Chosen Path

Barbossa tucked blankets around his Jack and little Billy, and felt small arms come around his neck.



“Goodnight, Daddy!”



He reached an awkward hand around the boy’s neck. “G’night, lad.” The boy laughed as Barbossa’s beard tickled his face, then curled up with Jack and closed his eyes. Turning, he heard the boy’s hushed whispers to the monkey, relaying one of the many tales of Barbossa’s own adventures. His Jack doubtless knew the tale, but seemed to listen anyway. Barbossa smiled. His boys.



It was early yet, but Cotton was alright at the helm, so he shrugged out of his hat and coat, and pulled a chair over to Elizabeth’s bedside. He supposed he could touch her now, since everyone seemed bloody convinced she’d won the bet. He smoothed her hair back and rested his hand on her forehead. Was she flushed? He’d heard tell of fevers taking out entire crews, and it took but one ill sailor to start it. It was not unheard of to sacrifice the patient to save the crew, but if it came to choosing his crew or his Elizabeth…



They’d managed alright when Billy had been unwell. They’d kept the boy confined; he’d have to do the same with Elizabeth. She wouldn’t like it, but it would be for the good of them all. He hoped he could care well enough for her. There were no doctors on the Pearl; Murtogg’s limited medical training wouldn’t get them far, and they wouldn’t reach the Agua de Vida before the illness took hold, if it hadn’t already.



“Hector?” She stirred beneath his hand.



“Hush, cariño. Sleep.”



“No.” She rubbed her eyes and reached for him. “I’ve been sleeping all afternoon, and I’ve missed you.”



He unlaced his boots, enjoying the long-missed sensation of her fingernails in his hair. “Yer ill.” He slid between the sheets to pull her close. She was warm, but perhaps not too warm. Her face was certainly not that of a woman suffering from a fever.



She twined her arms around his neck, smiling mischievously. “I won,” she murmured, drawing his face down to kiss him gently.



He returned the kiss, warmly, but scolded her. “Yeh cheated.”



“As I said earlier, pirate.”



“An’ as I said earlier, yer not well.”



“Where’s Billy?” Evading the matter at hand, she was.



“Put him to bed.”



“Did you?” She brightened, nestling closer. “You didn’t sing him to sleep, did you?”



“No. Gave ‘im a story though.”



She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. “Oh, Hector,” she whispered. “You’re a wonderful father, do you know that?”



He sighed. He had always imagined fatherhood to be more of an abstract thing. Leave a child on shore, bring him gifts, teach him to handle a sword. Take him to sea when he got older. This hands-on parenting was more than he’d ever anticipated, complete with tantrums, vomiting (on Elizabeth, thankfully), and games only Billy found amusing. Still, he had to admit the kid had grown on him, and it certainly made Elizabeth happy. “I try.”



He was rewarded with more kisses. “’Lizabeth,” he pushed her back. “Yeh need to rest.”



“I’m fine, I promise.” She tugged his shirt laces open and slipped a hand beneath, while her lips peppered kisses over his bicep. “I’ve missed touching you so much.”



“Elizabeth…”



She had been right; the curse he suffered now was not the same as Cortez’s. He could still taste food and drink, and for the most part, could still feel. The site of the wound was quite numb, though, and that was slowly spreading outward. A fair part of his abdomen reacted only vaguely to touch, and the dulling of sensation had unfortunately spread to his favorite part of his anatomy.



He was absolutely determined not to display such a miserable failure as he had the last time he’d attempted to lie with her. But dulled sensation was not no sensation, and he had certainly missed touching her as well. In the past few weeks, Elizabeth had flaunted her assets more than she had in the entirety of their acquaintance, and the loss of physical contact had caused desire to build rather intensely.



“Please, Hector?” He smirked. It had been a very long time since a woman had begged him. Normally, it was he who had to do the persuading. But now her fingers were sliding along his chest – she knew just how to touch him, even if it wasn’t quite as pleasant as it usually was. It might be fun to make the Pirate King beg just a little longer.



“Now, Elizabeth, it’s quite late, and ye’ve had a rather trying day.”



“It’s not late! It’s barely sunset.” She nibbled at his neck. No dulled sensations there. “Please, I need to feel you touching me. Please?”



“Reckon I’m a bit tired meself.” He tried to keep his face impassive, but he must have failed, for she swatted his arm and climbed on top of him, straddling him as he’d taught her so long ago.



“You lie!”



“Pirate.” Her shift came over her head easily. Perhaps it really had been the heat. She wasn’t accustomed to dresses anymore, surely that was all that ailed her. She looked quite fine now, naked save the gold that adorned her ears and neck.



“You’re lucky I like pirates.”



Truer words had never passed her lips. He gave up his game, since she was touching him all over, and things were progressing better than he anticipated. His hands could still feel her skin, his tongue could taste her lips. He could taste her tonight, and touch her and please her, even if he couldn’t quite please himself. She was his, and he ached to remind her.



It was bad enough having Turner to share her with. She certainly did like pirates, and pirate Captains especially so. He was not inclined to compete with anyone else for her affections, but there was no choice but to find Sparrow.



She had never fully disclosed her feelings for the man, but Barbossa was neither blind nor stupid: there was something between them, or had been, however much she denied it. The idea of bringing together an unsatisfied Elizabeth and Jack Sparrow, who was, in Barbossa’s experience, generally insatiable, left a rather sour taste in Barbossa’s mouth. So he would do what he could to keep her as his own, to mark her, make her remember that she belonged to him now.



The sun had long set before she lie breathless in his arms. He cupped a perfectly hand-sized breast and swirled his thumb – gently, as she had insisted all night – around her nipple. Her hand drifted leisurely along his arm. “Thank you. Are you sure you’re content?”



He wasn’t entirely, but he had learned to enjoy vicarious pleasures during his years under the first curse, and her gasps and cries of passion at his hands had been satisfying in their own right. Still… “We’d better find Sparrow soon.”



She curled closer. “We will. I’m sure of it.”



“Are yeh now?”



She nodded. “Yes, I am. I’ve been speaking to Mack, you know, the tall Irishman?”



“Aye? What’s he to do with Sparrow?”



“Nothing, I'm changing the subject.”



“Go on.”



“I was thinking, perhaps, after we find the Agua de Vida, we might visit Ireland. He’s a wife and son there.”



Barbossa frowned. What was this about? “I suppose we might, if yeh like.”



“The trouble is, he’s a wanted criminal, so he couldn’t stay. But I thought we might take them with us.”



Barbossa sighed. He should have put a stop to her insistence on allowing women aboard a long time ago. Now there would be wives and children? Though the Pearl could do with a cabin boy, perhaps. “How old’s the son? Can the wife sail?”



“I don’t know, but she can learn, like I did. And the boy’s about Billy’s age. I thought perhaps they might be friends.”



Too young. “No. Don’t need more babies running amok on me ship.”



Elizabeth’s face fell. “But his wife could help care for them!”



“Or you could look after yer own son, and we won’t need two extraneous mouths.”



“What happened to ‘our son?’ I thought you liked having Billy around.”



He sighed again. “’Course I do. An’ he is our son. Just don’t reckon we need any more little feet.”



“I suppose.” She pushed his hand from her breast. “Forget I asked.” She kissed his cheek and rolled over, wrapping her arms around herself. “Goodnight, Captain Barbossa.”



The girl was impossible. He massaged his temple and studied her form, golden hair curling down her back, smooth skin glowing with an understated tan. He drew the sheet around them both and curled an arm about her, pulling her close.



“If it means that much to yeh, we’ll discuss it after we find the Fountain.”



“It does. Thank you.” He heard the smile in her voice as she brought his hand to her lips, then brought it down to rest comfortably around her waist. He kissed her shoulder and settled down to sleep with a shake of his head. The things he did for the love of a girl he could never keep…



* * *





The battle was fierce, the maelstrom intense. It was all he could do to keep the ship afloat and his enemies at bay. The delectable Miss Swann, the cause of all this madness, danced her deadly waltz with anyone who dared approach her. Unfortunately, Bootstrap’s whelp clung to her side.



It was a conversation he shouldn’t have been privy to, but they were shouting in full presence of the entire crew. “I’ve made my choice! What’s yours?”



“Barbossa!” He almost dropped his cutlass, almost lost his grip on the wheel. The look on Turner’s face was utterly priceless. Damn fool had spent the better part of their journey together ignoring the girl, snubbing her, or betraying her. Now he wanted her to marry him? Fool.



“Barbossa, marry me!” Well, this was delightfully unexpected. His attention was briefly distracted by one of Jones’s monsters, then another.



“Could use a little help here, girl!”



She was at his back in an instant. “I love you! Marry me.”



Why not? “Elizabeth Swann, do yeh take me for yer husband?”



“I do!” Swords clashing. “Captain Barbossa -”



His foot sent one creature flying while his sword ran another through. “It’s Hector.”



“Right! Hector Barbossa, do you take me as your wife?”



“I do. As Captain, I now pronounce us man and wife, I may kiss the bride, don’t mind if I do.”



It was a kiss for the ages, a kiss of promise and desire and love. And then the battle melted away, and there was no one but him and her, the deck of the Pearl, and the stars. She hadn’t stopped kissing him, and she was naked and beautiful and his. His wife.



“Elizabeth Barbossa.”



She giggled. “I like it. And you.”



“And Turner?”



“Who?”



Barbossa grinned and rolled on top of her. “Mm, love you, me girl.”



Her hands were everywhere, her legs opened to him, surrounding him. He claimed her, filled her, gave her all of himself, and she took him gladly. “I love you so much, Hector, my Hector, I love you.”



“Lvoo.”



“Hector?”



The haze of the dream still gripped him, and she was so close, but not close enough. He drew her into a kiss, tried to keep believing his dream. She responded eagerly enough in any case, and his body seemed to be shipshape this morning, and high time.



It had been far too long since he’d claimed her properly, far too long since he’d watched her lovely face gasping beneath him, and finally he was able to do so. It would take a bit longer, perhaps, but it was happening, and it was good, yes, so very good, and if he pushed just a bit harder, if she lifted her hips just so – yes, perfect, oh, and –



“Daddy!”



No! No, no, bloody, buggering hell. He buried his head in Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Go back to bed.”



Billy jumped on the corner of the mattress. “No, it’s morning. Eight bells, I counted.”



Barbossa clenched his teeth. “Was seven bells.” Kid still forgetting his threes?



“Hector, I think it’s over.” No! Had he ever said he liked this kid? Elizabeth shifted beneath him and turned to the boy. “Billy, go put fresh clothes on, then we’ll get up, alright?”



Billy slid off the bed and started rummaging through a trunk, tossing clothes over his shoulder and onto the deck as he did so. “Elizabeth…”



“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you later.” Barbossa sighed. There was no guarantee there would be a later, but the kid made a rather disengaging audience. “Besides, we’ve more pressing matters to attend.”



He found his breeches on the floor beside the bed and tugged them on. “Such as?”



Her eyes danced as she snatched a shirt from the ground and pulled it over her head. “I won. We need to find you a dress.”



Oh, that was just the thing to brighten this fine morning. “No. Absolutely not.”



“Oh, yes. I won. You lost. You wear a dress.” His eyes narrowed, but she buttoned her own breeches before helping Billy change. “You agreed. There’s no loophole in this one, Hector, darling.”



The loophole hit him as she spoke. “I agreed to one day. Didn’t agree to which day.”



To his irritation, Elizabeth simply laughed and joined her son in rummaging through the trunk. “Nice try, Captain. Crew won’t let you get away with that one, though. Nor will I. Ahh, here were are. What do you think, Billy?” The boy frowned as she pulled out an emerald green frock that Barbossa had often contemplated seeing on her.



When she held the dress up before him, as if sizing him up, he leaned back, drawing the sheets up. He glanced down at the shiny satin now pressed against his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed. “Green’s not really me color.”



She laughed again. “No, it’ll look lovely.” She lifted her chin. “Brings out your eyes.”



“Me eyes be blue.”



“Mmm.” She caressed his cheek. “Like the sky on a summer morning.” Was she waxing poetic over his eyes? He let thoughts of his dream flit through his mind as her lips pressed to his, kissing him languidly. When she pulled back, leaving the gown in his lap, he tossed it aside.



“No chance.”



“True,” she muttered softly. “You’ll need a shift.”



He roared as he leapt from the bed. “Out of the question! I’ll not be wearin’ no bleedin’ dress!” Least of all when she was in breeches herself. “Yeh bloody cheated!”



“I won, fair and square. But I was afraid this might happen.” She hoisted Billy into her arms, stalked across the cabin and yanked open the door. Good riddance; now he could dress – properly – in peace. He bent to gather his shirt, but the sound of footsteps gave him pause. Many footsteps.



The entire crew, save only for Cotton and his parrot, stood before him in his cabin.



“I thought you might require a bit of persuasion, my dear Captain Barbossa. Gentlemen? Ladies? Let us attend to the Captain, shall we?”



This was, as Jack would say, not good. Pintel and Ragetti exchanged a wicked grin – why did he suddenly have a mental image of the two of them forced into dresses? Before he could dwell on it, the whole mass of bloody vultures attacked him like he was carrion.



“What the hell d’yeh think yer doin’? Get yer hands off me!” But hands pressed against him, holding his arms back as a cotton shift was shoved over his head. “Get back to work, yeh scurvy, filthy bilge rats, all of ye! Get off!”



“Oh shut it, Captain.” Damnable girl. Despite his cries of protest, the shift was pulled down over his person and the bloody green dress came around his arms and shoulders. Then he was being hauled up, and while the men held his arms away from him, Song and the little one, Jia-Wen, did up the laces. Elizabeth, meanwhile, stood surveying the scene, Billy giggling in her arms.



“Dammit, woman, I can’t bloody breathe in this thing!”



“Oh is it too tight? Can’t handle a little pain, Captain?”



Elizabeth smirked at him as the crew backed off, staring at him, laughter cut off at his vicious glare, only to pick up again when he turned back to her. “Oh, ye’ll pay fer this, Swann.”



She held her ground, passing Billy to Song. “Will I, now?” Mischief sparkled in her eyes and she rallied the crew. “You recall that I am the Pirate King?” Not good, very not good. She sauntered towards him, amongst wolf-whistles and catcalls. Twining her fingers in his beard, she pulled his face towards hers. “Shall I make you my Queen?”



And she bloody kissed him. He was sure he had lost every ounce of respect the crew had for him, but they were all cheering as her arm slid around his waist and pulled him close. Still, it wouldn’t do to let her get away with that. “No chance.” To the crew, “back to work!”



They scurried like mice, tittering as they left his cabin. He stuffed his hat on his head and left to take the helm. As he walked into the light, he surveyed the crew, now hurrying to find some task that needed doing. “First one of yeh to call me ‘queen’ gets his tongue cut out!”



“Awk! Queen Barbossa!”



His pistol-shot just barely missed the parrot, and earned him a glare from Cotton as he took over the helm. Even his Jack seemed to be laughing at him, as he perched beside him, chittering away. Damnable, bloody Elizabeth.



Damnable girl and her damnable wagers. Damnable tight bloody dress. He’d lost four silvers on top of it, but the loss of dignity stung more. He hoped that by maintaining his usual proud pose at the helm, the crew would recognize that it was still dangerous to be snickering at their Captain, even attired as he was.



Unlikely, especially given the way bloody Elizabeth kept looking up at him, her face on the verge of laughter. He wished she weren’t so damn beautiful when she smiled. Made him want to smile back at her, and that would only encourage this unacceptable behavior.



He called her to the helm earlier than usual. They’d had their fun; it was time to get out of this ridiculous getup.



“You’re quitting early,” she commented smartly. “The ladies in Port Royal did like to take an afternoon nap when the heat got to be too much.”



He glowered at the suggestion. “Getting the Hell outta this thing.”



“I can honestly say I understand completely.” She took the helm from him. “Alright, I suppose you’ve been a fair sport about this. I’ll consider your debt paid.”



He started down the stairs when he suddenly took note of the commotion on the deck.



Someone was shouting and pointing. “What’s that dingy doin’ in the middle o’ the ocean?”



“Some fool done fell asleep!” The crew scrambled to one side of the ship, causing a sudden lurch. Their voices stepped over each other as they pointed and leaned over, trying to see.



“I know that fool!”



“Is it?”



“Can’t be, can it?”



“Aye, it is! Throw him a rope!”



Barbossa pushed his way through the fray just as the crew hauled the poor fool from the dinghy onto the deck of his ship. Damn bloody damn it all. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.



“Jack Sparrow.”



Jack, helped to his feet by the crew, took in the sight before him. “Hector!” Jack’s eyes traveled the length of his body, leaving Barbossa feeling oddly unclean. Not that he was particularly clean to begin with. “You look good. Green’s a good color for you, brings out your eyes.”



Barbossa fixed a glare on Jack and sized up the other man. Still had that compass, could be useful. No sign of the charts though. Hidden in his coat? Possible. No ship to speak of. Good. Barbossa had the upper hand.



“I believe we have some unfinished business, Jack.”



Jack, however, refused to let the matter of his unorthodox attire drop. “Hector. Is it still Hector? It’s not ‘Mary’ or something, right?” Jack leaned in conspiratorially. Barbossa hoped his glare was still in place. “You didn’t, you know, snip snip?” Jack made a little cutting motion with his fingers that left no doubt as to his meaning. “Because if you did, you might actually improve your chances with the lovely Elizabeth, should you have a mind to go and find her again. She’s fond of eunuchs, you know.”



Barbossa snarled, but mentally filed away this new information. Four years since he’d seen her, but the first person he thought of was Elizabeth? He hadn’t even realized she was here on the ship, but she was on his mind. Interesting, that.



“Yer not endearin’ yerself to me generous nature, Jack. Unless ye’d care to make another visit to yer own little island, ye’d best shut yer trap. As I said, we’ve unfinished business.”



“Still giving orders on my ship?”



“My ship, Jack.”



“I’ll not sail under you, Hector. Play nice, maybe I’ll let you be me First Mate again.”



“That position be taken already.”



Jack threw him a satisfyingly confused look. “You never had a First Mate.”



He nodded to the helm, but Elizabeth was already gone, flying down the steps and throwing herself into Jack’s arms. He ignored the twist in his stomach at her cries of “Jack! Oh, Jack!”



“Lizzie! Should’ve known you’d be here. Miss me that much, love?” They were holding each other a bit too close for his liking. His fingers caught the pearl that dangled from her neck, and his eyes glanced over her shoulder. Barbossa lifted his chin, and Jack quirked an eyebrow.



“I did miss you, Jack. It’s been so long!”



Jack drew back, frowning. “No it hasn’t. What’s it been, a month? Maybe two?”



“Jack, it’s been nearly four years now! William just turned three.”



“William? Don’t tell me there’s another one…” Jack looked to Barbossa for confirmation. Barbossa offered a tilt of his head in affirmation.



Elizabeth nodded as well. “My son, Jack.”



“You’ve a son Jack?” Idiot.



“No, my son is called William! Well, the crew calls him Billy. In any case, he’s three years old.”



Upon hearing his name, Billy broke free from Ragetti’s grip and scrambled across the deck, crashing into Elizabeth’s legs.



Jack shook his head, fingers dancing in the air as he stared at the child. “That’s impossible. We just left you. Couldn’t be more than two months. Three at most.”



“What’re ye on about, Jack? She’s not lyin’, it’s been four years since I left ye in Tortuga.”



Jack gaped from one to the other, then to the rest of the crew, who nodded in agreement.



“No, that’s not possible. I left Tortuga maybe three months back. There was that storm, you remember?” Barbossa shrugged. There had been many storms in four years. “Blew me off course something awful. Couldn’t quite find me position after that, but me compass always steers me right. Except that it didn’t, after the storm. Kept spinning me in circles, and the stars weren’t quite right neither. After a bit, I gave up, let the wind and tide take me as it would, and after a few days, the compass worked again. Led me here. But, as I said, can’t have been more than three months. The rum’s only just gone!”



Barbossa frowned. Had the sun finally addled what was left of Sparrow’s brains? He glanced at Elizabeth, and her eyes flicked between them. He caught a spark of inspiration and wondered what she saw.



“Jack? Where were you, before the storm?”



“What? I was…” She took his arm and dragged him over to her charts. He followed, not liking the surge of jealousy that reared up when she touched the other man. He didn’t miss Jack’s hand tapping his own coat over his breast, as if to reassure himself of something.



“Where? Show me.”



Jack bent over the charts and stabbed a finger over a location. “Here, roughly.” He slid his finger northwest. “Storm blew me over here, best I can figure.”



Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Jack! That’s the Bermuda Triangle. Mr. Gibbs told me the stories – ships that get lost there never return!”



Jack’s eyes widened. “That would explain the time loss…”



“Well, we’ve all learned that Jackie here has a way of returnin’ from places he shouldn’t be returnin’ from. And I get the honor of bein’ on the other side waitin’ for him.” Barbossa plucked Jack’s hand from where it rested on Elizabeth’s shoulder.



“Now that we’ve reconciled the passage of years, I’ll be needin’ a word with you in me cabin.”



He couldn’t read the look on Jack’s face. Something between apprehension and eagerness. What was in his head? He dismissed the question as soon as he asked it of himself. Too frightening to think about what went on in Jack’s head.



“Shouldn’t ye be at the helm, Mrs. Turner?”



Elizabeth bristled visibly. It was strange that she disliked being addressed so. He would have thought she’d be pleased at the reminder of her husband, but she always encouraged the use of her maiden name. Odd, that, but considering his position in her life, he wasn’t about to complain.



“Actually, Captain, it’s still your shift. Mine doesn’t start for another hour. And I need to see that Billy eats. I’ll join in your negotiations after I do so.”



He nodded to her, and Mullroy, who had taken over the helm, then dragged Jack into his cabin.



“You always let her order you around like that?”



Barbossa closed the door to his cabin and took a seat at his table, tugging at the laces of his – not his – the dress. It was much easier to get these things off women than it was to remove it from his own person. Jack the monkey scampered off his shoulder to his perch, while Jack the pirate scampered about the cabin, examining trinkets and treasures, looking for something he might pilfer or bargain with.



“Sit down, Jack.”



“No, thanks, I'd rather stand.”



“Jack.” Might as well come straight to the point. “I want my charts back.”



“And I want my ship back, but, as me dear old Dad used to say, you can't always get what you want.”



“Charts haven't done you much good, have they? You won't get far without a ship.” Barbossa watched as Jack held a goblet up for inspection, polished it a bit with his thumb, then replaced it on the table.



“I've a ship right here.”



“My ship.”



“But I’ve got the charts.”



“That makes yeh chart man. We've been down this road before.”



“Then it would seem we are at an impasse.”



Barbossa leaned forward. “Agua de Vida. The Fountain of Youth. Should be enough to go around. What say yeh keep yer charts, but yeh give up the coordinates?”



Jack paused in his flitting, and turned to Barbossa. “Ahh, no, thank you. That's another road we've been down, and I didn't come out on the favorable end of things then. Nope, I keep the coordinates.”



Barbossa rolled his eyes. “Jack, I can't mutiny on yeh when it's not yer ship in the first place.”



“No, but you might still throw me off it. Let me Captain her. I'll take the Pearl to the Fountain of Youth, and we can both have a share in the treasure.”



“Speaking of mutiny…” Barbossa rolled his eyes. “No chance. Pearl's mine, Jack.” Barbossa was suddenly taken by the cessation of movement, and turned to see Jack hovered before his mantle, fingers dancing along the chest that had sat there since Elizabeth had moved in.



“What are yeh doin’, Jack? Get away from there.”



Jack turned to him. “Ever think of stabbing it?” he asked softly. “The immortal Captain Barbossa, devil of the sea.” His hand swooped out, emphasizing the title. “You’d make a fine Davy Jones, mate, far better than the whelp.”



“No, Jack. A cursed existence is worse than death. Done both. I'll not stab that heart.”



Jack turned back to the chest, caressing it. “I wonder that she keeps it in here, though. I'd expected Mrs. Turner to keep the chest close to her own heart. Where she sleeps, perhaps?”



Barbossa searched for a suitable response. He didn’t need to give Jack any more leverage by disclosing the precise nature of his feelings towards Elizabeth. But his hesitation, evidently, gave him away.



“Interesting. I thought as much.”



“Yeh don't know what yer talking about.”



“Don't I? Tell me, Hector, does it bother you to have the still-beating heart of William bloody Turner on your mantle while you fuck his wife?”



“I don't fuck her, Jack.”



Jack quirked an eyebrow at him, and he rolled his eyes. He never was a good liar. Might as well make Jack squirm a bit. Barbossa leaned in, letting his grin spread and his eyes twinkle. “We make love.”



He was pleased to see Jack twitch a bit at that, pulling a face as he backed away from Barbossa.



“Semantics. Call it what you will. Same result, in the end.”



“Not so. She came to me, Jack.”



Jack considered this for a moment, then gave a shrug and turned back to the chest on the mantle, contemplating the braids of his ridiculous beard. He turned, fingers pressed to his mouth, then spread them wide as he spoke.



“New plan. I stab the heart.”



“Absolutely n-”



“Just,” Jack waved his hands, “hear me out. Take the damn charts, I don't need ‘em. Get me the key to this here chest, and I stab the bleedin’ heart of Will Turner.” Barbossa opened his mouth to protest, but Jack waved him silent. “Yes, yes Elizabeth and all that. Naturally, she’ll be devastated. And naturally, the distraught Widow Turner will seek comfort in the only man she has left to trust. Her favorite pirate Captain.” Jack leaned across the table. “That would be you.”



“Aye, t’would be.”



Jack came around the table to stand behind Barbossa's chair. “What say you? I get the Dutchman, you get the Pearl. And the girl.” His voice was nearly a whisper, and Barbossa had to admit he was more than a little intrigued. “With the Fountain of Youth at your disposal, you can sail the seas forever. You and darling Elizabeth, Captains together, forever, on the Pearl. The immortal Captain Jack Sparrow of the Dutchman. The three kings of the seven seas. What say you?”



“I admit, you tempt me Jack.”



Jack’s fingers danced on Barbossa's shoulders as he leaned in close. “Just get me the key.”