Okay, since the film didn't show all THAT much in the way of motivations and such, writers will kind of have to make some stuff up as they go along. If we didn't, there'd be nothing we could write without take the captain wildly out of character. So here's my view on Captain Jack Sparrow:
He's certainly had a whack from the mill (as they say in my language) but not as bad as he sometimes likes to let out. He likes to show people the legend, not the man, because it keeps them just slightly off-balance. He can focus well enough when the need is there (see the scene in the beginning, where he escapes by holding Elizabeth hostage – he's clear and lucid all the way through) but when it isn't focusing, he seems to be riding some of inner flow. To me, it's overcompensating for movement – waves – underfoot that make some of his movements so exaggerated. Sort of a permanent case of seamans legs.
He can be serious when he feels there's no one to impress or distract, and he's got a certain brand of brilliance that does indeed often seem like insanity. He tends to be 7 steps ahead of everybody else.

Now, on to the story. This is my own attempt at writing a woman into the Captains' life who is NOT his ship, because I still feel that the Pearl is his one and true love. But that doesn't mean that there cannot be relationships in his life, right?

Please forgive my bad chaptering, since this was written as one long file and divided into bits when I thought I had enough to go on with. The title is subject to change, since it is a bit standard I'll make a better title when I've worked out where the characters intend to take this.

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STOWAWAY

There was someone in his cabin. He could not define exactly how he knew this, but he took it as he took most other things on his path – in stride. Captain Jack Sparrow soundlessly drew his sword and inched forward into the captains' cabin. It was not like him to zealously guard his privileges - most of these days he preferred to sleep on deck in any case, preferring the open sky above him and the soothing sounds of timber and sail.

But there was someone in his cabin, someone who did not want to be found.

The only one of his crew who could be this still was Anamaria, and she was no longer aboard. To his regret, she'd found a lad for company a couple of ports ago and had stayed ashore. He had been sad to see her go, but she had made it abundantly clear that a few shared nights held no claim on her, so what could he do?

But since it could not possibly be Anamaria, this had to be someone else. Jack moved through the room with the quiet determination to find out who.

After a methodical sweep of the port-side of the cabin, he turned to the side which contained the closets. Most of them were empty, for though he had been captain of the Black Pearl for almost 5 months now, Jack wasn't one to accumulate goods. The storing cupboard closest to his bunk contained a few blankets, a change of clothes, and his personal reserve of rum. Deciding it was most likely to find someone there, he opened the other cupboard first. The soft squeaks emanating from a mice nest dimmed abruptly. Jack contemplated the use of a cat onboard – did he prefer fur everywhere or mice holes everywhere? - and swung open the last cupboard, sword ready.

There was a comforting lack of walking skeletons emerging from the storing space.

What was inside seemed to be a roll made of his blankets, covering wholly the body which seemed to be curled up inside. It did not move.
Now what the devil was that, a dead body in his cupboard?

Jack scratched his chin, trying to remember when he'd last opened the cupboard. Not since they'd left the port two days ago. That belonged to the intensely boring trading city of Portana, which contained nothing of interest to the denizens of the Black Pearl except fresh food and water. They had stayed there the grand total of one day, taken in water, food and rum, and left as soon as the tide went out. There were some places even Captain Jack Sparrow steered clear of, and not all of them for fear of gallows. Boredom killed too - often slower...
Blinking, he turned his attention back to the body. What was it again? Oh yes, it had not been there two days ago. If it was dead, probably not gooey yet.
On that decidedly practical note, he reached out with the tip of his sword and turned the edge of the blanket over.

Inside was a woman.

She seemed to be breathing, too.

Well, that certainly left out several unpleasant scenarios involving cruel demented vicious walking skeletons, and it almost certainly meant there would be no gallows in his immediate future. He relaxed his stance somewhat. Jack had had his share of nightmares about the events a few months ago, though he would never admit that to anyone.

When he turned his attention back to the matter at hand, he looked a little closer at this uninvited visitor. She had light brown skin, curly brown hair, and the suggestion to her face that while one of her parents was white, the other was not. There was a dark bruise high on her cheekbone, and more around her neck.

She was also still fast asleep. Folding back more of the blanket, Jack found out how that could be. Her arms were curled tightly about a rolled-up blanket, and in her hands was a bottle.

She'd been drinking his rum! Not just rum either, but one of the best bottles that he'd bought in an expensive shop in Portana. Captain rum.

It looked as if she'd drank at least a third of the bottle, but he knew from experience that that need not mean that she would be harmless when she woke up. Having seen Anamaria go from inebriated sleep to knife-holding full alertness a few times, he wasn't about to assume that waking this stowaway would be without danger.

In any case, it might prove amusing to wait until she woke. He was interested in hearing her explain the situation. Leaving the cupboard open, he settled himself comfortably on his bunk, sword next to him.

Sitting like that, staring at the horizon thought the porthole close by, he felt utterly and completely comfortable. The Pearl, his Pearl, was back under his feet, and the rest of the world could fall apart, but he was captain of his ship again. The memory of all those years without her seemed bleak and off somehow, drained of colour. Only now, out at sea with his beloved ship at his command, he felt himself.
He knew he drank less these days, with the rocking of the Pearl under his feet – there was no need to find the motion in the bottle anymore. The freedom of the open sea and the wind in the sails induced the same euphoric feeling as the bottle used to, and it had no after-effects.

Except perhaps that he had also become more careful, valued the freedom more this time. They rarely took ships these days, mindful of how far they could go without getting the full force of the navy after them. Now he had her again, Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't about to bring the Pearl and her crew into danger, or himself near the gallows. The simple pleasure of sailing his own ship was enough to content him.

And there was a time when he would have thought himself weak for that, but when he stood at the Sparrows' nest of the Black Pearl, he knew that whatever he needed to do to stay with his ship, his lady, would be worth it.

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Chills! Thrills! Spills! Will the Captain recover his rum? Will we find out about the unexpected guest who may or may not be a walking skeleton? (well, probably not, but you never know, it's not paranoia if they really were out to get you, etc) And what on earth possesses a woman to throw in her luck with pirates? (you girls don't count, you know about Captain Jack Sparrow being a decent sort SHE didn't, or did she?)

There'll be more of this I'm sure, but as always mode= shameless feedback slut Tell me you love me and it'll happen faster!/mode

Cheers,
Arwen Lune
(who has way, way too many stories in progress..)