Disclaimer: I don't own POTC.  I don't own Gibbs.  I also don't own Jack, much as I'd like to.  Don't own the Pearl either, much as I'd love to, "because what a ship is, what the Black Pearl really is…is freedom."

A Matter of Debate

The young pirate scratched his head in thoughtful consideration, possibly killing a couple of lice in the process.  He weighed the various factors and options open to him.  "I think about…five."

Gibbs shook his head, in firm disagreement.  "Ah, lad, yer underestimatin'!  Won't be less than nine.  Prob'ly more."

The two were sitting on barrels at the bow of the Black Pearl.  It was a rare day of calm on the high seas, the sun shining down on the blue-green waves below, for once unmarred by either enemy pirates or, more dangerously, ships of the Royal British Navy.  Gibbs and the young pirate were enjoying the sunshine, a bottle of rum, and a heated debate.

The lad frowned.  "You think so?  Can't believe it would be more than five.  Six, maybe.  But not nine."

"Ye don't know 'im like I do.  One evenin' is good for three or four.  Two days?  Nine may be a mite low," Gibbs mused.  "Maybe closer to twelve."

"Well, yeah, it's longer.  But you have to hit the top sooner or later."

"With 'im?  In that town?  No such thing as the top.  Sky's the limit, lad."

"I dunno…"  He was a bit doubtful.  A lot doubtful.  "Five still seems more reasonable.  Twelve is a mighty high number.  That's an awful lot of—"

"Don't worry about it bein' high," Gibbs interrupted.  "Doesn't take 'im long to get up there.  Why, ye can count Anamaria in at two.  That there's a sure thing."

"Still…a dozen?"

"This is the cap'n.  He's—"

—coming towards them, actually.  The two fell abruptly silent as Jack sauntered up.  He surveyed them.

"'avin' a problem, mates?"

"No, no problem, Cap'n," Gibbs said heartily, maybe a trifle too cheerfully.

"No problem, Captain," the second pirate echoed.

Jack studied them for a long moment, every instinct telling him that something was up.  But if they weren't going to talk, well, they weren't going to talk.  And while he knew, ah, methods to extract information, he certainly wasn't going to use them on his own crew.  Best to abandon the matter.  He shrugged elaborately.  "Alright.  Good."  He turned and continued his circuit of the Pearl's deck.  "Ought te be in Tortuga in a couple more hours," he tossed over his shoulder as he strolled away.

They waited until Jack was a fair distance off before they started talking again.  The younger pirate breathed a relieved sigh, and Gibbs picked up the topic again.

"Now, I don't know if yer goin' to believe me or not, but we're makin' berth in Tortuga in a couple hours and you'll be able to see fer yerself.  I guarantee ye, two things are goin' to 'appen.  They always 'appen in Tortuga, and so they're goin' to 'appen, just because 'e's Captain Jack Sparrow.  'e's goin' to get 'imself very, very drunk, and 'e's going to get 'imself slapped by upwards of twelve, er, ladies.  Five is nothin'.  Anybody can get 'emselves slapped five times.  But the cap'n?  Twelve.  At least."

Ain't it the truth?