An Embarrassing Turn of Events
by Irony-chan

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I – Aqua Vitae

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“Well, this here's another fine mess you've got me into,” said the boy.

He looked perhaps thirteen, dark-haired and gangly, with a bit of fuzz that was trying its best to be a beard but falling pitifully short. His shirt and trousers were both much too big, and he was holding them up as best he could with one hand while the other pushed back the dark red bandanna that was slipping down over his eyes. He was trying to look intimidating, but skinny pubescent boys simply aren’t, and with his oversize clothing the whole effect was just ridiculous.

The girl glaring back at him was a year or so younger and nearly a foot shorter, with wavy brown hair and some residual baby fat. She was absolutely drowning in a men’s coat that dragged in the sand around her feet, and her shirt hung to her knees. Nevertheless, she somehow managed to look fiercer than her opponent, perhaps because it would have been hard not to.

It didn’t help that both were also dripping wet.

“Me?” the girl asked, one eyebrow arched.

“You heard me, love,” said the boy.

The girl drew herself up to her full height, which was not impressive. “May I remind you,” she inquired primly, “whose idea this was in the first place?”

Her opponent didn't need to think about it. He jabbed a thumb towards the third party to this argument, who was standing off to one side leaning against a gnarled mangrove tree. “Hector’s.”

The boy called Hector was older and taller than the other two, around sixteen and solidly built. He looked like the sort of child who has grown up working alongside the adults and already considers himself every inch their equal. He had shaggy ginger hair and faded freckles, and was the only one of the group who fit into his clothing, though considering the sorry state of said clothing he looked no less disreputable (and no less soaked). And to the great annoyance of his companions, he was grinning and shaking his head as he watched them snap at each other.

“Captain Barbossa,” the girl began.

The dark boy cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

The girl glanced at him, then elected to ignore the hint. “Captain Barbossa,” she repeated dryly, “I fail to see the humour in this situation.”

“That don't surprise me, Mrs. Turner,” said the red-haired boy cheerfully. “It's Jack I'm disappointed in. Really, mate, I always thought ye had more of a sense of humour.”

“Not now,” said Jack, impatient, “we’re trying to lay the blame. I say this is all Elizabeth’s fault on simple account of most things are.”

“And how exactly do you figure that, Jack?” asked Elizabeth.

“Because I’ve noticed a pattern, darling,” he replied. “Whenever you’re around, terrible things happen to me. Oceans boil, monsters rise out of the depths, my ship gets stolen... the rum vanishes...”

“I'm hardly at fault for all of that!” she said. “And this particular adventure of yours had nothing to do with don’t you turn your back on me, Jack Sparrow!”

Jack didn't listen. He was already tramping away up the beach, with no particular destination in mind except for away from the two people who’d done the most to make his life (and death, for as long as it had lasted) as complicated as possible. He knew that Barbossa did it on purpose for fun, but in Elizabeth’s case disaster simply seemed to follow her like a lovesick blacksmith. It was no wonder Sao Feng had taken her for Calypso; the woman was an ambulatory catastrophe.

“I only came looking for you so that you could help me find the Dutchman! Jack!” Elizabeth started to follow him and nearly tripped. She pulled her coat off and tossed it aside, then kicked away her trousers, which had fallen down around her ankles, to run after him in only her shirt. “And instead, you two had to drag me off to God knows where on a ridiculous quest for...”

Jack turned around. “And that,” he interrupted, “was entirely the idea of our dear mutinous friend back there!”

“Oh, as if ye didn’t have the same thing in mind, yerself!” Barbossa started after them. “I wouldn’t have brought ye along at all if ye hadn't stolen me charts!”

“And I wouldn’t have brought you if you hadn’t stolen my ship!” said Jack. “Again!”

“Well, there's no good fighting about it!” Elizabeth protested.

“We’re not fighting yet!” said Jack. “We’re still in the mutual castigation phase. Once we’ve figured out whose fault this is, then we can fight about it properly!” He gestured, and one of his rolled-up shirtsleeves slipped down over his hand again. He grabbed it and yanked it back up, then stopped to stare at the wrist underneath it. “And now somebody’s stolen my tattoo!” he added, running a hand over the bare skin where his sparrow and pirate brand used to be.

Barbossa was still laughing. Elizabeth groaned and shook her head in frustration.

“So!” Jack pushed both sleeves up above his elbows. “Having established that this is all you two’s fault and I’m just an innocent victim like usual, what are we going to do about it, hmm?” He looked at his companions expectantly.

Searching for the Fountain of Youth was one of those ideas that seemed so good at the time, nobody had stopped to think that there might be other things they’d need to consider. What, for example, was the proper dose? Did a person drink from the Fountain, or bathe in it? Or had they done something else wrong entirely? Jack didn’t know and it really didn’t seem to matter too much at this juncture. The important point now was that this had not been the desired result. He'd wanted to live forever, yes, but living forever at the age of approximately thirteen was a fate worse than...

... okay, maybe not. Jack Sparrow had seen a fate worse than death, and had to admit that being forever thirteen sounded somewhat better than hallucinating among endless salt flats while the rocks scuttled away with his ship. But it wasn't much better.

“Well, I should like some clothing that fits, to start with,” said Elizabeth. “Let's return to the Pearl and...”

“Return to the Pearl?” Jack interrupted. For the first time in his life, he found he didn’t like the idea. Elizabeth and Barbossa were at least in this mess with him. What would the others think? What would Gibbs say? What would Cotton’s parrot?

“We can’t very well walk around with our clothes falling off,” said Elizabeth, “and we won't find more growing on trees.”

“Mine fit,” said Barbossa.

“So unless you want to walk to Cayo Hueso,” Elizabeth went on, “back to the Pearl we’d better go.”

“Ladies first,” Jack decided.

Elizabeth retrieved her coat and trousers and wound them up into a bundle before climbing into the dinghy. Barbossa pushed it out into the shallows and swung himself in next to her her. He grabbed the oars, and then both of them sat there, waiting for Jack.

For a moment, Jack seriously considered running back off into the jungle and letting them deal alone with whatever humiliations awaited them at the hands of the crew. Perhaps if he took a look around, he’d find that Ponce de Leon was still here somewhere, and Jack could shoot the Spanish bastard. But that seemed unlikely, and in addition to being an embodiment of disaster, Elizabeth Turner had a dreadful habit of being right all the time. Anamaria had been the same. It must be a female thing.

Besides, the Black Pearl was Jack’s ship. He couldn’t leave it for Barbossa to run off with again, especially a Barbossa who wasn’t old enough to grow a ratty beard a goat would be ashamed of. That would be unbearable. He made up his mind, hiked up his distressingly loose trousers, and splashed out to join them. “Wait for me!”

“Coming?” Elizabeth asked tartly as he climbed in.

"Just needed to collect my thoughts," said Jack. "Heave-ho, cast off, and all that." He waved a hand. “Well, come on, then! I’m the Captain here, and I want to see some rowing!”

Barbossa rolled his eyes, but he dipped the oars in the water and pulled. Elizabeth arranged her shirt into the best skirts she could and delicately crossed her legs before turning her head to stare at the horizon, pointedly ignoring the other two. And Jack settled down in the stern of the dingy and scowled.

He couldn’t recall exactly when Ponce de Leon had explored this area – of course, he couldn’t recall exactly what year it was now, either – but it must have been some two centuries ago. Surely in all that time somebody else had found the Fountain before them. Couldn’t whoever it was have posted a sign? ‘Warning: Puberty!’ It wouldn’t have been hard.

Of course, if their own example were anything to go by, anybody who’d come by the Fountain was probably too busy worrying about his or her newfound youth to do much for anyone else. Jack silently promised that when he got out of this, he’d come back and post that sign himself.

He’d probably have forgotten when the time actually came, of course.

“Would ye look at that?” said Barbossa.

“Hmm?” Jack looked up. There was the Black Pearl, with what appeared to be her full complement of crew crowded around the railing to watch the dinghy return. Pintel had even kindly lifted Marty onto his shoulders to see.

“Looks like they’re real eager to see what we’ve found,” Barbossa observed cheerfully. “Ahoy there!” he called to the ship, waving. “We’re back!”

“Oh, do go soak your head,” Jack told him, and shut his eyes as Gibbs tossed a line down to them.

---

Somewhere deep down where she didn’t like to admit it, Elizabeth really would have preferred for one of the men to be the first back up to the Pearl. Lord knew what the crew were going to say when they got a look at this – the faces staring down at them from the deck were a picture of bewilderment. But Jack had said ‘ladies first’, and seeing as how he was still brooding in the bottom of the boat, it seemed that he’d meant it. Elizabeth tied her bundle of clothing around her waist and started to climb.

She should have known better than to go to Jack for anything anyway, she thought, grinding her teeth. At his core, Captain Jack Sparrow was a good, honest man... but that core was buried in some thirty years of crime and perfidy (not to mention caked-on grease, dirt, and sea salt) and was often difficult to unearth. Add to that Jack’s remarkable talent for convincing people that his problems were their problems, and all her carefully-laid plans had gone to hell the moment she’d stepped onto that bloody dock in Tortuga. Why hadn’t she listened to her nagging doubts and gotten out while she still could?

Too late now. Here they were, and the situation would have to be dealt with. Fortunately, Elizabeth Turner prided herself on her ability to deal with situations.

She reached the top of the rope and let Gibbs help her over the side, then brushed herself off and stood up straight to meet the eyes of Jack’s crew. This she did evenly and without blinking – the entire armada of the East India Trading Company had failed to ruffle her. She certainly wasn’t about to back down from one shipload of startled pirates.

“Thank you, Mr. Gibbs,” she said, in her most businesslike voice. “Now, as soon as we’ve got the dinghy stowed, we need to set a course for Cayo Hueso at once.”

There was a long silence.

“Shiver me timbers!” said the parrot.

There was another long silence. Elizabeth kept her eyes open and her back straight, meeting each gaze in turn until the staring pirates had to drop their eyes. Fortunately for the solemn mood, none of them did so literally.

“Mrs. Turner?” Gibbs asked finally.

“Yes, Mr. Gibbs?” said Elizabeth, determined to act as if nothing was wrong.

“Blimey, Poppet,” Pintel spoke up. “Is that you?”

“That’s her!” came Barbossa’s voice, as he climbed over the rail behind her. “And in case ye hadn’t noticed yet – aye, we found the Fountain of Youth!”

More silence. This time it was broken by Ragetti.

“What’d ye do?” he asked. “Fall in?”

The answer was, in fact, yes. But that wasn’t a story Elizabeth especially wanted to tell, so she glossed over it with, “we had some problems, yes, which is why our next adventure is going to be looking for the Fountain of Age. But first: Cayo Hueso, Mr. Gibbs?”

“Aye, Mrs. Turner,” said Gibbs. “We were planning on putting in there anyway, if ye’ll remember... but where be Jack?”

Elizabeth glanced back. Barbossa was standing behind her, wringing water out of his waistcoat – she caught his eye, but he only shrugged. Jack was not in evidence. Elizabeth sighed and went to take a look... sure enough, when she leaned over the railing she found Captain Sparrow clinging to the rope just out of sight, peeking through a gap in the boards at what must’ve been mostly a view of bare or booted feet. Elizabeth moved her own left foot to be in his line of vision, and he slowly raised his head.

“Is it safe?” he asked plaintively.

“Oh, get yerself up here, Jack.” Barbossa tossed his wet waistcoat aside and reached down to grab the captain. “Ye’ll only make it worse by dragging it out.” Jack yelped and tried to shimmy back down the rope so Barbossa couldn’t get a hold of him, but wasn’t fast enough; Barbossa snagged his shirt, hauled him up, and without ceremony dumped him in a heap on the deck.

Jack scrambled to his feet and gave his shirt a sharp tug to get the shoulders back on top, then glared around at the crew, silently daring anybody to say anything. Nobody did... but there was a notable shuffling of feet and biting of lower lips, accompanied by a hand or two darting up to cover twitching mouths. Jack sidled closer to Barbossa, like a schoolboy trying to escape bullies by hiding behind a larger friend.

“Right, then,” he murmured, low enough that only Barbossa and Elizabeth heard. “Never ever ever ever do that again. A captain needs his dignity, savvy?”

Barbossa only snorted.

Jack took another look around, considered the situation, and then seemed to decide that the only thing to do was the same thing he always did: meet matters head on without hesitation, tact, or common sense. He hitched up his trousers again and strode out into the middle of the circle. “All right then!” he announced, in his Captain Voice, “as was mentioned and I’m sure you’ve all noticed, we have indeed found the legendary Fountain of Youth!”

This wasn’t going to end well, Elizabeth realized. The crew had been merely astonished by her and Barbossa, but confronted with Jack there was a mounting undertone of amusement. Maybe it was because he’d been the last one up and the initial shock had had time to wear off. Maybe it was the fact that, while Elizabeth had regressed all the way to childhood and Barbossa remained a young but recognizable adult, Jack was stuck somewhere in the awkward, limbs-too-long phase in between. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Jack was Jack. Whatever the reason, somebody was going to laugh, and one of the few things thing Jack absolutely couldn’t stand was not being taken seriously.

“Unfortunately,” he went on, “there have been some unforeseen complications, and we find ourselves obliged to... bugger!” he exclaimed as his bandanna slid down over his eyes again. “Oh, blast this thing,” he muttered, and tore it off. Dark curls tumbled down around his face, making him look like a rather scuzzy Raphael angel.

That must have been the grain that tipped the scales. Somebody – Elizabeth did not see who – snickered.

Jack suddenly stood up ramrod straight. “Who did that?” he demanded.

Silence fell once more. The crew stood at attention, more than one of them obviously straining not to smile.

“Well?” Jack grabbed at his pants again, which did nothing for the crew’s slowly crumbling self-restraint. “Who? Speak up! It was you, wasn’t it?” He chose a random pirate and marched up to poke the man in the nose. “Do you think it’s funny, seeing your captain in this sorry condition?”

“No, sir!” the man managed.

“Good!” said Jack. “Anybody else?”

This was greeted by a fourth silence... or perhaps a fifth; Elizabeth hadn’t been counting.

Jack nodded stiffly. “Mr. Gibbs!” he barked.

“Uh... Sir?” Gibbs asked carefully.

“Weigh anchor and set a course for Cayo Hueso at once!”

“Aye, Captain!” said Gibbs, putting audible effort into making it the most respectful-sounding ‘aye, Captain!’ he’d ever uttered. He seemed to have decided that it was his job to restore whatever passed for normalcy on board the Black Pearl, and he would do so the way he did everything else; with gusto. “Will ye be needing anything else?”

“Yes,” said Jack. “A bottle of rum. A big bottle of rum.” He motioned with his hands to suggest said bottle’s dimensions, then quickly grabbed for his trousers again. “And a belt,” he added. “Preferably a belt belonging to somebody thin.”

“A belt we can do for ye, Captain,” said Gibbs, “but we’re fresh out of rum... remember?”

Jack’s face fell. “Oh, yes,” he said wearily.

“There’s plenty of tea,” Elizabeth couldn’t resist putting in.

The crew of the Black Pearl had come to Florida to find the Fountain of Youth, but they were still pirates, and the tea clipper had been too valuable to pass up. The only hitch had been that Jack hadn’t wanted to put into port and risk being recognized before they found what they were looking for, so in the mean time, the stolen tea was simply sitting in the hold. Elizabeth had taken to drinking it in the hopes of setting a good example for all these drunken layabouts she was surrounded by. It wasn’t working very well.

Jack grimaced. “I’m not thirsty,” he decided.

The crew were still standing in a ring, staring at this curious spectacle with a mix of horror, curiosity, and schadenfreude; the third, Elizabeth had to admit, was a piratey emotion if anything was. Jack glanced at them, then clapped his hands. “Well, what are you all waiting for, you sorry sacks of entrails?” he demanded. “Come on, pull some ropes, swab some decks, let’s get going! Movement! I want to see movement!” He shooed at them as if they were a flock of geese.

“You heard the captain!” roared Gibbs. “Move yer flea-ridden bums before I move them for ye! Hop to it!”

The pirates jumped to attention and then ran off to do their jobs... but there was a notable lack of enthusiasm and a great deal of looking back over shoulders. They were afraid the show was going to go on and they would miss something. Jack edged closer to the others again.

“Mr. Gibbs,” he said. “I’m feeling a mite bit exposed out here. I think I’m going to retire to my private quarters and contemplate the fickle nature of fortune for a while.”

“Ye’re gonna sit in yer cabin and sulk, ye mean,” Barbossa translated.

“And I’m not to be disturbed, Mr. Gibbs,” Jack added, “unless in the most dire of emergencies! Understand?”

“Quite so, Captain!”

“Good lad,” said Jack. “Oh, yes, and one other thing.”

“Aye, Captain?”

“When we get to Cayo Hueso, we are getting rid of that tea. Sell it, burn it, throw it in the harbour, I don’t care. I don’t want it on my ship.”

“As you say, Captain.”

“Excellent. Move along, then!” Jack rearranged his handfuls of damp clothing and headed astern.

Elizabeth ran after him. “Jack!” she said.

“I said I’m not to be disturbed, Mrs. Turner!” he barked.

“Jack,” she repeated. “You told me that after we found the Fountain, I could use your compass.”

This reminder surprised him. He stopped and glanced back at her.

“Remember?” she prompted.

“Oh, yes.” He reached automatically for the little box hanging from his belt. “But while, as I said, I’m sure dear William will be thrilled to hear the happy news...” he looked her over, from bare feet to dripping hair. “Don’t you think you might wait for a slightly less awkward moment to deliver it?”

Elizabeth breathed in slowly. She’d just wasted two months, two months that should have been spent looking for the Flying Dutchman, wandering aimlessly in the Gulf of Mexico in search of a probably mythical font of immortality in the company of a lot of misfits even the other pirates laughed at. Jack and Barbossa had spent the entire time arguing about which of them got to give the orders, Jack had renewed his infuriatingly unsubtle efforts to seduce her, and just when Elizabeth was sure she could take it no longer and was about to snap, the Fountain of Youth itself had proved to to be entirely too real in the worst possible way. She fancied she could hear the crack and tinkle of her sanity falling to pieces all around her.

But if she had snapped, it wasn’t in a way that made her want to shout. The lump of rage that sank into the pit of her stomach and settled there was ice-cold and curiously calm. She knew exactly what she was going to do next, and God help any of these filthy, rum-soaked fools if they wasted another precious second of her time.

“Jack,” she said. “Give me the bloody compass.”

He took a step back, holding tight to it. “Would I be correct in assuming you want it to point the way out of this pickle we’re in?”

“Give it to me,” said Elizabeth.

“Because if so,” he held up a finger. “I happen to want a solution to this as much as you do, and am therefore quite capable of using said compass myself.”

She gave up. “Fine.”

“Let’s go inside,” he suggested.

Barbossa’s pet monkey was waiting for them in the cabin. It dropped out of the rafters to meet them as they entered, but stopped short at their feet, big black eyes wide with simian surprise. Barbossa stepped towards it, but it backed away, chattering unhappily.

“Naught to worry about, Jack.” Barbossa squatted down and held out a hand. “It’s only me.”

The monkey hesitated a moment, then darted forward and scurried up its master’s arm for a better look. It put its face right up to Barbossa’s and twisted its tiny fingers into his hair, then gave a satisfied chirp and settled happily into its usual perch on his shoulder.

“Yes, that’s right!” said Barbossa proudly, scratching the little animal’s neck. “Ye know me, don’t ye? Who’s a clever boy?”

“I always thought you named him in honour of his intelligence,” said Jack.

“Compass?” said Elizabeth.

“Right, right.” Jack pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Elizabeth would have done the same, but she had a horrible feeling her feet would hang down without reaching the ground. Instead, she stood behind Jack and watched over his shoulder as the compass dial turned.

And turned.

And turned.

“Oh, give me that!” snapped Elizabeth, and snatched it. She carefully held the compass out level and tried to concentrate on what she wanted. She wanted this ridiculous problem solved. She wanted the effects of the Fountain reversed. She wanted to be twenty-one instead of eleven.

The compass continued to spin lazily. For a moment it looked as if it were about to stop, but it merely changed direction and began turning the other way instead.

“What’s wrong with it?” Elizabeth demanded.

Jack reached to grab it back, but Elizabeth stepped away from him, holding it above her head. He sighed. “The last time it did that, Tia Dalma said it was because I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“I’m reasonably sure we both know what we want right now,” said Elizabeth coldly.

“The compass,” Barbossa spoke up, “points to whatever it is ye wants most in this world.” He fished an apple out of the bowl on the table and sat down. “If it can’t find somethin to point to, I’d say that what ye wants isn’t in this world.”

Elizabeth knew what he was implying, but refused to accept it. “If something can be done, there must be a way to undo it,” she said calmly. There was no reason to think such optimism was foolish – she was, after all, in the company of two men who’d come back from the dead. “And if the way doesn’t exist in this world, then it’s a good thing we know somebody who can take us to the next one.” She lowered the compass. “Where is Will?” she asked it.

“You know, love,” said Jack, “you don’t actually have to talk to the compass to make it...”

“Be quiet, Jack.”

The compass dial appeared indecisive for a moment, then settled on a roughly southwestern bearing.

“Right.” Elizabeth snapped the case shut. “We’ll stop and get some clothes, and then we go that way.”

“Huzzah!” said Jack. “We have a plan!”

“Yes, we’re already doing better than we usually are when you drag us off on an adventure,” said Elizabeth.

“Are ye two going to be like this the whole way?” asked Barbossa.

Elizabeth felt another snap. The cold ball of anger inside her burst suddenly into flames – now she wanted to shout. She turned to face Barbossa. The monkey chirruped and leapt into the rafters.

“Don’t you dare to even start!” she said. “You’re the one who turned this entire voyage into one giant...” she tried to think of a word that wasn’t vulgar, but couldn’t. “One giant pissing contest, bickering with Jack like a pair of old fishwives! Oh, look, I’ve got the ship! Oh, look, I’ve got the charts! Oh, look, I’ve got the bigger bloody telescope! And don’t you say a word, either,” she added, rounding on Jack as he began to speak up for himself. “If I had my way, I’d make you both walk the plank and sail away on my own, but since I can’t do that, I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you!” She turned to stalk out of the room.

“Where are you going with my compass?” Jack asked her.

“I,” she replied haughtily, “am going to make tea!” And she slammed the door behind her.

---

A moment after Elizabeth had gone, the monkey hopped back down onto the table. Jack took that as a sign that things were safe. He stood up and stretched.

“No wonder Will preferred the idea of ten years at sea, eh?” he observed.

“Aye,” said Barbossa. He’d found a length of string in one pocket, and was now using it to tie his long ginger hair back into a ponytail. Jack glanced down at his bandanna, which he’d wadded up and tucked into his belt, then looked around for something to use as a mirror. Elizabeth’s silver tea tray presented itself, so he dumped the cream jug and sugar bowl off it and propped it on a shelf. Using the bleary reflection that offered, he tried to arrange the bandanna so as to cover as much of his unruly hair as possible. Margaret Sparrow had always loved her son’s curls, but Jack himself loathed them. Curls were not piratey.

Behind him, Barbossa finished his apple and tossed the core to the monkey, then sat back, feet on the table and every sign of amused satisfaction on his face. “How old do ye think we are, Jack?” he asked.

Jack glanced back. “Is that a trick question?” he wanted to know. “I’m going to guess too old and then Mrs. Turner will pop back in and give me a slap for insulting her. Am I right?”

“Nah,” said Barbossa. “I only wonders.”

“I notice you don’t seem terribly discomfited by this embarrassing turn of events,” Jack remarked.

“Should I be?” Barbossa asked.

“Two out of three pirates are,” said Jack, still trying to stuff stray un-pirate-like locks out of sight.

“Aye,” said Barbossa again. “Well, it seems to me that two out of three pirates are missin a golden opportunity.”

“We are?”

“I think ye’ve forgot one very important thing, Jack,” said Barabossa. “We’re both already dead.”

“We’re doing a surprising lot of breathing, then.” The banadanna probably looked as good as it was going to. Jack tightened the knot and sat down again. “A fact, by the way, about which I am not inclined to complain. But go on.”

“Indeed we are,” Barbossa agreed. “But in the eyes of the law, Hector Barbossa was shot three years ago during a pirate coup on the Isla de Muerta, and Jack Sparrow went down with his ship fourteen months later off Isla Cruces. We’ve been skulkin around hoping they don’t realize their mistake. That’s no goin to be necessary anymore.” He sat up, leaning towards Jack. “Think of it – we’ve no brands, no pasts, no faces anyone might recognize.”

“No self-respect,” Jack felt obliged to note.

“Clean slates,” said Barbossa. “Come now, Jack. Haven’t ye ever wished ye could live yer life over knowin what ye knows now? Do all the things ye never did, and avoid the mistakes ye made the first time?”

“Like you'll avoid scurvy and I’ll avoid... other nasty diseases?”

“It’s whores ye’ll want to avoid for that.”

“I guess I’m stuck with the nasty diseases, then.”

Before Barbossa could come up with a witty reply, the door banged open and Elizabeth marched back in with the kettle. Jack flinched, half-expecting her to just throw the boiling water over himself and Barbossa both, but instead she yanked the tea tray off the shelf, banged the pot down on top of it, and began brewing tea in a fashion that put Jack strongly in mind of the phrase ‘bull in a china shop’. Fragments of tea leaves scattered as she spooned them violently into the strainer, hot water splashed onto the table as she poured it, and then she pounded the lid on, sat down heavily, and pulled out her pocket watch.

It had, of course, been in her coat when all three of them fell into the Fountain. She tossed it onto the table in disgust and pressed two fingers to the side of her neck to time the tea with her pulse.

Only then did she appear to pay any attention to Jack and Barbossa. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said to them, in a voice that attempted sugar but managed only cyanide. “Did I interrupt some dreadfully important argument about the ownership of the chamber pot?”

“No,” said Jack.

There was an oppressive lack of conversation for the next three minutes. Elizabeth’s lips moved slightly as she counted heartbeats, and at two hundred and fifty she stood up and declared the tea ready. “Cream and sugar, Captain Barbossa?” she asked as she poured three cups.

“No, thank ye, Mrs. Turner,” said Barbossa. “I take mine without.”

She nodded and handed him the cup. “Captain Sparrow?” she asked, in a voice with frost on it.

“Uh... no. Thanks,” said Jack.

She pushed the second cup of tea into his hands. He looked down at it, then at her. Did she really expect him to drink something that was served warm and had absolutely no alcohol content whatsoever?

Apparently she did. Some people derive comfort from ritual, and it seemed Elizabeth’s ritual was tea. She met his questioning look with another icy glare, then added two lumps of sugar to her own cup, stirred it delicately, and tapped the spoon on the side. “Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho,” she said.

Women were a deep and abiding mystery. Jack drank the tea.

---

Author's note: Jack may plan it all, but I'm making this up as I go, and I have no idea where it's going or whether it's going anywhere. Enjoy it while it lasts.

I've got some drawings related to this fic on my deviantart account, if anybody's interested. Username is ironychan.