Bearing
By Dream Descends

His compass was broken.

Well, not broken, per se, but it did in fact not work—in that it did not perform its obligatory function, a detail which pointed quite decisively at the concept of 'broken'—that being the one thing it would point decisively at, presently—but it was physically undamaged, omitting the few scrapes and nicks an oft-used article tends to obtain, all none of which hindered in any way its ability to perform the task meant as its purpose—

And, rather like the feeling one gets when one's only map in a strange town goes inexplicably missing, Jack was irrefutably lost.

It was not an obvious sentiment—not one he would comfortably make known, in any case. The sensation was considerably more profound than simple misdirection. It scrambled and cursed 'round the pit of his stomach, sometimes lingering at the corner of his eye, other times at the hot tips of his fingers. It was a brilliant itch, living your life on selfish impulse, doing what you want because you want it, and one day abruptly having no distinct impulses or wants to speak of.

Consequently it was with significant gratification that he encountered two sailors that evening at Tortuga Port.

"Captain Sparrow!"

The voice was familiar enough, though the presumptuous stride was not. A quick glance backward did very little for recognition, but there were too many names, titles, positions and designations stowed in his mind to bother with a proper introduction.

It turned out to be her, of course. The first word to surface, a state of affairs he found rather alarming, was easy on his lips. "Elizabeth?"

And quite all at once he thought his compass might work again.

FIN

Author's Note: I considered doing the rest of the scene, but it was such a nice place to end it, and it's far too late to trust my grammar to forge on without mistakes.