Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl gazed through the strange kaleidoscope that was the bottom of a bottle of rum. This bottle was empty, though Jack did not bother to replace it; he was far too preoccupied by his thoughts.

Gibbs, his ever-loyal first mate, appeared at the door. "Cap'n?"

"Hmm?" Was the atypically elegant response from master of the dictionary, Jack Sparrow.

"What sadness lengthens the Cap'n's hours?"

"Not having that which having makes them short." Now that was a more typical, eloquently phrased response.

"Ah." Gibbs thought he'd discovered the captain's malady. "Well, I'll jes' get ye some more rum..."

"No, Gibbs," Jack said, not removing his gaze from the apparent spectacle on the bottom of the rum bottle. "It's not the rum."

Now Gibbs was perplexed; if something ever bothered Jack, rum was always the one, surefire way to lighten Jack's mood. "Then, are ye filled to the brim with rum, sir?"

Now Jack turned to regard Gibbs. "Mr. Gibbs. I am about to tell you something, and when I am finished telling you this thing, you are strictly forbidden from calling me drunk and morose, because I am aware that I am drunk and morose. But I also am aware that despite said drunken moroseness, I am perfectly aware of what is occurring beneath the feelings that drunken moroseness brings on, and therefore I am aware that the thing that inspired me to unleash the morose state of drunkenness on myself is not simply a delusion that moroseness can cure, nor can being drunk."

After a poignant pause, in which time Gibbs translated in his head "Jack-Speak" to "English", Captain Jack Sparrow said the word that Gibbs never, even in times of complete drunken bliss, had ever heard escape from Jack's rum-laden lips.

"Love." As if that explained everything, Jack returned to his curious examination of the rum bottle.

"In love?"

"Out—"

"Of love?"

"Out of her favour, in which I am engaged in the bizarre, tumultuous mess of misfiring emotions which you refer to as 'love'."

"Her? And who might be the 'her' we be referrin' to here, Jack?"

"Miss Elizabeth Swann."

Gibbs brushed it off. "Ah, yer jes' drunk—"

Jack did not look at him, intent on his inspection of the bottle's interior. "Mr. Gibbs, kindly recall what I spoke of a moment ago; something regarding drunken moroseness?"

"Oh." Then, it sank in. "Oh."

"Yes indeed, oh."

Gibbs simply said, "I'll fetch ye another bottle o' rum."

"Bring up the whole damn barrel while yer at it." Jack didn't complain that he'd just said moments before that he didn't need more rum; he didn't. But more rum certainly couldn't hurt matters.

After all, he was in love with Elizabeth Swann; he needed all the rum he could lay his hands on.