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The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

February 1713
The South Atlantic. Maybe.

Jack watched them row away, all of them. Will and Elizabeth. Gibbs. Ragetti and Pintel. All of them, leaving without a backwards glance. Well, except for the way they had to face the Pearl as they abandoned ship. And he didn't blame them, not really. He'd tried to sell them all out, drag most of them down to Davy Jones so he could free himself from the devil's bargain he'd forged. But now they were free, and it was just him and his ship. His Black Pearl.

"Aaaaaah, Jaaaack," a voice called from the hold. "I've waited for you, such a long, long time."​

The thought brought Jenny to mind, and with her Jack and Annie, and Brigid and Lucy.

"She can't help you, Captain. Jack. Sparrow. You're mine, forever and always."​

Damnation. He'd turned out to be a worse father than his own father had been, and a worse husband. At least he'd only failed one child. And he hadn't bargained with a madman to regain his life at the cost of a hundred other lives. Even now, he had to fight to claim he'd done it for them. Because he hadn't. He'd done it for himself, out of his own fear of death. Out of his own selfishness. And all it had gained him, in the end, was his crewless ship.

"Yeeeessss, Captain Jack Sparrow. Body, and soul."​

"Bugger," he shouted, looking around, "bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger...!" The ship canted beneath him. Accustomed to the ways of the sea by now, so accustomed that he couldn't even walk right on dry land, he adjusted easily. Surely there was something he could use? Sure, he'd sacrificed himself for the others, the ones he'd tried to betray. But that didn't mean that he was going to go down without a fight! But what... a coconut? A cannonball? No. No, he needed... ah!

A lantern!

Scooping it up with his sword - Elizabeth had left him that, at least - he carefully brought it to him. Half full! Wonderful! Without waiting, he smashed it against the mast. The top shattered, and he poured the oil over his manacled wrists. "Come on... Come on..." he grunted, tugging at the shackles. It hurt, quite a bit. But, with a final tug, one hand slipped free! Soon enough the other followed. And that's when he heard it. A rumbling snarl, rising in volume as the ship pitched and rolled under unnatural waves. Slowly, knowing what he was going to see, he turned.

It was still unnerving. A monstrous maw was all he could see, a loathsome circular sucking mouth lined with sword-like teeth longer than his arm. The stench was appalling as it's hot breath washed over him, reeking of rotting fish and seaweed and muck, and every pulse of its flesh made the Pearl roar. Jack wanted to flinch away, but he wouldn't. Not now. He'd faced down death before - ancient gods and clockwork killers and the fay - and he wouldn't back down now. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

The Kraken's roar wasn't sound. It was a physical impact, buffeting him with the force of a hurricane. Water and slime blasted across him and he stumbled backwards. His coat tails flapped in the noise, and his hat blew away. Finally, it died down. "Not so bad," he mocked, looking around. There was his hat, the hat Jenny and his kids had sent him, the first time he'd gone to sea. Bending down, he picked it up and perched it on his head. Then he straightened his coat, and drew his sword, and looked the Kraken straight in one of the monster's many eyes. "Hello, beastie."

It blew foul, reeking wind across his body in response.

There was no escape, not now. But everybody, everybody would remember they day something finally caught him. Not gods. Not monsters. Not soldiers. It took a monster out of the Bible, something that only the good Lord Himself control, to bring him down Captain Jack Sparrow. The thought made him laugh as he drew his blade. And then, with nothing else left to do, he charged.

His last thought, as the Kraken's maw engulfed him, was green eyes and copper hair and love and laughter. And then...


March 1713
Dover

Ben had been drinking again.

This wasn't an uncommon thing, most nights. He'd married a year ago, in a rushed ceremony after it had been discovered that he'd gotten her with child. And ever since the wedding, she'd become a shrew. Nagging at him and badgering him, never satisfied with him. Damn her! He'd made an honest woman of her, done the honorable thing! Kept her from being a whore!

"Nuffin' but bloody damned whores, all of 'em!" he slurred.

Stupid bitch. She'd led him on. Yielded to his advances, when they'd courted. But now she wanted nothing to do with him. Fought him, and screamed and sobbed when he took his rights as a husband. Stupid bitch. Why didn't she respect him? The good book said a wife should obey her husband!

"Gonna make me learn you another lesson, stupid whore?"

And so he drank, because he hated home. And that was why he was in a dark alley, relieving the pressure of multiple beers as he leaned against a wall and listened to the stream of piss splattering and splashing against the stone. "Stupid whore," he grumbled to himself, slurring the words. "All o' 'em, whores."

Someone passed by,and thankfully he was far enough back in the alley that he wasn't noticed. Last thing he needed was to have to explain himself to the constables. But... that wasn't a constable. That was another cocktease cunt, flaunting her shape in the moonlight. He felt himself harden a little in his hand, and then he saw it. A glint of copper in the moonlight.

Sparrow. The little bar-slut who'd married her whoreson pimp, and turned it out for sailors on the bar of the Anchor, and who was spreading it for a gypsy.

Stuffing himself back into his breeches, he slipped out of the alley after her. He'd wanted her for years. And he had coin in his pocket still, and why shouldn't he have a turn at her? The rest of the town most likely had,after all. Fucking slut whore. But not here. Not in town. No need to sully his reputation, by being seen with a whore.

No, he'd wait until they were nearer her house. She'd probably do him right on her own bed, for a couple of shillings.

Slut.
 
Jenny counted through her tips as she walked, coins clinking gently in her hands. She knew it probably wasn't a good idea, but it wasn't like she had much to take. And besides, most people knew her and knew that if they tried to rob her they'd have her father and brothers to deal with, then her growing son who was tall and lanky like his father but could land as good a punch as either of his uncles. Then they would have to deal with her husband, when he came home. While Jenny wasn't exactly a helpless damsel, but she did take comfort in knowing that the multitude of large and/or strong men in her family deterred would-be thieves and harassers.

With her tip money counted up--enough for some cloth to repurpose one of the girl's dresses into anew one, maybe--and back in her pocket she hurried back up the street. The weather was getting warmer but it wasn't yet a tolerable temperature at night for a slow walk. To keep her spirits up against the chill she began to hum then sing under her breath. Of course she wanted Ireland free, and in the privacy of their own homes rebel songs were all well and good...but Jack had been attracting too much attention lately. They were all the sons of immigrants and that was just fine, healthy even, but they liked to sing rebel songs loudly and in public--and, Jenny suspected, some of the older boys getting raucously drunk in the process--and that sort of attention could never lead to anything good.

She was nearly home now, just a quarter mile 'round the bend. Jenny jumped when she heard a bush rustle and spun around, fists clenched and ready to fight. Her tense body relaxed entirely when she saw who had followed her home. When she'd left Ben had been deep in his cups--Jenny knew how unhappy he was with his marriage and didn't often begrudge him his drinks--and she was surprised he'd come this far. How much he must have considered himself a brother-in-law to her to be so protective as to even drunkenly be her silent protector. She turned to face him, but still pulled her shawl more tightly around herself and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her family and the children knew, and Ion knew, but she was keeping it quiet for now; not only was a fifth mouth to feed a daunting thing to acknowledge but she didn't want any doubt in anyone's mind that this child was her husband's.

"Ben!" she breathed with a gentle smile. "I thought you'd gone home. You didn't have to come so far out you know; I don't have the children walk much with me anymore."
 
She wrapped her arms around herself, flaunting her breasts for him, and he felt himself hardening at the thought. She clearly wanted him. The way she was talking about her children, and about hiw he'd walked her home, was just part of the act. Putting on a show of innocence, pretending he didn't know she'd fucked half the town. God that act was hot, and he found himself wishing he had the cash to get her to pretend she was still a virgin.

He staggered forward. "Jes' wanted to make sure you got home all right," he mumbled, playing along. "'S dark out. Never know what could happen." Damn. With that shawl wrapped around her she looked almost demure. Almost. "Lotta strangers in town. Gypsies an' sailors an' th' like..." There. Now she knew that he knew, since he'd named two of her favorite types of Johns.

He grabbed her then, hands gripping shoulder and arm hard as he pushed her against a tree and kissed her roughly. "How much?" he growled. "To do you right here, how much?"
 
Jenny smiled as he slurred at her, then rolled her eyes when Ben mentioned gypsies and pirates. He still didn't trust Ion. "Ben, you know he'd my friend. He's been--Oof!"

Caught off-guard, all of a sudden she could feel her back against the rough bark of a tree. She couldn't really see properly, but her senses were filled with the smell and taste of booze and Ben's chapped-lipped wet kiss. Thoroughly disgusted, Jenny pushed hard against his chest and struggled to get away.

"Get off! Ben what are you doing?" she demanded shrilly.

"How much?" he growled. "To do you right here, how much?"

"What?" Jenny struggled harder. "You're drunk, Ben. Go home and in the morning we can pretend this never happened. Ow! Ben, you're hurting me...! Get off!" She pushed with all her might, wanting to believe the best--that he was drunk off his arse and didn't know what he was saying--but a thrill of fear and panic beginning to well in her chest all the same.
 
She pushed him away. She - a whore! - was pushing him away! A paying customer, with cash in pocket! He stared at her, something hot and hard and angry welling up inside him. Who the fuck did she think she was? Just like that bitch of a wife of his, pushing him away and telling him that she wasn't in the mood. Slut. Slut whore, thinking she's too good for him. Bitch. Claiming he was hurting her, when all he was doing was taking his rights as her husband! Fucking slut put out enough before they married...

"Bitch!" Ben backhanded Jenny, then slapped her again. The sight of her blood - whether from her nose or a split lip, he couldn't tell - made his cock ache. "Fucked half the town, you have! And you're turning me down?" He grabbed her by the hair, and jerked hard, tasting her blood on his lips as he roughly kissed her again. "I saw you! Bent over your own bar by that sailor!" She struggled against him and he hit her again. "And probably by that fucking gypsy or yours!"

With a heave, he dragged her around by the hair and threw her to the ground. Then he was on her, tearing at her blouse with one hand as he used the other grip her throat. "You'll get your money, you cunt! Soon as I'm satisfied!" His hand found her breast, pawing it roughly as he squeezed and groped. "Shoulda been nice to me, bitch! Shoulda treated me right!"
 
Jenny cried out and staggered when Ben hit her. She felt blood dribble down over her lip then drip off her chin and her lip ached, and she clutched her face in pain. She tried to leave, but she hadn't run more than two steps before Ben caught her round by the hair, shouting something about fucking other men. The thought horrified her and she struggled to get away, only to be met by his knuckles again.

"Ben the only man I've ever been with is John! I swear!" It didn't even occur to her at the moment that he'd been spying on her. "Please Ben don't--Ah!"

She didn't remember how she got on the ground, but her hands and knees hurt from landing. The baby! But she didn't have enough time to finish any sort of complete thought; she was on her back, Ben kneeling over her and pinning her down by the throat. She couldn't breathe! Tears tracked down her face as she pried at the fingers around her throat and her blouse was destroyed. Her free hand pawed uselessly at his face, nails barely even scratching at his skin. It was hard to do what she had to to get away when she could feel the life being choked out of her. Her feet dug frantically in the dirt as she tried to get away, skirts falling up over her knees and...oh God she could feel his cock against her thigh, barely restrained by the fabric of his trousers. All he'd have to...

No.

The word came to her clearly as though someone had spoken it in her ear. She wasn't going to die here, she wasn't going to be raped less than half a mile from her own front door, and Ben would have no reason to believe the child in her belly was his. Jenny had a moment of startling clarity when the past and all of her notions about his character fell away, and suddenly this wasn't her brother-in-law anymore: he was a man who deserved no pity and no quarter. She stopped scrabbling in the dirt just long enough to draw the knife from the folds of her skirts where she'd hidden it for years. Michael had given it to her in case Ion ever tried anything with her, but she'd never in a million years dreamed this was how she would have to use it. With a grunt she thrust it upwards and felt sick when it hit home. Warm blood spattered across her face but she had no time to be sick. Rolling out from under Ben, his screams of anguish followed her in the night as she sprinted the remaining distance home and she prayed that he would never have use of that eye again.

Slamming the door seemed to bring everything rushing back to her. She felt sick. Jenny dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter and leaned her back against the door, sliding down and finally allowing herself to cry. She covered her face, though unaware Ion had stayed behind after helping Jack get the girls in bed, and sobbed for what seemed like years.
 
It had been a quiet day for Ion - distressingly quiet, really. People were getting accustomed to his acrobatic and juggling tricks in Dover, and he was of far more interest for the rumors about himself and Jenny Sparrow than for any tricks he might play. He'd made a few coins on a hard day's busking, and had walked Jack home to help him put his sisters to bed. Then the lad, assuming that he'd stay and visit, had scurried off to meet his friends. Ion had made the required disapproving sounds, but his heart hadn't been in it. Much as he might wish otherwise, he wasn't the lad's father. And besides, he'd been thirteen once himself. He'd scurried off to meet his friends as well, to sit around and tell grand lies about women and sip furtively at stolen drink. It'd do the boy good.

Just as he settled down into a worn and patched armchair, the dor slammed open and shut. He lept to his feet in alarm, hearing metal clatter on the floor, and stared in frozen shock for a moment. Jenny. Jenny, sobbing on the floor next to a knife slick with blood. Shaking himself into action he dashed forward, dropping to his knees by the woman and gripping her shoulders. "Jenny!" he called. "Jenny, what happened? Are you hurt?"

She looked hurt. Her lip was split and bloody, and her face bruised. There was blood on her clothes, and her blouse was ripped, and scratches marred the pale skin of her chest and the curve of her breast. An icy chill flooded him, and he forced it away. Groping in his pockets, he found a small tin flask that smelled of powerful alcohol when he twisted it open. "Have a drink," he said, holding the mouth to her lips. "And... what..." God, he didn't want to ask. "Who... who..." His heart caught in his throat. "Are... are you... all right?"
 
Jenny took the flask and it was several swallows before it started to burn. She winced and handed it back to Ion but it had done nothing to calm her nerves. Blood was still on her shaking hands and she opened and closed her mouth several times, unable still to wrap her mind around what had just happened. That she was practically half-naked, breasts and belly exposed, only very distantly registered as an embarrassment to her and a possible temptation to him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she leaned against Ion and began shivering violently as though suddenly sitting in a snowbank.

"I...I was w-walking home," she stammered. "After, after work, y'know? And B-B-Ben, he followed me and when I heard him I thought...I thought he was j-just looking after me." Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes but she did her best not to cry. It wouldn't do to wake the children. "He ah...he asked me how much...said something about money, about...about half the town, a-and sailors, and y-y-you...Like I was some...some sort of...whore!"

She couldn't hold it back any longer. Jenny covered her face again as the tears overwhelmed her and she broke into sobs, sagging against Ion. Through her sobs came broken words like "mad," "hit," "throw," "hair," and "force," though nothing was entirely intelligible. Eventually she regained herself enough to lift her face out of her hands. "I...I got away though, before he could do anything," she sniffled. "All I could think about was if he got it into his head that the baby..." Her hand drifted absently to her tummy where there was already a slight bump that was clearly more than a little put-on weight. "Now he's less his right eye, I think." She gestured vaguely to the knife before looking up at Ion, tears in her wide green eyes.

"Ion...I'm scared." Her chin quivered again, though she managed to hold back the fresh wave of tears. Barely. "Ben and his father are powerful men in this town, it's my word against his...I don't think he'd try to hide that I was the one who took out his eye..." She covered her face again and bent her head. "Oh God I'm so scared..." She cried as quietly as she could a little longer before slowly pushing herself to her feet, her nerves finally catching up and her body now ringing with pain. "Help me get cleaned up and in bed?" she asked quietly. Jenny knew that under different circumstances it might be considered an invitation or a scandalous temptation...but Ion had been alone with her after the children were in bed so many times over the years that, though he'd never been in her bedroom before, she trusted him. She'd just lost a foothold in her worldview; she needed someone to trust.
 
How many times had he hoped for an invitation like that? But never, in the assorted dreams and fantasies he'd had, had it been lije this. Not with Jenny shaking and sobbing after being attacked. Not with terrir in her eyes and blood on her clothes. "Yes, yes, of course," he finally said, helping her up. "Let me get you into your bedroom, and then I'll go and draw some water while you change."

He didn't quite carry her into the bedroom, but she was so shaken up that she was having trouble walking. And it took several tries to disengage himself from her, as she clung to him like a drowning woman would cling to a branch. "Shhh.." he whispered. "It'll be all right. It will be all right. I'll only go as far as your well, and I'll be right back."

The lie rang hollow in his ears as he finally made it from the room. Not that he wouldn't be right back. That wasn't the lie. The lie was that it would be all right. Because she was right - it was her word against her attacker's. And Ben Christian was wealthy and well connected, while Jenny... wasn't.

"Why couldn't she have screamed?" he murmured, watching the bucket splash into the well water. "I might have been able to just kill him. Would have spared her some grief."

"Ion?"

He turned. Young Jack stared at him, looking puzzled. As well he might - he'd never been here this late before. "Jack," he sighed. "Run, and fetch your uncle, the big one."

"Peter? But..."

"Aye, that's him. And your grandpa. Your ma needs family, right now."

Jack's features hardened, jaw setting stubbornly. "You can't..."

With a snarl, Ion crossed the gap between them and slapped him across the face. "You'll go now, boy, and Satan help you if you don't!" He stood over the shicked youth, fury dancing in his eyes. "She's in a bad way, and she needs them now!"

Wirdlessly, Jack turned and began to run.
 
Jenny clung to the gypsy, arms around his middle, leaning against his arm. She cried in fits and starts and when he tried to disengage himself she found herself unable to let go. A sob broke loose and she shook her head; she didn't want to be alone. She was afraid of being alone in her own home. How had things gotten this way? Just this morning her only worry in the world was John and money and now...now she felt the world falling out from under her and Ion seemed to represent the last bastion of hope and stability in the world. Finally he managed to pull free and when he'd left Jenny slowly pulled her clothes off. Her shirt was destroyed and she tossed it in a corner for now. She could use it to clean off her hands and face...and chest. The blood had spilled onto her chest. Oh God...

When she caught sight of herself in the mirror Jenny sank to the floor and hugged her shins, rocking gently for a few moments. How could she bare for anyone to see her like this? Well, that was it, wasn't it? They couldn't. Not her children, not her parents or her brothers or her sisters-in-law, not her nieces and nephews, nor her customers or friends...no one. She could go to confession...but then Father Shovel would know. With a sob she wiped at her face, smearing blood and tears and shaking her head. What had she done to deserve this? To provoke Ben so? Surely it should have been something. Perhaps she'd been overly familiar with him in her consideration of him as family. She shook her head and leaned it on her knees. Maybe she should tell Father Shovel. He'd given her the strength all these years, reminded her of her love often enough for her to resist the temptation she and Ion had long admitted to each other was there. Perhaps he could lend her strength through this too...but he was the only one who could know. Him and Ion and God. After all, everyone else had eyed her suspiciously since the gypsy had taken up residence and she knew what they said, the nasty things they called her; this would only give them further evidence to their minds that she was the slattern everyone thought. And if her family knew...well, her father and brothers would hunt Ben Haliwell down and lynch him, then they would all go to the gallows and she wouldn't have that. Couldn't.

She was brought to herself again when she heard the door close. Jumping up, Jenny slipped on a nightdress just as Ion came into view. The bedroom door had been open and she didn't want anything even resembling a temptation to be presented to anyone. She sat on the edge of the bed as Ion came in with the water, eyes downcast.

"Thank you," she murmured, still sniffling. "Ion, I ah...I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone. Obviously I know you care about my reputation, but I mostly mean my family. The boys...they'd rip him limb from limb with their bare hands, and while at least right now I wouldn't stir one foot to stop them they'd go straight to the gallows. I can't put them in that sort of a position. I'd rather only tell them if and when something comes of it." Unable to look at Ion, feeling ruined and shattered, Jenny shuffled with her eyes still cast down toward the corner and picked up the ruined shirt. Using a clean corner of it she dipped it in the water and began wiping her face clean.

In town a gasping Jack had reached the tavern and roused his granddad before being sent on to Peter's. Upon learning that the gypsy had sent for them, that it was something about the lad's mother, the two insisted on bringing Sean, though it was Sean who pointed out with a note of ominousness that it was the two more physically imposing of Jenny's kin who had been sent for. When learning that all of her men were to be out at such an hour for the sake of her only daughter Mary insisted upon accompanying them, and in twenty minutes half of the adults in Jenny's immediate family were on the edges of town nearing the Nest.
 
"Well, about that," Ion said, turning his back to give Jenny a bit more privacy. "I already sent your son to fetch them." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "And before you say anything, I'm not going to try and fetch him back, or apologize, or anything else. Because you need them, right now."

He sighed.

"See, it's in times of crisis that you really need family around you. And besides, I can promise you that none of them will do anything foolish." He didn't turn, so she couldn't see the hard set of his jaw. "Because as soon as they get here, I'm going to go cut his throat."

A pause. "Your John's not here to do it, after all. And there's no need to let your brothers hang, not when I can just slip out of Dover."


"But what happened?" Peter asked for the dozenth time, knuckles white on the heavy walking stick he'd slung over his shoulder.

"I don't know!" Jack repeated, trying to hide the desperate edge of fear in his voice. Ever since he'd gotten his grandpa and his uncles, he'd had time to start worrying, and those worries had turned into fears. "He..."

"Stop pestering him, Peter," Mary chided, her own worries clear in her voice. "If he knew, he'd have told us."

"If that gypsy's done anything," Michael started, angrily.

"Then he'd hardly have sent Jack to fetch you," Mary finished, curtly. "Use your brains, Michael Dolan. And we're here, so we can stop wondering." She opened the door of the Sparrow home gently. "Jenny, dear... where are you?"
 
Jenny went cold. Her face screwed up in anger, if nothing else but to hide the fear. "Why would you do that?" she demanded. "It wasn't your place to tell anyone, especially not my son or my family! I won't have my family hang just because I need them, because Ben Halliwell is a monster! You had no right Ion, no right...!"

But then Ion quietly promised her that none of her family would hang...because he'd kill Ben himself. She mouthed wordlessly, unsure whether guilt or anger or fear was the appropriate response. Either way, tears came afresh. She shook her head and crossed to put a hand on Ion's shoulder.

"No." Jenny's voice was quiet but it seemed to ring through the room. "Ion, you've hung around here for years and everyone knows it's been only for my sake. Everyone would know who killed him and there would be a manhunt until they found you. No one is dying for my sake. And besides, you're needed here." She slid her hand from his shoulder, feeling suddenly that they'd slipped and become too intimate again. "Because you're right: John's not here. He hasn't been here, and he's not answering my letters at one of the times we need him the most. You've been like a father to the children, and surly as Jack gets I think he needs a father figure around right now. No one's killing Ben Halliwell unless it's the hangman himself Ion; no one's putting their lives on the line for me, not even you."

She resumed cleaning her face in silence, crying intermittently in her shock and distress as memories came back again and again like the waves of a rising tide. Her heart dropped to her feet when there was a knock on the door and she heard her mother's voice. The tears welled again at the thought of having to explain what had happened to her parents and her brothers. Jenny choked back a sob before going to the doorway of her bedroom.

"Ma..." She sniffled and fell on her mother, hugging her tightly and crying into her shoulder. The mumbled, sobbing explanation was difficult to understand, but she managed to motion toward Ion and instruct her brothers not to let him leave, still insisting he wouldn't die for her sake. "Won't let him die..." was the only thing intelligible.

Jack stood near the doorway, goggling and entirely uncomfortable. He'd rarely seen his mother cry, at least in his own memory, and even then it had been on account of his useless pirate father. Here she was splotchy-faced, sobbing like a child. There were bruises on her arms and her hair was wild and tangled, specks of blood drying on her neck where she'd missed them in her cleaning up. What had happened? And more importantly, who was responsible for making his mother this way? A sort of rage started to build in his chest. Jack wanted to hurt whoever had done this to her, wanted to make them pay for making his mother cry like this.

"Go to bed Jack." Jenny had managed to calm down again and croaked over at her eldest, embarrassed to have him see her like this. He was still just a boy; he needn't know what had happened.

"But Ma--!"

"I said go!"

Jack looked taken aback. She had rarely ever snapped at him so harshly. Still angry and a little afraid, he trudged off to bed most unwillingly, but stood with his door cracked and listened as Jenny explained what had happened. She ended with telling them of Ion's plan and insisting they stop him, that no one was going to hang for her or to even risk it.
 
First through the door, Mary Dolan frowned a little at the sight of the gypsy slipping from her daughter's bedroom in her wake. Not that she believed the rumors that circulated about her daughter, mind. But she generally disapproved of the idea that she might do something - even among family - that could fuel those rumors further. But then she saw the state of her daughter, with her lip bleeding and bruises and specks of dried blood on her skin, and she gathered Jenny into her arms and held her as she sobbed.

Peter was less sanguine about the whole thing. He took in the scene - Ion emerging from his sister's room, his sister hurt and sobbing - and moved like a force of nature. Before the smaller man could react, Peter slammed the gypsy into the wall and gripped him by the throat. "I'll twist your head right the fuck off!" he snarled, balling his free hand into a fist. "Hurt my sister, will you?"

"Ah... Ah... ddnudu... nvvn..." Ion croaked out, gripping Peter's massive wrist with both hands and trying to pull it away. It was like trying to move a wall. "Nvvn... Ah..."

A firm hand caught Peter's fist. "Let the man talk," Michael ordered.

"Pa..." Peter began.

Everyone's attention was suddenly caught by Jenny ordering her son to bed. Peter's grip slackened and Ion sagged against the wall, making gagging sounds as he massaged the red marks on his throat. "I..." he began.

"What's going on?" Michael asked, a sort of calm rage in his voice. "Answer."

Ion drew a deep breath, but Mary cut them all off. "For the love of Christ," she snapped. "The lad said Ion sent him, so use your heads for something more than a place to rest your hat." Her attention returned to jenny. "Won't let who die, love?" she asked gently, stroking her red curls. "What... what happened?"
 
"Peter!" Jenny cried out as Ion was slammed against the wall, held there by her little--well, younger--brother as though he were nothing more than a rag twisting in the wind. At the same time Michael insisted Peter let Ion talk and Jenny felt like screaming. But she mustn't scream; she'd wake the girls, and they were all at an age now where they would remember their Uncle Ion and Uncle Peter fighting while Mama cried. That wasn't a memory she was willing to let them acquire.

"Just everybody stop!" Jenny tried to keep her voice down and put a hand out as though to steady everyone else. "Go to bed, Jack."

"But Ma--!"

"I said go! And don't you dare repeat that word, either." She shot a glare over in Peter's direction. Years of working in the pub had ensured she was no stranger to foul language and she was known to slip in the throes of a passion--positive or negative--but she wouldn't have that sort of language around her children. Those boys Jack had started hanging out with probably did already, she didn't need Peter making him think it was okay. Jack sullenly trudged to his room and Michael demanded answers of Ion. Jenny opened her mouth but Mary cut across all of them and nodded in agreement with a sniffle. But then Mary asked her to explain, coherently this time, and she swallowed hard.

"First I need your word--all of you--that you won't do anything for my sake," she insisted. "Including you," she added with a stubborn glare in Ion's direction. "I wouldn't've told you anyhow but someone thought it his place. But I'll not have anyone dying for my sake, or in gaol, or anything else of the sort." With their promises secured Jenny took a deep breath and sat slowly in a chair. She opened and closed her mouth several times, rubbing her face, unsure how to begin; she didn't want to tell them. It was terrifying and humiliating, and she didn't want to have to relive that, to feel him pawing at her, smell his rancid breath on her face...

With a shudder Jenny took one last deep breath. "I ah, I was walking home," she began shakily. "My usual route at my usual time, nothin' odd, no particularly nasty rows in the pub today. I was uh, up by the churchyard, that Methodist one y'know? Bout a quarter mile yon. Anyway Ben Halliwell had been following me home and he stepped out from the bush, and I thought...I thought he'd been trying to make sure I was safe..." Jenny's throat tightened and tears poured hot down her cheeks. "He...he asked how much...and he pushed me to the ground...He tried to..." She covered her face with her hands and broke down again, unable to finish any sort of sentence. She didn't fear them coming to their own conclusions, because the worst one they could come to was indeed the truth.

"I got away before he could do anything." Jenny was finally able to speak again after a few solid minutes of crying, though she spoke in stuttering gasps as she struggled not to hyperventilate. "Da that...that d-d-dagger you g-gave me, when Ion first came to town--"

"Michael!" Mary looked appalled that a young lady should be wielding a weapon but said nothing more about it for now.

"I p-put out his eye," she finished. "G-g-got away while he w-was still hurtin'. Ran fast as I could." She leaned against the arm of the chair and put a hand to her stomach again. "I...I think the baby's okay..."
 
Everyone listened, eyes widening with shock and horror as Jenny spoke. Michael and Mary held their daughter as she sobbed, and Sean looked thoughtful. It was Peter who broke the silence, ultimately. "I'll kill him," he rumbled, cracking his knuckles.

"Peter!" Mary snapped, looking at her youngest with hard eyes.

"Saw his wife a few days ago," Peter answered, rising from his chair. "Black eye, she had. Claimed she'd walked into a door." His face grew hard. "Shoulda killed him then."

"Peter Fergus Dolan!" Mary said angrily. "You..."

Sean stepped forward, resting his hand on his brother's chest. "I'd join you," he said softly. "If it would help, I'd lead you and Ion over there and..."

"Let's go, then!" Peter growled. "Piece of shit does that to... to..."

"You'll hang," Sean told him. "And then what? Who protects Jenny then? Who helps ma and pa then?" There was something hard in his expression - his mother's ucy fury, rather than his father's rage. "And she's going to need all the strength she can get, Peter."

"But," the big man said, sounding confused, "she's... I mean, she'll be all right."

"There weren't any witnesses, Peter," Sean said, glancing at Jenny for confirmation. "Nobody to back up her story. And he's lost an eye."

Peter looked at him, more baffled than before - expressions mirrored by Michael and Ion. Mary, on the other hand, had her features slowly change to shick and nausea. "You can't... Sean, you don't mean..?"

Sean swalliwed, stepping back a pace from his hot-tempered brother. "She's Irish. And Catholic. And the wife of a known pirate who was also the son if a..." He looked at Jenny and swallowed what he was about to say. "Well, people... talk. And Ben's a successful merchant, and his family's important in Dover. Not lije ours."

Sudden emition twisted his features, and he drew a ragged breath. "Jenny? He'll... he'll probably try to have you..." he swallowed. "He'll probably go before the magistrate and... and try to have you arrested. For assault."
 
Jenny had heard rumors of how Ben's wife had shown up sometimes, but had never seen her for herself. Now she believed every word of those stories, and with a baby growing up in a place like that...! She winced at Peter's sudden movements and opened her mouth to protest but Sean got there first. He'd always been the smart one, always better at talking their little brother down. But then he explained why and she felt sick. Arrested? She'd be arrested like some common criminal, just for trying to protect herself? To stop him from raping her? She shuddered at the mere thought of the word. That wasn't right! It wasn't fair!

And it happened. First thing in the morning Jenny was very publicly arrested in front of her early morning regulars and frog-marched down to the gaol. A collection was almost immediately taken up and in addition to Sean's not-insignificant contribution she was let out on bail by the evening under the condition that an armed guard be posted at the door to the Nest since she was a flight risk. She wasn't allowed to work or to go to town except for the very necessities. Jenny had to plead with the guard just to let Jack go to the smith's each day, where he was to start an early apprenticeship that summer.

"Your honor this is ridiculous!" Sean gesticulated widely. Jenny had never seen him in his powdered wig and at first had had difficulty not laughing, but now in the defendant's seat she'd never been further from laughing. "My client is a very pregnant, good Christian woman!"

"A papist," the Halliwells' family lawyer put in.

"Regardless!" He waved dismissively. "She has no prior history of violence or adulterous behavior--"

"What about that gypsy?" the judge interrupted, his eyes passing over the gallery suspiciously. "I've hears rumors of your sister gallivanting about with the gypsy, that that might well be his child and not her pirate husband's. She doesn't seem to have very good judge of character, does she?" He looked over his spectacles at Sean, ignoring Jenny's suppressed sniffles. "How can you assert her moral uprightness when she does not surround herself with personages of the same character you claim she possesses?"

"Rumors!" Sean had pinkened a little but recovered quickly from the indignity. "My client, your honor, is the victim of slander and calumny, nothing more. Bored housewives gossiping over tea, and this is the result!" Here he gestured over to Ben. "I would argue that the claimant took such rumors to heart and now has further dragged my client's name through the mud with his baseless accusations."

Michael continued to pay Jenny as though she were working, despite her protests, and collections were taken up at church--the one concession alongside court appearances that the judge made to her house arrest--to help her with her doctor's bills. John had come back several times with magical bits and bobs that helped extend Anne's life and slightly improve her health, but she always got worse again. In addition to the usual expenses for her eldest daughter, this pregnancy was proving a much more difficult one than her three previous. She was only fortunate that people were allowed to come visit her to help and bring them things that she needed. Several times she wrote for Captain Teague, and twice he came then left with a promise to try and find her husband and deliver her desperate letters for help. But answer there came none.

Jenny was eventually acquitted of all charges, much to Ben and Christopher Halliwell's rage, but the damage had been done. The Dolans and Sparrows now only sought and kept the company of others in the immigrant community. Not only were fellow immigrants the only ones to believe that an upright Englishman like Ben Halliwell were capable of such an act, but English society in Dover now shunned Jenny and her family and brood, avoiding the "violent papist witch-whore" and slandering her further. By the time her water broke Jenny was rumored to be a witch, a whore; that the baby was either the bastard child of a gypsy or the Devil himself (or both); that she'd slept with the judge to get the charges dropped, or with her own brother so he'd defend her in court; and all manner of other nasty things. Immigrants and children of immigrants--Irish, French, Russian, Italian, and German; Catholic, Protestant, and Jew all alike--were the only ones to believe a fellow foreigner over the English, having experienced the injustices of the latter and finding sympathy for the former. Thus the city of Dover was divided along ethnic lines, with only those who had married across those lines before the schism crossing it.

It was into such a divided city that Steven James Sparrow was welcomed, and with a good deal more sadness than his older siblings. His father wasn't there to greet him into the world and instead Ion had been allowed to help with the long, difficult, painful delivery. Steven himself was fairly healthy as evidenced by the fact that he wouldn't quit screaming. Jenny, on the other hand, lay bleeding for several hours after and there was worry that she wouldn't stop. She did, but for two days after she lay in bed weak, sweating, feverish, and delusional, calling out for her husband and sometimes convinced that he was there. Eventually under the care of her family--and Ion--Jenny recovered and was able to feed the new baby just fine. And still no John. October finished its bout and was followed by November. Christmas brought Captain Teague, but no John. Winter passed into spring, no John, and eventually their fifteenth anniversary approached...and still no John.

~*~

"Why are we heading for England?" Elizabeth explained again her reasons for rifling through Jack's belongings in the Captain's Cabin to Will. "We should be headed back to Shipwreck Isle. Whatever scheme he's got it's going to get us killed. I won't let this ship head for England unless there's a damn good explanation! Aha!"

Elizabeth pulled a small trunk out from under the bed. It was surprisingly light. With a frown she opened it and found letters. Hundreds of letters, it appeared to be, many written in a childish hand but most written by an adult. The adult hand was cramped and lacked experience, but the lines were straight and it was tidily written. Some bore occasional blots from tears--from writer or reader it was hard to tell--and others were worn down on the edges where they had been held and read over many times. The most recent letter was written by the adult, dated some year and a half prior.

"'Dearest John'...?" Elizabeth read aloud and frowned, glancing over at Will. "John? That can't be the same man as Jack, can it?" She shook her head and continued reading.

Dearest John,

The girls grow by the day, and I'm not sure how you could recognize our son anymore. I think he has a sweetheart, Kate Whelan. I feel bad for poor Defiance Vrabie, and he does seem sweet on her but she just isn't in town for any great lengths of time. Her family only passes through two or three times a year and never staying more than a fortnight. Kate is a good girl, but Defiance runs wild with him and I think that's what he likes about her. I like them both if I'm honest, but the lad's but twelve. He has time.

Whatever it is you gave Anne, it's been helping a little. Her cough isn't as bad and she finds the energy to move about a little but I fear the worst. John...I fear--

Elizabeth stopped reading. He had sensed a presence behind them and looked over her shoulder with a gulp. "Jack..." she stammered, eyes wide. "Jack we ah....we just..."
 
Captain Jack leaned against the frame of the cabin door. "You were just..." he promoted, a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes belying his light tone. "Do go on, Elizabeth. You were just... looking for a little light reading? Looking for a berth for a tumble, and accidentally stumbled into my cabin?" He stepped in, closing the door behind him. "I must confess to some curiousity."

Despite everything she'd seen and done in the past few years, Elizabeth shuddered in sudden fear. The Captain Jack Sparrow she knew was a man who traded in bluff and an exaggerated reputation. But, just now, it was easy to remember that there was more truth to that exaggerated reputation than most wanted to believe. The man who'd faced the Kraken, who'd embraced cursed Aztec gold for an edge in a fight... Jack Sparrow was no mere buffon.

"We... uhm..." she began.

Jack took a step closer. "Go on."

Suddenly, Will Turner stood between them. "We're trying to find out why you aren't sailing for Shipwreck Island."

Jack stopped, then chuckled. The chuckles turned to peals of laughter as he stumbled across the room and scooped up a bottle. "That's it?" he laughed, swilling down a mouthful. "You could have simply asked me!" Still chuckling, he flopped into a chair and kicked his feet up. "Half the crew knows. Hell, even Hector knows."

"Then what..?" Elizabeth started.

"We're bound for Dover, and my wife and family." He swilled down more rum, then gestured with the bottle. "And don't look so surprised, you two. A lovely wife and four children, assuming she hasn't done the sensible thing and left me - because I've been dead for..."

"But the Brethern Court?" Will asked.

"Can hang, for all I care. I've been away for too long as it is!"
 
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open in disbelief. A wife? Children? She positively couldn't see Captain Jack Sparrow as a family man. It was impossible; to do what he was doing with a wife and not just one but four children? It was irresponsible!

"I don't believe you," she proclaimed. "No man would leave his family like that, and we all know you risk death even sailing in English waters. What sort of a woman would be your wife, anyway?" It sounded much more petulant and rude than she had meant it, and Elizabeth winced at her own tone. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. "I'll believe it when I see it."

But despite her disbelief, the Black Pearl headed steadily for the south coast of England and the white cliffs of Dover. By pure serendipity, or so it seemed, they made berth near sunset on April 26th. It was a Thursday, one of the busier days of the week, but regular patrons had been ushered out early and a party was already well underway when the crew of the Black Pearl set foot in the Black Anchor. A few years earlier and Elizabeth would have gawped at the sight, never having seen a lower-class party before, but now the raucous uproar just gave her a headache. In one corner a gypsy band played, loudly and lively, while others danced across the floor which had been cleared, tables pushed to either side. In the middle of them a redhead was more noticeable amongst the darker coloring of the gypsies who by and large had taken over the dance floor as she joined hands with one of their own to a lively tune. Children ran through those crowded at the edges of the floor, people talked and laughed and clapped, and a drink was shoved into her hand almost as soon as she stepped across the threshold. It was a joyous atmosphere. Quite a number of people, she noticed, appeared to know Jack and took turns thumping him on the back or shaking his hand, wishing him a happy anniversary, telling him they were glad he had made it, and occasionally warning him of his wife's ire. Two large men in a far corner had apparently noticed his entrance and didn't approve, by the way they glared at him and muttered between themselves.

"This can't be real," Elizabeth murmured to Will, shaking her head. "Jack...married? Well, I still don't believe him about the--"

"Daddy!"

"--children," she finished lamely as two brunette blurs streaked past her and attached themselves, one each to Jack's legs, screeching Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! the entire way. The girls were each about seven or eight and while they clearly favored their mother in looks, their eyes were of the shape and color Elizabeth had often imagined Jack's might be under all that kohl. "You said you had four," Elizabeth pointed out.

It was at this point that the girls appeared to notice the rest of the crew and went about excitedly hugging the likes of Pintel and Ragetti and eagerly demanding presents of "Uncle Hector." Once they'd returned to clinging to their father, the twins quietly said hello to "Miss Elizabeth" but hid their faces when introduced to Will, giggling shyly into their father's hip. The gypsy music had stopped and a baby's cry had briefly been heard above the din before it had been hushed and the man dancing with the redhead before struck up a new song. New dancers crowded the floor, but the redhead was nowhere to be seen; at least, until she had pushed through the crowd, holding a baby at her breast.

"John..." Jenny's eyes filled with tears. She reached out briefly with her free hand, then retracted it again, and repeated this motion several times, unsure what to do. "You made it. You...you came back. I didn't know...we thought...I mean, because..." Her tears spilled over briefly, but she wiped them away and shook her head, desperately trying to regain her composure. "Some hostess. How are you Hector? Mister Gibbs..." Mrs. Sparrow greeted each of the crew she knew with as much familiarity and warmth as the twins had, though she was still weepy at what to her felt like a ghost. Where had he been? She'd shaken hands with Will and Elizabeth and was about to ask John this very question when another joined the party.

"Oi Ma, some of the lads--" The lad was tall for fourteen and though he was the spitting image of his father at the same age there was conjecture that he might outstrip even his Uncle Peter in height some day. Jack the younger stopped mid-sentence as he took in his father's arrival and appearance with a look that didn't quite reach disgust but was beyond mere annoyance. "Some of the lads were talkin' about a rebel song, but none of 'em knows the bodhran and was wonderin' if you might..."

"I would but it looks as though I'll be a bit busy," Jenny answered, noticing that Jack had never moved his glare from his father. It was rude and disrespectful, but if she were entirely honest with herself he had every right to be angry. She was angry, angrier than she ever had been, that he'd turned up alive after all this time, after more than a year of pleading for help, for him to come home. And if Teague had been covering for him, falsely claiming he couldn't find him, well she'd have a few choice words for him, too. "Aren't ye gonna say hello?"

"Nice to see you actually made it home on time for once, Captain Jack."

"Johnathan!" That was too far. Jenny opened her mouth to scold but the youth had already turned on his heel and begun to push through the crowd. "Johnathan Michael you--!" But he was gone, disappeared back into the crowd. She sighed and rubbed her face, adjusting the baby over her shoulder and fixing her blouse. "I won't tell him it's wrong to feel angry, John--he has every right, and it's not just at you either believe me--but I still don't allow disrespect like that." She rubbed her face again and forced a smile briefly before her eyes flitted to Will. "You're Bootstrap Bill's son," she said. "Despite my husband's best efforts to hide it from me, I hear you helped him out of the noose a couple years back. Mr. Turner, I don't think you had the slightest idea what you saved when you saved him. We owe you a debt of gratitude, all of us."
 
Jack watched his son disappear back into the crowd, and for a moment - just moment - it was Jonathan Sparrow who watched the lad. Johnathan Sparrow, recognizing old hate and old despair inflicted on another generation. "It's... it's all right, love," he murmured. "I... I deserved that, I did. I've been gone too long. Far longer than I ever intended."

But Jenny turned her attention to his guests, greeting Will Turner warmly, anf John Sparrow slipped away again. "Helped me?" Captain Jack said incredulously, wheeling. "I was only about to hang because I helped him!"

Will rolled his eyes. "You hardly helped me," he laughed. "If it weren't for you..."

"It was Bill that gave you that accursed doubloon!"

"And whose idea was it to look for Cortez' treasure in the first place?" Will asked, folding his arms.

"Utterly unimportant," Jack answered. "Let me introduce you all. Love, this is Elizabeth Swan and her gentleman Will Turner - as you astutely surmised. They've caused me a lot of grief over the past..."

"A lot of grief?" Elizabeth repeated, exasperated. "You were the one who caused me to be kidnapped!"

"Hector did that."

"Marooned on a desert island."

"Barbossa, again."

"Nearly sacruficed by pirates!"

"Barbossa."

"And trapped my fiancee in the Dutchman by selling him to Davy Jones!"

"Bar-" Jack stopped. "No, no, wait. You're right. That was me." He grinned. "But he's free, and now we're going to stop Jones and the Company, so all's well that ends well, and this is my lively wife Jenny who is a far better woman than I deserve." Pressing the advantage while Elizabeth and Will reeled from the change in topic, he pointed back into the crowd. "The angry young man is my son Jack, who takes more after me than he realizes." Spinning, he scooped Anne up in his arms. "And this darling is my oldestgirl Anne, and thos two moppets are my twins, and that little darling in Jenny's arms is... is..."

He stopped, swayed for a moment as he considered the infant, then leaned forward. "I actually don't know who this is. Has Sean had a child?"
 
Jenny's mouth set into a hard line as John admitted that he deserved it, and it took all she had not to agree with him aloud. "Doesn't matter what you intended, John. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, and regardless of your intentions, you've been needed here." Jenny spoke in a low murmur between clenched teeth before forcing a smile and turning to the few of the crew who had accompanied him ashore.

Then John started arguing with Will and Elizabeth about responsibility for all that had happened for them. Jenny's mouth slowly dropped open as they ran down the list of things that had happened to Will and Elizabeth alone, never mind what had been happening to her John. Her cheeks colored when John admitted to trapping someone on the Flying Dutchman.

"What?" Mrs. Sparrow finally snapped, head whipping around to her husband. "Cursed treasure, marooned, The Flying Dutchman?"

"But he's free, and now we're going to stop Jones and the Company, so all's well that ends well, and this is my lively wife Jenny who is a far better woman than I deserve." John quickly changed topic, and it was only because they were in the presence of guests that he was spared her wrath. They would most definitely be having a talk after the children were in bed. "--and those two moppets are my twins--"

"Brigid and Lucy," Jenny put in with barely restrained ire, putting a hand on each girl's head to indicate which was which, "as any fool with eyes can see that they're twins."

John continued regardless. "--and that little darling in Jenny's arms is...is..." He stopped, swayed for a moment as he considered the infant, then leaned forward. "I actually don't know who this is. Has Sean had a child?"

The shade of red in Jenny's cheeks flushed even darker in her anger, clashing horribly with her hair. Was she overjoyed to see him, apparently alive and well and returned home? Absolutely. But the fact that he didn't know his own son caused the rage and pain to overwhelm the joy for the time being. "Yes, John, because I would nurse my brother's child at my own breast, especially when our youngest weaned six years ago," she seethed. "This 'little darling' is Steven: Steven. James. Sparrow." She pronounced each word deliberately as she looked her husband in the eye, daring him to make a wise-ass comment. "Steven is six months old, John. He's been a little joy since he started sleepin' through the night, but I don't suppose his father'd know that. His father wasn't here for his birth, see, as he was off gallivanting across the world getting marooned and miring himself in soul-damning devilry of the worst kinds and doing only God knows what else. Captain Teague went looking, twice or thrice, but couldn't seem ta find 'im. And I swear to everything on God's green earth John, if your father was lying to protect you so you could just run away from us for two bloody years, I will write Cutler Beckett and tell him where the Troubadour makes berth. And you are damned lucky you're my husband and the father of my children, and moreover that I love you...or I'd do the same to you and your entire crew and not lose a night's sleep over it." She looked over John's shoulder at the rest of the crew, some of whom had the decency to look contrite whether Jack's delay in returning home had been their fault or not. "And shame on you; all of you. Especially you, Hector, and you Mister Gibbs. I thought you were our friends." Her gaze returned to her husband. "I need a drink. Why don't you spend some time with the girls, eh? Surprised they can even remember you properly."

There was a stunned silence when Jenny stomped off through the crowd, baby Steven in tow. After a few moments Anne tugged at her father's shirt. "Papa?" she asked quietly, followed by a hacking cough. She didn't like it when her parents fought, though it almost always seemed an inevitable part of his homecoming. "Papa will you dance with me? I wore my braces and everything, in case you made it home. And I've been practicing!" She moved her leg what little she could to draw attention to the little wooden braces encasing her legs.

Anne was wheelchair-bound most of the time, though as she'd gotten older and insisted on practicing her legs were almost strong enough to hold her in a standing position for almost a minute. She loved watching dancers around the gypsy bonfires and in the pubs, and it was her dearest wish that some day she would be able to dance like them. Her uncles and Ion helped her sometimes, putting her feet on top of theirs and holding her up to dance her carefully around the room. After a couple of scares, Jenny had insisted she wear her leg braces if they were going to do that. Anne hated wearing the braces; they were heavy and cumbersome, and took far took much time and effort to put on. For special occasions like this, however, she gladly donned them in preparation for a chance to dance with her father.

"I can ask Uncle Ion to play us a slow song, so I won't get out of breath," the ten-year-old offered hopefully.
 
From the look on her face, he had clearly said the completely wrong thing. Even a she drew breath, he could see Jenny temper rising as a flush in her fair skin and fury in her jade-green eyes. "Yes, John," she snapped, voice hissing angrily between her teeth, "because I would nurse my brother's child at my own breast, especially when our youngest weaned six years ago."

"I... uhm..." Will said behind him. "Elizabeth? Let's go and... uhm... get drink, shall we?"

"This 'little darling' is Steven," Jenny snapped out, each syllable a slap across his face. "Steven. James. Sparrow."

"A drink sounds lovely," Elizabeth agreed. "Over there."

Jack didn't watch them go. He was too busy reeling from the shock. He had another son? And... he'd missed the birth? His own damn pride and stupidity had cost him that, as well? "I... I didn't..." he began, but she cut him off as her pain and rage boiled out. Every word was a dagger in the heart, and it was all he could do not to flinch back from each cutting word. Each very nearly true word.

"I... I was..." he began as she wound down, turning her wrath on his crew. But her attention returned back to him. "I need a drink. Why don't you spend some time with the girls, eh? Surprised they can even remember you properly."

"Jenny!" he called as she stormed off, the baby - his son - in her arms. He started to reach out for her, only to stop as Anne caught his shirt. "Papa?" she asked quietly, followed by a hacking cough. "Papa will you dance with me? I wore my braces and everything, in case you made it home. And I've been practicing!"

He stopped, and looked down at his little girl. She was struggling to stand upright, aided by contraptions of wood and leather that helped strengthen her legs. His face twisted as he fought back tears at the sight - Captain Jack Sparrow couldn't weep in front of his crew, not if he wanted to maintain their respect, and John Sparrow had long ago resolved to never let his daughter believe she needed pity. "Of..." He wiped at his eye, then glared at his men as he dared them to comment. "Of course I will, Anne." He grinned, gold flashing in his mouth. "It's been a while though, love, and I'm woefully out of practice. So you'll have to show me how."

She grinned back. "I can ask Uncle Ion to play us a slow song, so I won't get out of breath."

Jack nodded. "All right. Who's Uncle Ion?"

"He's mommy's friend," Anne answered. "He helps her, sometimes, around the house." Clinging to her father's arm, she waved. "Uncle Ion! Can you play something slow?"

From the makeshift stage, Ion waved back. "Of course, Anne." He turned back to the other musicians. "We'll do Red is the Rose."

"Helps around the house..?" Jack repeated slowly, eyeing the gypsy speculatively. But then the music started, and he began to dance slowly with his daughter as she clung to his arms.
 
The Dolan men were still muttering together in a corner, shooting glances at John and, every now and then, Elizabeth. They'd never seen John sail with a woman before and it was highly suspect. Young Jack joined them, not participating in the conversation but instead leaning against the wall, folding his arms, and glaring daggers at his father. He almost wanted him to have died; death would have been better than knowing that they'd just been abandoned for years just for the hell of it. Then again, he was plenty angry at his mother and Ion too. He'd heard them whispering at night in the sitting room, when they thought he and the girls were asleep--and the girls usually were--about where Captain Jack was and whether he were still alive. Your aunt said Anne would outlive him, she would say, so long as she's alive then I have to believe he is too. Now, it seemed, she was just waiting for his sister to die so she could run off with her gypsy, probably take them with her. Well he wouldn't go; he had friends and an apprenticeship, and was almost a man. He could make his own decisions. She probably wanted Anne to die, to be rid of the burden of caring for her and of tending to a marriage that had clearly died years ago. Then again there was his father: pirates were notorious for whoring and now he'd brought one home with him. Where did the no-good, family-abandoning, thieving, murdering, English sonofabitch get off? Clearly young Jack was the only one left who actually cared about what happened to this family.

Tears welled in Jenny's eyes as she watched her husband dance with their eldest daughter. She wasn't quite sure why, but watching them together had always made her misty-eyed. She looked up and wiped them away when Ragetti sidled up to her after the rest of the crew dispersed. He fidgeted nervously for a few moments, like he wasn't sure whether what he was about to say or do was the right thing.

"Care for a dance, Missus Sparrow?" he finally offered.

Jenny smiled gently and handed Steven over to her sister-in-law Sarah. "Of course, Terry."

Ragetti took her hand and led her to the floor, at least out of earshot of his captain. "Don't be too 'ard on 'im, Missus," he said. "Cap'n Jack's doin' best as 'e can, same 's all o' us."

Jenny sighed and leaned her head on his chest briefly. She always seemed so much more exhausted whenever John came to visit, just from the sheer intensity of quickly changing emotions that came with it. "No offense, Terr," she said, forcing her voice into calm, "but it's not the same as all of you. All of you don't have families, and none of you have sick, dying little girls." She glanced back over at John, dancing carefully with Anne on his feet. "Sometimes I wonder if he cares about us at all, or if we're just another obligation weighing him down."

"Not at all ma'am!" the pirate protested. "Cap'n Jack come back from the dead t' get back t'ya, he did!" Jenny looked up at him sharply. "Er, figuratively, y'know," he added hastily, knowing her Christian proclivities, though he got the distinct feeling she didn't believe him. "There's storms brewin' out in th' Caribbean an' 'e's needed there, but he wouldn't 'ear nuffink of goin' there afore 'e'd come'n seen you. 'E'd tear down the sky t' get back t'ya an' the kids, Missus, swear on me life."

"You oughtn't swear on such things." Though she knew he would anyway. "What sort of a storm?"

There was a cold prickle across Ragetti's scalp and he knew he'd said too much. He tried to find a way around it, but the best he could do at this point was to leave things as vague as possible or Jack would have his guts for garters. "Politics," he said with a shrug. Then, to head off any further questions, "Dunno much 'bout it. Never 'ad an 'ead fer all that sort o' stuff; s'all too complicated fer the likes of me, but all's I know is it's gotta do wif politics."

When their dance ended Jenny thanked Ragetti with a brief hug before excusing herself. Leaving Steven to be coddled and cooed over by his family--he'd been clinging to her all day and had only now stopped screaming whenever she appeared to be putting him down--she stepped over to the makeshift stage. Ion had never "officially" met John, she didn't think, but whenever he was home the gypsy had always been her point of calm in the torrent of screaming and crying and lovemaking that always came with her husband's short visits.

Across the pub, a bright eyed, dark-haired man stepped up to Elizabeth out of the knot of thick, muscular men down the rail. Better dressed and much slighter than the other two, he looked so out of place amongst them, and so Elizabeth was surprised when he bowed slightly at the waist and introduced himself as barrister Sean Dolan and indicated that the others were his father and brother (since she had appeared to regard them rather nervously, if she didn't mind him saying so). When he asked to speak to her privately she glanced over at Will before stepping into a more remote corner of the pub. Sean maintained a respectful distance but leaned in to make himself heard over the music without shouting their business to everyone in the vicinity.

"Miss...Swann, is it?" He waited for confirmation. "Miss Swann, I just wanted to have a quick word with you in private. Captain Sparrow has never sailed with a woman, to our knowledge, so I was just curious as to the nature of your relationship with him, if you don't mind me asking?" Sean saw her eyeing him warily. "It's nothing legal Miss Swann, I assure you. I only brought up that I was a barrister to demonstrate that I was trustworthy and mean you no harm. It's only a matter of...personal curiosity."
 
"My relationship with him?" Elizabeth repeated, incredulous and laughing. "He's a disreputable, lecherous, lying drunkard that I wouldn't trust within a hundred miles of anyone or anything I cared about." She met Sean's eyes for a moment, then laughed. "Which is why, I suppose, I've come to trust him. Because I can trust him to be a disreputable, lecherous, lying drunkard."

She let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "But I've no relationship with him, not in the sense you imply sir. He's kidnapped me, and I've blackmailed him, and I've left him to die on a derelict. And right now, when we should be in the Caribbean, he's dragged me and my Will halfway across the world to see his wife and family. So make of that - and make of him - what you will."

With that, she started to turn away. Then she stopped, and looked at him. "Oh, and by the way... if you ever imply anything of that nature about me again, then I'll see you at dawn with drawn steel."


The music wound to a halt, and Jack - he couldn't let himself be John, not now, not when he had to return to the Caribbean - held his daughter close. She was biting her lip with every step, and wheezing and gasping for breath, and he tried not to make it look like he was supporting her. She'd wanted to dance with him, after all. Not be carried like a baby. She coughed, and his heart ached as she struggled, and finally she looked up. "Can... can we sit?" she managed. "Just... just for... for a minute?" She forced a smile that was so like his own. "I... I don't want... you to get... tired..."

Carrying her, just enough to let her put one aching foot in front of the other, he slowly escorted her to a bench. "Of course, Anne," he told her, fighting to keep his lip from trembling. "Of course. Your dad was getting worn out. You're a bundle of energy, you are, and a fine dancer." Carefully, he lowered her down. "Let me catch my breath, and we'll try again."

She snuggled into him. "O-okay... daddy," she managed. Then, after a moment, she wrinkled her nose. "You smell funny, daddy."

"It's rum, dear," he answered. "Rum, and salt, and gunpowder." And death, he thought, because the stink of Davy Jones' Locker clings. But he'd never tell her that, so he did what he always did - he came up with a story. "And a desperate need for a bath. You don't get many, not at sea."

"Hmmm..." Anne said thoughtfully, "maybe I should go to sea. Mommy makes me take a bath every week."

"Oh!" Jask gasped, voice laced with mock horror. "Every week?"

"But it's all right," Anne said thoughtfully. "I can move easier, in the water. Maybe I could be a mermaid. Did you ever see a mermaid, daddy?"

He thought about that. Dreadful creature, the one he'd seen. Beautiful, yes. But vicious and bloodthirsty and carnivorous. "Yes," he said.

"Oh?" Anne perked up. "Tell me! Tell me!"

"Well," Jack began, "it was off the coast of Florida..."
 
Lecherous. The word rankled Sean. His brother-in-law was a disreputable drunkard, certainly; they'd known that for years and had all felt the repercussions of it. Even he as the brother-in-law had had to struggle and fight in each case brought before a judge who knew his family. A liar...it didn't surprise him. But lecherous? Just the thought boiled his blood. Maybe he lied about being lecherous; pirates were supposed to be lecherous. But somehow the thought of him being a lech over being a liar stuck more firmly in Sean's mind. Still, it was a relief that Elizabeth claimed no relationship with him even not knowing that he was Jenny's brother.

Then Elizabeth claimed to have left him to die. The barrister felt his temper rising again. With four--now five--children and a wife at home, and she took pride in leaving a man even so dishonorable as Captain Jack Sparrow to die! And she sounded less contrite, more angry, that they'd stopped to see his family after he'd almost died. It was all Sean could do not to laugh in her face when she threatened him. He wasn't a big man like Peter and his father, nor was he any sort of duelist...but after her shameless admission to nearly leaving his sister widowed and destitute he felt he could rip her throat out with his teeth.

"Madam," he said calmly, "you've by your own admission threatened the well being of my sister and her children. You've by your tone and stance shown no pity, no Christian charity, and even disdain for their existence and their need for a provider, a husband, and a father. Even if you were incapable of understanding my family's concern regarding the faithfulness of Captain Jack Sparrow, her husband, that offense alone assures that should you ever make good on that challenge I wouldn't need steel." Sean turned on his heel and stalked off, back to his enormous brother and father to quietly explain what he'd found. Elizabeth was quickly branded a shrewish harpy by Peter and he expressed wonder that Will had any interest in her at all.

Jack, needing an explanation as to why his father had been gone so long if not for that woman, needing a reason to hate his father, pushed away from the wall without a word and sidled around the bar. He cast a critical eye at his mother, who was in conversation with the no longer playing Ion, before coming upon his father and Anne. Feeding her more bullshit about his 'adventures' apparently, though he was at least truthful about smelling of rum. Drunken, family-abandoning lout. He rolled his eyes at Jack's tale of the mermaids, but didn't interrupt; he had an agreement with his mother not to intentionally destroy the girls' view of their father. They still hero worshiped him, after all, and Jenny wouldn't allow him to destroy that no matter how angry he was at their father...and he wouldn't have for all the world. Somebody had to look out for the girls, after all.

"Oi Annie." Jack came up and tugged at her braid gently. "I think Ma said something about the two of you playing together tonight. She's probably lookin' for you now, now that Ion's lot've stopped playing. If we let the Russians go on too long our ears'll start bleeding. Why don't you go help her stop 'em, eh?" Indeed some of the Russians invited had started sawing away on instruments that were familiar with tunes that were foreign. Jack had never particularly cared for it, but he was perfectly aware of the state of ethnic relations in Dover; he'd exchanged a few too many black eyes to be able to forget. Once Anne had gotten up and begun wobbling over to Jenny--that oughtta put a spoke in her wheel, thought Jack--he sat down on the bench next to his father. They were more alike than he cared to admit, and now he consciously tried to posture himself differently than the pirate, but it was difficult.

"Mermaids, Jack?" he demanded, looking his father up and down. "You've never seen a bloody sea turtle and you're filling her head with mermaids?" He shook his head. "I suppose it's better than telling her the truth. Although why Ma believes you don't just lie drunk on a beach then go rape and pillage and murder so you can buy more rum is entirely beyond me. Nice of you to drop by, but we've been doing fine on our own thanks." This was a lie. When Jack didn't send home money--of which Jenny still kept careful track of how much was stolen and from whom with the intent of paying it all back some day--they struggled. Ion helping out relieved the burden, but lately young Jack had been trying to refuse as much of even his help as he could. He was the man of the house, after all. "Don't worry, Uncle Sean's already confirmed you didn't sail in with a whore; not even you're so stupid as to flaunt that in front of Mum...or Uncle Peter and Granddad. I'm sure if you duck out by, say, ten o'clock the girls might think they dreamed you were here and we can save us all some heartbreak, hm? Good talk." He patted him twice on the shoulder and began to get up.
 
Captain Jack's hand rested on his son's as the boy moved to leave. His grip was gentle, but implacable. "A talk implies conversation, son, and it's only you who's had a say - although this is less of a 'talk' and more of a parlay - a word you should keep in mind, incidentally, as it'll serve you well."

He watched Anne scuff away towards Jenny. Watched Peter and Sean and Michael confer, and wiggled his fingers when they glanced his way. "I doubt there's much I can say to you... well, there's a lot I can say, but precious little you'll listen to. Is there, Jonathan Sparrow, Jr?"

His son flinched a little at the sound of his full name, but said nothing else. Jack conti ued. "See, I've been you - a young man, feeling abandoned by his father. And I could tell you the truth of it, how I've torn my heart out with each voyage. How I've dared gods and monsters and powers and principalities in ssearch of help for your sister. How I hoisted the colors because I'll be a pirate but not a slaver, and how I bartered my soul for my life and lost both, and how I'd do it again for your mother or your sisters or you." He glanced sideways. "But I won't, because you won't hear them."

A chuckle. "All turtle stories, right? Just like my letters about sea turtles, because they aren't real." A quick grin. "It's a funny world, Jack. One without sea turtles but full of mermaids and monsters. Where saints sin and sinners are saints, and where scurvy angels hoist the colors and sail against blue-coated devils flying the Union Jack."

The younger Jack shifted anxiously, trying to pull away. The older Jack grinned wider. "A world where there's only two things that matter, Jack. What a man can do..."

"And what a man can't," the younger Jack finished with him, almost against his will. Captain Jack nodded and continued. "And I'll tell you what I can do, son. I can sail one last time, and strike a blow against a tyrant that would shackle men's souls. And I can return to your mother after that."

The younger Jack sneered, trying to hide a sudden chill at the words. "Yeah, unless you die. Or run again."

"Can't run on a boat, son." Captain Jack lifted an eyebrow. "I've tried. And death?" A shrug. "I've been dead, three..." he thought, counting on his fingers. "No, two times. And neither Fiddler's Green nor Davy Jones will keep me away."

"You... you're mad!" exclaimed the younger man.

Jack laughed. "Says the boy who believes in sea turtles!" Suddenly he rose and, drawing a breath, began to sing. "Yo ho, all hands..."

Gibbs caught up the next line with him. "Hoist the colors high." Ragetti and Barbosa were next. "Heave ho, thieves and beggars." By now, the full crew of the Pearl was joining in. "Never shall we die."


Will and Elizabeth joined in, their voices mingling in a way that made the singing pirate crew seem tobe supporting them. "Some men have died and some are alive,
"and others sail on the sea.
"With the keys to the cage,
"and the devil to pay,
"we lay to the Fiddler's Green."

Young Jack backed away, eyes wild, a dread and a sudden fierce longing in his heart. Then he shuddered as the other sailors joined in, singing a song they'd never heard as the chorus swelled. Fighting the lyrics as he felt them burn in his brain, he fled blindly from the gathering. But even as the darkness swallowed him as he slrinted blindly away, the final lines of the final verse followed him.

"The seas be ours, andby the powers, where we will, we'll roam."
 
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