I know it's been done before, but I figured: the more, the merrier.

Disclaimer: Jack's not mine :( Neither is the rest of them.

Sparrabeth (obviously).

Timeline: DMC. Imperfect, because who needs a black spot in this scene?

It was a terrible moment to let himself get distracted. Terrible being the opposite of opportune. There was an undead and entirely unpleasant squidy captain after him, chasing him on his creepy underwater ship with a creepy squidy crew and a squidy pet monster in tow. And since Jack really, really did not like squids, those were the things he should be occupying his mind with, not how to get under some wench's skirt. And while he certainly had a great appreciation for the fairer sex' charms, he had always been good with keeping his priorities straight and not letting his pastimes, however delightful they may be, get in a way of his survival. Therefore, he should not be currently wasting his brainpower on anything other than getting himself out of his current predicament – he reminded himself not for the first time of the day, before giving the Distraction yet another sidelong glance.

Oh, but she was a sight for sore eyes; the one pretty creature on deck of his ship, resting so comfortably among the lot of crude, filthy pirates, and looking quite at home: Elizabeth-It's-Miss-Swann-to-You-Thank-Gods-Not-Mrs-Turner.

She feels safe here, he thought with an odd prickle of pride.

The last time she had been on the Black Pearl, the ship had been cursed and it had not exactly been a pleasant visit. And yet, there she was, sitting – no, lounging on the stairs, stretched in a way no corset would have allowed her to, had she been wearing one. Which she was not.

Bugger. He was not supposed to think of that.

Corsets and skirts were exactly what he was supposed to avoid thinking of...

But she's not wearing a skirt, either! - his mind happily supplied him with a feeble excuse.

...or the lack of them.

Ye're not helping yerself, mate, he groaned inwardly.

If only the things he needed were perfectly aligned with the things he wanted. That, however, was not always the case. Which was probably why his compass did not work the way it should.

It was not his fault, though, that it was hard for him to concentrate. They just looked so good together: the lass and the ship. Small hands wrapped around the dark railing. Black sails and golden hair enlivened by the breeze. The riveting correspondence of the graceful, curvaceous lines of the hard wood and the soft flesh...

He needed rum.

He blindly reached for the bottle. The feel of glass under his fingers calmed him somewhat, and he thought that he would just take a sip to go and change the current location of both himself and the rum by transporting them both to the helm. The problem was, he forgot that Elizabeth was blocking his way. Their way. Also, he made a mistake of glancing at her again.

She was pouting.

No-one could blame him for getting tempted by that, could they? No matter. He did not care what "they" thought.

He grabbed another bottle.

"My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled," he said swiftly placing himself onto the steps next to her.

He quite liked the proximity. He also noticed that she did not pull away, even when he leaned forward, invading her personal space.

Ah. She did not mind. He suspected that she liked him, though most of the time she acted as if he was the most annoying person she had ever met. He was almost sure he amused her. Lesser, more insecure men tended to hate it when they found that the woman they fancied thought anything about them to be remotely funny, but Jack Sparrow was a sly enough bird to know that making a lady laugh just about doubled his chances for getting into said lady's bed.

Elizabeth shot him a brief glance, but she was still wearing a displeased expression on her face.

She looked adorable when she was pouting. Women were just as touchy as men, though, so it was best not to risk telling her that.

"I just thought I'd be married by now," she said, causing Jack to frown in horror.

That was why she was upset and what she was thinking about while sailing in his company? That she was not yet irreparably, hopelessly, foolishly and utterly unnecessary tied to the whelp? Where was her sense of adventure? Her love for freedom? She should be thankful for the delay!

He could not be that wrong about her, could he?

"I'm so ready to be married," she sighed sounding tragically disappointed.


He raised his eyebrow quickly considering the young, curious and rather temperamental lass next to him and reminded himself that in the polite society, very different standards were applied to men and women.

...maybe it was not the young William per se she was longing for?

Could that bloody fool really keep the vibrant, sensual, not to mention beautiful creature as Elizabeth waiting and completely unattended for so long?

Stupid, stupid whelp.

He probably barely dared to kiss her and never touched her other than offering her an arm on a stroll. What a waste! A woman like her, hungry for life, needed to taken care of. Cherished, not worshipped from afar, like some kind of religious statue. She was not a doll, but a living, breathing, lovely woman. And women – Jack knew that for a fact, though most men he knew had their doubts on the matter – had needs. Which might have been why it was so common for said men's wives to risk seeking Jack's attention instead of their husbands'.

There was respect and there was plain idiocy.

Right there and then Jack decided that if Will was so daft, it was his own fault and that he did not deserve to be minded. There were plenty of ways to keep his fiancée happy, even if they wanted to wait, the boy clearly had no clue about.

Jack would certainly know what to do with Elizabeth.

"You know..." he said, before clearing his throat and leaning a bit closer, until his body was brushing against her arm. "...Lizzie."

She made a face at his audacity. But she did not exactly move away. He generously offered her one of the bottles. In his experience, rum cheered people up and made them more open to his arguments.

"I am a captain of a ship," he started. "And being captain of a ship, I could, in fact, perform a marriage."

He had her attention, but she was looking at him rather sceptically, as if she thought he was not making any sense.

"Right here," he added to make her understand what he had in mind. "right on this deck, right… now."

She stared at him incredulously before snorting.

"No, thank you," she said getting up.

He followed her. After all, if there was a chance that he was not going to be around for much longer, he could as well have fun while there was still a quiet moment, and he very much liked this game they were always playing.

"Why not? We are very much alike, you and I. I and you. Us."

"You're not being serious," she tossed over her shoulder dismissively.

He used both his hands to gesticulate for emphasis – a bottle still dangling from one of them.

"But I am. Serious as a grave, love."

She twirled around and cut him off: "You?" she almost snickered. "Married?"

He made a wounded face, but then chuckled inwardly when she suddenly frowned, as if struck by a thought and a look of horror crossed her face. It eerily mirrored his own from a minute ago.

"You're not married, are you?" she asked taking him by surprise.

Jack blinked. His face went completely black for a second while he was mulling over his answer and he could tell it made her a bit nervous.

"No," he said finally, smiling brightly. "I don't think so."

She shot him a suspicious look.

"You're not sure?"

"There's been a few times when I've been very drunk," he confessed, "but I do not recall getting married, and seeing as no-one has come to remind me otherwise, I assume my non-recollection must be correct."

She stared at him.

"I'm not drunk now," he clarified quickly when her gaze shifted toward the bottle of rum.

She shook her head.

"I'm not stupid, Jack," she said.

"Never crossed me mind, darlin'."

"You're just fooling around. Like I don't know what you really have in mind."

Jack's eyes twinkled. He took a small step toward her, almost as if her was asking her for a dance.

"What do I have in mind?"

She pursed her lips.

"You just want to get me in your cabin," she said flatly.

He raised his finger.

"Ah, but I suggested no such thing. Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie… I only proposed to marry you – a perfectly respectable notion. If you thought of something else – like dragging me into me cabin and having yer way with me – that's all on you. However," he made a mournful face, "if you'd rather just take advantage of me person without making an honest man of me…" he trailed off.

Elizabeth's cheeks pinked slightly, but she cracked a smile. He considered it a small victory.
"To make an honest man out of you? I'm not sure that's even possible."

"...then I suppose I would not protest and take whatever I can."

"Now, that sounds more like you."

He returned her smile with his own, inducing it with as much charm as he could. She enjoyed a good banter too much to pass on the opportunity to tease him, which was very fortunate for him, since there was always a chance she would forget herself in the heat of the moment.

"You'll see," he said smugly. "You will come over to my side."

"As if you would ever give up your freedom by tying yourself to one woman."

"Oh, but I'd be getting another kind of freedom in return."

"And what kind of freedom would you gain?"

That was all the invitation he needed. He inched closer, invading her personal space. She stood her ground, which left her cornered. She had to lift her chin in order to be able to look him in the eye.

"The freedom of doing certain things...," he said, leaning forward and putting his hands on the rail behind Elizabeth, trapping her between his arms, "whenever I want to."

Please, ask what things, he chanted in his head. Please, ask what things.

That would be a perfect excuse for him to demonstrate what he had in mind.

She bit her lip, as if she had to purposely force herself not to answer, but she kept mum, simply raising her eyebrows instead. The immediate result her actions had, however, was for Jack's gaze to drop to her mouth.

He could almost feel the heat radiating off her body. Spellbound, he lifted his hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her blushing cheek. Her breath caught. By God, but she was mesmerising.

And she was frowning.

Why was she frowning?

"You're bluffing," she accused.

Jack dropped his hand.

"What?" he asked confused.

"I don't believe a word of this. You wouldn't do this."

"Do what, exactly, dearie?"

"You wouldn't marry me. Nor anyone else."


"What would you do, if I said yes? You'd wait until I turned around and then run for hills."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her.

"Try me," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head. "Unless you're afraid?"

She pursed her lips. Was she torturing him on purpose? And then… she laughed.

"Very well, then," she said with a note of challenge in her voice. "Let's get married."

There was mirth in her eyes. She thought it was a joke.

She was thoroughly underestimating the allure of the wedding night.

A slow smile spread on Jack's face.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed cheerfully.

"I want it to be a proper wedding, though," Elizabeth added in a rush.

Jack struggled to grasp her meaning. A proper wedding? He could certainly imagine an improper wedding if he put his mind to it, but whatever made for a proper wedding?

"With witnesses," she explained.

Jack's face brightened again. He nodded readily.

"And a Bible," she insisted.

He waved her off. He happened to have a Bible in his book collection. It was written in French, but it would do.

"And I want a dress."

Upping the stakes or having second thoughts and not knowing how to make a gracefully retreat without admitting defeat, love?, Jack thought amusedly.


"You said you had no dress in your cabin."

He raised his forefinger.

"In my cabin," he clarified. "I never said anything about the rest of the ship."

"Also, I want a ring."

Jack wriggled his beringed fingers happily, letting the sun catch the colourful gems.

"Take your pick. Anything else?"

She paused for a moment.

"Yes. You'll take a bath," she said triumphantly.

Jack opened his mouth to protest against that outrageous demand, but she stopped him before he could get out a word.

"No bath, no wedding," she warned firmly.

He snapped his mouth shut and glared at her. It was not like he would let it be an excuse for her to back out.

"Deal," he said extending his hand for her to shake. There was a tiniest bit of doubt in her eyes before she took it.

Jack grinned.

So? How did you like it? Let me know what you think, it's the first time I've written something in Jack's point of view!