Jack stood at the helm of the new ship. The gentle breeze blew through his hair, as the ship sliced through the blue water. He looked out over the deck at his able-bodied crew. Grief rooted itself in his gaze. His chestnut colored eyes were dreary with sorrow.

The wheel was cold in his grasp; foreign. It was not his. It would never come to be his. His heart and spirit were still tied to the Black Pearl. He was sailing the wrong ship. This was not the freedom he came to love and cherish. The man who had accomplished snatching it away from him ten years ago succeeded once more.

"Captain Sparrow."

The voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Anamaria beside him. "What is it, love?"

She did not like being addressed as "love," but she let it pass, seeing the suffering in his eyes. "Where are we headed?"

He was quiet. He shifted his eyes to glance upon the sapphire ocean. "I don't know," he said softly. "Wherever we're meant to go. Wherever the wind cares to take us."

"Jack, we'll find her. You'll get her back."

He looked at her again and his lips quirked upward into a slight smile. She nodded and walked away. He was alone once more.

"What happened to you, Barbossa?" he whispered.


It was just as he had known it only different. The sails were large and white with no rips, unlike the black, torn ones he sailed with the last time the Black Pearl was under his leadership.

He gripped the wheel in his hands and closed his eyes. It was his.

He let the wheel go and nodded to his first mate to take over. He walked down the steps from the helm and into the Captain's quarters. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around the room. Maps were spread out over the floor and the desk. The writing quill was left out of its ink pot and lay resting on a piece of parchment. Empty bottles of rum were everywhere. It was the way Jack liked it, and it made Barbossa have a small amount of guilt and remorse for Jack not being on the ship at the moment.

He had enjoyed their night together immensely. He had gotten to see Jack as he had never before: vulnerable and sexual. The excitement and lust he had felt with Jack was incredible.

He lay down on the bed, the memory making him dizzy. He unbuttoned his trousers to find that the thoughts were making him firm. He prodded himself, his eyes rolling back. He re-lived his night with Jack. The feel of Jack's body beneath his eager hands, the warmth of their skin, the friction of their flesh as they grinded against one another. Jack's murmurs and whimpers filled his ears. The way Jack had been breathing heavily, the breath trying to come quickly, his closed eyes, tense face, and the touch of his hand against his own. Oh, Jack had been beautiful that night. A state of surrender. He had been in full control. He had conquered Jack and made him his own.

His cock was erect and leaking semen. Trickles of sweat showed on his face. He sighed. His breathing then started to accelerate. His eyes were closed. He touched himself harder. He cried out quietly, then finally came, ejaculating onto his hand. He rested back fully on the pillows and tried to catch his breath. He swallowed and lay still. His memory went to what happened after their shared passion.

He had waited until Jack was in a deep sleep. Careful to not wake him, he slid out of the bed and dressed quickly. Occasionally he glanced over at Jack to make sure he was not awake. He found him sleeping peacefully, a few murmurs escaping his lips. Taking his time, he rummaged through Jack's belongings. He took only what was of greatest value to Jack: his hat, sword, pistol, and his compass. He knew the compass was the only way Jack was able to find Isle de Muerta. And he did not want Jack taking the swag he had worked so hard to get in the past ten years.

He had gathered the possessions in his arms and looked at Jack once more. He walked quietly over to the bed, gazed upon Jack's naked body one last time, then brought the sheet up to cover him. Jack stirred and he had held his breath, but he settled.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered, almost inaudible.

And then he left. He arrived at the docks to find his crew waiting for him. Everything was taking care of. They boarded the Pearl and sailed away. Just like that. He betrayed his good friend just like that.

He growled and grabbed a cloth that lay on the floor near the bed. He wiped his hand and buttoned his trousers. He stood and sauntered around the room. There were numerous bottles of rum about. He paused in front of one and took it in his hand.

He stared at it calmly, then suddenly, without warning, threw it at the wall, the impact shattering it to pieces.


Night came, and brought with it nothing to help ease the pain Jack still had. He felt as if he had a dagger sheathed in his chest, causing him to bleed to death. He knew this was what Barbossa wanted; for him to wither away slowly without the Black Pearl.

He came down from the helm for the first time since he boarded.

"Jack-" Gibbs started to say.

"I don't want to talk. Just leave me alone. I'm calling it a day. Savvy?"

Gibbs sighed and watched him walk into the Captain's room. He shut the door and that was the last Gibbs saw of him that night.

Jack looked around the room unknown to him. He went about silently, discovering what all was there. What he was really searching for was rum. It was his comfort, always had been when things turned rough. He opened the cabinets and drawers, not finding any.

"Damn it," he whispered.

A mirror hung above the dresser and when he came to it, he paused. He glanced at his reflection.

"Well, I look better than I feel," he joked, having it bring a slight smile temporarily.

He frowned at the sight of his eyes. The black kohl was smeared greatly beneath his eyes.

"I haven't been crying……..I'm not that sad, yet." But he felt he was close to the breaking point.

He pondered at how the kohl got so smudged and then it registered in his mind. Barbossa had done it when they spent the night together. Barbossa had left his mark.

He gritted his teeth and took up the mirror. He threw it across the room. It splintered into pieces.

"Fuck you!" he yelled. "God damn it!"

He sat down on the bed and bowed his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I trusted you. Why did you do it?" he whispered.

He lay down; fully clothed and restless. His eyes wandered the ceiling. The feelings and sensations he had felt with Barbossa filled his thoughts. He had to admit to himself, it had been wonderful; sharing that sort of passion with someone who he considered to be a close friend. But knowing that Barbossa only slept with him to get something from him, steal from him, sliced him to the core. He was hurt by it.

"After all I've done for ya. And this is what I get. You kept giving me drinks, alright. You fucked me, being the first man I ever laid with, ok. You stole my effects and compass…….and my hat, I'll learn how to deal with it. But you took what I loved most. You screwed me over. You took the Pearl. And that, mate, is something I will never come to deal with. You've killed me, Barbossa."

He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. He finally did, and slept uneasily for the night.