Disclaimer: As this is a continuation of the events of the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, most of the characters we have included in our writing do not belong to us and never will. They are simply here for your enjoyment :) The ones you don't recognise are most likely our own creations, but they won't be coming into play for a while yet.

A/N: Hiya – this is JoeyStar with the second chapter of this enthralling story : ) Not a great deal to say as naughtylittlemunchkin firmly introduced the fic in chapter one – I just hope you enjoy it!

Oh and here are the thankyou's:

Araminta Ditch: here you are – proof that we ARE going to continue with this fic. As for your guess about Elizabeth … hmm, not sure I should agree or disagree so I'm just going to say: read on and find out : )

Kuramasgirl556: Whew – long name! Yup, we are definitely gonna make this fic longer, though I can't say how many chapters it's going to be yet – guess we'll have to wait and see. Hope you enjoy the chappie!

Obsessed: I know what you mean about Will/Elizabeth fanfics – we started one ourselves because at heart, we're sappy romantics who loved PotC! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chappie and keep reviewing!!

Oh and this chappie is dedicated to our first reviewers, Obsessed, Kuramasgirl556 and Araminta Ditch – thanks guys and I hope you continue to read and review our work!

----------------

'For the Love of a Woman'

Written by: JoeyStar & naughtylittlemunchkin

----------------

Chapter Two:

The black ship cut through the silent ocean as swiftly as an arrow from a limber bow. Her sails billowed in the wind created by the speed of her passage – the only drop of colour against an otherwise featureless vessel. At her helm stood a single man, his hand outstretched as he considered something resting on his palm. With one careless twist of the wheel, he altered the course of the vessel and then looked back at his hand once more. He repeated this process twice more before snapping whatever he held shut and shoving it deep inside his coat. He began singing idly; tunelessly – random words discernible in amongst the general noise.

" … Pillage and plunder … and really bad eggs … drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

With that triumphant finale under his belt, Captain Jack Sparrow wandered to the prow of the ship – his ship – and stared moodily down at the sea as it lapped up against the side of the Black Pearl. Thanks to a particularly strong gust of wind and the fact that he was leaning over the edge of the ship, he felt his hat begin to slide down over his forehead. Reaching up impatiently, he pulled it off and eyed the triangle of material unfavourably. After a few moments of angry staring, he realised the hat had nothing to say for itself and he shoved it back onto his head. He also realised that all things considered, the disposition of his hat was the least of his worries.

Jack scowled blackly. This whole mess had begun when they had left Port Royal. No, he corrected himself irritably; it had actually started before that – when a particularly annoying and persistent young blacksmith had decided that he, Jack, would be the one to help save his ladylove.

Yes, Jack thought as he stared sullenly out across the ocean, that's where all my troubles began. With bloody Will Turner and his sudden damn decision to become a hero – something he felt he just couldn't achieve my help. Which led us on a fool's errand, halfway across the Caribbean … for a woman.

Now, Jack Sparrow could admire Elizabeth Swann – or was it Turner by now? – as a woman, but chasing her half-way around the world? That was just crazy … typical Will Turner crazy. If he was that desperate for a woman then the boy needed to spend more time in Tortuga.

Jack narrowed his eyes as something on the horizon caught his attention. It was little more than a dark smudge on the edge of the ocean. He stared at it for a few seconds but then his gloomy thoughts overtook him once more, he dismissed it.

Will and Elizabeth. Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann.

Somehow, everything seemed to come back to them. Every bad thing that had happened in Jack's life, every terrible misfortune that he had suffered had all been the result of him meeting the young lady and her blacksmith love.

Now, Jack was fair for a pirate. He was as magnanimous as the next man and could accept almost everything the young couple had dragged him into. But there was one thing that no matter how long he lived, how far he sailed, he would never forgive them for.

Norrington.

Before coming to Port Royal Jack had heard of Norrington – what pirate hadn't? He was the scourge of the Caribbean – or likes to think he is – and was the single reason pirates avoided Port Royal like the plague. Of course, Jack had never been like other pirates and when he had first rolled into Port Royal, the thought of meeting Commodore Norrington hadn't been high in his thoughts.

Of course now, he couldn't avoid the damn man. And that was all thanks to bloody Elizabeth and bloody Will.

Since leaving Port Royal, Norrington had been trailing him – much as a dog followed a particularly juicy bone. Every time Jack picked out a promising location that would yield a pleasing amount of loot, Norrington was there. Every time Jack brought The Black Pearl into harbour, if only for a drink, Norrington was there. Every time Jack attempted to outrun the English Commodore, Norrington was there. For while The Black Pearl was the fastest ship in the Caribbean, catching Jack Sparrow was a point of professional pride for Norrington and he truly epitomised the image of an upper class naval officer. And although Jack hated to admit it, he couldn't help but have a grudging respect for the man that was continuing to make his life a living hell.

The dark smear on the horizon was growing steadily larger and it once again snared Jack's wandering attention. As he idly walked the fingers of one hand up and down the worn wheel, the other reached inside his long coat and withdrew a darkly golden cylinder that he lengthened with the flick of his wrist and casually placed against his eye.

Now that the mark on the horizon was magnified, Jack could see that it wasn't just a lump of driftwood as he had first thought. It was actually a great deal bigger than that. It almost looked like …

Shaking his head and cursing the damage the sun had done to his brain during those long, lonely days suffered when Barbossa had stranded him on that God-forsaken island, Jack withdrew the spyglass and tapped it thoughtfully against his lips.

A step sounded behind him but he didn't turn around, knowing from the strong whiff of rum that Gibbs had just joined him on deck.

"What you looking at?" Obviously Gibbs had noted the spyglass in Jack's hand – an impressive feat for a man always a step away from being truly drunk.

"You see there?" Jack gestured vaguely in the direction of the dark mark. Gibbs followed the direction of his hand and shrugged. In one hand he held his ever-present flask.

I wonder if there's any rum left in there. He eyed the flask thoughtfully. If I wait until he's looking the other way …

"I don't see anything," Gibbs told him, swaying slightly. Looking at him, Jack doubted he would have seen a hand in front of his face. The man really needed to cut back on his drinking before he did himself some damage. "What am I s'posed to be looking at?"

It was Jack's turn to shrug – be damned if he knew. He leant against the wheel, watching Gibbs. "And why have you graced me with your oh so ripe presence this evening?"

Gibbs frowned as he worked his way through the sentence. Jack could be annoying obscure when he wanted to be. "We've all been wondering where we're going, Cap'n? You haven't said much since –" he broke off, and decided to take a swig of the rum rather than continue what he had been about to say.

He didn't need to. Jack knew the words 'since Norrington' would have been in Gibbs's sentence somewhere. And Gibbs wasn't the only one to be voicing such thoughts. Anamaria had told him exactly what she thought of the situation only a couple of days before – in full voice and in front of half the crew. When Jack had patiently tried to explain that none of this was his fault and that, if she would just remember, it had been Will who had got Norrington involved in the first place, Anamaria hadn't looked very impressed. In fact, she had just shouted louder, almost bursting his eardrums. Damn that man and his uptight, moral values!

At that moment, Jack honestly couldn't say whether he meant Will or Norrington.

Or both.

"We're returning to safe ground, savvy?" he replied after a careful pause.

"Ah." Comprehension dawned over Gibbs's red face. He lifted the flask to his lips once more and then paused, brow furrowed in thought. "And where would that be exactly?"

"Tortuga, mate – where else?" Jack declared dramatically. "The pirate capital of the world."

"Or of the Caribbean at least."

"Say what?"

Gibbs gestured with his flask. "Well I doubt the Chinese pirates come all the way over here for a good time."

Jack stared at him. "Chinese pirates?" he repeated slowly. I know this man sleeps with pigs … but honestly!

Gibbs nodded seriously. "You've been over there haven't you, sir? So do the Chinese pirates look very different from us?"

"Oh yes … very different."

"In what way, Captain?"

Jack leant forward until their foreheads were almost touching. "Well, Gibbs," he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "don't let anyone else know but … they're Chinese."

Deciding to leave Gibbs with that startling piece of information, Jack twirled on his boot heel, the beads in his hair rattling as they knocked gently against one another. "Mr Gibbs, you have the ship."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs responded automatically, a glassy look in his eye as he pondered his way through Jack's words.

"And you're not to wake me, savvy?"

"Aye, sir."

"Not for anything."

"Aye, sir."

"I don't care if we sail over the edge of the damn world." Jack paused and held up a hand. "Actually, that is something I'd like to see. Wake me if that happens, savvy?"

"Aye, sir." Gibbs glazed look was spreading across his entire face.

"But not for anything else." Jack turned to leave and then swung back again. "Unless of course we capture Norrington. You can wake me for that. I could do with a good laugh."

"Aye, sir."

"And Gibbs?" As swift as a snake, Jack reached forward and ripped the flask of rum away from the bemused man, looking at it with an air of disapproval. "No drinking on the job."

It was sometimes strange how prophetic words could be. As he strolled away from Gibbs, his spirits restored in more ways than one. He tossed the flask of rum from one hand to the other, weighing how much remained within. Jack had no idea that he had just accurately described a man's fate, and that his life was about to be made a mockery of – all over again.

------------

A loud, piercing voice woke an annoyed Jack from slumber. He'd been having the most amazing dream: he'd been locked in the hold of a ship with ten bottles of rum, but after drinking them all dry he'd found to his amazement that they kept refilling themselves. And then, when he had consumed a sufficient amount of the delicious rum and his head was beginning to feel woolly, the bottles had started to dance and sing that song – the one Elizabeth had taught him. I love that song …

"Jack Sparrow!"

There it was again – that incessant voice. It dogged his daily life from one end of the ship to the other and now it invaded his dreams too. As the dancing rum bottles faded from his mind he opened his eyes a crack and glared in the general direction of the intruder.

"Wake up!"

A slender brown hand pulled back his rough woollen blanket and struck him sharply across the face. The blow was unnecessarily hard, Jack thought as he dragged his rum-fogged brain out of the dream. And he was fairly certain he hadn't done anything recently to deserve such treatment from a woman.

"Oh you lazy –" The hand shot out again but this time Jack intercepted it, gripping Anamaria's wrist and twisting it slightly.

"I'm awake, love," he said in a dangerous tone. He shifted around in the bed and pulled out that flask of Gibbs, which had given him so much pleasure the night before.

The night before? Jack frowned at the porthole to his left and realised it was still dark outside. He had been disturbed from his best dream all year and it was still dark? Jack jabbed a finger at the porthole, eyes wild. "What's meaning this?!" The words came out in an almost intelligible jumble thanks to a lethal mixture of rum and lack of sleep.

Anamaria folded her arms across her chest, looking unimpressed. "Gibbs sent me to wake you."

Jack sighed. What was it about women that made them so difficult? "It's dark. I'm sleeping, savvy?" He tried to pull the covers back over his head but she was too quick for him.

"It's dark, you're getting up, savvy?" she retorted acidly. "Or do you want me to slap you again?"

Now that he was awake, Jack saw no point in staying abed – or at least that's what he told himself. It certainly wasn't the threat of Anamaria's slap that made him roll over and plant his feet on the wooden floor of the cabin.

He stretched luxuriously, looking up to find that Anamaria was watching him. "Like what you see?" Jack raised his eyebrows suggestively; ducking on reflex as Anamaria's hand narrowly missed his face. As he straightened up, she threw his coat at him and stamped out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

Women.

Jack laughed as he pulled the familiar garment onto his back. Anamaria would never change. He genuinely liked the girl – she was a good pirate, for a woman, that was – and with her fiery temper and exotic good looks, she would be a prize catch for any man. And just at the moment, Jack was rather interested in that man being him … but so far any overtures he had made had been rebuffed. He would just have to work harder in the future … or return to Tortuga – whichever came first.

Head still thick with sleep, Jack dragged his boots on and clattered out of the cabin and up onto the deck. He was slightly taken aback to see not only Gibbs and Anamaria, but the entire crew – including Mr Cotton's parrot – arranged in a group at the prow of the ship, their backs to him.

Jack waited for a few moments but no one turned around.

"What's a bloke got to do to get some attention around here?' he muttered darkly, stomping across the ship towards them, his boots making enough noise to wake the dead.

He was rather disconcerted at the fact that there was still no recognition from his crew; their eyes remained firmly fixed on whatever it was that they were staring at. Jack rocked back on his heels, debating the merits of loudly announcing his presence. But then his curiosity got the better of him and he hurried forward, pushing between Cotton and Anamaria, and squinting out into the night.

With a thrill of surprise, Jack realised that his earlier assumption had been bang on the money. What had once been a dark shape on the horizon – then little more than a pile of driftwood – was now floating alongside The Black Pearl.

It was a ship. Or at least, the remains of a ship.

What had once been a ship was now little more than a broken shell. The entire structure was blackened by fire; the mast had been snapped clean in two and the sails hung in ragged strips, charred at the white edges. The vessel had been gutted so completely that Jack was amazed it hadn't sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Who knew how long it had been out here, floating on the waves in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

"What do you make of that?"

Jack tugged on the twin braids of his beard before answering Gibbs's rather breathless question. He could understand why his First Mate sounded so shocked – this was more than just a simple pirate raid. Someone had hated this ship so much that they had completely decimated it.

"An abandoned wreck, floating in the middle of the Caribbean Sea," Anamaria said, unconsciously mirroring Jack's own thoughts. "Something you'd expect to find in a ship-graveyard rather than here."

She was right and Jack suddenly wondered where the ship had come from. He located the prow and worked his way down to where the name would normally have been located. However, due to the sheer extent of the damage caused by the fire, the paintwork was blackened and melted and no discerning features could be seen.

I wonder if there's any plunder left? The thought drifted idly through Jack's mind as he stared out at the ship. If there is, then maybe Anamaria will finally get off my back. And at least bloody Norrington isn't around to stop us.

Worried that the thought was tempting fate, Jack half-glanced over his shoulder, checking for Norrington's ship. For once, it was nowhere in sight and Jack had never seen such a welcome set of empty waves.

"Who cares where its come from!" he said loudly, feeling reckless and seeing a way to regain much of the reputation that Norrington's continuing presence had lost him. "It's ours now, savvy? So what do you think, my friends? Worth a look-see?"

The reply was unanimous and members of his crew quickly scurried back into the hold, only to re-emerge with boarding ramps and ropes that would secure the broken wreck to The Black Pearl while they scoured the ship's interior for hidden secrets.

As Jack crossed to the first ramp he found himself wondering just what had happened to reduce the strange ship to such a state. There could be any number of explanations and while he wouldn't normally have cared, there was something curious about this situation that tugged at the back of his mind.

Plunder, he told himself as he gingerly stepped down onto the blackened deck. Focus on the plunder.

He needed little urging. While select members of his crew began to join him on the deck, Jack ducked inside what he had quickly identified as the main hold and began poking around.

He had only been searching the ship for five minutes of so when his sense of unease grew. Something about this situation was seriously wrong. The ship was full of spoils to be had by him and his crew – most located in such obvious places that even the blindest of pirates couldn't have failed to spot them. He was beginning to suspect a trap when a familiar voice called his name.

"Jack!"

"Dammit woman, I'm not deaf," he muttered, as he picked his way down a rubble-strewn corridor, following the sound of Anamaria's unforgettable voice. Presently he saw her, standing with her hands up against a set of bars, her face turned away from him. She was obviously speaking to someone because she laughed scornfully and said, " Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean that I'm stupid!"

If they had had time and a better situation, Jack would have disputed that fact. However, in the interest of keeping the peace he opted to clear his throat instead. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Anamaria shot him a look fuelled with such weary disgust that Jack had to resist the urge to cringe. That girl has scarily powerful eyes, he decided, before walking forward the remaining couple of feet, and peering over Anamaria's shoulder.

There were many times in his life that Captain Jack Sparrow had been surprised. Most of these times he had succeeded in keeping his true feelings concealed behind his indolent mask. Yet every once in a while, something came along that so surprised him, he couldn't hide it.

This was one of those times.

"Bugger me!" He gaped at the figures huddled on the other side of the bars – which turned out to be the ship's holding cells. The men were in a pitiful condition; torn, filthy uniforms, cramped and standing in a good two inches of water – but here was no denying who they were. Jack particularly recognised the familiar sneer on the face of the central man, whose white wig was hanging in straggling clump around his red face and when their eyes met, the sneer faded fast from the other man's face until he looked almost distraught.

"Of all the potential rescuers in the entire Caribbean, it just had to be you, didn't it?"

Jack grinned and pressed his face up against the iron bars. The man flinched back as he spoke. "Lieutenant Gillette. How – erm – wonderful to see you again. Do send my regards to Norrington, won't you?"

Gillette sniffed and lifted his head. "How very droll, Sparrow. As if you had nothing to do with this."

"To do with what?" Jack threw his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed the whole ship. "To do with this? Oh no, mate, you've got me all wrong."

The lieutenant ignored him. "I always told Commodore Norrington that giving you that extra day was a mistake," he said mournfully.

"If you hadn't given us that day then we wouldn't be here now and you'd probably die in this stinking hold!" fiery Anamaria spat, slamming her hands against the bars and actually making Gillette jump.

As much as Jack loved baiting Gillette – who along with Norrington thought that he was the worst pirate they had ever seen – he was feeling incurably nosy. "What happened here?"

Gillette glared at him. For a moment Jack didn't think he was going to answer, but then Gilette apparently realised the pirate was the one with the proverbial key – even if he didn't have the actual key to the cell at that moment – and that it would be better to co-operate with him.

"It was about five days ago. We were still following you," his face twisted into a grimace, "when we spotted another ship on the horizon, approaching us at speed."

"We never had a chance, sir!" one of the other prisoners piped up nervously. "They completely destroyed us."

Gillette cleared his throat pointedly and the young man fell silent. "They attacked us under the cover of darkness – and we didn't have a chance. They quickly subdued our men and then their leader ordered his pirates to 'grab every bit of booty they could'."

Jack scratched his head, wondering whether the story was ever going to get any more interesting.

"Then things became more interesting."

Great minds, my friend. Great minds.

"Their leader overheard two of the men talking about something and – well, you've never seen such a change come over a man. He told his men to leave the ship alone and forced two of ours to repeat the conversation."

"And which two men were having this conversation?" Jack drawled, eyes roving the cage of prisoners.

"Um … we were, sir." It was the nervous young man who had spoken before. He indicated his small, mousy-haired friend as the other man and took a small step forward, which was as much as he could in the enclosed space of the cell. "I whispered to Matthew here, that being overrun by pirates was like that time when Will Turner teamed up with that pirate – " he gulped " – er, you sir, and you had that adventure, with the evil zombies and everything."

Will Turner. Why is it that wherever I go, his name seems to come up?

"Oh, and the man, he asked us more about that story and I said I didn't know a lot because I wasn't there; but Commodore Norrington had led the navy forces and –" the boy broke off, looking horrified " – and then he – he took the Commodore!"

"Took the Commodore?" Jack repeated sceptically. Any pirate worth half his salt wouldn't do something so stupid.

"He speaks the truth, Sparrow," Gillette cut in. "After that he had us locked in here, ordered his crew to make the ship look like it had been destroyed, and then left with the Commodore."

Jack tapped his chin with the fingers of one hand. He'd thought he'd heard – or seen – everything that he could have in the Caribbean, during his long years as a pirate. But he'd never heard of anyone suicidal enough to take on the full weight of the English Navy – which was what an act like kidnapping Norrington had just ensured. Whoever this stranger was, Jack wished him well.

"What did this 'leader' look like?" Anamaria was asking, showing an unusual level of initiative for a woman.

Gillette shook his head stubbornly. "No, I'm not telling you anything more until you let us out of here!"

Jack's good-humoured smile slipped from his face and he stared directly into Gillette's eyes, the cool iron bars the only thing separating them. "Around here, I make the rules, savvy? And you'll come out when I say you come out."

Gillette clearly wanted to say something more but obviously realised the precarious nature of his predicament and swallowed his angry retort. "The man was… large. Tall, with dark hair, and he was dressed in black."

"Any distinguishing features?" Jack asked, more out of habit than any real interest. He'd just caught sight of a glimmer of gold off to the left and was debating sneaking over to find out what it was.

"Not really … well, actually there was one thing. He had a peculiar scar – it ran from the left side of his face, down his neck and then there was another, smaller one that crossed his neck underneath his chin," Gillette said grudgingly. "Almost like an 'X'."

Jack, who had been in the process of working his way across to where he had seen the golden reflection, froze upon hearing this news. He glanced back at Gillette, his eyes calculating. "An 'X' you say?"

"Are you deaf as well as a pirate?" Gillette scoffed, using that uncanny ability of his to turn anything into an insult. "Now are you going to let us out of here?"

Jack considered the question. "No," he said calmly, walking away from the hold and ignoring the angry cries of the men he left behind.

Anamaria followed him and he could tell by the look on her face that she was going to ask him some awkward questions.

"Why did you ask about the scar?"

Oh yes, the awkward question. Why do women have to be so damn inquisitive?

"It was just a question," he tried innocently but she wasn't fooled.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm stupid, Jack Sparrow," she warned him, dark eyes level. "I may not be a man, but I've got twice as many brains as most of your crew. So tell me about this man – and don't try to pretend that you don't know him."

Jack sighed, cursing Will Turner for the hundredth time that day. After all, it had been through Will that Anamaria had become a member of his crew – yet another thing he had to thank the Turner whelp for.

"Alright, alright," he said finally, knowing he couldn't lie to her anymore. "I do know the man that the lovely lieutenant told us about – or at least I think I do."

"Why? Because of the scar?" Anamaria tossed her dark hair back over one shoulder and sniffed. "That's a poor picture to go by."

"Not really," Jack disagreed. "It's a very distinctive scar."

"And how do you know that?"

Now he looked faintly troubled. "Because I gave it to him."