Sparrow just kept pushing.

He taunted. He cajoled and pressured. He even tried to intimidate, and it got him absolutely nowhere. I had a headache. It raged and thumped at the inside of my skull, and crashed up against my defences and my good sense like waves on a rocky shoal. All of Sparrow's tactics flew in the face of the hot pain in my head. I barely paid him any attention, which was a mistake as it only made him try harder. I heard his varying tones, but his voice was just noise, a truly irritating, incessant noise. It wasn't until he begged—put his palms together as if in prayer and begged—did I lose control.

I surged up off the hard-backed chair, knocking it to the floor in my haste to get my hands around Sparrow's neck and wring it until his head snapped off and fell at his feet. I never reached him. He danced backwards keeping out of harm's way, and continued to chatter. By now I had absolutely no idea as to what he was saying; I only wanted him to stop talking.

Blind with fury, I advanced on him. My headache worsened and, conversely, his words finally broached my pain-filled senses.

"Please lie down and rest. Being stubborn will only make it worse."

"It?" I croaked, clutching my skull.

"The injury." At my puzzled glance towards him he added, "You were shot. The ball grazed your temple. Remember?"

I did not.

"Ah, lad..." This time his tone frightened me, as he sounded truly concerned. "That in itself wasn't serious, but you hit the deck quite hard when you went down. It looked like you might have knocked yourself out for about a minute. By the time I could get to you, you were back on your feet and fighting with the best of us."

"Fighting you... ?"

"No no!" He waved his hands. "That's not what I meant. You were fighting with us—at my side. Y'know? Back to back we faced each other, drew our swords and shot each other? Although, we didn't really shoot each other or even try, y'understand. It's a line from a poem or a song about something from somewhere... by someone."

Despite what it cost me, I glared at him. He grew serious again.

"You came aboard to pass along information about Black Bob Ralston but we were attacked..."

"I did no such thing! Giving information to the enemy is treason!" I was horrified that he would even imply such a thing.

"But I'm on your side, mate."

"A criminal then. I would not do this thing of which you accuse me!"

Sparrow seemed genuinely puzzled. "Wait." He hurried over to a shelf in the corner, removed a leather-bound book and slipped a piece of paper from its pages. Then he brought it over to me and held it so I could read it.

It was a letter of marque signed by both Governor Swann and myself. I had no recollection of signing it, or even of its existence, yet the signatures looked authentic.

"A forgery," I stubbornly declared, wincing as my clenched jaw sent a jolt of fire to my temple.

"No, love. It's real. You don't remember, do you?" Sparrow bit his lip as he hovered and flitted around me. I wished he would just fly away and leave me in peace. I was feeling somewhat nauseous and his constant movement did not help steady my roiling gut.

When I failed to reply he sighed noisily. The silence was weighty.

"Did we win?" I asked after a bit, trying not to sound as tentative as I felt.

Sparrow's face lit up. "Did we win?" he repeated. "Of course! How could we not with you assisting us and the brave and loyal crew of the Dauntless chasing the rat faced bastards over the horizon?"

"My ship left?" That came out with a definite note of uncertainty. Wonderful.

Sympathy made him look rather less like a pirate, and I did not find that thought comforting.

"Your Lieutenant didn't want to, but you gave him an order. He said they'd be back," he added helpfully.

I recalled none of this. I turned, looking for the chair I'd vacated moments ago. Sparrow darted past me, righted and held it so I could sit at the table. I lowered my suddenly weary body onto the chair and my head into my hands, rubbing between my eyes.

"We don't have a ship's surgeon," he said, "but I have some experience with head wounds. I could fix that for you. Where the shot grazed you, I mean. Don't know how to fix a concussion, except to wait it out." He flapped his hand in a vague manner. When I opened my mouth to automatically protest he clucked his tongue and held his finger up to his lips.

I quelled the urge to argue, but refused to look into the reasons why.

"Be right back, love."

While he was gone I leaned heavily on the table and let my eyes close. I must have drifted off, because suddenly he was back and I hadn't heard him return. Startled, I jerked away from the touch of a wet cloth lightly pressing against my temple.

"Shh. I won't hurt you. Just cleaning the blood away."

I sat still and silent while he worked, trying not to flinch when the cloth grazed a certain spot. There was a hazy burning sensation right there, well, all along the side of my head above my ear and into my hair, but it was worse there. It must have been where the lead ball had done the most damage. Considering how close to my eye it was I felt fortunate to be alive.

An odd thought occurred to me. "Where's my wig?"

Sparrow pursed his lips as he leaned back to regard his handiwork. "Over there," he replied offhandedly. That wig had cost me more pay than I could afford at the time of purchase. I cut my eyes to the side, relieved when it did not hurt more than before, though not less, either, and noted a sorry clump of bloodied wig lying cast aside on the floor. It looked dead. I sighed aloud.

"Aye," Sparrow said, noting where I was looking. "Nothing can be done about that. You look better without it anyway." Then his hand lifted and gently came down on the back of my head, skimming down the plait that hung over my collar almost down to my shoulder blades. It passed through his fingers to the end and he let it go. I half-expected him to make some remark but he said nothing. I wasn't sure how to take that.

He finished his doctoring by winding a strip of cloth around my head and tying it in place. I made him show it to me first. It was clean so I grunted my consent. He merely grinned at me in response.

"How's that?"

I took note of the basin with the rusty, pink-tinged water and the bloody cloth he tossed into it.

"It'll do." Then, realizing how ungrateful that sounded, I added, "Thank you."

"Why don't you have a lie down while you're waitin' for your ship to come back?"

Feeling like a victim, and shoving aside the fact that I was indeed one, I stood up. "I'd rather wait on deck."

Sparrow stood aside and leaned back and partly to the side as he watched me. I permitted a passing thought about how at times he seemed to defy gravity, and started for the door. Before I took three steps the deck lurched out from under my feet. He was at my side in an instant, arm around my back and supporting me as I fell against him.

"Now how does a lie down sound?"

"Yes." It was all I could manage to say. The nausea was back. I swallowed hard against the rising tide of bile in my throat.

He guided me across the main cabin and behind a screen that looked oriental in design. That observation did not register until much later. Right then I was focussed on walking around it to the bed, bunk or hammock I hoped was on the other side. What I saw there certainly was a bed. It was larger than my own at home and half-covered in cushions and pillows. Decadent but it looked very comfortable, which was probably the point. I ached to climb into or onto it. Instead, I sat on the edge and stared at a point somewhere near my feet.

"You're lookin' green," Sparrow said and thankfully grabbed a bucket just in time. After I was done he helped me lie back and even removed my shoes. "There y'go, love. Take it easy for a bit. I'll be right back."

I closed my eyes and listened to the creak of the ship and the flap of sails. I wondered where Gillette had taken my Dauntless and when he would bring her back. I tried to remember if Groves had been aboard. Yes, he had, I decided after some consideration. I recalled breakfasting with him and Gillette that morning. Refusing to indulge in a little self-pity I lay quietly and tried not to think about how alone I felt. No, I wasn't alone, but perhaps I was a bit lost. I was accustomed to being in charge and in control. Right then I felt neither. I just felt sick. My head still hurt and now my stomach did, as well, from the wrenching it had just undergone.

Something cool touched my brow and my eyes snapped open.

"It's just me." Sparrow was back, having entered the cabin without my noticing. Good thing he was on our side, as he'd said, or I'd have been dead twice over the way he kept sneaking up on me. He settled a wet cloth on my forehead. I had to admit it felt good, soaking some of the heat out of my feverish brow. My eyes closed again.

The bed shifted as he sat next to me. I lifted a corner of the cloth to glare at him. He merely smiled back at me—a small quirking of his lips, sitting as still as I'd ever seen him with his hands loosely clasped across his right thigh.

"What?" I asked.

"Never thought I'd have a commodore of the Royal bloody Navy in my bed."

"Aren't we supposed to be comrades in arms now?" I asked sarcastically responding to the "bloody" part of that statement.

He leaned closer and leered. "If I'd known you wanted to be in my arms I'd have invited you into my bed long before this."

I turned away fighting the rising heat in my face, and let the cloth drop back over both eyes.

Mercifully, he changed the subject. "How do you feel?"

"Somewhat better," I told him grudgingly.

"Think y'could keep some food down?"

The mere thought of it caused some distress in my belly. "No. Thank you." Then, as if someone else possessed my tongue, I said, out of the blue, "Act like a pirate."

A small chuckle from him before he replied, "And do what? Pillage you? I won't commit rape, but if you're willin' to go along with it we could play act while we're waitin'."

I hesitated but finally lifted the cloth off my eyes. He sat with head cocked to the right as if he'd been trying to see into my eyes. Now that he had a clear view he straightened up and smiled broadly at me. He was still perched rather primly beside me. It was warm and comforting where his knee rested against my thigh. I hadn't realized that fact until I saw it. Slowly, as if merely shifting position, I moved my leg away. His eyes dropped to follow the movement. I winced inwardly at my lack of cunning. Then he moved slightly and his leg was back to touching mine. I moved again and so did he. Realizing this would go on as long as I resisted, or until I was huddled up against the wall on the other side of the bed, I stopped and allowed the contact. It really wasn't that bad. I could tolerate it. Sparrow grinned in victory. I glared at him, thinking I might as well stick to something I am good at doing.

"Do you remember anything yet?"

"Other than how thoroughly irritating you can be, you mean?"

"Now. That's unkind. I am your host, Commodore. Be nice." His smile had faded but there was a telltale sparkle in his eye, so I did not worry about him suddenly deciding to "pillage" me. As for the other offer I felt certain I could handle him...in a show of physical strength, I mean...so I could prevent him from taking advantage... Wonderful. Now he had me explaining myself to myself.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked blithely.

"I am thinking that I wish you would hold your tongue for a few minutes so I can get some sleep."

"Ah, but you can't sleep. I heard that it's not good for someone with a concussion to sleep for the first twenty four hours."

"Twenty... ?"

"Aye. Don't worry. I'll keep you company so you won't have any problem staying awake." His impish smile turned into a golden grin. I fixated on the gold in his mouth and wondered how I would get through this. Already I felt the tug of sleep. To have to endure Sparrow's chatter...

"Wonderful," I breathed.

He clapped his hands together in childlike glee. "I knew you'd see it my way!"


#


He talked practically non-stop through the night, propped up by pillows at the foot of the bed, while I worried about what had happened to my ship. What if they ran into trouble? Gillette and Groves were entirely capable of handling practically anything thrown in their paths but still... I worried.

Perhaps I wasn't the most attentive audience for Sparrow's tales, for he paused in his storytelling and regarded me seriously for once.

"They'll be back for you, lad."

That got my attention and dragged my mind away from dire thoughts of what might have happened to my friends and crew. It was the middle of the night and I was so weary. My defences were down and, I had to admit, the bed was very comfortable. Lying there in the semi-darkness illuminated only by a single guttering candle it felt intimate and private. I had not seen any of the crew save for a craggy sailor who looked vaguely familiar, and who had regarded me as if I was not what he expected of me. He had brought supper for us, which I nibbled at while my host kept me company. There really was just the two of us in this strange little world.

I let my gaze rove over the fine-boned face. I had never bothered to study his looks before, as his wild hair and showy clothing were usually all that I saw. I noted that he wasn't as young as I had supposed him to be, but neither was he old. I guessed him to be in his late thirties, just a few years older than I. His eyes saw everything but gave away little; perhaps the kohl was a disguise as much as protection from the sun's glare. Right then the dark stare was assessing me, waiting while I tried to delve a little deeper, past Captain Jack Sparrow and beyond to Jack. That he allowed it fuelled my curiosity.

"Who are you, Jack Sparrow?"

He laughed quietly and shrugged.

"What made you decide to work for the King?" I asked. There was no reward for my cleverness—he had been waiting for me to ask just such a question.

"You know why," was his reply.

"I do not."

"Well, y'did. When you get your memory back you'll know the answer."

"Why not tell me now?"

His fingers played with the braids in his beard. He twirled the ends at me.

"I like making you work for it."

"Did you suddenly decide one day that you wished to be a law abiding member of society?"

"Yes." And then he laughed outright at my disbelief. "Or not. What do you think?"

"I think you're making my headache worse," I grumbled.

He frowned and scooted closer. "You still have it?" His slender fingers skimmed lightly over my bandage, hesitated and then brushed at my hair. He seemed to have some fascination with my hair. Was it because it was so calm compared to his?

"It's better. Although these mental games you insist on playing do not help." I ducked my head, inexplicably embarrassed at that remark. When his fingertips drifted down to my chin I looked up straight into his forthright gaze. We sat there staring at one another for what felt like a very long time.

I involuntarily counted it as a small victory when he looked away first. The feeling quickly hollowed.

This odd meeting of minds was not going at all like I would have expected if I had known it was about to happen. Oh, the contortions I put myself through some times.

Then I yawned, stifling it with my hand.

"Poor lad. You must be exhausted. I think you should sleep."

"It hasn't been twenty-four hours."

"Couldn't hurt to catch a few winks. I'll stay here and wake you up after an hour or two. Just to make sure you're still with us." His voice had dropped low, soothing in tone. I almost agreed with him.

"No. I'll stay awake until my people get here."

"Might be a long wait." I didn't know how I knew but I could tell he thought I was afraid to sleep in his presence, as if I expected to be murdered while unaware. It was not so.

"Tell me about yourself... Jack."

He brightened at the use of his first name but surprised me yet again with his reply. "No. You have to earn that story."

"Isn't lying here in the dark with you enough to earn a reward?"

He squirmed a little but only, it seemed, to find a softer spot on the bed. "If you would really lie with me I could reward you with all kinds of things." And he leered again, lifting his eyebrow in an exaggerated manner.

I opened my mouth to protest but instead what I said was, "Why not give me more incentive?"

Pleased with my reply he said, "Do you have something specific in mind?"

Backed into a corner of my own devising I should have tried to find a way out. Instead, my body responded to his proximity. I began to get hard. Assuring myself that it was only because of the suggestion we had both planted, I decided to ignore it. My body had other ideas and reacted vigorously to the mere possibility of fulfillment. I tried to concentrate on dawn's first light creeping in through a porthole. It didn't work.

Unfortunately, Sparrow noticed my predicament.

"Need a little help with that?" He was enjoying this far too much.

I was too slow to stop him from taking advantage of my silence. He put his hand on my shoulder. The other one slid up to cup the back of my head. He tugged gently until I met him halfway. I nearly went cross-eyed trying to see his face right before he kissed me. Then my eyes closed.

I had only ever kissed one man. He was someone I had once fancied myself in love with only to realize it was merely lust on both sides. My sexual relations with men were about release, not romance or any kind of true intimacy. That's not to say this was anything different, but it felt like it might become more than I was prepared to handle. Sparrow's kiss was laced with curiosity. I let him do all the work for the first minute or so. We parted briefly and then I took him by the shoulders and pulled him flush against my chest. His arms tightened around me a moment before his hands stole downward to caress my back and lower. The kiss grew somewhat anxious on his part. Puzzled, I tried to pull away but he clung to me. I got my hands between us and pushed at his chest. He leaned back on his elbows.

"Wait." I narrowed my gaze. Under the weight of it he visibly fought to regain control of himself. When he finally met my look he was his usual mystifying self and he cocked his head to the side.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Before either of us could speak again we heard a knock on the cabin door. Whatever accord we had found, the interlude was past.

"Come in." Sparrow called out. Regret coloured his voice.

The door opened, there were heavy footsteps and the sailor who had brought us supper appeared from behind the screen.

"What is it, Joshamee?" Sparrow asked, not looking at either of us.

I recognized the name, as it was not a common one. Joshamee Gibbs had sailed from England with us when the Swanns came to the Caribbean. Gibbs glanced from one of us to the other and made his own assessment of whatever he saw.

"Thought the Commodore would want to know. The Dauntless is back."

"Thank you, Mister Gibbs," I said. The man started at my use of his name. For a moment it looked like he might forget himself and salute me. I hoped that he would not. He nodded instead, and left us alone again.

Sparrow sat up only to rest his elbows on his knees. He stuck a finger in the corner of one eye and rubbed. Finally he acknowledged my presence.

"Now how's the headache?"

I took stock. "Almost gone."

"You'll be wanting to go home now." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Sliding my legs off the side of the bed, I reached down for my shoes and put them on. Then I stood up. The cabin did not move, nor did the deck. I took a cautious step and then another.

"Make sure your surgeon has a look at that wound."

"I will." As if my lieutenants would let me do otherwise. I cast one last look at my poor wig lying in the corner. I left it there.

I was almost to the door when he said, "You could stay here."

"And do what?" I played along, half turned towards him. He was standing next to the screen, one hand trailing up and down the wooden frame.

"We were well on our way to doing what I wanted to do."

Fighting a smile I said, "That's hardly good for my career."

He abruptly strode forward, stopping just short of arms length from me. "What good is a career without a life?"

I spread my hands. "My career is all I have."

"If you already have the career you should concentrate on having a life."

I stared at him. There was something more going on here. His gaze was intense, almost palpable. Not understanding what he was really saying angered me.

"You never know when to stop pushing, do you?"

"I'll keep pushing until you stop resisting!"

"I... I can't." Helpless, I could only turn and leave the cabin.

As I exited and practically stomped over to the railing I saw Groves and two marines pull a longboat alongside the Black Pearl. Shrugging away offers of assistance from my men I managed to climb down to join them. As we rowed back to my ship I could feel Sparrow's gaze on me, but refused to turn and look.

"How are you, sir?" Groves asked.

"I'm fine. Head hurts a bit but otherwise I'm fine." I kept my gaze on the horizon trying to see something that wasn't there. I couldn't think what it was I was searching for anyway.

"Did you succeed in capturing... your quarry?" If I'd known the name of the other ship or her captain it eluded me.

"Andrew ordered out the long nines and we sent the blackguards to hell," he boasted

"Well done. I must congratulate Gillette when I see him."

"He'll be pleased if you do, sir. How..." he stopped and tried again. "Was your stay on the Pearl comfortable?"

There was something about the way he asked that made me look closely at him. A definite smirk pulled at his lips. I frowned.

"Sorry?"

"You know... with Jack."

Jack? Not Sparrow? What was I missing here? I did not want him to know about my memory loss. With luck all would be back to normal soon and no one the wiser. I could only imagine the fuss that would ensue if any of my colleagues found out I had amnesia. Keeping it from Doctor Simmons would be a feat in itself.

Groves glanced over his shoulder at the marines and lowered his voice while leaning closer to my ear.

"Did you enjoy your enforced holiday?"

Thinking solely about the heated kiss Sparrow and I had shared, I allowed a tiny smile to surface.

"Apart from the headache—yes."

That pleased Groves. "Good. You should do it more often."

Obviously he was still hinting at something more, but the boat was not the place to discuss it. Not with the marines a few feet away pretending not to listen. I sat back and let my mind drift, thinking of Sparrow's expressive face and how surprisingly soft his lips were on mine.

A short time later we boarded the Dauntless. Andrew Gillette met us and, in an unusual display of misplaced emotion, energetically shook my hand.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." This concern for my welfare was beginning to get tedious, but they meant well so I reined in my fraying temper.

"You'd best let the doctor see to that wound, sir," Groves said eyeing the bandage wrapped around my head.

Annoyed, I said, "For God's sake, Ted, call me James."

And then my surroundings faded as I was assailed by memories.

"Call me James."

"Can I call you Jamie?"

"No."

"Please?" Dark lashes fluttered over suddenly coy eyes. Jack batted them shamelessly in my direction, rising up on the balls of his feet and getting right in my face.

I fought for equilibrium as another memory immediately reared up.

Jack's palms ghosted over my ribs and onto my chest before sliding inexorably downwards. He brought us together and began to thrust. Our naked flesh soon became slick with sweat as we fell into a natural and familiar rhythm. I simply could not get enough of Jack. I kissed him and moved with him, our movements growing jerky and erratic.

"Love you... Jamie." Jack snapped his hips twice then froze. My belly was suddenly warm and sticky.

"Always love you, Jack," I cried and added to the mess.

I came back to myself with a jolt, staggering a little.

"Are you all right, James?" Groves had a solid grip on my left arm keeping me upright.

I gently extricated myself.

"I'm fine. I just..."

Jack!

I hurried to the rail. The Pearl hadn't budged. She sat right where I'd left her, with her captain standing almost directly across from me. He braced himself with his hands around the rail. I could just make out his expression—hopeful yet wary—as his gaze was locked on me.

Maybe Jack Sparrow did not know when to stop, but I did. I stopped resisting.

Grinning like a fool, I waved wildly and yelled across, "I remember!"

Jack whooped loudly enough to be heard on the Dauntless. Then he raised his arm over his head. When he lowered it he blew me a kiss.

I nearly blew him one back, aborted the gesture, blushed alarmingly and shrugged. He grinned.

"I'm holding your wig hostage! Come and rescue it sometime. Anytime!"

"I promise!" Then turning to face a shipload of overly gossipy sailors I began barking orders, sending them scurrying to obey.

Watching the Pearl set sail, I revelled in the fact that my memory was back.

I remembered everything.

# end