I'm back, my lovelies! I hope you haven't forgotten about lil old . :'( You've probably found some other feisty heroine to love. I wish you the best of luck (fucker)

But, if you are staying with me, congrats! This is chapter one of the sequel to 'Debonair'. I hope it meets your standards! And it does NOT have Penelope Cruz, mermaids, or zombies!

JACK POV

I woke with a jolt and a loss of heat. Normally, even on the coldest of nights, I would keep warm with a few lanterns and my lovely Emberlynn. The lanterns were blown out and there was only a cold empty place where Emberlynn had once laid. The blankets were pushed away as though ripped from her fragile figure. The thought ran cold fingers down my spine.

A scream of pain filled me completely, and I swung my legs over the side of the mattress. I scrambled out of our cabin and onto the deck. The sight there horrified me beyond anything I thought imaginable.

Two people, a man and a woman, both of whom looked tired, slightly older, and malicious. Cerulean bags hung under their eyes, but a new sort of vigour, excitement was lurking beneath the dark irises, too. I'd no idea why until I realized what was underneath their arms.

Emberlynn.

Her stature was small. She was shivering violently underneath their cold, bony arms. I made to reach out and take her from them, but they hissed in a way that made me cringe. The woman's eyes were the same shade of brown as Emberlynn's. Murky, deceptive…hiding something.

"Be gone, damned spirits!" the man screamed. I recognized him in an instant. Emberlynn's father, and that woman must be her mother. They both looked much more decrepit than when we had seen them at sea so long ago, roaming the reach between worlds. Apparently, death took it's toll on them. Her father - John? - had skin sagging like a bloodhound and eyes to match. Alice, her mother, was even bonier and her hair was whiter and pulled back tighter.

"HELP!" Emberlynn's shriek of pure terror pierced the night air with purpose. Immediately, I slid over to her and grabbed her hand that was outstretched to me. But she let out another aggravating screech as though the touch had burnt her. It pained me immensely to see her in such a state.

Then, John and Alice began to move. Backwards, nearer and nearer to the banister. And they were taking her with her. It was almost as though they were going to drown her.

Oh shit.

They were.

I made to assault her father and pull him from her, but laying even a finger on him made me burn. But I didn't care. I wanted her back. Needed her back. She was the only reason I truly wanted to live forever. She was the only reason I could ever make it to the Fountain of Youth. I didn't want to live forever without her there by my side.

My grip was strong, and I managed to throw John off, watching with grim satisfaction as he hit the mast, cracking something. Emberlynn looked terrified, but in a way that showed me she didn't regret my actions. I was ready to take hold of her mother when my entire being flooded with painful heat.

I hit the deck loudly, sorely. My back ached, but my throat was worse. John had somehow risen and looked unharmed, except for a glint behind those angry black eyes of malevolent hatred. His fingers were curling around my oesophagus, tightening with each second.

The burn was angry and would surely leave marks. If they didn't, it would be a miracle. In the background of my heart pounding in my ears, I heard distant screams.

"Please! Please, don't hurt him! Please!" Emberlynn called out. To my surprise, his grip loosened, but I knew what he would do.

Before I could even scramble to my feet, Alice and John took Emberlynn by the hair, pulling her roughly up, and tossed her overboard. Her body hit the side of the ship sharply before she tumbled downwards.

I cried, getting up as the dead couple slithered back under the depths. As much as possible, I leaned over the ship's side to see if she were there. The water was empty, inky black and lonely.

A final shriek of sadness, of pitying, that was gurgled from the water that was most likely pushing down on her echoed loudly. I knew I could swim in it. If I dared try, something inside of me warned my sanity that I would survive. I didn't want to without her.

I couldn't.

My heart was beating rapidly when I sat up. I was still in our cabin. The lanterns were lit, glowing gold across the wooden walls and red duvet. I felt my neck, thankful that there weren't, in fact, any burn marks of any sort.

Feeling guilty for worrying about myself first, I turned my head and saw her there. She was lying next to me, blissfully oblivious to the nightmare that would haunt me forever. Her blonde hair, so much longer and much less worn than her mother's, was splayed out against the pillow. She was curled up so that her front was towards me and her knees and arms were coiled close to her chest and belly. She looked beautiful. And she always does.

A sense of joy and thankfulness washed over me, like a good dose of rum but so much better. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers, happy when I received a bit of a reaction to tell me that she wasn't, in fact, dead.

"Quite a way to wake up," she breathed against my mouth once we broke apart. She was breathless, that much was obvious, even if this didn't account to anything compared to our previous intimate encounters.

"You liked it, I take it?" I replied tauntingly. She grinned up at me, then let it slide off a bit when she looked in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, gently.

"Nothing," I mumbled in reply. It wasn't her burden to bear. Why share the load?

But she wasn't satisfied. "Jack…" she began warningly. I shook my head.

"No, really," I tried to push. "A nightmare, is all." So I wasn't lying to her, that was a good thing to have on my conscience.

"Want to talk about it?" I shook my head yet again.

"No, it's fine, nothing a bit more rest can't fix," I replied. She looked at me, apprehensive, but I smiled and kissed her a final time. Sighing, she laid back down in my arms and fell asleep quickly. I followed suit, thankful to be without those wretched images.

EMBERLYNN POV

Gibbs was the first one awake, after myself, of course. First one of the crewmen to rise from below the deck with more on his mind than rum. He nodded at me politely - I took it that although he didn't hate me with passion, he was a superstitious cod who believed having women aboard was bad luck. So far, that myth proved to be true - and went on his way to tighten the sails.

"It's been done, Mr. Gibbs," I called out over the gentle whistle of the midday. He had been staring at the lines in his hands, so neatly tied and tautly pulled. He nodded again, a ghost of a grin on his rough face.

"Thank ya, lass," he said with relative sincerity. "Saved me some work, ya did." And he headed to the galley for some breakfast. This left me to my thoughts.

I'd been up and about since about five in the morning. I wasn't an early riser by nature, but Jack had kissed me awake late at night, and it seemed alright to climb out and begin to do something to occupy my time in the next hour besides lying in the sheets and Jack's arms. (Although that was severely tempting.) After a quick breakfast of hardtack, cheese, and semi-chilled water - when on a ship, you took what you could and gave nothing back - I headed onto the deck. Within an hour, I had finished the mandatory first-thing priority list for caring for a ship.

Something wasn't right when Jack awoke me at an early hour, one ungodly enough that I daren't say it's name aloud. Something that I couldn't figure out. It was strange. He looked relieved that I was still next to him, but horrific thoughts lurked behind those deep eyes. I didn't dare press the matter, though. Jack would tell me when the time was right.

At the thought of my love, my fingers subconsciously moved to my right hand, where the black wooden ring had been placed on my ring finger. It was the same as the day I had taken it from me. Perhaps a bit more worn, since we'd been at sea for some weeks, but nothing a bit of cleaning didn't take care of.

At sea for weeks. We made port every once in a while. The first time, with only myself and Gibbs crewing the Blade, we'd gone in search of a crew. No one on this island called Isle de Ron (meaning Rum Island, did you know? Almost as bad as Tortuga!) was tough enough to crew without breaking his back or falling overboard. They were all, as Gibbs put it so gently, 'good-for-nothing lazy landlubbers!' His words, not mine.

Then, on our second night there, while Gibbs and Jack were drinking themselves silly and I was sitting in our inn room, a gunshot cracked. I looked out my window and saw a group of young men, between the ages of twenty and twenty-six, I imagined, shooting empty bottles of rum off of lined up barrels. The man shooting with sandy hair never missed. The others, all of whom were different in size, shape, and age, were watching with interest, practicing lancing and such things. And all of them were spectacular.

It was a miracle sent from Tia. I knew it.

I hurried to rush down the stairs, not caring I was in only my housecoat. The ground was cold to the touch as I ran barefoot. They all stopped and stared at me when I let out my proposal. From the twenty that were there, eleven boarded the Blade the next day and were all now faithful crewmen. I knew only a few of their names, but it didn't matter. They all knew each other and were helpful everywhere, so I couldn't care less if they were robbers.

Adventure was scarce now. It seemed that Jack could no longer attract it. That idea was absolutely ludicrous in every way, however. Jack attracted troublesome voyages like flies to honey. It was inevitable. Yet, somehow, for exactly five weeks, nothing of pure interest happened. It was only a daily routine of waking, eating, working, eating, and sleeping. The odd few times we made port for more supplies, there would be dancing and a night on land. But otherwise, nothing.

I almost missed it. That adrenaline that pumped through your veins when you thought about sword fighting some scummy pirate or shooting a pistol at an enemy. It was wonderful and horrific at the same time. But I feared that if I ever heard the rain and held a pistol at the same time, I would be brought back to the battle where Davy Jones died. And I really hated those moments.

With a sigh, I wrapped the thin, rough blanket I had stolen from the stores tighter around me. Although we weren't in a necessarily cold climate, early morning always felt chilly. As far as I knew, we were sailing somewhere along the east coast of Cuba. I had no idea how long we'd be going for, or where exactly the Fountain was, but I trusted Jack and his judgement. And especially his compass.

The Fountain of Youth. It was a dream that every man had pondered on at least once. As far as history told of the Fountain, it was near Florida's cost, and Ponce de León had attempted to find it in 1523. I hadn't an idea what it would look like, but something had formulated in my mind during our travels thus far.

It would be a luscious pool of crystal clear water, lukewarm to the touch and rippling at the gentlest of breezes. And it always rippled, from the small waterfall plummeting down a smooth rock wall that was entwined in exotic plants. Small blossoms peaked from them, every shade imaginable. It smelt of freshness and purity, something that was sparse with pirates. You could swim in it for hours and never wrinkle, for you were young forever. This was all a dream, but it could be true. Could be.

I turned at the sound of a door swinging. To my surprise, Jack was standing at the door of our cabin, shirtless - I loved him when he was shirtless - and looking frightened. He apparently hadn't seen me, because he began to run across the deck, barefooted, to the side. It was almost comical the way he stared at the light water helplessly.

"Anything wrong?" I asked gently. He jumped a foot backwards at my voice, and looked overwhelmingly relieved. As though he were afraid I'd been taken from his side and heaved overboard.

He ran towards me, hugged me tightly, kissed the top of my head. His embrace was loving, comforted by the feel of me on him. I quite enjoyed it, too.

"Thank goodness," he breathed. I laughed a bit,

"I'm here, love," I murmured, and kissed his rough lips. He smiled against them. When we broke off reluctantly, he began to stomp on the deck. This had become a favorite habit of waking up the crew: creating thunderous booms that echoed throughout the ship and made everyone scramble.

Soon enough, much of the crew, used to this awakening, clambered up sleepily. Some were already dressed, some only in their breeches, but all had sleep still in their eyes. I giggled at the sight. If I weren't currently happily in a relationship with the captain of the Blade, I would probably be a bit excited at this. But I was, so I remained calm.

"All hands to the mast, scabrous dogs!" Jack shouted. "I want the sails taut, the lines tauter, and your calluses tautest!" They made to do his orders, but one man with the least on and the most hair called out to him.

"It's been done, Cap'n," he said slightly wearily, followed by a yawn. I found it funny that those were practically the same words I'd said to Gibbs. His gaze rested on me.

"Did you know that I love you?" he asked quietly. I rose, kissed his cheek, and headed to the galley to begin to make something suitable for breakfast.

OMIGOODNESS! Chapter one is OVER! Thoughts? I love me some reviews!