narrowed in cagey attentiveness and his cutlass poised in the air, Jack stared as Elizabeth and Will breathlessly picked themselves up from the ground where they’d both collapsed simultaneously, gasping, but a mere moment ago.

“What just happened?” Elizabeth asked in confusion as she stood up, gingerly rubbing her forehead.

Jack didn’t respond, but tilted his torso slightly to the side like a quizzical bird, still studying the younger folk with a healthy amount of mistrust.

“Jack!”

“Am I to understand the pair of you no longer have any designs or intentions of spilling my blood all over this mountainside?” Jack countered, slanting his head slightly in question.

“What?” Will asked, frowning. “No, Jack.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good!” Jack replied cheerily, sheathing his cutlass. “It was the curse. In the sword. Apparently the thing wasn’t broken, after all. Further explanations can wait, I gotta run.”

Without another word, Jack took off to find you, fervently hoping for the best.

* * *

“What in the name of all that’s holy on God’s green earth was that?!” Mister Gibbs exclaimed, his expression uneasy as he stared at the dead Spaniards on the ground.

He didn’t understand what had just happened. Few of the unconscious women had woken up sometime after Will and Elizabeth had left, leaving him and Anamaria into something of a pickle. Then, he’d felt a strange wave of nausea, and after that, nothing.

“Damned if I know,” Anamaria replied shakily, “But I’m guessin’ it was that curse.”

“Did we kill those women?” Gibbs wondered after a pause, frowning.

Anamaria scowled. “Don’t know and don’t care. Just be thankful we didn’t kill each other!”

Gibbs paled, and reached for his flask. He hadn’t thought about that. As the rum burned pleasantly in his gut, Gibbs frowned again, noticing something odd in the picture.

“Weren’t that short dead woman still lying there before this bizarre occurrence took place?”

* * *

Flaming hell, you think blearily, this could be it.

You can feel the heat from the steam rising up the deep ravine on your scalp, your head only some odd inches away from the jagged cliff. Your cutlass is lying only an inch away from your numb fingers, but you can’t reach it – you can’t move even that single inch, thanks to a significant weight that’s placed over your sternum in the form of a dark boot, the boot leading up to a leg and the rest that makes up a very self-satisfied Captain Delgado.

“This sword serves little purpose now with no curse on it,” she muses, staring down at you, “But I bet it’s still perfect for ending your pathetic little life.”

“Did you really go through all this bother just to kill me?” you ask her, slightly breathless from the pressure on your chest. You’re not really interested about the answer, but if you can stall your fate a little, Jack might make it in time to––

Delgado chuckles, interrupting your train of thought. “Not everything is about you, you little idiot. No… killing you is just an added bonus. Now, no more delays,” she lifts the sword overhead, both hands grasping the handle, the sharp tip pointing down at you. “Goodbye!”

Damn it. You don’t want to go like this, don’t want Jack to find you here like that…

Your eyes widen as a sudden, lone gunshot echoes loudly in the air and Delgado’s torso jerks, a gasp escaping her mouth. An expression of disbelief is etched on her face as she stares down at you, lowering the sword slightly. Slowly, as if she couldn’t move any faster, she takes her foot off your chest and plants it on the ground, turning around…

…to stare straight at Nerita, leaning heavily on a boulder, one hand clasped to her bleeding shoulder and one clutching a smoking pistol in a shaky grasp. Her entire being trembles weakly, but her expression is steady and strong, of a woman mindful of her self-confidence.

“Thought I’d return… the favour,” Nerita grounds out and smiles humourlessly, teeth stained with blood. “Have a good death.”

You’re as stunned by Nerita’s appearance as Delgado seems to be; you thought she was dead. With her back turned, you can now see the gunshot wound on Delgado properly. The bloody circle on her upper back, near her spine, is slowly spreading, lazy rivulets seeping through her clothing and dribbling down.

“No,” Delgado chokes, small spasms shaking her body. Tightening her grip on the blade, she grasps it with both hands again and turns around with difficulty. A string of expletives runs through your mind as you realize she’s going to go through with what she started. Not this time, you decide with newfound resolve, feeling all too well your ability to move now with nothing hindering your body.

Delgado lifts the sword as high as she can, a gurgling growl rumbling from her throat. But you’re already moving, rolling to the side and picking up your cutlass before getting up from the ground, situating Delgado between yourself and the ravine. Infuriated even when injured, Delgado makes to slash at you with the blade but you’re quicker, your survival instincts taking over: the next thing you know, your cutlass sinks into Delgado’s stomach up to the hilt.

Her hands go lax around the handle of the sword, letting it drop to the ground. Instead, her trembling, bloody hands begin to reach for your throat. Recognizing her intent, you push her on the shoulder with your free hand while pulling the blade out of her body; the light shove is enough to topple her weakening form off balance, and you stare at her in the eyes – still as steely and cold as ever – as she falls backwards… her body disappears amidst the swirling steam, plunging down the ravine without a sound. But when you hear the loud splash of her body hitting the water, you have to press your palms to your ears to drown out the agonized, frenzied shrieks. However, they last only a few brief moments, before the silence returns.

The sword, with your blood still staining it, lies on the ground by the edge of the ravine where Delgado dropped it a moment ago. You stare at the fine engravings along the metal for a moment, before nudging the weapon with the toe of your boot, pushing it off the verge of the ravine as well.

Feeling weary and numb again, you glance back at Nerita; the short Spaniard has slumped down to the ground by the boulder, unmoving. You have a feeling that she truly might be dead this time. Your throat feels tight and an uneasy feeling builds in the pit of your stomach as you stare down at the bloodstained cutlass you’re still grasping in your hand – you think you might be nauseous soon. Why, you have no idea. You feel no remorse over Delgado, certainly not, but something about this entire ordeal has left you raw and tender, in more ways than one.

Your head snaps up at the sound of your name, and a relieved smile spreads to your lips when you see that Jack as well as Will and Elizabeth seem all to be uninjured. You drop the cutlass to the ground with a clatter and throw your arms around Jack as he reaches you, burying your face in his neck while he holds you to him tightly, wrapping one arm around your waist while one hand cradles the back of your head; you ignore the twinges of pain the embrace causes in your muscles. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut tightly against the burning tears that abruptly threaten to flow, concentrating on the low murmur of Jack’s voice as he whispers into your hair. You don’t make out singular words, just the steady, soothing tone of his deep voice. Your chest feels tight and your breathing is choppy, but you manage to summon a surprising amount of levity in your tone as you speak up, slightly unsteadily, “Is this a good time for me to just pass out?”

“Oh, you’d leave me to haul you around once again?” Jack chuckles in your hair, near your ear.

“Fine,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll wait until we’re off this damn island.”

Sliding his hand from the back of your head down to your neck, Jack pulls away slightly as you lift your head, drawing in a steadying breath. Brushing his lips briefly across your forehead, he meets your gaze. “We have to go, the sooner the better,” he says with quiet seriousness, “This rock pile seems more volatile than we thought.”

“You mean you thought,” you point out, smirking.

The mountain chooses to prove Jack’s assessment correct and gives a distant rumble somewhere deep within. Will’s agitated “Let’s go!” rings in the air, and he grabs Elizabeth’s arm to pull her up from where she was crouching by Nerita’s body, checking for a pulse.

“Never too tired to argue a point, are you?” Jack tells you wryly, grasping your hand in his as the four of you begin your hurried way down the trembling mountainside.

* * *

The booming explosion echoed in the air, drawing the crew of the Black Pearl over to the starboard side. The man stared, agape and stunned into silence, as the mountain that hovered above the lush forests spewed thick clouds of black and grey smoke from its pinnacle, the rolling rumbles seemingly intensifying and shaking the very forests at its roots.

Mister Cotton glanced down and exchanged alarmed glances with Marty, who dressed the crew’s general sentiment at the sight into quiet words, “Definitely not good.”

* * * * *

A/N: Ding dong! The witch is DEAD! Ahem. Well, nothing else to say really than sorry I had to end it like that, but it was growing to be a bit too big and I had to cut it off somewhere. Also, I tried to take out the typos that slipped in when I edited this around three a.m. this morning, but if any remain, I'm really sorry. I hadn't the time to work on it further this afternoon when I had to update OM and pack my stuff for the weekend. Now, I'm off to enjoy the weekend to my parents summer cabin! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and perhaps you'd be darling enough leave me your opinion about it on the review board...? Thank you a thousand times. *smooch*

CHAPTER 44 – When All's Said And Done

Reach down your hand in your pocket,
Pull out some hope for me,
It’s been a long day

– ‘Long Day’, Matchbox Twenty

* * *

Ladbroc swallowed thickly as he kept staring at the volcano on the island that poured out clouds of thick smoke, the unremitting, low rumble of its awakening occasionally taking backseat to loud, dull booms that echoed ominously in the air; he swore he could feel the vibrations sweep over the waves and run along the worn railing he clutched in a white-knuckled grip. A myriad of thoughts ran through the big man’s head, and he hardly heard the anxious mutterings of the other crewmen around him. Each and every man was all too aware of the fact that four of their own were on that island – including the Captain as well as both the first mate and the quartermaster – the island that seemed to be some odd minutes away from being ravaged by the enraged volcano. Cold sweat broke upon Ladbroc’s brow and back as he suddenly realized the implications of being in command of a vessel whose Captain and first mate were both in danger of losing their lives included. Almost panic-like uneasiness seized him at the horrible thought of that actually happening, for that would mean…

Captain spent ten years lookin’ for this ship, HIS ship, Ladbroc thought, utterly unnerved. If he dies and I’m left with the command of her… oh, dear God in heaven! He’s sure to haunt me for the rest of me life, day and night!

A strangled squeak of terror escaped Ladbroc’s lips at the thought, his fingers digging into the wood of the handrail. Marty the midget craned his neck awkwardly and gave the giant of a man a funny look at the noise so entirely unlike of him, but Ladbroc kept staring ahead with unfocused eyes, a sudden look of despair on his face. Shrugging, Marty turned his attention back to the island, a grin spreading to his lips as he spied a dark speck in the middle of the crystalline waters of the river that cut through the lush island, leading inland – it was a longboat. And on the prow of the said longboat, Marty could make out the figure of their Captain, one arm waving at them as a signal.

“There they are!” Marty yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing in the boat’s direction. The crew erupted in loud cheers and claps at the words, and Ladbroc snapped out of his trance.

“Thank everything that’s holy on God’s green earth!” the tall man exclaimed one of Mr Gibbs’ sayings with such utter gratefulness in his voice Marty looked at him again, but the other man had already bent his frame forward and leaned his forehead against his hands that still gripped the ship’s railing tightly, as if all his strength had suddenly waned, his shoulders shaking from quiet laughter.

Matching Mr Cotton’s bemused expression, Marty shook his head at the mute man. “Some people just can’t deal with being in command.”

* * * *

“Captain!” Ladbroc exclaims gratefully as Jack hoists himself on deck, turning back to grasp your hand and helping you up. “We’re glad to see you all made it back safely!”

“’Specially seeing as he can’t handle the pressure,” Marty puts in dryly from the side just as you step on the Pearl’s deck, weary and achy, but infinitely relieved and happy to be back more or less in one piece.

Marty’s comment earned him a puzzled glance from Ladbroc, but the tall man forgets about it soon after as he steps forward to offer his hand to Anamaria, who’s climbing up – the mulatto woman glances at the big hand, shifting her eyes from it to Ladbroc’s face and frowning. The tall man gets the message and pulls his hand away, trying to act nonchalant about the rejection while stepping out of Anamaria’s way as she climbs onboard with no aid, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

“I say, as I live and breathe,” Gibbs grunts with relief as he climbs onboard, “Never been more content to set foot on this deck!”

Drawing in a steadying breath while the rest of your party climbs onboard, you concentrate on just standing still on your trembling legs – they are still aching something fierce from the sprint through the forest from the mountainside. Lady Luck had been on your side as you’d fled across the grassy plain. You had thought for sure your heart would stop beating from fright when you spotted the crowd of natives that had chased you standing by the field, where they had ceased their pursuit earlier. However, none of them were interested about you and your friends; they were all too busy staring up at the rumbling mountain, eyes wide, pointing with their hands and chattering anxiously in an incomprehensible language. Then, a handful of the natives had dropped down on their knees in the grass, beginning to chant, bowing towards the mountain. While the natives had been so obviously preoccupied, you, Jack, Gibbs, Anamaria, Will and Elizabeth had easily slipped by them unnoticed and sprinted through the forest to the river. Another lucky occurrence was the fact that your boat was still tied to the monstrous barrier in the water, and remained in one piece. You dare not to imagine what might’ve happened if it hadn’t. Inhaling deeply while staring out at the smoking volcano, your fingers absently pick on the strip of cloth around your cut palm, one that Jack had torn from his sash and tied around your hand in the boat.

Jack presses his palm lightly on the small of your back as he comes to stand beside you, his russet gaze roving from head to toe in close scrutiny. “You alright?”

You nod, exhaling tiredly and trying to ignore the ache in your ribs and back. “I’m alright.”

Jack’s eyes narrow, easily seeing through the blatant lie. “Sure you are.”

You turn your head to give Jack a wry look and you open your mouth to reply, but that’s when the rumble of the volcano crescendos suddenly, gaining volume and intensity while the entire mountain quakes ominously, riveting everyone’s attention to it. With a thunderous boom, the pinnacle of the mountain erupts, large pieces of rock hurling through the air and rolling down the mountainsides, loosened by the pressure of the upsurge. Vapours of smoke pour continuously out of the roaring abyss, ash mixing in the blend of thick clouds that hang heavily upon the lush forests, wafting upward towards the blue skies. The mountain booms loudly again, the yawning, smoking summit beginning to push out lazy rivers of fiercely glowing magma that slither down the sides like hissing red snakes. Small explosion trembles the mountain again, the peak spitting out a chunks of burning stone that hurl through the air, each tailed by a trail of fire like fiery shooting stars. Amidst the black shrouds of smoke and dust, the peak glows vibrant red like an entryway down to hell.

It’s an awesome display of Mother Nature’s powers, but you sure as hell are thankful to be watching it safely onboard the Pearl. Momentarily, your thought strays to the Spaniards who fled the scene earlier, wondering what became of them, and the natives stuck on the island.

“Well, Sparrow,” a vaguely amused, familiar voice suddenly drawls up behind Jack, “It would seem that you made it off the island not a moment too soon.”

Jack’s eyes widen in surprise and he all but whirls around to face Commodore Norrington, his lip curling momentarily at the sight of him and a peculiar, low “bah” noise leaving his mouth; combined with his facial expression, the sound appears to convey something along the lines of “You again?” With a look between faint annoyance and a smidgen of puzzlement on his face, Jack turns to Ladbroc and addresses the large man with expectantly narrowed eyes.

“Why is there a prominent Navy presence on my ship, I wonder?”

Ladbroc seems a bit indecisive for a second, shrugging tentatively. “They wanted to come aboard while you were still in the boat. Looked important. Couldn’t very well tell them no, could I, sir?”

“It’s really very easy,” Jack retorts slowly, never taking his gaze from the tall man. “You connect letter N to a letter O and pronounce the result. No. I trust you’ll remember this the next time we have Navy officers hankering to board. And incidentally, those folks always look important, it’s part of the concept.”

“Aye, sir,” Ladbroc replies obediently, “But I figured he might’ve been coming with your pardon or something significant like so.”

Jack raises his brows at the words, mollified in an instant, a peculiar gleam coming to his eyes. “A point worth concurring with,” he decides slightly distractedly, steps away from Ladbroc and turns to regard Norrington, who has been waiting patiently with something akin to weary boredom on his face.

“Commodore,” Jack smiles amicably, clasping his hands together and rubbing the palms against each other slightly as if in anticipation, “I trust all went well in your end, and why wouldn’t they have? With your troops having such a capable commander as yourself?”

The Commodore responds with that smirk he uses only on Jack, the one that always appears just a tad forced. “Those words would be flattering, if only they were coming from anyone else but you.”

“At least you have to credit me for trying,” Jack returns unflappably, smirking. “It’s the thought that counts, after all.”

“Quite,” Norrington says dryly, managing to sound entirely unconvinced with only one word. “Am I correct in assuming that Delgado has been dealt with? It would be most unfortunate if every Spaniard except their Captain was detained and I might be forced to reassess that reward we discussed…” he trails off nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly in question.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves here, Commodore!” Jack hurries to say with a raised hand, forefinger pointed to the skies. “Our arrangement is still valid, exceedingly so – for your demand has been met. Mind, we didn’t technically, strictly speaking detain her, but it’s really very unlikely she’ll turn up again to bother anyone in near or far future,” Jack assures quickly. “Savvy?”

Norrington takes this in, staring at Jack with slightly narrowed eyes. “And you can be absolutely certain of this?”

You take this as your cue, being the only one onboard who actually witnessed Delgado’s demise. “She was shot at, stabbed through with a blade and then plunged down a ravine filled with boiling water,” you interject, nodding. “Yes, I think that did it.”

The Commodore shifts his pensive gaze from you to Jack again, nodding finally. “Very well. As much as I rue the fact that I can’t walk her down the gallows myself to pay for her crimes, I must say this bit of news puts my mind at great ease.”

“As it does for us all, I’m sure,” Jack says smoothly, a shrewd look on his face as he goes on persuasively, “Now, not meaning to be pushy…” he trails off for a moment, and you swear you can heart Norrington give a small snort, “But I believe there was talk about a certain reward… eh?”

Norrington regards Jack with an inscrutable look for a moment, head tilted to the side just slightly. “Was there indeed?” he finally queries, his forehead scrunching up a little in thought. “I cannot for the life of me seem to recall anything of the sort.”

You raise your brows in surprise at the Commodore’s reply, shifting your gaze to Jack, who is looking rather stunned. His jaw has dropped a little and his eyes widened a touch desperately. Finally he blinks his eyes, blurting out his incredulous reply, “If I could oblige the Commodore to dig through his memories with little more tenacity he would indisputably remember a distinct promise of a pardon in exchange of aid in detaining Delgado!”

“I see. Except, did you not just say you didn’t technically detain Delgado?” Norrington questions artlessly, and you finally catch the gleam of mischievousness in his eyes that Jack is too frantic to recognize. An amused grin spreads to your lips as you realize the good Commodore who’s usually the target of Jack’s taunts is now paying him back and winding Jack up all he can.

“The manner in which she was supposed to be stopped was never specified!” Jack splutters, eyes wild. “You’re–!” Jack abruptly cuts his rant short and narrows his eyes suspiciously at the Commodore. “You’re acting entirely unlike your normal, stiff-necked self and running a rig on me.”

Norrington smirks with genuine amusement and self-satisfaction as he begins to make his way towards his longboat. “Now, really, Sparrow. Do you honestly think I would stoop to your level?”

“Might make you more a bit more likeable if you did. And remind your leaky memory that it’s Captain Sparrow, thanks very much,” Jack corrects long-sufferingly, before scrunching up his face slightly at Norrington’s retreating back. “Oy! Where do you think you’re going? I think you forgot to hand something over!”

“If you wish for your pardon, Captain Sparrow,” Norrington throws over his shoulder, sarcastic emphasis on the title, “I’m afraid you’ll have no choice but to follow us back to Port Royal to obtain it. The Dauntless sets sail immediately.”

Jack makes a disagreeable face at this, but quips back quickly, “If you fancied to prolong the time you can spend in my company that badly, all you had to do is ask nicely.”

Norrington spares a freezing glare at Jack before walking over to Will and Elizabeth, proceeding to converse with them quietly.

Jack is quiet for a second, staring at the Commodore thoughtfully. “Did he really just do that?”

“I do believe he did,” you verify, impressed and amused by the Commodore’s little hoax.

Jack gives a pensive hum from his throat, finally glancing at you with a mirthful expression. “Never thought I’d see the day. Perhaps that little friend of yours has gotten him to unwind a bit, eh?”

You smirk back knowingly. “Never underestimate a woman’s power over the men folk.”

Jack grins. “Oh, believe me. I know far better than that.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you reply with a smile, just as Will and Elizabeth make their way over.

“If it’s not too much of a bother, Will and I would appreciate a ride back to Port Royal, Captain Sparrow,” Elizabeth smiles good-naturedly, glancing affectionately at Will before regarding you and Jack again with a smile, “And for you and your crew to attend our long postponed wedding during your stay.”

You and Jack trade glances, a smile spreading to your lips as you raise your brows in silent question. Jack smirks in return, before speaking up with finality.

“Well, then. Anamaria!”

“Captain?”

“Seems we have a wedding to catch in Port Royal.”

Anamaria nods with a tiny, rarely seen smile. “Setting course straight away.”

“Good man.” Jack misses Anamaria’s glare as she stomps up to the helm.

“Thank you, Jack,” Will says and Elizabeth smiles brilliantly. You smile as well as Jack waves the thanks away with one hand, masking his vague discomfiture about the young couple’s gratitude under a veil of nonchalance. Entirely unbothered by Jack’s antics, Will and Elizabeth move away, leaving you and Jack alone.

A delighted little grin pulls at his lips as he glances at you. “I so do love a good wedding.”

Smiling, you lean your flank tiredly against Jack’s, his arm curling around your waist soon after, fingers drawing patterns against your side through your shirt. “This I know, Jack.”

Watching the horizon while the crewmen climb nimbly up the rigging to loosen the sails in preparation of the departure to Port Royal, you can’t help but to breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

As if reading your thoughts, Jack tightens his hold of you ever so slightly, murmuring quietly, “It’s over now, darling.”

You nod your head in agreement, giving Jack a small smile. “Yeah.”

Then why did you have a strangest sense that it all would keep bothering you for a while to come?

* * * *

“Miss Wickham.”

Gemma lifted her gaze from the book she was thumbing through distractedly and responded to James’ polite greeting with a beatific smile. “Did we not agree that we would call each other by our first names?”

James chuckled slightly, glancing briefly down before meeting her dazzlingly blue eyes with a smile of his own. “So we did, Gemma,” he replied, and the soft tone in which he said her name was almost absurdly pleasing to Gemma.

“Is all well aboard the Black Pearl, then?” she questioned with an edge of worry to her voice, James having returned from the pirate ship only some moments ago.

“Everything and everyone are alright,” James said in calming manner. “There’s no reason to worry.”

Gemma pulled her lower lip slightly between her teeth, and James recognized this as one of her nervous tells. She voiced her next question uneasily, “And what of her?”

James needed no elaboration as to whom she was referring to, a small frown of displeasure furrowing his brow at Gemma’s obvious unease. Unconsciously, he took a protective step towards her as he replied with steely conviction, “She’s dead, Gemma. She will never again harm you, I promise you that.”

The gratitude in Gemma’s eyes and the tiny smile she mustered tugged at James’ heartstrings. “Good. Thank you.”

Smiling back tenderly, James offered Gemma his arm, which she took without delay and with an easier smile. Wordlessly, James began to lead Gemma slowly along the Dauntless’ deck by the port side, careful to keep away from the bustle of activity as the grand vessel was prepared for the impeding departure. James found himself liking the feel of the small hand cradling the crook of his elbow, and stole a furtive glance at the woman beside him. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the rays turn a deeper shade of dark orange; James marvelled at the way the fleeting rays burnished the deep ochre curls of Gemma’s and gave them a glorious glow. To James, her hair was simply a thing of beauty. Never before had he seen locks of such vibrant hue before, and combined with the brilliant, sky-blue eyes and smooth skin like porcelain, the effect was devastating. You are so beautiful, the thought floated in James’ mind – it wasn’t until he registered Gemma’s widened gaze and delicately blushed cheeks that he realized he had actually spoken the words out loud.

“If you don’t mind me saying,” he hastened to add in subdued fashion after clearing his throat, hoping to salvage the situation.

Gemma met his eyes briefly, the blush still on her face but a small smile on her lips. “Not at all,” she replied softly, and James’ trepidation that he’d crossed the line vanished like smoke in the wind, a warm feeling unfurling within his chest.

James couldn’t quite make sense of it even to himself. He was definitely smitten by Gemma, but it amazed him how quickly he’d become attached to her. He hardly knew anything about her and her history, for God’s sake. And yet, as he gazed down at the softly smiling woman walking beside him, he knew for certain he didn’t want to be parted from her. He wanted to keep her safe from harm, to ensure she would receive a proper life in Port Royal and above all, be happy – to be happy with him.

The abrupt, impulsive thought shocked James. He realized that he hadn’t felt so strongly even towards Elizabeth, whom he had thought he loved. The notion left him feeling confused; did this mean he loved Gemma? He had never really believed anyone could fall in love so swiftly, surely it would require a longer period of time first knowing the person?

“James?” Gemma’s soft query broke into his thoughts, and he met a pair of puzzled blue eyes. “Is everything alright? You stopped walking a moment ago.”

Blinking his eyes and clearing his mind, James realized that he was indeed standing still. Scolding himself mentally for such a lack of concentration, he gave Gemma a brief smile. “My apologies. I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

Gemma didn’t seem entirely convinced as they picked up the stroll. “Are you sure you’re alright? I understand entirely if you’re tired and should like to rest a while, after everything that has happened today.”

“No, no,” James reassured her, impulsively clasping his free hand over Gemma’s that rested upon his arm as if to keep her by his side. The softness of her skin against his made his palm tingle, and taken aback by his own feelings, he pulled it away soon after, hoping Gemma would think it was meant to be a simple pat on her hand. “No, I am… fine,” he added, hoping Gemma didn’t catch the brief pause.

Gemma offered a smile in return, but remained quiet. She was puzzled by James’ sudden, preoccupied behaviour, but would make no mention of it. Surely he was just thinking over everything that has happened. He had a lot of duties, after all; she should be grateful that he could spare her even this much of his time. The silence stretched on, and deciding to take the initiative for once, Gemma proceeded to tell James of what Governor Swann had proposed earlier.

“The Governor thought he could arrange me some kind of employment in his manor, at least until I settle in and become familiar with the town and its people,” she explained. “I know I haven’t much experience of proper service, but I’m sure I could learn.”

“That is a wonderful idea,” James replied with a smile. “Governor Swann is a good man. And I’m certain Elizabeth and William will help you in anyway they can, as well. As will I, of course, when duty doesn’t call me away.”

Gemma glanced at James, asking, “Are you away often, then?”

“Sometimes,” James responded after a moment of thought. “When the situation requires it. I attend regular patrols onboard – sometimes they take longer than normally, mostly because of the weather conditions.”

“Of course,” agreed Gemma quietly.

“I’m sure you will find Port Royal to your liking,” James said in the ensued silence. “It’s a very agreeable city, situated right by a quite striking cove.”

Gemma nodded with a small, rueful smile. “I’m certain I will. I’m looking forward to it, in fact. Life at sea is really not so suitable for me.”

James perceived the subtle gloom that had crept into Gemma’s bright eyes. “Gemma? What is bothering you?” he asked, frowning.

Sighing, Gemma shook her head a little. “As pleased as I am about going, I can’t help but to think what life will be like for me there,” she confessed. “I’ve heard that Port Royal a place of civilization, and I don’t rightly know if I fit into such a category after spending three years on that ship with those dreadful women.”

“You mustn’t think that! That’s absurd!” James exclaimed, stunned by the idea; this woman was nothing but kind and well-mannered, despite having endured three years on that ghastly ship, and he told Gemma just that. She gave a thankful smile at his response, but the doubt still didn’t leave her eyes.

“Thank you for your kind words, but I still fear they might perceive me as…” Gemma trailed off, biting her lip again as she struggling to find the correct words. “Immoral, or such. It was a pirate ship, after all, and those women, they… they did terrible things,” she murmured.

James halted his steps, and turned to face Gemma so he could look her in the eyes properly. “You were a captive on that ship, Gemma, just as Governor Swann and Byrne were,” he spoke quietly, but with firm assurance. “You just had to endure it far longer than they did. It wasn’t your choice.”

“I never wanted to be there,” she whispered, eyes glistening from unshed tears. “Never.”

“I know you didn’t,” James soothed, moved by her sorrow. “You were forced to go. And nobody in Port Royal needs to know anything else except that you were once a prisoner, freed to start your new life in a new settlement.”

Gemma sniffed delicately, but didn’t shed a single tear. James felt a peculiar tightness clutch at his chest as she gazed up at him with such hope in her eyes. “Truly?”

“Yes,” James found himself answering with such confidence it amazed even himself. “Trust me, Gemma. All will be well, I give you my word.”

Granting him with such a brilliant smile James feared his heart would stop beating, Gemma said softly, “I trust you, James. With my life.”

* * * *

A slow, soundless exhalation passes from your lips as you close your eyes and try for the umpteenth time to fall back to sleep. Your effort is once more proved fruitless, and you open your lids with resignation, sluggishly watching the flickering candlelight from the lone candle on the table dancing with the dark shadows of the night across the ceiling of the Captain’s cabin. You’d woken up for the first time almost an hour ago, you reckon, the sharpest edge of your exhaustion dulled after hours of dreamless rest. But despite your obvious need for more of it, sleep is slow to come back to you. Different thoughts and feelings swarm in your head ceaselessly, and some strange, intangible disquiet within keeps you just enough wired to prevent you from falling back to slumber. Even the calm swaying of Pearl and the quiet groans of her wood isn’t making you drowsy as they usually do at night.

A light snore from your left causes your lips to quirk in a small smile, and you turn your head on the pillow to gaze from the ceiling to Jack instead, envying him from sleeping so deeply. He’s lying on his stomach, sleep-relaxed face turned to you. He has burrowed his right arm under his pillow while the left is thrown across your stomach, long fingers loosely clasping your waist. Your smile widens as you take in the mane of dark hair about his head – you swear that’s the only word to describe Jack’s hair at the moment, “mane”.

For once, he’s taken off the faded bandanna and loosened the top section of hair and dreads from the thick braid that usually rests on the back of his head, leaving all of it free. Your smile widens into a grin of amusement as you make out the tan line on his forehead. Coarse dreadlocks and smooth strands of hair lie about his shoulders and across his bare upper back in one big mess, the ones freed from the braid having a little wave to them. You suddenly have a terrible urge to reach out and brush the errand strand away from his face, maybe to thread your fingers through the thick locks and stroke his scalp with the pads of your fingers, but resist the impulse in fear of waking him up. Jack was no less exhausted than you were earlier, although he hid it better. He needs his rest, and you don’t want to rob than from him just because you can’t get any yourself.

Your gaze is drawn to the dark discoloration on his jaw, and the smile slips from your face as you remember all the punches he took there. A frown mars your face as you stare at it, wondering if Jack felt this way when he saw the plethora of bruises decorating your skin: urge to repay the favour to the ones responsible. Your own cheek still hurts from Delgado’s earlier cuff, and without touching it you know it’s swollen and, more likely than not, coloured in all sorts of interesting shades of purple. With effort, you tear your gaze from the bruise, not wanting to dwell on the cause of it – that part in your lives was now over, done and dealt with. You never want to sacrifice another thought to the rotten witch again. She can burn in the fires of hell for all you care; she deserves no less.

You stop thinking anything specific for a moment, but just watch Jack sleeping. You abruptly become aware that your left hand has sometime during your musings dropped down to your stomach to lie on his forearm, thumb stroking his skin lightly. You cannot help but to map his features affectionately, your gaze travelling from his lips to his cheekbones and kohl-smudged eyelids, roaming down again to trace the slope of a strong shoulder and linger a moment on a pinkish scar on his shoulder blade. From there, your intent look slides along the tanned expanse of his smooth back, the golden candlelight flickering beautifully on his skin. You follow the contours of firm muscle flanking the slight groove of his spine until the edge of the coverlet pushed down to his waist covers up the rest of him from your eager eyes, you gaze narrowing in annoyance over the offending piece of material.

Your fingers almost tingle at the thought of stroking the pads gently across his face, retracing the journey of your gaze. You chew on your lip slightly as you think of smoothing your palms over his shoulders, yearning to slide them down the warm flesh of his back and curl your arms around his waist to get closer, skin against skin. The heat of his arm on your belly through the shirt you’re wearing doesn’t help to quell your desirous thoughts any. Idly, you wonder when was the last time you were close to him like that, and come up with the morning at Lucas and Nora Fowler’s cottage in Tortuga. How many days ago was that? You have lost track of dates somewhat during this entire misadventure, but you think it’s becoming almost two weeks. It is a horribly long time to be apart from the very person you just want to be close to. But if the dreadful aches and sores in your abused body are anything to go by, you wouldn’t be making love again anytime soon, either, you think with a wistful sigh of longing and regret.

It would do you no good to stay and try in vain to go back to sleep again, specifically when awakening desire was starting to cloud your concentration. Besides, you’re parched. Some fresh air and a trip down to the galley might settle your mind enough to give sleeping another go. Wetting your dry lips with the tip of your tongue, you inhale a calming breath and slide out of the bed – and under Jack’s arm – as carefully and quietly as you can, gritting your teeth to hold in any noises of discomfort as your muscles contract painfully. Your stomach and back are especially feeling the aching consequences of Delgado’s ire.

Slowly and silently, you slip on your breeches before sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on your worn boots. Glancing down at Jack’s sleeping form once more, his arm stretched over the spot where you lied a moment ago, you give in to your flight of fancy and jauntily blow a kiss at him before standing up and walking quietly out of the cabin, smirking at your own silliness.

You draw in a deep breath of the fresh night air as you pause to close the door of Jack’s quarters behind you, enjoying the familiar scent of the sea. Walking unhurriedly towards the stairs leading below, you pause your stride only to give a quick wave to Mr Cotton and his parrot behind the Pearl’s wheel. The mute man returns the gesture, and you continue your trek with a small smile on your lips.

The night is moonless, but the inky sky is strewn with millions of stars, glittering like tiny jewels. The vastness and beauty of it takes your breath away, and you halt your steps almost involuntarily by the port side rail to admire it. Gazing out, you marvel at the way the deep, midnight blue of the star-studded sky above softens a few hues just above the horizon, where the cobalt blue meets the black of the sea, two halves coalescing to create a whole. A vigorous, salty squall rushes over the Pearl, fluttering the lines and flinging strands of your loose hair about your shoulders. Gooseflesh rises on your skin as the wind permeates your shirt easily, and you decide to move along, but not before taking one last look at the luminous horizon.

You descend the steps slowly, throwing a cursory look at the gun deck before continuing, heading down yet another flight of stairs. You haven’t even taken three steps down the said stairs and already you can hear the loud snores of the crew, their sleeping space being on the next deck. You come across rows of worn hammocks and tired men occupying them as you reach the said deck, arms and legs dangling over the edges. Shaking your head slightly and smiling amusedly, you step lightly across the grates on the deck and pass through the open space between the hammocks, walking towards the bow of the ship. You’re in no hurry, despite your thirst; you take your time walking there, gazing fondly at the Pearl’s dark bowels and enjoying the familiarity of the vessel. On a whim, you lift one arm and trail your fingertips against the timbers as you pass, feeling the coarse wood and the occasional bare spot where the varnish has chipped off in flakes. Jack’s attachment to the Pearl was not hard to understand, in your opinion. You didn’t know if the fact that you had never actually lived in a house in your life but always aboard a ship made you somehow more favourable towards her, but you thought she was a beauty and truly one of a kind. Despite her chipping varnish and generally slightly shabby appearance. She was home.

Padding along quietly, you finally reach the smallish galley, pausing your steps at the entrance way in surprise. You thought you were the only one awake at this hour, but now it seems that you thought wrong. Sitting by the long table where the crew takes their meals was Will, elbows braced on the tabletop, his back turned to you. He hasn’t heard your arrival, or at least isn’t giving out any indication of having heard. Tapping your fingers silently against the doorframe, you question whether or not to enter. The set of Will’s his shoulders seems tense and his posture in general somehow absentminded. You wonder if something has happened with Elizabeth to drive him here all by himself, and if he’d prefer to be left alone. But you are still thirsty, and want your water. You’d leave after getting some, if it was solitude Will was seeking for.

“I thought I was the only insomniac aboard tonight,” you say quietly as you step in the galley, causing Will to jump – he really must have been preoccupied by his thoughts.

“You startled me,” he states the obvious softly and glances at you with a quick, sheepish smile as you pass the table.

You give him an apologetic look over your shoulder as you rummage around for a mug. “Sorry. I thought those not on duty would be asleep by now.”

“So did I,” Will replies. “Is there a specific reason as to why you’re not?”

Shrugging a little, you finally locate a clean, wooden cup from one of the cupboards, blowing off the dust as you turn around to face Will. “Is there a specific reason as to why you’re not?”

Will rolls his eyes as he props his elbows on the table again, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Answering a question with a question doesn’t really build a proper conversation.”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” you reply wryly. “Welcome to my everyday life with a certain Jack Sparrow.”

Will snorts a small laugh, but makes no response. To your eyes, Will seems weary and most definitely distracted. You’re certain that there’s a reason for his insomnia, as well, but you can’t begin to guess what it might be. Taking a few steps over to a barrel of fresh water, you take the small ladle hanging off the edge of the barrel and scoop water into the mug.

Will’s eyes narrow a fraction as you turn and take a seat by the table opposite of him. “That looks like it hurts,” Will comments, pointing a finger at his own cheek while staring at the discolouring on yours.

“It does at that,” you reply, gingerly passing you fingertips across your swollen, bruised cheek, wincing slightly at the contact. “Delgado sure knows how to pack a punch. Well, knew.”

“I think we’re all relieved to know she’s gone for good,” Will speaks after a moment of silence, glancing at you. “I wonder, though, what made her seem so livid particularly towards you.”

Your gaze snaps from the mug before you to Will, staring at him a few beats before taking a drink of water – as much to douse your thirst as to stall for a few seconds while you think of a proper response. “I suppose it had to do with upsetting Jack and me being a suitable target for her madness... and you know me,” you smirk slightly, “I make new friends so easily with my unique charisma and witty repartee.”

Will chuckles at this, grinning a little. “Well, that’s true.”

You narrow your eyes at him, mock annoyed, but smile soon after. You take another drink from your mug, satisfied when Will doesn’t pursue the topic. A twinge of guilt goes through you at your deliberate dishonesty, but you simply cannot tell Will or anyone else about being half-sisters with Delgado. It is too touchy a subject still, a notion so stomach-turning you’d rather not think about it at all. And if it isn’t absolutely necessary, you doubt you’ll tell about it to anybody, either.

“So…” you begin a tad uncertainly, wanting to lead the conversation to other matters. “How are you?”

Will raises an amused brow at you. “Are you being polite? Usually you jump straight to the point without beating around the bush, no matter how delicate a topic.”

You cough slightly in embarrassment, shrugging again. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d make an effort for once. How am I doing?”

“I suppose you could do worse,” Will retorts with a small smile.

“Gee, thanks,” you roll your eyes. For a moment, you just look at Will silently, taking a gulp of water. Then you offer the mug to Will. “Wanna drink?”

“I still remember the ill consequences of the last time you offered me a drink or two, thank you,” Will smirks.

“Hey, it’s only water,” you say, smirking back. “And really, are you still bitter about that? I’ll have you know that it wasn’t actually my fault that you began to see pink elephants flying all over the ceilings and had a bit of an hangover the next morning—”

“A bit of an hangover?” Will cuts you off.

“Fine, a big of an hangover. I didn’t know you were such a lightweight with drinks,” you add, hurrying on with your explanation before Will can manage a retort for the lightweight comment, “As I was saying! It was Jack who kept giving you more rum and in doing so got you drunk out of your mind, which resulted to aforementioned consequences. You would’ve been fine after those drinks I bought you, but then Jack thought you needed to learn how to drink properly, as he worded it back then. Notice that I am not Jack, it wasn’t me. Hence, we can conclude that what happened was in no way or form my fault,” you finish with a triumphant smile.

“Oh, I see,” Will returns with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, “So your conscience is entirely clean about that incident, as it was all Jack’s doing and he should solely be held responsible for it.”

“That is the truth of it, yes,” you confirm with a nod. “Let us all take responsibility for our own mistakes, is what I say. Though I have to admit,” you pause, grinning, “You’re a fun drunk, Mr Turner, you really are.”

“Thank you,” Will mutters dryly, taking the offered mug of water from you. “Providing a source of amusement with drunken foolery is what I do best, after all.”

You chuckle at the younger man’s sarcastic wit, finding it rather similar to your own. You have to admit that Will puts up with your gentle needling more admirably than many other men would, if you didn’t count Jack. Also, he’s not afraid to give as back good as he gets, which is certainly a trait that you respect.

“So, tell me,” you start again, a little more seriously, “Why is it that you’re sitting down here brooding instead of getting some sleep? You look like you could certainly use it.”

Will draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his eyes on the mug he’s holding loosely in one hand as he finally speaks up softly. “The experience with the curse today left me unsettled,” he confesses, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve been wondering ever since we got back onboard what could have happened on the island. I know it’s pointless, but I just can’t help thinking about it. The curse, Byrne… I don’t remember much of it, but I do recall that sheer rage I felt just before my memory goes blank. And I keep wondering…” he swallows thickly, “I keep wondering what if I that fury I felt hadn’t made me assault Jack? What if I had attacked Elizabeth instead? God, the entire thought horrifies and sickens me!”

You give a tiny, sad smile, gazing at Will with sympathy. You hadn’t even thought about how the curse might have affected Will and Elizabeth, and you inwardly curse your inattentiveness. “Have you talked to Elizabeth about this?” you ask quietly after a moment of silence.

“Yes, earlier today,” Will nods his head slightly. “She told me that she’d thought about the very same thing about me,” he smiles a tiny, humourless smile. “She ordered me not to dwell on such terrible ideas. And she’s right, I know she is, but nevertheless…”

“You can’t help but to have the thought in the back of your mind,” you finish when Will falters.

Will gives you a rueful glance. “I can’t seem to brush it aside quite so easily. It’s what keeps me awake even now.”

You nod in understanding, thinking a moment. “When you love someone, you’d do anything to keep them protected,” you start tentatively, bowing your head a little. “I don’t know exactly how terrible you must be feeling, but I think I can imagine how difficult it is to deal with an idea that you’ve been in a position in which you could have possibly yourself harmed the person you cherish above everyone and have vowed to keep safe from all hurt.” You glance up at Will, who’s clenching his jaw, staring down at the table. “But like you said, Elizabeth must be feeling the same. Perhaps you two should seek comfort and strength in each other. You’ll both need one another now.”

Much to your surprise, Will gives a small, slightly self-deprecating laugh. “Believe me, I know. That’s sort of the other reason I find myself unable to sleep… in that cabin, with her.”

You blink in confusion. “Huh?”

Sudden flush colours Will’s cheeks. “It’s not easy when you love someone and… want to be closer to them… but you know you just can’t.”

“Oh?” you reply with a question in your tone, before it finally dawns to you a split-second later. “Oh! Yes. Right.”

Your embarrassment over your sluggish update turns into incredulous hilarity as you realize that both you and Will have more or less the same problem that is partially to blame about your trips down to the galley. Poor William is suffering because of the postponed wedding to his sweetheart, and while you have no wedlock to be concerned with, your painfully stiff muscles are keeping that activity as mere wishful thinking for some more days to come. Life sure wasn’t fair sometimes, was it?

“We were supposed to be married already, living our lives together as a husband and wife…” Will trails off, staying silent for a second before continuing softly with a small smile, “I love Elizabeth so much. I’ve never loved anyone but her.”

A smile tugs at your lips at Will’s quiet declaration, the emotion in his eyes evident. “I’m taking a wild guess that you haven’t talked about this matter with Elizabeth,” you begin, laughing a little at the incredulous look on Will’s face at the mere idea, “But I’m willing to bet she’s feeling exactly the same way. She’s been waiting to be your wife just as long as you have waited to be her husband. And the perks that come the marriage,” you add slyly with a smirk, unable to resist.

Will covers his slight discomfort about the topic with snorting a rolling his eyes a little. “I’m sure you and Jack don’t have to worry about the priest’s blessing to be together,” he retorts dryly.

You shrug a little with a smile, not taken aback in the least. “Our lives differ from yours quite a bit,” you offer neutrally, deciding not to go further with that discussion. You have nothing against marriage, but you rather doubt you’ll get anywhere near that particular institution yourself. And you didn’t really need to, in any case. You could love a man perfectly fine without a piece of parchment and a ring to prove it. There’s a moment of comfortable silence as both you and Will are immersed in your own musings, the steady swaying and creaking of the ship calming the atmosphere further.

“Just remember that every hour brings us closer to Port Royal and your wedding. It won’t be too much longer anymore,” you finally break the silence softly, starting to get up, “And now, I should get back now and try to get some more sleep. May I suggest you do the same, sugarlump?”

Will draws in a deep breath while bowing his head, shoulders slumping as he exhales soundly. “And may I please suggest you’d stop referring to me with that horrible moniker?” he asks, frustrated.

“You may,” you reply with a smile, putting the mug away, “But I may not comply.”

Lifting his head, Will looks at you with exasperation. “I don’t understand how Jack puts up with you.”

“I don’t think you even want to know,” you quip cheekily whilst starting to walk out of the galley, chuckling as Will makes a face. You stop at the entrance, giving him a stern look. “Go to sleep, William. This instant.”

“Yes, mother,” comes the dry response along with a tiny smile. You roll your eyes and leave, muttering under your breath as you walk along the Pearl’s dark decks.

“Men. Why they all have to be so bloody hard-headed is an eternal mystery to me…”

* * *

Slipping quietly back inside the Captain’s quarters, you close the door silently and pad over to the bed, a smile spreading to your lips as you gaze down at Jack. He hasn’t moved much from his earlier position, except the arm that was thrown across the space you occupied has been drawn closer to him, lying on the mattress next to his face.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, taking off your boots and divesting yourself of your worn breeches, before sliding your legs under the blanket and lying down again, trying to find a comfortable position with as little tossing and turning as possible. As you’re busying yourself with settling on your left side so that no place hurts, Jack’s arm abruptly snakes over your waist to hold you.

“Where were you?” he mutters sleepily without opening his eyes or giving any other implication of being awake.

Stilling, you smile a little and reply softly, “Below getting some water. And talking to an insomniac Will.”

Jack hums amusedly from his throat, keeping his eyes closed still. “Already sneaking off in the middle of the night to meet other men. Should’ve foreseen this,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

You chuckle a little, bringing your hand up to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “You have nothing to worry about on that account, rest assured.”

A tiny smile lifts the corner of his lips at that, and he bends his head slightly to kiss your fingers as they stroke down to his jaw. “You should have woken me up if you were thirsty. You need to be resting, not wandering around the ship.”

“Quit your coddling, Jack,” you rebuke gently. “You need your rest as much as anyone. And I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”

For the first time during the hushed conversation, Jack slowly cracks his eyes open, blinking a little. “Are you hurting?”

You smile at the concern in his eyes and tone of voice although it makes your cheek smart, shaking your head slightly. “No more than earlier. Just had too much on my mind, is all.”

“I keep telling you, luv,” Jack begins slowly after a moment of gazing into your eyes, “You think too much.”

Your lips pull into lopsided smirk. “Well, somebody has to take care of that around here. I’m the brains and you’re the beauty, remember?”

“I thought we agreed to compromise on that,” Jack chuckles, gently tugging you slightly closer while inching towards you a little, closing the scant space between your bodies. “You look like a chipmunk with that bloated cheek,” he says, lifting the hand resting on your waist and grazes the tip of his forefinger in a feather light touch across the bruised flesh.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Soon you will too if you don’t change the subject real quick.”

“Now, now,” Jack tries to suppress a smirk, mirth glittering in his eyes, “Chipmunks are quite endearing creatures.”

“They’re critters. You’re comparing me to a hairy little critter,” you state dryly. “Jack, you romantic sap.”

“I can be plenty romantic, darling,” Jack murmurs huskily, snuggling against you and nuzzling your neck.

“Yes, because every woman wants to be called a chipmunk,” you say, pausing slightly as he trails small kisses along the side of your neck, “You tell that to all your women?”

“No,” Jack replies between slow kisses to your skin, “Just you.”

You smirk, determined not to let Jack’s lips against your neck distract you. “Really? Damn, I must be something special, then.”

There’s a small grin on Jack’s lips as he lifts his face from the crook of your neck and gazes into your eyes, his loose hair wild about his face – you find yourself grinning back at the utterly charming sight he makes.

“That you are, my sprite,” he breathes softly in reply, and leans down to press his lips against yours. You give into your earlier urge and thread your fingers through the thick, dark locks, cradling the back of his head. Jack’s lips are soft and careful upon yours, but there’s such an underlying passion in the kiss that it sends a shiver down your spine. You curl your trembling fingers in his hair as he strokes his tongue over your lower lip, slipping it inside to slide against your own as you open your mouth to him.

“Perhaps you’re right. I may not indulge overmuch for great romantic acts or words,” Jack speaks throatily when he finally breaks the kiss, eyes intense on yours and his hot breath against your lips, “But I love you true, and will love you for as long as you’ll have me.”

You smile at the emotion in his husky voice, something he usually lets in his tone only during these private moments. “Never been overly romantic myself, either,” you whisper, thinking the man certainly knows how to make your heart swell with love despite claiming not to. “I love you, too.” You narrow your eyes slightly at him, “But don’t you ever call me chipmunk again or I might just change my mind.”

Jack laughs huskily and silences further rebukes with another kiss you’re quick to return, hazily thinking that you were definitely just kidding about changing your mind. Damn, but the scoundrel would be bad for you if he could make you go back on your words with just one kiss. Jack’s hand journeys up from your waist, skimming along your shirt-clad side while going further, long fingers caressing up the column of your neck, lingering there a moment before delving into your hair as he deepens the kiss, drawing a small moan from you. Your own hand searches him out and lands on his bare chest, his skin smooth and warm; Jack groans slightly in the kiss and firm muscle twitches faintly under your soft touch. Slowly, you slide your hand up his sternum and over the clavicle before you reach a strong shoulder, kneading the firm muscle gently before sliding your fingers up his neck, feeling the beat of his racing pulse beneath the digits and knowing it matches yours.

Jack entangles his hand from your hair and smoothes it down your back, the shirt you’re wearing proving little buffer against the seductive warmth of his skin. When his palm slips under the blanket and pushes it down while settling possessively over the small of your back, Jack’s kiss turns more impassioned and demanding and a mean twinge claws across your bruised cheek, involuntarily making you whimper.

The small sound of discomfort might have as well been a bucketful of cold water, for it quenches Jack’s fervour just as efficiently. He pulls his mouth away from yours, breathing harshly. “Sorry, darling,” he gasps, voice thick from desire, “I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s alright,” you breathe out, dazed by your sudden yearning, “It’s alright…”

Jack shakes his head and pulls his hand away from your lower back, drawing the blanket almost all the way up to your armpits. “We can’t,” he says throatily, still trying to control his erratic breathing. “Not yet.”

“But you want to,” you whisper, not thinking quite clearly, “And I want to…” you trail off, ghosting the fingers still resting on his neck downward on his smooth skin. Jack almost growls and grabs your wandering hand in his, pulling it away from his skin.

“Damn it, woman, this isn’t about want,” he grounds out harshly, eyes darkened by the very thing. He manages to slip a touch of levity in his gravelly tone as he goes on, “God, I’m painfully aware of the part about wanting, trust me.”

You can’t help but to let out a short chuckle at that, incredulous and amused over the absurdity of the situation. “Yeah,” you mutter with a rueful smile, conscious of his apparent… discomfort. “Sorry about that.”

Jack breathes out – a sound between resignation and frustration – and gives a quick, lopsided smile meant to reassure, pushing himself a little further away from your body in slow, slightly inelegant fashion. “Let us just…” he pauses, settling stiffly to his previous spot on the bed, “Just calm down a little…”

Feeling like groaning out loud in frustration, you curse a blue streak in your head – in both English and Gaelic – and turn on your back with difficulty, gritting your teeth when your sore muscles shoot up painful jolts at the motion. Hot flush is covering your body and you push the cover down to your hips to cool down, before flinging your arms up on the pillow on either side of your head, blowing out a slow breath through your mouth. Well, so much for getting any sleep tonight, you think tetchily.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut tightly and bit back a groan as the shirt you’re wearing stretched tautly and moulded like a second skin across your chest the moment you put your arms up. Were you deliberately trying to taunt him when he already felt like exploding?

You startle slightly as Jack suddenly reaches for you and grabs your wrist, pulling your arm down and dropping it across your breasts, saying gruffly around a slight groan, “Please don’t do that.”

Taking one just look at each other, both you and Jack slowly begin to turn around as if on some mutual, silent agreement, facing away from each other. Settling awkwardly on your side, you roll your eyes in exasperation and bite back a curse at your pain and frustration. You’re all too aware of Jack’s presence behind you, and it is banishing all thoughts of sleep from your mind. Stubbornly, you close your eyes anyway and give it a try, as futile as it may be, sighing soundlessly. This would be a long bloody night.

Indolently, you wonder if Anamaria would mind you bunking in your old hammock tomorrow. You weren’t sure if you could handle another night like this.

TBC...

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