"Tortuga, land of a thousand sins." Jack motioned widely towards the cluster of
buildings in the twilight ahead of us, prancing down the dock. Prancing, for
god’s sake. 
I stepped down onto the rough boards. My legs had finally gotten used to the
constant movement of the ship, and now back on something solid, I felt like my
shoes were made of lead. The lack of motion was not all that made me feel this
way, though. 
Allow me to let you in on a little secret. My time with Jack Sparrow on the
Interceptor was a learning experience for me. I learned how to sail a ship. I
learned how to watch another person without their knowledge. And through this
watching, I learned that Elizabeth Swann will have to wait. Why, you ask? I’m
sure you’ve already got it. If you had been on alone with him for those days, you
would be half in love with him, too. 
Not that he did anything to encourage this infatuation. He was just himself,
teasing and oddly endearing. And drunk. No, we couldn’t forget the rum, could we? 
And now that we are off the ship, I don’t have him to myself anymore. Not that I
really had him on the ship, but at least I could adore him in peace. 
He turns. I guess he has noticed my lack of enthusiasm for Tortuga. 
He dances back to where I am standing and throws an arm around my shoulders. 
"Come on, Will. Drinks," his eyes light up, "dice, beautiful women as far as the
eye can see!" 
Great. 
"Or beautiful men, if you so prefer." 
Fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He’s on to me. My face begins to burn and my head spins.
What the hell am I going to do now. Deny, that’s what. Deny, deny, deny. 
But then he punches me on the arm and laughs. He’s joking. Thank you god. I
manage to paste on a grin to show him that I agree. Ha ha, very funny, me liking
boys! What a riot! I catch my breath. 
"Let’s go!" He is practically beaming with delight. He catches my elbow and gives
me a tug  down the dock, babbling something about old friends and inns. His
hundred hanging attachments clink merrily as we walk. 
As we head towards the town, the rowdiness of the place becomes apparent. It’s
all shouts and yells and songs. Jack weaves the two of us through throngs of
people, obviously knowing exactly where he is headed in the narrow streets. Every
few feet someone who knows him slaps him on the back, and he flashes a
gold-toothed grin at every turn. 
He stops suddenly in front of a seedy-looking building, suddenly enough to  cause
me to bump him from behind. 
"Sorry." I stammer, but he doesn’t even notice. 
"I was afraid the old place would be gone, but ‘ere it is!" He says, more to
himself then to me. 
The sign is directly above us, and I have to crane my neck back and to the right
to read it. 
"The Shamrock?" 
"Yes!" He offers no more, and the significance is lost on me. I am left to follow
as he vaults up the steps and throws open the heavy-looking wooden door, much
battered with the brands of countless swords and knives from fights past. 
The inside is large and warm, smoky and bustling. Crowds of men and women alike
crowd around tables, hard at games and general merry-making. No one gives looks
our way. 
I stick close to Jack as we head towards the long, high bar against the far wall.
The bartender is a stout, red man with tufty black hair on his round head. His
back is turned towards us. Jack props his elbows on the counter and clears his
throat loudly, and the barman turns, his eyes lighting up as he catches sight of
the pirate in front of him. 
"Mary mother o’ jaysus, " he says, the Irish lilt in his voice shining through,
"the Sparrow has flown back in! We were beginning to think you were in stocks. Or
with the great Lucifer in hell." He and Jack shake hands and I am ignored. 
"Far from it." Jack winks at him. "And we," he cocks his head towards me, "will
be requirin’ somewhere to lay our heads on this fine evenin’". 
"Och, sorry,  I’ve only one room left upstairs. All these bloody people, been
here for days, do nothing but cause trouble, I should throw them out on their fat
ars-" 
"No worries, Pat. If you’ve only one room then one room will have to do." 
Goody. 
The barman hands over a key on a strand of greasy-looking twine. 
"Number six, and don’t be losin’ it this time. I know you. Once you’ve got a pint
in you, things get lost." 
Jack smiles wickedly at him and shrugs, turning to me and holding up the key. I
bow my head so he can loop it around my neck. 
"You can trust this one, Pat. Straight as an arrow, 'e is." 
I blush. 
"Good." Pat looks at me, sizing me up I suppose. He nods finally, and turns back
to Jack. "Now, we must get caught up on your doings. What of the Pearl?" 
"Ah, but sir," a very rare serious look crosses Jack’s face, "before beginning we
must have something to quench our horrible thirst, savvy?" 
"On the house, of course?". Pat asks. It seems he knows Jack well. 
"I wouldn’t have it any other way." Jack smiles and hops onto one of the high
stools that line the bar and I follow suit. 
Pat draws up two mugs of something from a keg and hands them over to Jack. 
"What’ll you be drinkin’ then, Will?". There is a half-smile on Jack's face as he
looks at me, a pint in each hand. 
I try to think of something even mildly witty to say in return. Nothing springs
to mind. I glare instead. 
"Oh, Will, I’ll make you smile yet tonight." He stuffs one mug into my hand and
turns again to Pat. 
"Now, Pat, you wish to know of the Pearl? Well…" he goes on to weave incredible,
scary, often lewd stories with his mouth and his hands and his eyes. I listen a
bit, but mostly watch. 
An hour passes, and in that time Jack develops an audience, who ooh and aah at
his tales. The men laugh and slap their legs. The women swoon melodramatically.
Jack loves it. He is shining in his moment in the spotlight. I notice that he has
gone through drinks galore, and yet has never had to pay for one himself. There
is always someone willing to pick up the tab for him. Clever, clever. 
Jack is invited to one of the tables to play some game involving dice or cards or
something, and he accepts without a second thought. He gets up and when I don't
follow, he leans in close to me, his hand on my shoulder. 
"Are you not coming?" 
"No, I think I'll just stay here." 
"You haven't said a word all night. Stop thinking of your bonny lass and have
some fun. This is Tortuga!" 
I am tempted to tell him that I had not been thinking of Elizabeth, but that, in
fact, I had just finished contemplating how the droplets of sweat that had
appeared on his upper lip would taste. But I restrain myself. 
He shrugs, giving me up for a lost cause, and goes to carouse with the fine
patrons of the Shamrock, leaving me alone at the bar. I watch him flit from table
to table, laughs and chatter following him everywhere he goes. I try to strike up
a conversation with a stray woman who comes up to the bar, but she just giggles
and hides her mouth in her hand. Her friends give her a commiserating look.
Beautiful. Jack propositions women and he gets slapped, but after he has moved on
they always look secretly pleased. I do it and *she* gets a pitying look from her
friends. Maybe they can see that my heart is not truly in it.. 
I tire of this stupid game, and decide to find the room that Jack and I are to
share. 
The stairs leading to the inn part of the building are dark and there are
countless pairs of people doing unmentionable things to stumble over. I stumble
around in the hallway, which is about as well lit as the stairs, until I come
across number six, our room. The key grates in the lock, but the door does open,
on creaky hinges. 
It's tiny, and the one four-poster bed takes up most of the space. The window
lets in the bright moonlight, and there are no curtains to close out the light. I
pull off my boots and stretch out on the mattress fully clothed. I listen to the
night-sounds of the rowdy island and doze off and on, facing the door. 
It's hours later when Jack finally makes it to the room. He lets his eyes adjust
to the moonlight for a minute, and, seeing me, he seems assured that he has found
the right room. I pretend to sleep, and watch him through barely-open eyes. He
tugs off his belt, complete with scabard and holster and purses, and sets it
carefully on the floor. He hangs his hat on one poster of the bed, tugs his shirt
over his head and dumps it on the floor, and kicks off his boots. This leaves him
dressed in only his tight leather breeches. 
He climbs into bed beside me and unceremoniously flops onto his back with a
grunt, stretched out to his full length with his hands behind his head. In a
minute, his breathing has evened out and he is sleeping like a babe. I am not
though. 
I try to sleep, I really do, but it won't come with him so close beside me. The
skin of his rising and falling chest is smooth and tanned and my fingertips are
itching to touch it. 
I finally raise a hand above his chest and lower it, no contact but close enough
to feel the heat exchange between his skin and mine. I hold this postion for a
minute and then screw up my courage. Holding my breath, I slowly lay my palm flat
against his chest. 
He doesn't move. 
I enjoy my stolen moment, running my fingers along his ribs, tracing old scars.
He purrs in his sleep, twisting a little, and suddenly I want him awake. Now! I
tense my fingers into claws and scrape my nails along the sharp line of his
collarbone, leaving a set of red lines, a few tiny droplets of blood rising to
the surface of his skin. 
"Umph!" His eyes are open and with the speed of a cat he has my hand clenched
painfully in his. I can feel the bones grinding inside. I yelp, and he blinks a
few times quickly and lets go of me. I flex it painfully. 
"Why am I awake, Will?" His sleepiness is obvious in his slurred voice, his half
lidded eyes. 
I say nothing, laying my hand flat against his taut stomach. A strange laugh
escapes him. 
"Will, that one glass of ale that you had must have gone to your head." 
"Ah yes, that must be it." My  hand slides higher, stopping when I can feel his
heart beating against his ribs. It flutters as fast as mine. 
He pushes my hand away and props himself up on one elbow, facing me. 
"There be rules for this type of thing among pirates. You know that, do you not?"
His is undoing the buttons on my shirt with one hand, opening it to expose my
chest. 
I shake my head. In truth, I really don't care right now as his rough fingers
scratch against the soft skin of my chest. 
"Rules." He nods to reiterate, and with lightning speed his lips are on mine and
I can taste the rum from his mouth. 
When he finally breaks the kiss I am gasping and he is smiling. 
"I saw you watching me on the ship, the Interceptor. You thought you were hidden,
but I knew you were there. And I know what you wanted." His hand lays gently
across the bulge in my trousers, and I am so light-headed I can't think of one
one intelligible thing to say. I shut my eyes and tilt my head back. 
I feel him move beside me, and suddenly I am free and his mouth is on me. I try
to be strong and hold out, but his sucking and tugging becomes too much for me
and I give in almost instantly with a gush that leaves every muscle in my body
singing with tension. 
As the dizziness leaves me, Jack is once again propped on an elbow at my side,
watching my recovery with a half-grin on his face. 
"So, have you figured them out yet?" 
I swallow hard and try to regain my ability to think and speak. What the hell is
he on about? 
"The rules." He must have seen my look of confusion. I shake my head slowly. 
He leans into me. His face is so close to mine that I think he is going to kiss
me again. I raise my chin up to him, but he just turns and smiles, moving so that
the tip of his nose touches the top of my ear. 
"I own you", he purrs, his tickling breath sending a shiver through my body. 
My eyes widen as I look at him, and my mouth opens, but there is nothing I can
say because it is true and I cannot deny it. 
Dammit. 
But as he settles onto his side beside me, his arm protectively across my chest,
a thought begins to form in my head. The way his forehead is nuzzled against my
shoulder, the way his body is molded against mine, makes me think that maybe,
just maybe, I own him too. 
This makes me smile as I drift off to sleep. 
THE END