Welcome Back Jack Sparrow

Are you tired of stories where the helpless damsel who falls for Jack turns into the ultimate super pirate, with sword skill to rival Will at his best and Capt. Sparrow with his knowledge of the seas? Tired of tragic histories and drawn out tales of revenge? Ready for a more realistic love story, with there is nothing long hidden or some greatly rare trait/skill with the girl and not all the men in the world seem to be after her? Then this is the story for you -- a romance between Captain Jack Sparrow and a woman who is as realistic as you. Pairing J/OC. Post DMC -- Contains SPOILERS

Hopefully you won't find it too cliché.

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Sorry everyone for the LONG delay in continuing the story. I had major technical problems with my computer and so sent it in to get fixed. When I got it back I got lazy and hadn't gotten around to updating obviously.

So here's the deal—I edited the three chapters I had up and made a few touch up likes grammar mistakes, bad wording and under thought ideas. Feel free to go straight to chapter 2 if you already read the other ones. It's the same basic idea still.

Welcome Back, Jack Sparrow

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor pretend to own anything affiliate with Disney including the POTC characters, as much as that breaks my heart.

Author's Note: This is my last warning, anything past this point may or may not contain SPOILERS from DMC and if you HAVE NOT SEEN IT I DO NOT RECOMMEND READING FURTHER!

For the rest of you, please carry on—

This obviously takes places after DMC. I will not even pretend to know what it going to happen in movie three. I am personally dying to see how Will plans on reacting to dear Elizabeth after her betrayal, but that is another story I may or may not cover.

This is a slightly alternate reality fic where Jack does not die via the Kraken. He survives, injured and in terrible shape, but not dead. I am aware it is a bit of a stretch but I think I might be allowed a small creative license considering Disney can get away with having someone literally cut out their heart.

Also, this is my first fic, therefore any and all advice welcome.

If it makes any one feel safer though, I abhor Mary-Sues and guarantee I will never intentionally create one.

If any of that bothers you, then do not continue.

Anyone else…

Welcome Back, Jack Sparrow

"Not so bad," he muttered.

Captain Jack Sparrow smirked at the so called 'beastie' that was the Kraken after he replaced his at long last found hat. "Hello beastie," he addressed the legendary creature, taking his sword as he faced it head on with a scream and aimed for its mouth.

He had slashed at the fearsome thing as his ship fell out from under his feet, sharp teeth all around him. His sword had met flesh, blood – it just sounded pissed.

But then, he had to go down with a fight, he was after all Captain Jack Sparrow! Another puncture, thick ooze surrounded him as he stabbed again and again, the sharp teeth of the sea-creature tearing at his own flesh as he worked.

Pain, blood, ooze – fuzzy, everything was becoming a blur. Everything unfocused… 'Is this death?' He wondered. 'A bit disappointing really' were his last thoughts as a cool wetness surrounded him and everything went black.

Some distance away, a young woman was walking along the sandy beach, a basket of wooden plates, cups and utensils held in her pale hands. She paused, breathing in the salty air she had grown up by, smiling as the wind ripped pieces of her black hair from its leather binding.

She loved to be near the sea, it was something she had always learned to associate with her home, though she never dared to venture in it by boat. She furthest she had ever gotten was waist deep.

"A beautiful day," she spoke to herself. "And here I've nothing to do." She added sarcastically, looking down at her load.

Her father, the owner of the Charlton Inn, had sent her to wash the grudge from the dishes. It was something she did at least three times a day, though there was harder work to be done, so she couldn't complain she supposed.

It was simple enough really, walk into the surf, get on your knees and use the sand to scrub away whatever might stick.

No wonder all the food at her father's inn had a salty appeal. Most people did the process with fresh water, but what was one to do when they lived near the sea and the closest lake or river was miles away? Any fresh water they bought was preserved for customer use only.

Setting to work, she walked into the surf, pulled up the skirts of her simple dress, and knelt down. She cursed under her breath as despite her careful tucking, the ends of her dress became heavy with the salt water.

After some fifteen minutes of cleaning, she was in the process of scrubbing another plate when something slightly off shore caught her eye. "What in the worl…" she started the mutter, her hand becoming lax in her lack of attention.

A wave pulled the dish free and she snapped back to attention. "Damn it," she growled, groping into the surf for the lost object. That was three this week, and her parents were bound to notice their ware dwindling down in number eventually.

But still…her curiosity was drawn. She scanned the ocean, eyes spotting the dark mass once more.

Making sure the basket was safely away from the surf, she ventured out into the lapsing waves, setting her eyes on her target. Lord what washed up now.

She swiped for it but missed which caused her to frown. "Come here you pesky little thing," she ordered it as though that would make it listen.

She grabbed at it again, almost lunging for it as a wave hit her from behind.

She was plunged face first into the waters and came up seconds later sputtered and coughing, her nostrils burning. Blinking rapidly to clear the salt content from her eyes, she felt a victorious smile framing her face.

She got it, whatever it was.

Vision cleared, she looked down at the object in hand and it turned out to be…

A frown replaced her smile. "I went through all of that for a beat up leather hat?" Sighing, she shrugged, placing it on her head; might as well make use of it.

Turning back to the beach, she started the tedious task of trying to walk back to shore. It occurred to her she must have drifted a bit in her attempt as her basket was now a small ways to her left and before her was…

"Oh dear," she muttered, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized a man was lying limply on the beach.

She made her way slowly forward, knowing full well he had to have come from the sea which might be a good indication of that being nothing more then a corpse.

When she finally made the shore, she stepped cautiously onto the beach and nearer to the body. If it was alive, he may or may not be a threat. But still…

She studied it, nay him. He might have been an interesting man to see in action, his tanned skin blanched by sickness, his dark hair a matted resemblance of a knotted wig, his clothes those of a seaman no doubt. But the question was did he still live?

Kneeling at his side, she almost smiled to herself as for the first time she noticed the open mouth and the breath being forced to exhale and inhale. Lucky devil, he was alive yet.

She reached over, her fingers searching his throat for his pulse. It was weak, but there nonetheless.

Of course then she came upon a dilemma: what should she do with this beached man? Inform her family and see if her father would lodge him at the inn? Leave him be? Perhaps care for him in secret…

"Alright you bothersome brat," a male voice called across the beach. "I've called you three times already, where are you?"

She frowned, hearing her younger brother. Whatever she was going to do, she had best do it quick.

"Come on now, Mother sent you out here nearly two hours ago and you know how she worries."

"It has not been that long," she called back, thankful for the rocks that hid man as she stepped into view of her brother. "Aside, I'm almost done. I just got distracted."

"Obviously," he snorted. "Say, what's that you've got on your head?"

"What do you mea… oh!" She laughed, just remembering she had placed the hat on. It must belong to that man. Oh well, to late to hand it back now with family there. "I found it in the floating in the waves."

"And what have you to do with a man's hat?"

"Smile and remind you that you don't have one?" She grinned innocently, patting the leather hat with the flat of her hand to secure it tighter on her head. It was already a bit big and that only sent it further down.

"Oh come one."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm right behind you, bossy."

Her brother picked up her basket and waited for her to catch up. "I swear, can't you keep focused?" He teased good naturedly.

"Can you not lecture your older sister?" She shot back. Guess I'll just have to leave him and if he's here tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do. She sighed mentally, resigning herself to wait and see.

The Second Installment

Still Alive

Mid-day the afternoon that followed, she again found herself on the beach and her question unanswered. The man was still there, his breath labored. Without aid he was dead for sure.

He was covered in blood, something she had not noticed the day before, and deathly pale. There was no choice. She had to help him and hope for the best.

"Don't you dare die on me, you difficult man." She told him, almost irritable at the act she had decided to do of her own free well.

"You do know of course I have to hide you away now, like I can even move you." She huffed, trying to find the worse of his injuries. There were mainly gashes and cuts, ripped skin what looked as though something with a large amount of teeth might had got at him.

She, thankfully, had been clever enough to stash a few medical supplies in her basket and now put them to use to the best of her ability, namely cleaning what she could and wrapping and bandaging what injuries she could figure what to do with.

First things first though, she had to get him out of the surf. Wrapping her hands around his arms she pulled back, grunting at the effort his weight caused. She was sure the sand wasn't doing his injuries any good but at the same time it seemed to be the only thing to help.

With effort she finally managed to get him closer to the rock setting and released his arms with a sigh. Moving a grown man was no easy task. It was like having to drag dead weight in everything backward step and in sand that was no small feat.

Finally she knelt back by his side after moving her basket to her new location. She bit her lower lip, knowing she really needed to get to the check all of his injuries, but that would involve removing his shirt and possibly, she blushed at the idea, part of his pants. Already she had struggled with the jacket and that was what was pillowing his head.

"You know, I'm glad you're not awake." She told him, finding talking somehow made everything easier and somehow less awkward. "Heavens knows what you'd say, some woman out and undressing like this. But understand it's for your own good."

As she spoke, she worked with what was left of his shirt and soon had his chest revealed. She gasped and put her hand at her mouth once more at the sight.

Jagged cuts ran the length of his abdomen as though lashed upon him continuously as he turned; there were also literal rips and tears in the skin, swelling, and puss filled skin surrounding some embedded marks.

Had she not seen him breathing with her eyes, she would have sworn he was dead.

"What kind of man you must be to survive this." She whispered in awe, holding silent respect for the man's strength.

After some time of work, the man was finally fully clothed once more and bandaged as she moved away extremely red faced. "All I know is, after all of that you had best live or I'll retrieve you from whatever heaven or hell you go to and re-kill you myself."

She had left the wrist bands and small things of that affect untouched. She had at the time, more urgent things to see to after all.

"Now comes the question, what do I do with you?" She sighed more to herself then the unconscious man. There was no way she was going to be able to move him and she had decided informing her family was defiantly out of the question.

With her luck that would result in her never seeing him again and as it was she was intrigued by the strange man. What with the trinkets in his hair, enough to drown him by their own weight she mused, his hair in and of itself, the jewelry and clothes.

He was a seaman to be sure; his clothing attested to that much. Being in the tavern half of any given day typically made her capable of such judgments.

She looked up, studying the clear skies. "Be happy. At least it doesn't look like a storm will be here anytime soon, but still, you probably know better than I how quickly that can change at sea."

The idea of dragging him anywhere else was impossible. For one, she was almost positive given the condition of his front his back was in similar condition and forced movement would only make it worse. Two, she doubted she had the strength to move him without spending almost all of the day doing it as he was larger then her. Three, most importantly, she had no where to drag him to. There was sand and more sand.

She would have to settle.

Finally, she cleaned her dishes and returned to the tavern only to return a few hours later with a new load, and new supplies tucked beneath it.

Included she had brought a large amount of woven cloth. She had intended to use it for making a new dress, but it was all she had that wouldn't be noticed amiss that she wouldn't need herself.

Combining that with some wood pieces she was able to make a sort of prop-to tent above him, using the rocks as a prop for balance. Some well placed rope secured it to remain up.

That was the good thing about being a woman. If nothing else, keeping cloth together and sewing was something taught since childhood. She had never been gladder for that skill then she was now.

Thankfully, anyone rarely came to this part of the beach but her so perhaps the make shift shelter would go unnoticed with the man beneath it.

If nothing else, he was at least safe now from being sun baked, hopefully somewhat cooler in the shade, and small drizzles of rain. She could only hope no major storms hit.

"You are a most difficult man, just so you know." She muttered to him, standing back to admire her handy work as her hand graced her head, holding the hat in place. She had been wearing it every time she left her home for personal amusement.

Approached again, she knelt down and dug into her supplies, having brought with her a small canteen of fresh water. It was a small amount and hopefully would not be missed.

Taking a clean rag she had tucked away into her bodice, she poured a small amount of the clean liquid on it and began wiping his sweaty brow, taking care to clean any make-up remains from his face. She thought the blues and greens certainly strange and stranger still was the black around his eyes.

When the cloth began to dry up, she wet it again, more generously this time and placed it over his chapped lips, squeeze so some of the cool water fell into his mouth. He was bound to be parched, unconscious or not, in the heat.

Once more she wet the rag and wrung its contents into his mouth.

Suddenly the sound of choking was heard as Jack awoke, having tried to take in air unaware of the water attempting to fill his lungs at the same time.

The girl jumped back with a startled yelp, her back meeting the cloth of her lean-to and pulling part of it down under her.

As a result, the entire thing fell, covering both people.

Welcome Back, Jack Sparrow

The Third Installment

Awake At Last

Jack's eyes slowly fluttered open, slamming closed again just as quick by the intense pain in the back of his head. His body felt like it was on fire from pain as his coughing settled.

He groaned, not sure of what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the sharp teeth of the Kraken tearing at his flesh and blissful oblivion.

And now he had the distinct feeling of being smothered!

"Oh no," the he heard someone panic as he struggled to get air into his lungs the right way.

Some minutes later the cloth was snatched away and sun again glared down on the pirate captain.

Feeling the slight coolness over him, he assumed the person had made their presence known.

Peeking a dark eye open once more, he saw his attacker, saver, whatever she might be leaning to look at him.

"Sir, sir, can you hear me?" She asked, her voice sounding concerned as she studied his bleary eyes.

He looked up, taking a slight study of his own, something to help keep his mind off of his painful body for the moment.

She was decently pretty, though he had seen better. Her hair a wavy black, how long he couldn't tell because it was back, her eyes a green-brown dominant hazel and her skin a pale complexion all women tried to keep with freckles scattered aimlessly about her face in record of her time in the sun.

But what caught his attention most was what he saw on her head.

He frowned, noting she was wearing his hat. Well, he'd see about that.

He made to stand and reclaim what was his but never made it passed sitting before the pain became almost unbearable as scabbing places were ripped open by his careless movements.

"What has gotten into you," she lectured. "Sir, don't you realize you are injured?"

"Might've crossed me mind," he forced out, mentally rolling his eyes as doing so physically would take too much effort. She was a bright one wasn't she? His voice cracked from lack of use, but it was slowly taking its usual form.

"Could you please lay back down then, sir?"

"Only if you give me back me hat and quite calling me sir. I'm no fop you know. Never did well with foppery and all that."

She frowned, rather liking the hat actually. "Only when you're better…uhm…what should I call you then?"

Jack eyed her, knowing better then to give his name in such a state as he clutched at his middle in hopes of easing his pain. "Smith, John Smith, lassie."

"Tara, Tara Charlton."

"Well Tara…"

"Miss Charlton," she interrupted.

"Tara, I find meself in a bit of a bind. See, I'm not exactly sure where I am and what's more, I am still without me hat."

"And manners." She muttered under her breath.

"Three words love," he started, laying back down on his own merit. "Pot, kettle, black. You stole me hat, interrupt me when speaking, and won't even offer a parched man a drink. And your rude enough to point out my lack of manners, which is the ultimate in rudeness." He kept talking, letting it distract his mind from his troubles and pains.

As it was, his heart ached worse then even his body, His beautiful Pearl, she was gone and there was none but Davey Jones who could raise her back. And he highly doubted he'd agree to that again.

"Well, Mr. Smith…"

"John if you will," he interrupted with a smirk.

"John, you are on the Malcilane Island coast, I told you I would give you your hat when you are well again, and here." Tara finished, handing him the canteen which was still half full with water.

"Not exactly what I had in mind." He mumbled, sitting up more carefully this time, and taking a long drink. He took in his surrounding ore carefully this time and seeing no threats settled back against one of the rocks

Tara settled in the sand beside him, watching the man with growing curiosity. She had a million questions bubbling under the surface, but knew they needed to wait.

"I wish I could offer you more, but I didn't know you would awaken so soon, truth be known. Perhaps when I return I can bring you something to eat. You must be famished."

"If that's your plan, but I will be expecting me hat back." He warned.

"Of course. Now if you will excuse me, I should be getting back home. Will you be okay here for a few hours?"

"Might as well be, can't exactly get nowhere at this point." Jack pointed out the obvious.

That settled, Tara nodded her head and began the short walk home, her basket held close to her as she though of what she might need later. Also, with him awake perhaps she could get him to the Inn very soon without suspicion.

Author's note: There you have it—three chapters edited again and the next one on its way. I'm making a goal of ensuring it is as least half as long as this.

Also, to answer a former review question, a few reviewers asked what a fop and foppery was. A fop referred to more gentle social elite aka men in tights and heels and foppery was in reference to how they acted. Truth be known, that is what they called themselves proudly—either fops or dandies.

If it makes anyone feel better, I will not claim to be an expert in the mannerisms of that particular time period but I do try to do at least a bit of research and I know more about the piracy stuff already so I will be on surer ground once I eventually get back to a ship.