Title: An Eye for a Bargain 1/?

Genre: Action/Romance

Pairing: J/OC, W/E, N/OC

Rating: R/NC-17

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am serious. Even this machine is a rental. Pirates of the Caribbean, all its characters/places/things belongs to Disney. The Poem "She Moved Through the Fair" belongs in part to Padraic Collum. I take no credit for the recognizable. I make no profit from this.

Summary: A romance or sorts for Jack Sparrow.

Notes: Abiageal is pronounced the same as Abigail, it means "one who brings joy." It is the Irish version of the name, and the reason for the Irish spelling will be disclosed in the story.

~*~*~*~

His fingers are filthy, covered with countless layers of dirt and god only knows what else. The thin film of dust and grit that is always present accentuates the deep brown of his skin, but the grime on his hands is the worst. Ribbons of grease trail down his fingers from the foul smelling piece of meat he holds greedily in his hands. His right palm is bound with a rag, a long-past treatment for a wound suffered in a long-forgotten battle. The rag is now stained with dried blood and sweat; the wound beneath infected and unnoticed by its owner. For now, all he can concentrate on is the rotten food in his hands, his only source of nourishment for the coming days. He holds it in his hands, taking large bites, choking down the sour flavor. He doesn't think about what the effects on his stomach will be, only that for the first time in a week, there will be something for his stomach to digest. He prays he can keep it down.

There is no water to wash away the bitter taste, save for the shallow puddles that flood the floor. Those puddles of sea water, salty and deadly by nature. A few sips from those puddles had left him ill for days, and he dare not chance them again.

He is weary, the last bite of meat disappearing from the tips of his fingers into his mouth. He wipes the excess greases on his worn breeches, the cloth of the pants stretched to its limits after too much wear. His tunic is in worse condition, the last vestiges of its former greatness long worn away. Once, he'd worn grand clothing, intricately woven by the finest craftsmen from the finest silk. He remembered owning a pair of soft leather boots, and how they'd shined with newness after every polish. When he looked at his feet now, all he saw was well worn and battered flesh. The skin on the soles of his feet rubbed raw, his toes mangled and broken. Countless bruises adorned his flesh, coloring his skin with new patterns every day, as new wounds awoke and old ones went to rest. A long gash is visible to all but him along his brow, and while he cannot see it, he knows it is there. The itch alone is enough to drive him to insanity. The wound has been opened and re-opened a dozen times from the scratching.

The blood had drawn the attention of the rats in the days past. He shivered, in his eyes there was nothing more foul than being eaten alive by rats, specially the bloodthirsty little buggers aboard this vessel.

He remembered the days when he would ride topside, on a vessel very similar to this one, only faster. Days before he's been reduced to the simpering mass of a man he was now. He remembered being strong, carefree. He remembered freedom, and above all else, he sought to get it back.

He was thrown from his revere by the sound of approaching footsteps. His body stiffened, a reflexive action learned from weeks of abuse. It was only when he heard a familiar cackle that he re-adjusted himself and stood with the pride of the man he was, or at least, the man he had once been.

"Sparrow," the speaker sighed. "Look at ye, yer hardly recognizable under all that filth. Tis a shame lad, where once ye stood with the majesty of kings, look at what ye bin reduced to." The man laughed then, an insane cackle that could only have issued forth from a man half-snapped. "I bet ye bin wonderin' what we was plannin' to do wit ye?"

There was no response from the man known as Sparrow. He did in fact make quite the pathetic sight, with the better part of his body weight having been lost in the weeks of his imprisonment. Still, there was a lightness about him that was ever present. A glint of amusement was apparent in his eyes, as though he were in on some joke that the rest of the world was unaware of. His captor, a pirate by the name of Scarlet, chose oft to ignore what he wrote off as Sparrow's insanity. After all, Sparrow had always been a bit "off."

They'd come upon his ship, The Black Pearl unexpectedly, while at port in Tortuga. Despite all of Sparrow's preparations and caution, they'd managed to capture him. Just him. They hadn't bothered with The Pearl, or any other member of his crew for that matter. That fact alone had struck him as odd at first, but now he knew better. It was simple, the other's, even the might Pearl herself, weren't apart of 'the plan.' Sparrow had yet to learn exactly what 'the plan' entailed, but he had his ides. Now, he was simply furious with himself for permitting the capture.

His cockiness had finally got the better of him it seemed.

"As ye may or may not be aware, Sparrow, I've made a little wee bit of a side trek into the bounty huntin' business. Did ye know, Sparrow, that the British Navy has a bounty on yer head of five thousand gold pieces? Now, I know for a great and mighty pirate such as yerself, five thousand gold prices is a trivial fortune, not worthy of the months of work it took us to track ye down. But, us small timers likes to keep the penny's a rollin', and a few gold pieces will buy milady a fine new silk gown."

Sparrow choked, clearing his throat as if to speak. "I will double the bounty if ye release me." His voice was hoarse, his throat raw from disuse. The words came forth at barely a whisper, but Scarlet heard them just fine.

"Ya see lad, I knowed you was gonna be making an offer like that, so I bargained with them navy brats an got meself the one thing you could never offer." Scarlet grinned maliciously, drawing out the drama, waiting for Sparrow to ask. "Think lad, yer the richest pirate in the Spanish Gulf, and there's nothin' I could ever want that you don' have. Cept' for one thing, now what is it?"

There was a brief pause, as the former captain of The Black Pearl digested the new information. "Immunity," he replied softly.

"That's right lad, a clean slate and a fresh start. I tells' ya, those British want you real bad. Now, what could you have possibly done to make em so angry, eh Sparrow? Me thinks ye may have had yer way with the General's daughter, tarnished an innocent's reputation or something like that."

Sparrow refused to dignify the comment with an answer. Rather, he sat down cross-legged on the floor of his tiny cell. He tried breaking out several times, but they'd anticipated his every move. "Yer a fool, Scarlet. The British isn't gonna grant you a bloody thing. You turn me in, and you've as good as put yer own head in the noose." He scoffed.

"Not bloody likely Scarlet. I's got's meself some insurance, an that' more an I can say bout' you. Now, if you'll excuse me, Cap'n," he bowed with a flourish, "I have somewhere I need'a be."

With that, Scarlet excused himself to the upper decks of his ship. He'd left two of his crewmen behind to keep eyes on their captive, who'd they'd noticed was rather restless of late.

"Do we sail to England, then?" Sparrow inquired.

His watchmen glanced at each other, wondering if they ought to answer. "Couldn't be much harm to tell him, could it?" The other shrugged in response.

"We sail to Port Royal, in search of a man called Norrington. He's a Commodore, and the only one with the papers to secure your bounty."

"Why do we sail so long then," Sparrow asked. "When you captured me, we weren't but a days haste from the Port."

"We did it to weaken ye. Seems yer an easy captive to lose. Least that what we was told."

Sparrow nodded. If their goal had been to weaken him, than at least they'd been only partially successful. Though, for good measure, he didn't think he'd stand much of a chance against a maiden in his current condition. These idiots had made a critical error however. If they were truly sailing towards Port Royal, he stood a chance of surviving this ordeal after all.

~*~*~*~

Waking was a difficult process for her. Leaving the blissful peace of sleep, the eternal comfort of the darkness, to face yet another hectic day. Sighing, Elizabeth Swann Turner opened her sleep filled eyes and smiled. Waking was difficult yes, but she was a very happy, very satisfied woman. She turned to face the body of the man lying next to her, her grin widening even as she did so. William Turner, her husband of one year and four months, still slept soundly, despite the late hour. They'd both retired late last evening, but that was no excuse for Will to neglect his duties. He ought to have been at work before the dawn, but quite obviously, he was not. Still smiling, she leaned over to wake her husband, as only a loving wife is able to do. Lightly kissing his cheek, she began to feather kisses along his jaw, and over his eyelids, before moving onto his neck. Aye, how she loved to kiss that neck. She heard Will groan, and watched delighted as his chocolate eyes opened and focused on her.

"Morning love." He whispered sleepily, a smile forming on his lips. He captured her lips in a passionate kiss, teasing her gently, his tongue slipping into the warm cavity of her mouth, drawing a low moan form the depths of her throat. Elizabeth sighed contentedly.

"Good morning yourself lazybones." She replied, when he reluctantly relinquished his hold on her lips.

"You do realize the hour of your intended waking has long passed?" She teased. Will sat bolt upright, suddenly very much awake, and aware of his surroundings.

"Bloody hell! I'm out to get it for this!" He leapt from their bed, dashing to the bureau for a clean tunic and breeches. Elizabeth let out a yelp as she was dislodged from her formerly comfortable position in her husband's arms. She sat up crossly.

"Well, it's hardly my fault, there's certainly no need to toss me aside like that." She countered angrily. "It doesn't help that you chose not to retire until after the midnight, well knowing that you were to rise early this morning."

"If I remember correctly darling, my 'choosing' to retire after midnight had just as much to do with you as it did me. You certainly had no complaints last evening." He replied, a smug grin plastered on his face. Elizabeth rose from the bed, her temper getting the better of her.

"Why you! You scoundrel! How dare you talk to me in such a manner!" Fuming, she gathered her sleeping robe from the back of a nearby chair and made to leave the room. No doubt, to put up a fuss among the servants. Guiltily, Will made after her, grasping her arm just as she stepped from their outer chambers into the hall. He slowly drew her back inside, shutting the door as well. What he had to say needn't be overheard by gossiping maids.

"Forgive me love. I am merely frustrated with myself this morning. I ought to have known better. I did not intend to take my frustrations out upon you. And, I forgot to thank you for the lovely wake up call." He caught her lips in a gentle kiss, which quickly grew more feverish, passionate.

Elizabeth melted into his arms, her anger forgotten instantly. He was so gentle, so caring. It was impossible to remain angry with him for long. She allowed him to lead her back into the bedchamber, where he shortly made a decent apology, for which all was forgiven.

She decided that a visit to her dear friend Cate was in order for the day. Catherine Smith had moved to Port Royal six months prior with her husband, Benjamin. Shortly thereafter, her parents had followed with all of her younger siblings. They lived in a modest house along the East Side of the bay, overlooking the beach. Ben was a good man, a merchant of modest income, and she had met Catherine through William's acquaintance with the man. Cate's parents had shared the house with the couple until only recently, when they'd moved down the lane. Catherine had two younger brothers and three younger sisters, all of whom were under fifteen. The youngest was still a babe in swaddling clothes. While Catherine and Benjamin had no children of their own, her siblings were more than a handful. Elizabeth smiled; Cate's mother was once again visiting her daughter, all the children in tow, with the exception of her boy's, whom were helping their father.

"Elizabeth! Dear, I am so glad to see you." Cate smiled, embracing her friend in greeting. "Please, sit down. May I offer you refreshment?"

"Tea please." Elizabeth replied. "Good morning Mrs. Montgomery, how do you do today?"

Catherine's mother smiled. "Hello Elizabeth. I fare well today. I was simply wondering what had inspired me to have so many children." She was currently changing the youngest child, for the third time that morning. Elizabeth laughed.

"You are a wonderful mother, Mrs. Montgomery. Rest assured, we all know how much you love your children."

Cate returned with the tea, and the ladies sat at the table in the garden. "Speaking of children mother, when is Abiageal due to arrive?" She inquired.

"If all goes well, she ought to be here within a week. I eagerly await her arrival, I could use her help." Laura Montgomery replied. She was weary, the move having taken quite a bit of her strength. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd become of Abiageal back in England.

"Who is Abiageal?" Elizabeth asked, sipping her tea.

"She is my eldest child. Fathered by my first husband, Jamie McLeod. She took his name for her own, and she bears his likeness. When you meet her Elizabeth, you would never realize she was my daughter, so much does she resemble her father." Sadness entered Laura's eyes then, as she remembered her lost love. "Sadly, he died at sea. He was a merchant sailor, and his ship was attacked by pirates." Tears welled in her eyes at the memory.

"Dirty scoundrels. Please don't cry mother. The time for mourning is passed. Abby will be here soon, and then you can rest. She always takes care of everything."

"Is Abiageal married, Cate?" Elizabeth asked, trying her best to change the subject.

"Nay. I fear she may never know the beauty of marriage. She's far too stocky to be a fashionable maiden." Cate replied sadly. Her elder sister had always taken care of her and her younger siblings. She'd never had the time to pursue a social life in England, and there was little chance of her meeting anyone here in Port Royal.

"How sad." Elizabeth's heart filled with pity. "Tell me, how old is she?"

"She will have twenty five summers this year." Mrs. Montgomery replied. "Do not worry yourselves over Abiageal girls, my husband is planning an arrangement with Commodore Norrington that ought to ease her way in life. Cate's father will she to it that my daughter is well taken care of." An aristocratic ease settled over the elder woman's features. She was rather pleased with herself about the arrangement.

"Commodore Norrington?" Elizabeth whispered to Cate. "My, the poor woman. My heart bleeds for her already, and we haven't yet met."

"Do not worry Elizabeth, my sister would never allow such an 'arrangement.' She's far too spirited."

With that, the two women quickly tidied up their tea, and made plans to spend the rest of the day in the garden, under the shade of the trees. The hours passed quite quickly, and before long, William had arrived to escort his wife home.

"Is it time to leave already? Goodness, where did the time go?" Elizabeth wondered. "Goodbye Cate, thank you for having me today. You're always such splendid company."

"Goodbye Elizabeth. Take care."

The young couple wasn't five minutes away when Will began his merciless teasing. "You're such splendid company." He mocked in a high, feminine voice. He curtseyed to accentuate his teasing.

"Oh Will, you're awful." Elizabeth countered. "Besides, these are ladies of the British court. Straight from London! They are dainty, proper, and are terrified of the very idea of pirates and the dark Caribbean culture. As the governor's daughter, it is my station to attend to them, married or not. They expect a proper lady, of proper English upbringing." She defended herself. Her stern expression melted with her next statement however. "Besides, I have plenty of time throughout the rest of the day to be at ease with you."

With that, she broke into a run. "I'll race you home!"

Will laughed, figuring he'd at least give her a tiny head start. She was after all, dressed in the attire of a "proper English lady." Dresses and heeled boots were not easy to run about in, or so he'd heard.

He chased after his wife, laughing as they flashed through the quite streets of the small village. It was early evening, when most were either settled down with their families for evening meal, of sharing stories at the tavern. The streets were near empty, so few bore witness to the antics of the couple. Those that did would share secret smiles, bearing the knowledge of love as it were a badge of honour.

High above, the sun made its way toward rest, relinquishing its reign of the sky to Ithil's light.

All was well in the world.

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