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A Port in the Storm - (3 Parts)


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Title: A Port in the Storm

Fandom/Orginal: Pirates of the Carribean:At World's End

Disclaimer: I don't own it. But I sure like it~

Summmary: After seeing Pirates 3, I just couldn't believe that Jack wouldn't try to help Elizabeth in any way he could! This fanfic is based a few years after 3, and there are a few spoilers.

I hope you don't mind, it has a similar sort of plot to the first story I wrote about Jack.


There was a low knock on the door and Elizabeth stirred in her chair, where she’d been dozing before the fire place. It was a vicious night outside, the rainy wind rattling the window panes of her little inn, and she hurried to the door, wondering if some traveler had gotten stranded by the storm.

She pulled back the heavy wooden latch and was squinted as the wind send in a spray of wind and ice. She stepped back as a figure stumbled past the threshold, covered by a soaking brown cloak. She shut the door quickly and wiped the rain from her face.

“It’s a bad evening to be out, sir,” she said as she turned around to face her guest.

“You can say that again.”

That voice. Elizabeth paled.

A rush of memories, still young and painful flooded her mind and she clamped her lips down on a little cry of hurt.

Five years ago, he had staggered into their lives, and the changes that had accompanied his intrusion had led to the death of her father, and the constant isolation she and her husband were forced to keep.

“Nice place, pet.”

A very wet Jack Sparrow said, dripping on her carpet. He scrubbed a finger under his nose,

“Apt name, too. The “Davy Jone’s Inn.” Clever.”

She stayed frozen where she stood, watching him. He swung his eyes over her and recognized the look on her face to be one of horror. Slightly shamed, he rubbed his arms and cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here?”

She managed.

He gave a half smile, “Hey, hey, lass, any port in a stor…a stor…hegh…hehn-eshuu!”

The sneeze caught him off guard, and he turned abruptly away from her as it over-took him. A cloud of mist settled on his feet and he shivered at once from head to foot.

Elizabeth noticed for the first time how drawn Jack looked, his skin as white as paper. There were dark caves beneath his eyes that spoke bounds about his health.

“P-pardon me,” he said, flashing a teeth-chattering grin that didn’t match his eyes, “I did NOT mean to do that.”

“Are you alright?”

She wanted to remain distant, but concern choked out anger as she took in his shuddering.

“Oh, terribly fine, love. Just got back from a relaxing mile long swim, actually. Can’t say that the water was warm this far north, but it certainly was refreshi- hehgh-shuu! Heghn-CHMMPF!” He caught the second sneeze in the sleeve of his wet coat, the violence of it leaving him exhausted. He drew a ragged breath.

“Bless you,” Elizabeth murmured. “Got into a shipwreck off the shoals, did you?”

“Wreck is such a strong word,” he replied, one hand groping the air behind him for something to lean against. Coming up short, he sstaggered a little and brought one hand to his eyes, forced a wan laugh.

”Must be the rum.”

“Or the fever.”

Much to his surprise, Elizabeth stepped closer and placed a delicate hand on his brow. Her eyes widened,

“Jack. You’re burning up.”

He patted his clothes and winked at her sloppily. “Not at all. I am far too wet to burn. All you'd get is smoke.”

She gave him a stern look but he raised his hand as if to shield her and turned away.

“Hegnh-eshuu! ESHuu! ESHuu! Eh-ESH!”

He sneezed helplessly towards the floor, then pressed his sleeve beneath his nose and waited a few seconds more.

“Wait here,” Elizabeth said, and pulled a set of keys from her sash. “I’ll start a fire to warm your room.”

“My…my room?”

“This IS an inn, Mister Sparrow, I assume that a room is what you were interested in…and that you can pay for one?”

Jack broke into a bright smile, and jingled his pocket. It made no sound. He looked down, startled.

“Ahhh….,” he started, giving her an innocent shrug, “Must have lost it when I was drowning.”

He shivered and drew the wet cloak closer around his hunched shoulders.

Elizabeth sighed, not particularly surprised.

“Fine. It’s on me, then.”

Jack resisted the urge to point out the benefits of allowing him to be “on her” but he thought perhaps he would end up back out on the street again with that statement, even in his condition.

As she went up the stairs, he relieved himself of the coughing he had not permitted himself to do in her presence. He was all chills again, shaking from his core.

He came closer to the roaring fire that Elizabeth kept in the hearth, sat himself down in her chair and closed his eyes. The warmth of the fire was more welcoming than a woman’s arms at this moment.

In a few moments, he was sound asleep, one arm cushioning his thrown back head, his hair dripping into the fabric of his shirt.

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Oooooooh! More Jack! :wheels:

*jumps up and down frantically* :hyper::hyper::hyper::hyper::hyper::hyper::hyper:

Yahooooooo!!!!!! :drool:^_^

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Part 2: (No sneezing at first, but it gets into it a little later~!~)

There was a man sleeping in his mother’s chair. Little Will Turner emerged from the dark hallway to get a better look.

The man had a hat in his lap, and his hair looked like his mother’s jewelry box.

The beads glimmered in the fire light, and Will came closer to examine them.

The man grumbled, snored, murmured in his sleep.

Will saw another fluttering shine come from the man’s belt and he stopped short, terrified.

A gun.

Guns were bad, mother had said.


Eyes bright with curiosity, the four year old boy realized, with a mixture of horror and excitement, that he wanted to touch it, the terrible gun. Not because there was anything malicious about the child, but because of the natural urging that all children experience when faced with adventure versus a mother’s well meant warning.

He reached for the handle of the gun.

Without warning, Jack Sparrow’s hand fell like a thunderclap over the pistol. The child yelped with surprise.

“Shouldn’t touch another man’s effects, mate.” He drawled, with a scary hoarseness. He rolled his head over to look at the boy, eyes smudged with kolh.

“Unless, of course, you’re a thief?”

“Oh, no no!” the boy furiously shook his head, making his brown curls jump. He desperately tried to remember his manners.

“I..I’m…very sorry, sir.”

Jack frowned, and lifted the boy’s chin with a raised finger.

“You look familiar,” he said, thinking aloud. Then he feigned recognition.

“Have we met before? In battle on the high seas, perhaps?”

The boy brightened, and giggled a little.

“No, that wasn’t me!”

“Yes! Oh, yes! Captain Jack Sparrow never forgets a face! It was you on that ship, waving your sword about crazily, firing cannons into the deep. If it isn’t Crazy Willy Turner.”

The boy smiled, “That’s my name, but that’s not me. I’ve barely been out to sea before. Sir, are you…are you a pira-“

“Leave him alone!”

Elizabeth Turner flew down the last few steps and crossed the room with fire in her eyes. She came between Jack and little William and glared with female ferocity down at the man in the chair.

“You are NOT to talk to him! Or TOUCH him! Or even breathe near that boy!”

Sparrow put up his hands, surrendering. “Calm down, pet, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just meeting…meet…”

The coughing started low in Jack’s chest, stifled by his words, but then it overwhelmed him. He was paralyzed with it.

He coughed uncontrollably into the fabric at his wrist. He vaguely heard Elizabeth saying something, but he could not hear her over his loud coughs.

She was trying to get him upright, pull him out of the chair.

He gained his feet, but his chest was pounding and he felt as though he would never stop coughing. At last, he gasped, swayed into Elizabeth and they both toppled to the floor.

The last thing he remembered was little Will’s startled outcry before he blacked out completely.


Jack Sparrow awoke slowly to the feeling of something welcoming and cold being pressed against his hot face.

Eyes still closed, he smiled and moved so that the coolness lay against his eyelids, making it dark and soothing in his head.

“How are you feeling, Jack?”

Her voice was quiet. Beyond it, he could hear the crackling of a healthy fire.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the mere thought made him start coughing again. He clamped his lips tight against it, but it became too much and he had to prop himself up on an elbow and hack into his sleeve.

“Jack, here, drink.”

She offered him a cup, but between his fit and his light-headedness, he perceived two cups and reached out blindly for it.

Elizabeth pushed his hand out of her way impatiently, kneeled on the bed and put the cup up to his mouth.

He gripped her wrist as he drank deeply, then slumped back against the pillows, panting.

“S-sorry, love.” He threw one arm over his face and realized that he was wearing a dry and different shirt. One that probably belonged to the former Will Turner.

“How…How did you get me up here?” He asked.

“I had some help. Some men who were staying here heard the commotion and came downstairs. They helped to carry you up here.”

Jack immediately sat up and fixed her with a serious gaze.

“Were any of them-“

“Soldiers? No. And none of them recognized you in your state. I told them you were my son’s eccentric uncle.”

A smile cracked Jack’s pale lips.

”Uncle Jack? Has a nice ring to it but makes me sound a mite old, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Elizabeth said, flatly. “You are leaving here as soon as you physically can.”

Jack went to give a quip, but a sneeze stole out of his mouth instead.


“Which, unfortunately, doesn’t appear to be any time soon, given how sick you are.”


“Of all the places you could’ve turned up, you had to pick here, didn’t you?”

“-heh-eshuu! Eshuu! …HEGNH-ESHUU!”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Bless you. Here.”

She watched that final sneeze tear out of him in crescendo, jerking him forward and felt a wave of pity.

She snatched a handkerchief off of the bedside table and handed to him.

“Than…thank you...,” he replied breathless. “I’m sorr…sor…I’m..heh…I’m …hegn…hell! I’m going…uuunh…to sneeze…snee—eeeh…sneeze again…nehn…nee-EHH HEGHN-ESHUU! Eh-CHMMPFT! chMMFT! CHMFFT!”

“Your welcome. God bless you. You sound terrible. How long have you been like this?”

Jack snuffled, “Oh, a few days. A week. Or two. Can’t really remember…”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

He peered at her with eyes like cold obsidian. His breezy tone didn’t quite fit with the graveness of his gaze or the gauntness of his face.

“I am watching my figure…does it show?”

“Well, in that case,” Elizabeth picked up a tray that he hadn’t seen on the bedside table.

It held half a loaf of bread.

The sight of it made Jack’s lips quiver. She stood and turned toward to door.

“..I guess you won’t be wanting any of this.”

Jack made an imploring sound and she glanced over her shoulder.

“It’s been three days,” he answered bitterly. “Happy?”

“And who are you running from?”

“What?” He gave his best ‘who me’ expression.

“Captain Jack Sparrow doesn’t go a few days without a meal unless he is unable to make port. He doesn’t clumsily wreck his ship in dangerous waters unless he is attempting some crazed maneuver of escape. And-“ she finished with a smug look, “you mentioned soldiers when you woke up.’

He fished around for a moment, but he was simply too tired and hungry to argue with her.

“Lass, not that I don’t appreciate your incredible prowess and deductive reasoning, but if I could muster the strength to get out of this bed, I would strangle ten men to get that one measly hunk of bread.”

If he hadn’t said in such a voice of depraved misery, Elizabeth might have taken offense. She stood her ground, wavering only a little. His eyes were so sickly.

He sighed, turned his face from her.

“I borrowed a ship of the fleet-“


“borrowed! It was only necessary. I’ve been followed ever since.”

“Hasn’t Will helped you?”

“Oh,” Jack sharply looked at her, “Of course, I’ve seen him a few times.”

“You have?”

Elizabeth softened. The pain in her face would have caused Jack to wince in empathy if it weren’t for his empty stomach growling.

“Why, yes, dearie. Now and again. He told me…he…can you come a bit closer? I…think….I think I am losing my voice.”

Elizabeth, dropping her guard, eagerly stepped closer to the bedside.

In lightning strike of movement, Jack reached out, snatched her wrist and yanked her forcefully.

The tray dropped from her grasp and the bread landed in Jack’s lap. With a cry of victory, he attacked it.

“You…you animal!”

”Pirate,” he reminded her, mouth full of food.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

”Not really,” he glared at her, the bread protectively cradled in his hands, “But I see that you have.”

For a long moment, she stood staring at him. Silent, she spun around and slammed the door on her way out.


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Woot! I'm really diggin' this! I just love to feel sorry for jack...but not too sorry :D You have a good grasp of him! Can't wait for the next installment.

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Oh, wow... I'm down in it. It's good. Really nice and plotty. I love plotty and I love the way you spell those sneezes.... and O I LOOOVE CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW :innocent: :innocent:

Thanks darling! Beautiful!

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  • 2 weeks later...
You have a good grasp of him!

Oooh I wish I did!

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  • 1 month later...

Sorry that it took me so long to end this. I needed some inspiration. Thanks for reading!

He awoke sometime later, escaping from a dream of drowning. He gasped and pawed the covers aside as he sat up in the

room. For a moment, he felt that he really couldn’t breathe until he coughed a few times and the pressure on his lungs lifted.

God, he felt awful.

What he done to deserve this?

Well, actually, he could think of a few things…

There was a gentle tap at the door and he pushed himself upright.

“Come” he called the best he could, then resolved to endure yet another fit of coughing.

Elizabeth entered only as far as the threshold and watched him cough with concern.

“Should I call for a doctor?”

“N-no..” Jack sputtered, “…can-can’t trust…trust…an…”


Jack’s breathing calmed a bit, and he scrubbed his face. His head hurt. It felt hot in his hands.

“I brought you this.”

Elizabeth came further into the room and he saw that she was carrying a bowl. Little ringlets of steam rose from it and fluttered to the ceiling. “It’s stew.”

“Well, I guess someone has changed their tactics. No more torture, pet?”

She frowned, and he saw her lip quiver. He immediately felt a shock of guilt for which he had no explanation for.

His voice softened as she set the dish on the bedside table.

“Thank you very much.”

Her eyes raised to him, quickly, like a brush of hands in the dark.

“Jack, I need to know…I need to know the truth. Have you seen him?”

Her brown eyes filled immediately up with tears.

“No lies this time. It’s…been so hard without him.”

She crossed the room to the window, her back to him. But he could see her shoulders moving slightly, and she couldn’t keep

her voice steady.

“A husband at sea, folks can understand that. But I cannot tell you how difficult it has been…to be a mother…with no man in

sight. People can be so…trying…and sometimes, I think of him and the pain of it…is just so much to bear…”


She jerked when she felt him place his hand on her shoulder.

“I am so sorry, Elizabeth,” he said, softly. “I haven’t seen him. Not once.”

She sobbed out loud, and before he knew what he was doing, Jack pressed her to his chest and put a hand against her head

as though she were a child.

Immediately, she wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could and cried into his shoulder.

“He’s a good man, lass. I wish that I had seen him.”

His nose tickled.

He freed one hand from his consoling to rub at it, but it suddenly became such a fierce sensation that barely had time to turn his face away from her.

She felt his breath hitch and looked up at him, confused.


His sneeze echoed in the small room and she could see the exhausted hunching of his shoulders as he took a step away from her and sneezed again into his arm.


He sighed with a measure of relief and misery.

Elizabeth took him by the arm and beginning gently leading him.

“You should still be in bed, Jack. You aren’t well.”

“Wait.” He moved toward his soaked coat, drying by the fire, and reached in one of the pockets. He took something small

from it and held it in a tight fist. He turned back to her and was about to explain when he noticed a pair of dark eyes in a

small face, standing at the doorway.

Little Will Turner had some small tears running down his face.

”Mama! Mama! There is a fight downstairs!”


Sure enough, when Elizabeth had reached the foot of the stairs, the dining room of her establishment was in shambles. The

two men, scuffling in the center of the floor, had drawn a considerable crowd.

“Stop this at once!”

Elizabeth shouted, and threw herself between the two. Her shawl slid from one shoulder. They grappled around her, and she

stood her ground. The smell of liquor was strong and she knew that these were not tenants of hers, but rather some local

drunkards who had wandered in from the storm.

She grabbed the filthy shirt of one, and put her hand out to stop the other in mid-punch.

“Gentlemen, this is my inn and I demand that you take this business outside.”

The one whose shirt she held in one small fist laughed out loud.

“You hear this wench, Tom? She wants to send us out on the street, on a night like tonight! I would much rather spend the night in your bed, girl!”

He pulled her in towards him and she shoved him with all her might. As he staggered, she felt Tom’s starfish hands clamp

down on her shoulders.

Will, seeing his mother’s distress, would not have being able to describe what came over him, but it was a very adult sense of

protectiveness and anger.

“You leave my momma ALONE!”

He bolted over and grabbed one of Tom’s arms, giving a fierce cry. Tom, thoughtless in his drunken stupor, found this

annoying and back-handed the child as easily as one would bat a fly. Will spun around from the force of the blow and hit the

floor with a horrible thud.

Elizabeth saw this, gave a scream and dove immediately to her son, leaving Tom holding nothing but a torn shawl in his


“Oh my god, Will, William, are you alright? Can you hear me? Will?!”

She turned the child over and was horrified to see his face was covered in blood, coming from a gash on his forehead.

Before she could think about staunching the wound, Tom’s hand was around her upper arm, pulling her back to her feet.

“It was a mistake to touch that child.”

The entire room swiveled around to gawk at the staircase.

Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the top, his glower born of many nights of steel and sea. His voice was deep and coarse and

his tired complexion only added to his fearful countenance. He slowly descended the stair case, careful not to reveal his

dizziness by reaching for the banister.

The only sound was Elizabeth’s quiet sobbing.

“And who are you?”

Tom asked. His companion stood behind him, not looking nearly as confident.

A slow smile, as slow as poured molasses, crept up Jack’s face.

He drew his sword, and pointed it at little Will’s still form.

His Uncle.”

Suddenly, his blade was pointed at Tom’s throat.


He reached out his free hand, and Elizabeth took it as Tom released her.

She flew past Jack to wrap Will in her arms.

“I suggest you find a different port, mates.”

Jack growled and prodded forward.

Tom and the other drunk lurched back from its singing accuracy. They turned tail and scrambled towards the door.

Jack now addressed the scattered audience with a tip of his hat.

They, in turn, disappeared into the storm as well.

As the last onlooker slammed the door closed behind him, Jack sheathed his sword and staggered. He wasn’t certainly glad

that the two hadn’t tried anything. Had they called his bluff, in his condition, he might not have been able to-


It was less his name than it was a wail.

He whirled around and saw Elizabeth’s pale face. She was holding Will up to her chest and his blood had stained a path of red on her dress.

Had the bloke really hit him that hard?

“I don’t…I don’t think that he’s breathing!”

She cried, her sobbing more animal than woman. It tore at Jack’s heart and as he crossed the room, he felt a chill of something unfamiliar…fear.

There was quite a lot of blood.

Then a thought hit him like cannon ball.

He reached into his pocket and clasped his fingers around the little bottle. He had gone through hell and high water to get it

for her…perhaps now it served a different purpose, but one just as meaningful.

“Lass,” he said.

She looked up, a mask of sorrow on her elegant face.

“Ever since Will was…changed, I have been living with the knowledge that I had a hand in…what happened. I couldn’t just let

it go where it stood. So, I took a trip.”

He took the silver bottle out and ran his fingers over the coldness it gave off.

“I found a very important treasure. And I brought it back for you. From the fountain of youth. I figured that if Will had

become immortal, then, perhaps I could lend you a hand. With this, you could have retained your youth across the


She gaped at him, in disbelief.

“But he changes all that, I suppose,”

Jack said, looking down at the lad in her arms. Was that fondness on his face?

“In more ways than one.”

He opened the tiny bottle, reached out and gently tipped it into the boy’s slack mouth.

Two drops of water slid from the rim onto his lips.

He didn’t know if it could do what he hoped it could, so Jack waited, hopeful.

The child opened his brown eyes.

“Uncle Jack!”

He exclaimed and Elizabeth gave a cry of delight. She covered Will’s face in kisses and hugged him tightly. When she finally released him, his forehead was miraculously healed.

Jack corked the bottle, and held it out to her.

“A gift.”

He said,

“It won’t take back the wrongs I did. But I hope that it helps.”

She took it from him, amazed.

He smiled at her, then at the boy. Abruptly, he turned his face from them and coughed wretchedly into shoulder.

“Momma,” Will said, his little face serious, “Uncle Jack is really sick.”

“No, no, lad, I’m fine,” he murmured, and rubbed his knuckles against his brow. “Just a mite tired.”

“Oh, Jack.”

Elizabeth stood, and helped him to his feet. He swayed against her, embarrassed by how weak he felt. When they made it half way up the stairs, he sneezed and had to reach out for the wall for support.

“God bless you,” Elizabeth offered, as he recovered.

He smirked,

”Bless me? Pirate, remember? I don’t think that it appl…he..heh..HENGH-ESHUU!”

He caught it in his elbow and she winced at the rough sound.

“Jack…you endured this, you went hungry, you wrecked your ship, all to…all for… me?”

“It was the least I could do, love,” he replied, gaze planted firmly at his feet.

She aided him in silence as they made it to his room.

She laid him down on the bed and covered him in the askew blankets. She leaned over him and gently kissed his forehead.

“Thank you,”

She said, tears rolling from her eyes. Eyes the same as the lad’s, really, Jack thought.

“Thank you,”

he responded in turn, half grateful, half in wonder. He closed his eyes and shortly was sleeping soundly.

As Elizabeth left the room, she turned to look back at him.

“I forgive you, Jack,” she whispered, and quietly went out into the hall.

If she had stayed a second longer, she would have been surprised that the sleeping captain suddenly had a rather foolish smile.

In the dark of his room, he said outloud,

Uncle Jack Sparrow. Yes, that does have a nice ring, doesn’t it? A fine ring.”


Until I can think up some more Jack torture. Heeheehee

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Wow that's so sweet. And very original. Brilliant.

And more torture to come another time? Well I'll be up for that as well!

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