A/N: Written in response to a Tumblr prompt for princesspenelopenerfherder. Something you said: through your teeth, when you were drunk, and I wasn't meant to hear.

You can find me at apirateslifeforme123 on tumblr. Come plaaay with us! :)

A Good Man

Rating:T

Setting: DMC, just after Elizabeth finds Jack on Tortuga.

He really did have a dress in his cabin.

"You look tired, love. Why don't you take my berth for a kip?"

She was tired. She had not slept really, since stowing away from Port Royal. That, paired with the stress and worry about Will, her father, Beckett, and the full force of British law bearing down on them—she could only imagine the ragged picture she presented at the dock.

Somehow Jack did not seem to mind, regarding her curiously with those bright polished mahogany orbs, the corner of his mouth pulled in a Puckish smile.

The garment in question was a white confection of fine lawn, a nearly diaphanous night dress and a horribly improper thing for a lady to wear in proximity of anyone who was not her husband. When she asked him why he had such a thing in his trunks Jack just flashed a gold glinting smile, one eyebrow raised suggestively in an invitation to guess.

To her surprise, he did not taunt her further, relinquishing his cabin to her privacy with a flourishing bow, grumbling through his teeth on his exit about his crew being only a mildly villainous lot of scallywags, but still not to be trusted with a beauty such as her in their midst.

She didn't think she was supposed to hear that last bit, and the thought that Jack Sparrow found her beautiful despite her unkempt state inspired a most vexing warmth to spread through her insides. She knew she shouldn't care for the infamous pirate captain's opinion one whit. She was engaged to a good man, and that was that.

Wasn't it?

With a sigh Lizzy changed into the night rail, for it was luxuriously soft and her clothes were soiled with the finest filth Tortuga had to offer. It would have been a very grand gesture of appreciation to transfer that questionable muck into Jack's bedlinens.

The berth was surprisingly comfortable, a feather mattress no doubt nicked from some fat French merchant ship, and she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

He mind spun a hurricane of cacophonous dreams.

Lord Beckett and the entire Royal Navy pursued her, and caught her. As she was about to be clamped in irons by a redcoat she turned to see the soldier's face was Will's.

Suddenly Jack was there, swooping in by means of a rope and some improbable feat of acrobatics. He snatched her out of harm's way, his firm arm about her waist.

What are you doing here, Lizzy?

I've come to find the man I love.

Ringed fingers in her hair, drawing her close.

Fire shadows glinting in eyes black as coal.

Eyes that could see straight into her soul.

Lips.

That insouciant mouth, so full and pretty, too pretty to belong to a pirate, nearing closer.

"Jack…"

Elizabeth sat up with a gasp, clutching the bedlinens to her chest. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was. Not a jail cell in Fort Charles. Not the hold of a ship. Not Tortuga.

The great cabin of the Pearl.

It all came back to her, and she relaxed a little, inhaling deeply. The linens smelled of him, warm smoke, salt, sandalwood—and something else that was distinctly Jack. She found it comforting, and she didn't dare examine why at that moment.

She looked about, finding the pirate captain in question lounging in his chair, his booted feet kicked up on his desk, hat pulled down low. Yet beneath the brim of his weathered leather tricorn she noticed the onyx glitter of open eyes.

He was awake, and he was looking at her.

"Say somethin', love?"

Her heart made a good attempt at pounding out of her chest, and so she answered with perhaps too much venom, "You shouldn't be in here."

"It's my cabin."

"But you said—"

"I said you could have my bed, dearie. But Marty snores like an African buffalo down below, and I would care to catch at least a little sleep before the next watch. Was having a good go at it too, until ye started thrashing about."

She looked away, admitting sheepishly, "I was dreaming."

"Indeed?" He rose from his seat, crossing the cabin in a few long-legged strides. The insouciant rogue was even so brazen as to sit down beside her, causing her to clutch the sheet closer. "Because I am certain I distinctly heard you say Jack. Were you dreaming of me?"

"No."

Her voice came softer than she meant it to, absent of the disdain and force it needed to keep a rascal like Jack Sparrow at bay. He reached up to gently caress the tousled wave of her golden hair, and her eyes slipped closed of their own volition.

"Jack?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

He was closer now. She could hear it, feel him, his warmth beside her like the scorching heat of a flame, but she dared not open her eyes. Elizabeth also detected the fumes of rum on his breath, and it reminded her of their island with a vengeance that made her heart ache.

"Are you drunk?"

"Only a little."

No more than usual, really, but he knew he couldn't blame the rum for what he wanted to do. He blamed that deuced night dress upon her, so sheer and inviting, the neck slipping just a little down the delectably round cap of her shoulder. A shoulder that begged for the scrape of teeth, just lightly, then a kiss to smooth it all over, and then…

She laughed lightly, waking him from his reverie.

She should have been afraid. She should have demanded he get out, or push him off the bed, or…

His fingers traced the shell of her ear, sending a damning thrill down her spine, and she did none of those things. Maybe she was still dreaming?

"I've been so frightened by all this mess. But the moment I found you, I knew everything would be alright," she admitted in a breathy whisper.

A small pained sound escaped Jack, and the fingertip that had so gently been exploring the line of her jaw froze.

Why did she have to do that? Remind him that she thought he was a good man, when she, the woman he could not stop thinking about, was here on his ship, in his bed—the Gods had a cruel sense of humor, of that he was certain.

Suddenly he stood, swaying on his feet, intent on vacating the room before he did something they both might regret in the morning. There was something burning in his eyes that she couldn't exactly read, or perhaps she didn't dare define. "Get some sleep, love," he instructed, his voice gruffer than he intended. "Big day tomorrow."

With her lip clamped between her teeth she watched Jack scurry for the door, paying her a haunted glance over his shoulder before stepping out onto the deck. A breath she didn't realize she'd been holding escaped in a whoosh, relief washing over her. Jack was a good man, of that she had no doubt. But out here, caught up in the freedom of the high seas, it was perhaps too easy to forget she was supposed to behave like a lady.