Title: Kept

Author: Sandra

Rating: PG

Author's Note: Hee!

.

.

.

.

.

A vile, despicable creature, he was.

She'd saved his life and this was how he repaid her?

"Jack," she chided firmly, swatting his hands away. "Cooperate."

He glared at her with those awful dark eyes.

"Shipwrecked, were you?" she asked casually, bandaging his stupid empty head.

Annoyed, Jack rolled over in the mud and ignored her.

.

.

.

On the second day, Elizabeth brought him food.

And rum.

"Your breath hasn't improved since the first time we met," she sniffled primly, but felt an annoying tug near her heart. "Perhaps... perhaps you should stay with me."

Jack narrowed his eyes and stared at the harbor, bottle of rum stuck midair.

"Only until your evil ship returns for you, of course," she added hastily.

.

.

.

"Dash the consequences!" she told him on the third day.

Jack grinned, gold-capped teeth glistening.

Elizabeth picked at her food. "But I can't very well hide you under my bed forever."

Jack cast an annoyed look her way, swaying dangerously, his frayed shirt billowing in the breeze.

"After all, you don't like me, and I certainly don't like you," she accused, spearing a cold sausage.

He dug his bony fingers into her shoulder, giving her a vague pout.

"I suppose you can stay in my room until you heal," she sighed, nodding to no one in particular.

Jack swallowed hard, gnawing on his breakfast.

"It's either that or the gallows," she pointed out with a scowl.

Jack swaggered toward more rum.

.

.

.

"There's a... peculiar smell in 'ere, Miss'wann," sniffed Estrella on the fourth morning.

Elizabeth's eyes widened most innocently.

"Yes," she said, fidgeting with a handkerchief, "yes, such a... terrible stench."

Jack tickled her ankle under the comforter.

Elizabeth twitched.

"I wonder where it's comin' from, I do," mused Estrella, inspecting Elizabeth's nightstand.

"The—the western winds," said Elizabeth hurriedly, pinning Jack under the covers with one hand. "They've blown in such dreadful rankness this summer."

Estrella cocked her head, glancing inconspicuously at the squirming lump under Elizabeth's pillows. "If I may be so bold as to say... that's not the only thing they've done blown in."

Elizabeth bristled. "That is too bold," she said through gritted teeth. A slow grin spread across her lips. "But now that you mention it..."

Estrella gave a deeply displeased sigh. "I'll fetch the rum."

.

.

.

On the fifth day, Jack was gone.

Elizabeth found him tottering precariously aboard the Dauntless, sloshed off his gourd and chattering with a coconut.

"Were you going to commandeer that ship?" she asked, equal parts amusement and annoyance.

Jack yawned, scrubbed at his ear, then passed out.

Elizabeth huffed, hitched up her skirts, and stomped off, muttering, "Fine. Stay away from me, Jack!"

.

.

.

The sixth day found Elizabeth oddly subdued.

"Elizabeth?" asked Will tentatively, patting her hand. "Are you well?"

"What?" replied Elizabeth, twisting her fingers impatiently. "Oh. Yes, yes, I'm fine."

Will raised a wary eyebrow.

"Perfectly fine," mumbled Elizabeth.

Will's gaze softened. "Elizabeth, I can tell when something—"

"I'm fine."

"But—"

"Honestly, Jack, can't you just leave it alone!"

Will blinked.

Elizabeth fretted. "Er... I meant... William. Not Jack. Because... you're William. Yes."

Flustered, Will fumbled with his sleeves.

.

.

.

On the seventh night, Jack sobered up.

He shuffled into her room, flung himself on her bed (even though she'd told him never to, unless he'd had a good scrub and a half dozen baths), gave a soft apologetic whine, and held out his dirty hand.

"Jack...?" she asked softly, discarding her tattered book. "For me?"

Jack grunted, thrusting his hand at her and burying his face in the pillows.

And there, on his obscenely filthy palm, rested a wonderfully shiny timepiece, which he'd probably pilfered from some rich man's—actually, now that she looked closer... her father's—pocket.

"Incorrigible," she scolded.

Jack grinned at her through a mouthful of gold.

.

.

.

"And... parry!" shouted Will on the eighth day.

Jack scrunched up his nose, the cutlass scratching against his throat.

.

.

.

On the ninth day, Elizabeth bid William a cheerful, "Hullo."

Jack flexed his fingers, staggering about the garden with an unruly pout.

"Jack," sighed Elizabeth, "I can't spend every second of every day with you."

Jack said nothing, his whiskers twitching.

"And..." she continued reluctantly, "...you'll be leaving soon anyway." She paused, oddly uncertain. "Won't you?"

Jack crossed his arms petulantly.

"You don't want to... stay... with me," she prodded curiously. "Do you?"

Jack fled.

"Opportune moment, indeed," giggled Will.

.

.

.

On the tenth day, they were discovered.

"Blast it all, Elizabeth!" cried Governor Swann, his house brimming with Royal Navy's finest.

Elizabeth plastered herself against Jack, her eyes wild. "I won't let you hang him!"

Commodore Norrington scrutinized them both, his sword pointed at the nearest oil lamp. "Miss Swann, at the risk of sounding repetitive, I suggest you bear in mind your place in society and your previous situation, lest you forget what—"

"I am Elizabeth Swann," she shouted proudly, "and I am harboring a pirate!"

Fingers dancing, Jack hid behind her.

Governor Swann brought a shaky hand to his forehead.

"Elizabeth," he said tiredly, gesturing for the guards to drop their weapons. "You can't—"

"But I love him!"

A few of the guards tittered, then quickly cleared their throats, averting their eyes.

"Miss Swann," began Commodore Norrington exasperatedly, "I kindly urge you to reconsider." He drew a deep breath. "He is a criminal." His eyebrow twitched most becomingly. "What would Mr. Turner think if—"

"But Will loves him, too!"

Jack tipped his tricornered hat, eyes darting about the room nervously.

"Stand down, men," mumbled Commodore Norrington, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiffly, he spun on his heel, and faced a flustered Governor Swann. "I'm afraid, Governor, that this is quite beyond my jurisdiction," he said and was gone.

Wig matted to his clammy forehead, Weatherby Swann approached his daughter, eyeing her wretched, wretched companion.

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you, Father," she began quickly, letting Jack fiddle with her hair. "I—"

"—will take full responsibility if your horrid little monkey pees in my shoe again!"