Author's Note:

All right, readers. I don't deserve you. I can't even believe how long I've left this story since updating. I've just been so busy… I have about 50 million excuses that I won't bore you with… but again I apologize.

Thank you so much for reading, and please leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing.

One more note: This story is set after the third film. Just thought I'd give you some context.

And now, the story…

Chapter 3: Adrift

Jack swam easily through the water, just barely visible in the almost-full moonlight. He seemed to know where he was going, and Mercy followed as best she could. In truth, her swimming skills were rudimentary at best. The ability to swim was not something a wealthy merchant's daughter had much need of, so the little she had learned was taught surreptitiously.

Her brothers and their friends used to swim in the creek near her family's country estate, and one day, they dared her to join them. Mercy had never been a rebellious child, so it took much cajoling and taunting to get her into the water, where she learned the basics of swimming.

The gentle creek was a far cry from the rolling sea. Mercy found it difficult just to move her arms and legs in the unfamiliar manner, but she gritted her teeth and kept trying. She would not admit her weakness to the pirate who had, rather considerately, basically rescued her. And, after all, if he could swim so easily with a bullet wound in his side, and his body just recovering from a beating, she certainly could make it with no complaints other than a stiff back and an empty stomach.

By the time they reached shore, Mercy was barely conscious. Her arms felt as though they were not even attached to her body, and her legs trembled beneath her, as she and Jack crawled their way onto a sandy beach. The cool air of the dawn chilled Mercy's wet skin and hair, for the sun was just beginning to rise in the east. Mercy felt disoriented after the sleepless night, and her surroundings barely registered with her. In front of her, Jack dragged himself across the sand, and collapsed in a heap, muttering about a nap. The sand looked a lot more comfortable then a hard bench in a brig prison, so a little rest looked pretty attractive. Mercy, too, collapsed on the sand, a few feet away from Jack. Within moments, she had drifted off into slumber.

The sun was hot on her face when she awoke. She blinked heavily, confused. As she sat up, she discovered that her shift and gown were stiff with salt. At least they were dry, she though to herself. The swim through the sea did have the effect of washing the muck and scum from her body, though it came at the price of wickedly sore muscles unused to the physical exertion of swimming. Mercy brushed the sand off of her dress and shook out her hair, which had also dried. It was so tangled, though; she probably looked like a vagrant. Well, actually, I am a vagrant now, she thought with dry amusement.

Once her eyes adjusted to the sun, Mercy examined her surroundings. She faced the azure ocean, sparkling so invitingly. There was no sign of the pitch-black, endless and rolling terror of the night before. A snore to her left alerted Mercy that she was not alone. Jack's arms flailed wildly in slumber, and she examined him with curiosity. She had half-expected him to slip away before she woke, disappearing into the sunrise. She saw him now, though, for the first time in daylight. His appearance was exceedingly eccentric, though he was rather handsome, in a wild sort of way. The gash on his head appeared to have scabbed over, and her makeshift bandage was nowhere to be seen.

Jack drifted slowly out of sleep, aware that he was being watched. He opened one eye just a crack, then blinked lazily, stretched, and returned the gaze of his companion. Mercy blushed, aware that she'd been caught staring, and averted her eyes to her lap, staying silent. Jack took the opportunity to observe his companion. Mercy was a pretty girl, with wide gray eyes set in a round, pale face. Her hair was a comely light shade of red, though it seemed rather matted from the salt and sand.

"Good morning, love. Enjoyin' the view?"

She was, indeed, but Mercy would hardly admit to it. She responded by changing the topic, asking, "Are you alright, Captain Sparrow? You've a few nasty wounds."

"Aye, right as rain. Though my stomach could use a spot of rum. You wouldn't happen to have any of that hidden about you, eh love?"

She shook her head, but indicated a grove of coconut trees. "No, but I believe those coconuts could provide some sort of sustenance."

"Ah, that'll have to do. Seems a right shame we have no rum to toast to out freedom, though."

Half an hour later, fortified by coconuts, the pair trekked across the spit of land they had arrived upon. Mercy followed Jack's lead, as he seemed to move with a purpose. Finally, after a bit of walking in silence she asked, "Where are we headed?"

"Well, love, this island I believe is a salt cay. Bermudians come annually to harvest salt. And my guess is that they probably stow rafts here, or some sort of vessel that we can… borrow… to make our way to a port, savvy?"

She ducked her head in a nod.

"Well, Mercy-girl, how about a story, eh love?"

"A story, Captain Sparrow?"

"I provide the transportation, you provide the entertainment, savvy? So, sing, dance, tell a story, you can pick. There are other ways of entertaining that involve a bit less clothing, too, but I'll leave that to your discretion, love."

Mercy blushed a bit, and cast her mind around for a story, thinking back to her childhood.

"Alright, then, I'll do my best. My mother told me this story once. She was Dutch… I'll try to remember how it goes…"

Mercy began to narrate. She told a tale of a rich and greedy widow, whose desire for wealth destroyed a great port city. She was surprisingly rather good at storytelling, and though the plot was not intriguing, Jack found himself held by her voice, melodious and sweet.

At the end, he applauded. "Interesting story. You've a gift for tha…."

He stopped abruptly, and Mercy came to a halt beside him.

"This looks promising," Jack declared. Mercy glanced about, unsure of what he found promising. They were still just walking on the beach.

"Wait here," he directed. Obediently, she sat, gazing out into the azure waters of the Caribbean. A few minutes later, she heard a distinct splash.

Jack stood knee-deep in the water, floating a simple raft beside him. He flashed her a smile, and she returned the gesture, genuinely pleased at the turn of events.

They set out shortly, Jack paddling with one worn oar. Between strokes, he started a conversation.

"So, Mercy- tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell, really. My life has been… rather dull."

"Indulge a man. Go on."

Mercy stared at the horizon over Jack's shoulder as she spoke. She delivered her life's story in the same tone as the tale she told earlier. "There was once a lovely Dutch woman, the daughter of a rich captain. She met a young British merchant living in Holland, and they fell in love. They married and returned to London, where they had seven children together. He was a shrewd businessman, and his profits grew until he became one of the most successful merchants in the British Empire. She died in childbirth with their eighth child. Overnight, it seemed, he went from shrewd and resourceful to cruel and greedy."

After a pause, Jack realized she had finished. Not satisfied, he asked, "That's all? How'd the likes of you end up in the brig of a pirate ship?"

"My father was looking for a strategic alliance. I was traveling to meet a potential fiancée, on the way to his post in the Caribbean. Our ship was attacked by Captain Cooke—he wanted me to ransom for a particularly valuable commodity of my father's."

"Ah. And why is it you didn't expect that ransom to go through, love?"

Mercy was silent for a moment, and Jack thought perhaps he had pushed to far. Finally she ventured, "I was the fifth child, and when I came there were already two girls ahead of me, in addition to my oldest brothers. He has five daughters in total. I'm expendable, in essence. My sister Katherine is 15, almost old enough to marry off to whomever he wants to ally himself with. All my father's love for us dried up with the death of my mother. I'm especially far from whatever heart he may have hiding because I resemble my mother the least. And the ransom Cooke demanded was a price my father would never pay."

"Mmm…" Jack made a low murmur of assent.

They traveled in companionable silence for a while, as the Caribbean sun beat down upon them. Mercy attempted to shade her face, feeling her fair skin burning, unused to the intensity of the sun. After a time, Mercy realized the unfairness of the situation.

"Would you like me to paddle for a bit so you can take a break?" she asked, genuinely concerned for Jack's wellbeing.

"Aye, love, I could use a nap. Know where we be headed?"

She indicted her cluelessness, and Jack flashed a grin.

"See that dot in the distance?"

Mercy looked hard in the direction he pointed. "No… I don't see anything, sorry…"

He sighed. "There, love. There. On that horizon. A big dot-like dot. Big and black, savvy?"

She saw nothing. "Yes… that dot over there. So I just paddle towards that?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "Towards it? Does that look like where we're headed, love? Haven't you noticed anything about where we've been navigating? Steer 22 degrees northwest from that dot and we'll hit a port."

"Mmmm." Mercy gave neither consent nor disagreement. Evidently satisfied that she would handle the raft well enough, Jack leaned back, stretched his legs out, and placed his hands behind his head. Soon he was breathing deeply in slumber.

Mercy rowed, hoping she was aimed more or less in the direction Jack had indicated. The rhythm of the oar gave her a certain sense of peace, curbing her anxiety over the fact that she was alone in the world, lost, with a pirate of questionable intentions as her only companion.

When Jack awoke from his nap, the sun was much lower in the sky, and Mercy was still paddling. Clearly she was exhausted. "That's enough, love, take a rest. We'll be there soon. Hopefully we can find ourselves a bite to eat in port, eh? And a spot of rum to boot…"

She gave him a small smile. Never trust a pirate. She knew that it was good advice. But she owed this pirate her life, and right now he was the only person between her and a world of uncertainty.

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