A/N: I can't help but wonder why Pirates of the Caribbean has the allure that it does. Over a year later it keeps people coming for more - and this story gets reviews eight months after its beginnings. Thanks to Brittany Baker and dragonhavn for the comments.

A Blue Dress on a Black Night

"This is hideous."

"It's fashion, luv. My unfortunate comrades had the honor of picking it up at the far sides of the world which, for your information, was the most tur -"

"That doesn't make it any mo - "

" – while you carry the immense responsib-"

"What?"

"- being wooed from every angle and in every accep -"

"It's ugly, Jack. You're terrible at picking dresses. You're terrible now and you always will be."

A silence falls upon the Black Pearl during the second night of its stay.

"Where s'it from?" she asks.

"Hmm?"

"The dress. Where s'it from?"

"London."

Another silence. In the distant is the sound of waves crashing onto the shores of Tortuga, each contact sending ripples contributing to the unsteadiness of the Pearl. Night gave way to chilly breezes across the ocean, but also gave way to a meeting of Jack and his love. Night shielded him from his comrades' protests of the presence of women on board.

"There were more storms on this trip than you can even imagine."

"Ye said ye were invincible."

Jack chuckled.

"I am."

"I'm never going to wear it, I hope ye know."

"Aye. Your choice."

Jack stood behind his steering wheel while she sat behind him on the deck. His back was turned to her, but the night would have prevented her from seeing the expression on his face anyhow. It was not an expression, and it was the lack thereof that showed his state of mind.

It was a soft, blue dress that boasted of a floral pattern found nowhere else on Earth but in a small village on the outskirts of London, he was told. Head to toe, the cutting of said dress defined the shape of a true lady, and had a texture that suggested status. He had the sleeves lengthened to reach the forearm, and had the dress remade to extinguish any involvement of cleavage and other such things. It was a lady's dress, for his woman.

There is a ripping noise, but Jack doesn't turn around. He paid dearly for that fabric. He doesn't cringe.

"There," she grunts, "the sleeves were too long. I look like a maid."

The Faithful Bride was full of onlookers too interested and comrades too curious on that particular night. Every dark corner would be too occupied to perform any dark deeds, and her fellow travelers of the path of burlesque were using the room upstairs for their own misdeeds. It was not the first time Jack brought her on board the Pearl to avoid unwanted attention and wandering eyes, and it would not be the last.

" – and it's too long. I'll have it shortened."

"It's the point. It's supposed to be long." Jack mumbled.

"I haven't got a use for a long dress, you know how it is. Nobody in Tortuga needs a train."

"You could be the first."

"No, Jack, it's hideous."

There is another rip, followed by a casual "Oops."

The moon was full. Captain Jack Sparrow stared.