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IT'S NOT HARD TO FALL Author: nicole297 Disclaimer: -deep sigh- Alas, I don’t own the movie or the characters or any rights for that matter, because I’m still a minor. Damn. Summary: You saw ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl’ ten years ago and absolutely fell in love with Jack Sparrow. On a return trip to America, after an abrupt exit of the country, your plane experiences a terrible storm that ends you up in some hot water. The ones that Captain Jack Sparrow himself likes to sail… * * * * * CHAPTER 1 - Ten Years in the Making Pronunciation: * * * * Tears glittered on your lashes in the early morning sun as you looked back for the second time at your home on the water. ‘I can’t be leaving…can I?’ The thought stirred more emotions and a single tear falls down your cheek, gliding faultlessly, happy to be let free for the first time in almost ten years. You hastily wiped the remaining and threatening tears away and sighed. Your best friend stood leaning on the railing watching you with faint smile, cruelly insincere, plastered on her own misty eyed countenance. You lifted your hand in a lame attempt at a last goodbye, but immediately put it down, knowing it wasn’t going to do. In a flash of movement, your best friend clambered to the gangway and ran down it to you, throwing her arms around your neck as soon as she had reached you. The two of you hardly showed any physical contact unless one of you was extremely happy or maniacally depressed- it was just a habit made to keep a seemingly impartial image, so you were a bit surprised at the sudden outburst of affection. You hugged her back and pulled apart, knowing you had to leave then or miss your plane, neither of which you were eager to do. “I’ll be back, sooner than you know it, I’ll even bet.” You say, nodding at her like an older sister saying goodbye to her little sister. “I know- you’re gonna tie some loose ends, get your book on the market, and come right back.” She says, repeating what you’ve told her time and time again. “Home, I’m gonna come right back home; I don’t belong anywhere else.” You finish for her. “You’ll miss your plane if you don’t leave.” “That’s why I’m leaving. Tell them I said I love them all and I’m coming back.” You say, nodding at your crew leaning on the railing of the ship. “Bye, I’ll see you soon!” you finish, turning on the street and running up towards the bus stop, and the waiting bus, that would take you to the airport. * * * * You couldn’t believe it was happening; you were there, on a plane, leaving for America, and your ship was sitting there in the port, maybe making way to sail, without you on it. As you sat in your customer-appreciated seat, staring out the window, you reflected on the last ten years. Ten years ago, you had began. Your life had started, real and exciting. You had… hit the ground running in a matter of speaking. You had been thirteen when you first saw Disney’s ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl’ and loved it the first time you saw it. You had, of course, seen it with your best friend and the two of you had conceived your first plan ever that led way to the beginning of your life that very night. Sure, she hadn’t really meant it when she said ‘we should run away and become pirates!’ and you had only been humoring her by saying ‘yeah, that’d be so cool!’ but dreams had to start somewhere, right? And dreams turned into full blown plans and party themes (though your parents didn’t quite realize that you were actually planning on becoming pirates and thought the parties were themed on the movie and not your own deviousness) and that led to mind-blowingly serious talks of if you planned on following through with it all. By the time you turned fourteen, the two of you had a plan and only had to wait for the… opportune moment to slip away into the Caribbean. And, surprisingly, the opportune moment came. Your best friend had to stay with you while her parents were away in Australia on a business trip and the perfect thing happened- your mom needed to be out of town for the night to go to a meeting in a city a couple of hours away. Your friend called her parents, so not to rise suspicion, and asked for permission for her to stay with you by yourselves and they amazingly agreed. Your mom was hesitant, but you told her that there was nothing to worry about with the alarm system and nosy neighbors and that the two of you knew all the dos and don’ts. She finally caved and agreed as well, leaving the two of you to your own devices. She left early that Tuesday morning, and the two of you were awake by the time she did. You wrote a very clear and incredibly descriptive letter, telling why you were leaving and how your parents should respond to it and left it sitting on the railing where your mom always put her purse. You finished packing, which wasn’t all that much, and grabbed your bankcard, which you were only allowed to have for holiday shopping and headed off into the world by six a.m. that morning. The two of you walked to a nearby bus stop and took that to the bank, where you drew out all of your savings (nine hundred and seventy-three dollars) and headed back to the bus stop, feeling lucky so far. You knew how to be untraceable; thanks to all of the television you watched, and had made sure everything was in place. You didn’t use the bankcard except to draw out savings, you changed your clothes after you drew out the money in case anyone saw you on the security tape at the bank, you had bought your plane tickets online so no parent accompaniment was needed at the ticket stand, and you even had your story planned out: The two of you were going to Barbados to visit your friend’s grandmother, who would be picking you up at that airport, and your father (who doesn’t exist) had an important meeting with the head of his company and couldn’t see you off that morning. You had to admit that you weren’t sure which was longer – the bus ride to the airport or the walk to your terminal. No suspicion arose, as you were very good at the convincing small talk while the lady checked your passport, the one you got to visit Tahiti with your best friend, and even got a few sympathetic smiles for the ‘busy father’ routine. By the time of you were seated, you were surprised you hadn’t gotten upgraded to first class yet. The thirty minutes before the actual take off seemed to drag and you were pretty sure your best friend was holding her breath along with you. By the time that you were in the air the two of you had resounded to grin like Cheshire cats at each other and were practically bouncing in your seats. The eleven hour flight went by like a blur, stopping once in the capitol of Haiti and then finally, Barbados. The two of you collected your bags, not that many really, exchanged your money, and presented your passports, nodding at some random old woman waving by the door and then heading off to her. Luckily, someone with a drug history had been behind you to distract the checker and the old lady left right before you got out the door, so it seemed, if the passport man had taken care to notice, that the two of you had left with her. The moment the two of you reached the parking lot, you had started jumping up and down and screaming under your breath ‘ohmygod-ohmygod-wemadeit-we-fucking-madeit!’ You turned to your best friend who had been talking excitedly the whole plane ride in a hushed whisper and was now staring at you wide-eyed and grinning. “Angelica! We made it!” you say, hoping to get words out of her. “I… I know! Whoa! Akira?” she says, using her favorite nickname for you. “Yeah?” you say, expecting some sudden feeling of regret. “Are we standing in the Caribbean, like, right now?” “Well, not right now. But we will soon, Geli, we will soon.” You say, retreating into your own nickname for her. * * * * In the next two years, you managed to find a man who took you in, a former pirate and extremely good man who would come to teach you everything you knew. Well, most of it anyway. He had moved from Guinea in Africa to the Caribbean 30 years before you met him and had only retired to Barbados 3 years ago. Mickey, as you had been instructed to call him, was like and extremely close uncle. An uncle who showed you the ins and outs of modern piracy – basic weaponry (bazookas and the ones you weren’t familiar with; both you and Angelica were handy with a sword and daggers), anatomy of ships, where to hide and where most definitely not to, current history of the people who you’d meet over the next few years, geography of the entire Caribbean, how to sail, quick fixes in medicine, and advanced guise. Guise was your strong point; you were only average in actual sailing; you knew how, just not as well as Angelica. Your other strong point was communication – blocking radio transmits to sack ships was fun for you. Especially when you get a ‘WTF’ reaction from the other ship because you play ‘Bonjour’ from Beauty and the Beast. Mickey had also instructed you to use your femininity, but hadn’t gone much farther, for the sake of his own sanity. Mick’s connections were what had gotten you your first ship. It had taken awhile, three and a half years in fact, but you made sure you picked the right one. There was no arguing; the first time you set foot on it, you knew it was the one. Angelica had even said it herself. Naming it was ridiculously easy- the Liberator. And of course you had quite a time naming the rowboats and other various ‘things’ that seemed to need names. The Black Shadow (Angelica’s), The Stormy Fate (yours), the Intrigue Ablaze (yours) had been your favorites. Then came the crew… they had been a fun bunch to find. Not many pirates took on women (an old habit that hadn’t died), so you had found a good number of willing females, 23 in fact. Strangely though, you had only taken three men aboard: Sonny, the cook and ‘gaffer’ of sorts, Johnny, a boy about eleven who was orphaned, and Pedro, the… well, you weren’t sure what he did other than odd jobs, but he spiced things up a bit. It had taken awhile to bring all the girls to a good working level, but by the time you were nineteen, you were at the top of your game, with you as quartermaster and Angelica as Captain. At twenty-four, you had not a murder to your name and had only been thrown in jail once (for drunkenness, but you had sobered up quickly by the time you got to the prison. But, that’s another story for another time.). * * * * As the plane too off, you glanced out your window; you could just make out the port and your ship… and something small and red moving back and forth rapidly. ‘That Pedro…’ you thought, shaking your head and smiling, wishing you could open the window and yell at him that he was supposed to wear the underwear. That alone brought a smile to your face, well, that and the fact that the stewardess was eyeing you warily when she had set down your drink. You’re pretty sure she understood that you’d kill her if she brought you peanuts, mainly because you had said ‘Bring me peanuts and I’ll have to kill you.’ but you weren’t sure that she knew it wasn’t a full on terrorist threat. Oh well… ::Two and a half hours later:: The fifth jerk sent your drink somewhere to your left and you clenched your hands in your lap, pressing your head against the headrest to avoid whiplash. A little turbulence your arse. It felt more like you were coasting the Rockies in an old corvette. You tried hard to stay flat against your seat as another wave of thunder hits, shaking the plane violently, but ended up being propelled forward and banging your head against the back of the chair in front of you, just hard enough to knock you out. * * * * The sunlight would have blinded you, had there not been someone leaning over you to conveniently shade your poor eyes. You slowly regain your vision and look at the person hovering not four feet above you. “Shit. Angel’s gonna mutilate my dead body.” You groan. “’At’s a first.” The one and only Jack Sparrow says. “I finally try to do something right and I DIE?” you ask, to no one in particular. “Uh, love?” You look at Jack Sparrow, while pulling yourself into a sitting position. You always knew heaven would be like What Dreams May Come, but you had never thought you’d make it to heaven. “Yeah?” you say, hoping he was talking to you so you don’t make a fool of yourself. “You’re not dead…” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m not?” you say, this is new to you… “No. And personally, I’d like an explanation of who you are seein’ as we saved ye from drownin’ and all.” He says all captain-y. Oh… shexy captain. Ten years and you still had a major crush on the same guy. And though you had grown, he didn’t look a day older than he did in the movie. How lucky could you get? You happen to glance behind him and notice the crew standing behind him, staring intently at you. Maybe too intently… You look down. Oh fuck. Great day to wear a white tank top and black bra. And get wet… “Oh hell, where’s my jacket?” you say pointedly at the captain. “Yer what?” he says bewildered. “Jacket… like… coat!” You say, searching for the words quickly. “Tha’s what ye were wearin’ when we pulled ye up, love.” He answers, tilting his head to the side in an adorable manner. “Well then… could we go some place more…private? While I dry off, I mean.” You say, feeling rather naked without your jacket. You always wore it; it was like a safety blanket. “But of course.” Jack says cheekily, extending a hand to help you to your feet. You graciously accept it and you happily leave the crew to their own devices, you really didn’t care if they thought you were going to go jump their captain, which really wasn’t a bad idea… ::A few minutes later:: “So… who are you?” Jack says, leaning against his table as you stand with your arms crossed over your chest a few feet in front of him. * * * * * CHAPTER 2 - Bets And Barters You hesitate, not sure that giving him your real name is such a great idea. But the thought that he can’t turn you in or use it against you passes your mind and erases any hesitation. “Um, Arianna, Ari, Nicole Heron.” You say, mumbling ‘no pun intended’ under your breath. Sure, you had thought about the fact that you and Jack’s last names were both birds, but you never thought you’d actually be introducing yourself to him in utter embarrassment because of it. “Or Akira, which ever you prefer.” You add, as he looks at you, sizing you up in a manner of speaking, probably looking over your apparel, seeing as he wasn’t looking at you like he was checking you out, you had seen many men do that and this wasn’t that look. “Where exactly do you come from, love?” he queries bluntly. You laugh nervously, albeit awkwardly. “Uh, yeah… about that. I’ll bet you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You say, shaking your head at the thought. ‘I come from four hundred years into the future in an alternate universe.’ Yeah that’ll sound great. “I’ll bet I would.” He says, challenging you playfully. You quirk an eyebrow; two can play at this game… “I’ll wager letting you pick where I sleep, if you’re letting me stay aboard, if you believe me. But, if I win, I get to pick my sleeping arrangement, no expense spared.” “Yer allowed te stay aboard, as long as yer workin’ for passage, and what do ye mean ‘no expense spared’? What’re ye plannin’, lass?” he says, looking at you slyly. “Well, for instance if I wanted to kick you out of your lovely, and I really do mean lovely, quarters, you’d have to oblige. Not that that’s quite necessarily what I’d do. And that’s if I win, remember.” You say, your eyes dancing mischievously, and you hope Jack doesn’t notice. “Well, seein’ as I’m quite confident in my… gullibility, I’ll see your bet and raise the stakes. If I win, the sleeping arrangements will be permanent and you’ll be staying aboard for the remainder of the… voyage we’re on, which could be a good 6 months.” He says, smiling like he’s won already. Though he doesn’t quite realize that you don’t object to any terms that have been set. “And if you raise your winnings, I’m raising mine. If you don’t believe me, I only have to work five days a week for the remainder of my stay. Your pick of days, though, of course.” You barter. This was too easy! “Yer seen and raised, and all dealings have been closed. Le’s hear yer story then, eh?” Jack says, his hands expressing his points to extravagant measures. “Well, I come from a different world, in a way. And, I’m from four hundred years in the future if you’re counting from this decade. Oh, and I was a pirate in my own time. Within the next four hundred years, women will become almost equals to men. Not that piracy is tolerated in my time, just that women aren’t… well, they are still in the minority of pirates, but we’re working our way up. And, I’m one of the best in my time. I’ve only been doing this for ten years, though. So believe that!” you finish, doubting he’ll even believe that you were a pirate, in any time. Jack just looks at you contemplatively. “So yer like one o’ them… feminists in England, but four hundred years from now, aye?” he says, furrowing his brow querulously. Your eyes widen in horror. “OH NO! No, no, no, no! I am by no means nor stretch of the imagination a feminist. I’m glad for all the rights I have in my own current time, but I hate those ‘protest’ movements. My theory is ‘if you’re stupid enough to lie down in the middle of a road to protest something, you deserve to be run over.’ I mean, half of the society of my time was based on a religion that held women as the soul reason of all evil and treated them like they were Eve herself.” Jack’s eyes widen in surprise and amusement. You were quite… thoughtful. And it seemed as if you ‘knew your place’, not like you would lie down and take abuse or anything, but respect for the gender God had named supreme. “Well…” he drawls slowly and you look at him in expectancy. “I believe ye. I truly do. I’m not sure I would if ye’d told me this 10 years ago, but I do now. Seeing cursed men and being one yourself changes yer view of truth and lie, I’ll tell ye that.” You fake interest and he waves you off with a ‘some other time’. “Shit. All right, you win. Good thing I wasn’t gambling with money. I’d be emptying my pockets.” You say sheepishly. “By the way, you never told me your name.” You say coyly, knowing all to well what’s coming next. “Why love, I’d assumed ye knew. I am Captain Jack Sparrow.” He says, reeking of arrogance. You make a weak ‘ah’ sound of obviously fake recognition, then shrug and shake your head in ignorance. “Ye haven’t heard of me then, eh?” he says, almost as if he’s ashamed to ask. You frown and shrug again. “Sorry. I don’t do a lot of history.” You lie, figuring it to be better this way. “Four hundred years is along time. Things happen…” he mutters, shrugging it off. “Uh… since you… uh, ‘won the bet’ …where’ll I be sleeping?” you ask. This was definitely one of those awkward moments. ‘I need a Kodak camera!’ you think, staring at Jack as his smile broadens cheekily. “Well, I suppose te be fair, ye can sleep in here. Seein’ as ye come from the future. Only right te offer ye best amenities. Don’t think yer gonna get any slack cut fer ye in the mornin’, though.” ‘Heaven, I’m in Heaven… reminder: do happy dance when no ones watching.’ He said the fore mentioned acting as though it was the only thing to do with you. But you can see his reasoning – Take a girl, and not a bad looking one at that, and have her sleep with either the crew, who’d probably rape her so bad she wouldn’t ever forgive him, or himself, so he could work his charm on her. Yeah, tough choice… “And, just curious, if I’m sleeping in here, where in here and where’ll you be sleeping?” you say, wording the question carefully. “You’ll be sleepin’ in the bed o’ course.” He says, looking at you like he can’t believe you didn’t figure that out on your own. “And you…?” you encourage. “In me bed o’ course.” He says, grinning even wider, if that was possible. ‘Beat that mom! You can sleep with Michael Waltrip anytime you want; you’re only sleeping in a shirt! I’m sleeping with Jack Sparrow! Literally! Whoa…where’d that come from? How do I even remember that? I haven’t talked to Mom in ages. That was 11 years ago!’ you scream in your mind, then frown. Jack notices you frown and his smile falters. “Something wrong? If ye really-” he begins, but you cut him off. “Oh, no. I was just thinking about how I… nevermind. I was thinking about something that happened with my mom and me when I was little. It doesn’t matter.” You say, figuring a little bit of the truth won’t hurt. “All right, then. Now that that’s settled, what did ye do?” Jack asks, clearing his throat and waiting for an answer. “What do you mean?” you ask back. “Well, you said ye were a pirate. What was yer part in the crew?” he says, finally making sense. “Oh. Quartermaster.” You say. “Well that ain’t gonna work.” “What do you mean?” “I mean I already have a quartermaster, Mr. Gibbs.” He answers. You frown. “Okay then.” Both of you stay quiet for a moment, trying to think of what you could do while aboard the Pearl. ‘I’m good at maps. Okay at maps, so navigating is good. I suck at cleaning. Logical, okay in history, fairly strong, smart, sneaky, good judge of character… hmm…’ “Oh, I could be Captain’s assistant.” You say, a little more excitedly than you had meant to. Jack grins at you cheekily again. “I’d have no objections te tha’, but wha’ exactly does it mean ye’d be doin’?” he says, beginning to walk around you in a condescending manner that could only be sexy on him. You can feel the heat beginning to rise in your cheeks, but decide to play it off like you’re not blushing. “Well, I would-” you start, trying to think of how to word this with no possible sexual connotations, and ignore the voices in your head. ‘First, I’d make you- oh no! Bad thought, bad naughty thought! Must be maidenly…’ “Do small chores for you, like getting food or running messages, help with map navigation, make sure the crew’s not talking about certain things behind your back… stuff like mutiny… Anything, really.” You know you’ve struck a nerve with the word mutiny, your just not sure if it’s a good nerve or a bad nerve. But, in the time being, Jack has decided to ignore the mutiny bit and pay attention to your last sentence. “Anything, really?” he repeats suggestively. Okay, really bad day to wear white shirt and black bra. It’s only leading to dirty thoughts from hot pirates. Which isn’t all that bad really. If only you cared less about your virginity! “With in reasonable limits. No sexual favors. Whatsoever, especially since I hardly know you, Captain.” You say, not even changing your tone when you say sexual. You were sure you’d have giggled or done something stupid like that. Snaps for Arianna! “Any chance of reconsidering, since you will know me better? Seeing as you’ll be aboard for at least six more months.” He asks, stopping his circle directly in front of you. You look up at the ceiling, as if in deep thought, before answering with supreme candor. “Possibly, quite possibly. But I’m not a whore, so it’s not like you could use me and lose me. I’m clingy with the right guys. But that’s only if you could get me to that point. I doubt it, though. You’d have to make me practically fall in love with you before any sexual favors. I’m kind of… old fashioned.” You say, nearly laughing out loud. Love was a pretty modern concept, wasn’t it? Your statement, however, has made no difference to Jack’s little spark of hope. He’s still smirking, probably because you said ‘quite’ and ‘possibly’. “I like challenges. And, you lost the last bet, so I’m feeling quite confident in my abilities.” He says, relishing his small victory. You raise an eyebrow; did he really think that making you fall in love with him was a bet? Well, heck, you’d bet against yourself in that one! He was your second major crush ever! Of course you’d fall in love with him! “Uh-huh. But back to reality, and the near future, what did ye say to captain’s assistant officially?” you ask, steering away from the other heated subject. “All right. But no snitching-” “I’m not a snitch, I’d only alert you to talk of mutiny or murder among crew members.” You interrupt him. “All right then. Captain’s assistant, it is. And as yer first order, I’m askin’ ye to put on a shirt. Ye can’t walk around the deck in that. Be too distractin’ fer the crew. You can borrow one o’ mine, right over there in tha’ room.” He says, nodding towards a partially open door. You smile and head over towards it; taking care to notice that he’s following you. You push the door open and look around for where the shirts would be as Jack speaks up. “Oh, and this’ll be the bedroom, if ye were wonderin’.” He says, and you glance at the bed. It’s a good size, probably between a full and queen, and stands about three feet tall, decorated with a cotton blanket and two pillows that are bunched up at the head of the bed. You can’t help but be grateful that there’s only a blanket because you can’t stand sheets, but have to wonder why the bed is so plain compared to the rest of the room. Maybe because it’s a light cotton color while the rest is a rich red wood? That must be it… “And the shirt I can borrow would be where?” you ask, deciding it would be better not to poke around when he was standing right behind you so conveniently. He gently guides you out of the doorway and walks over to a dresser on the right side of the room. Well, duh. Shirts in the dresser, how original. He pulls out a shirt, a light colored one similar to his and probably as wrinkled. He hands it to you and you pull it over your current clothing, which has dried quite nicely since standing in the cabin with the captain. It hangs comfortably on you and you decide not to tie the lace in the front, seeing as it wouldn’t do much. Jack looks over you for what seems the umpteenth time today and gives a small nod of approval. You smile at him gratefully and stand up straight. “So, what’re my second orders?” you ask. “Well, I guess you’ll be needin’ to follow me while I steer the ship, in case I need ye to run Gibbs a message. Or in case I need rum. Or in case-” “How about we say just in case?” you cut off his speculations. He smiles and motions you to go ahead of him. “After you.” You say, motioning him ahead in retaliation. “Ladies first.” He says, his movements even more erratic as he motions you ahead again. “If you insist.” You say. You were stubborn, but you weren’t going to spend all day on this. “Oh, I do, love. I do…” * * * * * CHAPTER 3 - Cote D'Ivoire All right, now you know he's doing this for fun. You are now on your way across the deck to ask Gibbs for a rum count, for the fourth time in two hours. The first time, it was logical. The second, it looked like Jack's usual daftness. The third was cute. Four times, and you're bloody tired of walking across the deck. However, you bear your burden, not being one to complain if it doesn't hurt or itch, and walk up to Gibbs. "Let me guess, our dear Captain would like te know 'ow 'is precious rum be doin'?" he says, smiling slightly. You're glad to know he's still amused by this. "Yep. I think I'll come down with you this time. Beats the heck out of standing around up here anyway," you say lightly. Well, it does. Gibbs shrugs and makes his way to the galley, not saying much until the two of you are on the stairs. "So lass, where did ye come from? I'm takin' it yer not Aphrodite." He asks over his shoulder as he makes his way to the rum pantry. "Now what would give you that idea? What ever makes you think I'm not born of sea foam and over five thousand years old?" you gibe as Gibbs opens the rum pantry. You should've known Jack would have a whole bloody closet full of rum. But then again, you're not one to complain. You enjoy the stuff as much as the next person. Well, as long as that next person isn't Jack. "I can't imagine, but I just have a feeling." He says smiling at you. "Well I come from…a place you've never been, I'll guarantee you that. But I'd like to leave it at that." you say in all honesty. "Each to their own then." He mumbles, turning to count the crates to his left. You look around curiously, noting that there are three locks on the door. "So what would be yer name then?" Gibbs asks, acknowledging your lack of speech. "Arianna Nicole Heron." You say, hoping he doesn't make any cracks about your last name. "So ye are Greek then?" he says, glancing at you to find that you're staring intensely at a crate of open rum bottles. "Hmm?" you ask, looking up. "Nicole. S' Greek. From the goddess of victory- Nike. Direct translation, means Victory." He explains nonchalantly. "Oh, yeah. No, I think my mom just liked the name." You always knew you liked Gibbs. Greek mythology was your favorite part of school. If they had ever made a TV show about Ancient Greece you would have watched it everyday. Which was saying a lot, because it probably would have been a soap opera. Melodrama ahoy! That would have been the catch phrase. "Ah well, fate has funny ways and destiny will have its course." He says, counting the bottles in the crate you've been staring at. "And one mans luck can change it all." You say, smiling as he closes the rum pantry, locking it and pocketing the keys. "What would you be sayin' bout luck?" Gibbs asks, eyeing you warily as you walk up the stairs out of the galley. "Well I'd say I'm fairly lucky- being saved and all. Not to mention that by being here I don't have to go where I was headed before- someplace I didn't want to go. Plus, the captain seems like a fair man. Things that happened to me before I got here were lucky too. As far as luck goes." You say, remembering your last run-in with, well, we'll go into that later. Gibbs nods and you look over at the Captain standing at the helm. "Five crates and twenty-nine bottles." he says, nodding at you. A thought suddenly pops into your head. "Gibbs, I have a question." you say. "Aye?" he says. "Well, I take it you've been around the captain for a while, right?" "Right...I don' see where yer goin' with this, lass." "Well, is it normal for him to do this?" you ask, not quite to your point yet. "Ah, thinkin' the Captain's a bit daft, are ye?" he says laughing. "I wouldn't imagine I'd have to think very hard to get that impression, but no. I mean, is this normal for him - going to check on his rum four times in two hours?" "He's always been a bit... zealous when it came to the rum, but now tha' ye mention it, no. Twice a day or so is as many as it's checked usually." he says, one of his eyes squinting like they did when he was talking to Will about Jack's first marooning. "Uh-huh. Just wondering. Hey Gibbs?" "Aye?" "Would the Captain ever... severely punish someone who made him mad?" "If yer worried about bein' flogged, the Captain's temper ain't tha' bad. Ye've got nothing to worry about. He wouldn't beat a lady anyway." "But I'm not exactly a 'lady'." "Yer the closest thin' te one on this ship." He smiles. "Uh-huh. Thank you Mr. Gibbs, I should be getting over to the Captain before he goes into convulsions. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon." You say sarcastically. "Right then, lass." He nods and you head off. Smiling, you make your way to the helm, where the said, and sexy, Captain awaits you eagerly. You reach the helm and promptly return his gracious smile upon your 'arrival'. You adjust yourself comfortably on a wooden crate to the left of the wheel and look at him, then the sea, then the deck, and continue making varied glances about your surroundings. After a few moments of this charade he looks over at you pointedly. "What?" you ask, feigning ignorance. "Well?" he encourages, looking intently in your direction. "Well what?" you say. He's already on the verge of twitching over his poor rum. "The rum?" "What about it?" "How much is there?" "Of what?" "The rum!" he cries, concluding you were floating in the ocean a lot longer than he'd originally thought. "Oh. Am I supposed to remember that?" you ask, finally locking eyes with him. His eyes are dilated to a comical size and your only thought is seeing a bootleg copy of Shrek2 with the kitty and the big eyes. "Yes!" He's almost whimpering. You're not sure how much longer you can keep this up. He really looks adorable like this, all flustered and pouty, but you know the agony is killing him and you don't want that. "Oh, so I suppose you'd like me to tell you, huh?" "That'd be the point, love." He says, trying to calm himself down. "Oh. Well then, five…" you let your voice trail off for a few more moments of intense torture, laying a finger on your lips contemplatively. The good Captain is just staring at you, as if his very life is in the balance. "Crates and twenty-nine bottles, if you must know. But you should have known, seeing as I told you the exact same thing only twenty minutes ago. Really, if you have to check on your rum that often, why not just build a room for it right here on the helm?" "I'll have to consider that. And if ye ever do that again, I'll be forced to send you back to where we found you." "Uh-huh. All right, all right, I won't do it again. Promise on a dime, swear on my heart." You sigh. Jack raises an eyebrow. "Promise on a dime, swear on your heart?" "Don't ask." You shake your head. "Fine, then." he shrugs. "So where are we headed?" you inquire, moving from your seat on the crates to the right side of the Captain. "At the moment?" "Yeah. When else?" you say, laughing a bit. No, you had meant in fourteen years. Honestly… "Well, at the moment, Grenada and then we'll be off for The Ivory Coast." He states, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Cote d'Ivoire. Good times, good times. I suppose it's a French territory right now?" you ask conversationally. "Sadly, yes. But then again, that makes it all the more fun to… profit from." He says, glancing at you with a sideways smile. "I take it you don't like the French?" you say, full well knowing the answer. "Not especially, love. Fascist pigs really. Not to mention that they're all eunuchs." He adds, scrunching his nose distastefully. You make a sound of understanding. He really wasn't going to give up that whole eunuch idea, was he? But than again, you weren't sure he knew was a fascist was, so at least eunuch was a little closer to his level of thinking. 'What the hell am I saying? He probably thinks more than I do. Just because he appears inebriated doesn't mean he's an idiot. I hardly knew what a fascist was before Dressed to Kill.' "What's in Grenada?" you ask, not really realizing the question had formed in your head or even been sent to your mouth. 'And I wonder why I'm always getting shot at. Mouth's as fast as my head, maybe faster.' "Ye'll jest have te wait an' see, won't ye?" he says, a mischievous glint reflecting in his eyes as he looks over at you humorously. "I guess I will. How much longer do I have to wait?" you ask. You always hated it when people told you that. But you had become patient since running off to the Caribbean, and, besides, how could you really hate Captain Jack Sparrow? 'I couldn't.' "We should be there by tomorrow, late morning, maybe early afternoon. We're in no real rush, so it don't matter." He answers, tilting his head to the side in calculation. "Just the way I like it." You say happily. "Hmm?" Jack inquires, looking at you with a slight smirk. Well this is reminiscent of Chemistry class in ninth grade, wow. Testosterone middle-age pirate twisting your words into sexual connotations instead of a hormonal teenager. "No rush. Rushing is no way to enjoy life. Stop and see the sunset, smell the roses, all that poetic crap." You say. "Couldn't have said it better meself." He smiles, his eyes still mocking you with the openness of your previous statement. 'I ought to wipe that smile right off his face.' And you have just the right way too… * * * * * CHAPTER 4 - Blue Jeans and Busted Brains The last three and a half hours have passed quite uneventfully. Much to your surprise, and relief, Jack hasn't asked you to do a single chore. In fact, he's hardly said a single thing to you. Somehow, this isn't quite to your dismay as it gives you plenty of time to scheme. You had come up with a few miniscule things, like shoving him overboard, before a thought crossed your mind. Why were you scheming again? Well, to wipe that silly - yet extremely sexy - grin off his face, sure, but what exactly had Jack done to you? Oh right, he made you walk across the bloody deck four friggin' times. Then it hits you- Jack may have been genuinely concerned for his rum when it came right down to it, but might his reason for sending you have been… something other than rum? Perhaps something like watching you walk over to Gibbs. With your rear facing him. You know they don't have blue jeans in the seventeenth century, much less anything as tight as the ones you were wearing. And even if they did, what would be the odds a woman would be wearing them? If there isn't a frustrated stream of steam rising from your forehead like in the animes, you'll be darned. So, now you have your reason, but what to do? You could fake walking in on him while he's changing. Nah, you doubt he'd mind. On the contrary, his grin would probably only grow wider. Not to mention the urge to jump him if he's standing naked in his cabin might be a little more than you could handle. Maybe crash a party he has with any 'lady' friends? Not something you'll go into willingly. You could… steal his hat! Ooh, that could be fun! No, too juvenile. Not to mention that he could overpower you physically, of that you're pretty sure. What to do, what to do, what to do… Oh gee, make a mental list. 1. Walk in on him changing, no. 2. Lady friend, no. 3. Steal his hat, no. 4. Commandeer the ship, no. Bad idea, you could be thrown overboard for that. 5. Be flirty and then not put out, no. That was just natural. 6. Confuse him with your cunning guise, no. Not scheme-y enough. 7. Steal his compass, no. Not sinister enough. 8. Steal his rum, no. Back to stealing, not to mention that even you're not that cruel. Oh dear, this is a lot harder than you'd thought it'd be. Pondering a few more minutes a wonderful idea pops into your head. And not to mention, he may not even know it was you if you do it right. ::30 minutes later:: You've spent the last thirty minutes mulling over how exactly to pull off your little prank. You've thoroughly inspected the mischief from every possible angle and successfully planned it down to a T, well, for the most part, at least. You smother the Cheshire-like grin threatening to break onto your face as you set eyes on Jack. The Pearl's captain stands majestically at her wheel, fully enjoying the time spent on his ship at the helm. As if sensing your gaze, his own slides over to look at you. You offer him the sincerest smile you can manage and he offers one in return before tilting his head up to the sky, gazing at the sun. "S'bout time fer dinner. You could head down to the galley fer a bite, if ye want." He suggests. You look out on the deck and notice that hardly anyone resides on the main level anymore. Had you really been thinking that hard? "You're not coming?" you ask, truly curious. "I suppose I could. As a matter o' fact, I believe I will." He answers, coming to the decision… decidedly. Hm, how characteristic of a decision, go figure. He straightens himself and throws a rope over one of the wheel's grips to hold course. "After you, Captain." You motion to the stairs leading off the helm. "I do believe I've already insisted ladies go first." He contradicts smoothly. "But I'm not a lady." You say stubbornly. "Yes you a-" Jack begins. "No, I'm not a lady. Lass, girl, woman, chick, female, and even wench fit me better than lady. I wasn't raised as a lady, nor do I wish I had been. Please, don't call me a lady." You state irritated, though you're not sure why you detest being called a lady all of the sudden. "You forgot one, love." Jack says slyly. "Oh, and love." you roll your eyes. "No, not that." He says, smiling a bit. "What, darling?" you ask. "No." Jack replies simply, apparently enjoying your confusion. "Whore?" you say, running out of guesses. "Are you?" Jack asks, slightly raising his eyebrows. "No… uh... the fairer sex?" you supply, remembering a line in 'From Hell'. Jack shakes his head 'no' and waits for you to continue. "I give up, I don't know. What is it?" you admit, slightly annoyed at your own lame defeat. Jack smirks victoriously and saunters past you to the stairway. "Pirate." He whispers in your ear as he passes you and you tilt your head to the sky in vexation - why hadn't you thought of that? The whole ordeal has only fueled your desire to go through with you little scheme. You vehemently exhale through clenched teeth and thank the gods on his behalf that he's so handsome and quite the persona, or you'd have killed him already. You turn around and walk down the stairs, to find Jack waiting for you, or rather walking slowly so that you can catch up but he doesn't have to stop. You walk with Jack across the deck and down to the galley, where the rest of the crew has already gathered. They're all sitting at one long table and you smile - this is the same way the galley was on your ship. Or is. Or is going to be. Blast, you haven't quite gotten the hang of all these tenses. Jack meanders up to his place at the head of the table, his crew throwing him uncaring glances. You spot Gibbs but don't see AnaMaria and come to one conclusion - Jack must have finally given her a ship. Jack motions you a seat on his left and you stroll down the side of the table smiling at everyone happily and trying to forget about this morning's bra incident. You grab a roll of bread and what you presume to be a chicken leg, and grab a bottle of wine littered about the array of food and pour it in a provided mug. Apparently the Pearl has recently raided a nicer vessel. "And gentlemen, why don't we all thank the men aboard the Admiral's Row for tonight's dinner, eh?" Jack says smiling and winking at you as you laugh for a second. Apparently, you were right. You spend the rest of dinner listening to the banter between the crew and making small comments. You're not quite shy, but it's fun to listen to seeing as they're from a different time period. But you can't help but notice that the topics aren't very different from the ones on your very own ship - you even catch a snippet about a card game played the night before, just like on the Liberator. Less than hour later, you've eaten your fill and everyone else is getting up to go back to work. You glance over at Jack who's downing the last of your wine and glare at him slightly. He smiles and dares you to challenge him. 'Oh no, just you wait. Revenge will be sweet, for me at least.' Your mind says to you, biding you to let it slip by. "I believe you now owe me a drink, Captain." You state with mild amusement, deciding not to challenge him, but possibly move onto a less suspicious platform before your prank. "What? Fer that? There was hardly a swig lef'." He argues. "None the less, it was still mine. Haven't you heard of the three-fold rule?" you counter. "No." he says bluntly. "Anytime you do something wrong, you are charged three times as much, three-fold. I'd say three swigs would be fairly a third of a bottle of rum." You explain. "Nobody said anything about this being out of me rum stash." Jack says accusingly. "Well, what would be the fun in punishing you if it was wine from the crew's rations?" "I suppose…" Jack admits, reluctantly seeing your point. "I'll tell you a bit of a secret." You say in a slightly hushed tone, though none of the crewmembers are lingering in the room. Jack leans his in your direction at your secretive tone. "Hmm?" "I'm a bit… looser when I'm drunk. I'm not saying I'd sleep with you in anymore of a sense than I already am, but I'll guarantee I'm probably more fun intoxicated." You say, and in all honesty, you probably are. Jack contemplates the thought for a moment before 'shrugging' his eyebrows and standing up. "I guess we'll have to see about tha' later tonight, won' we?" "I guess we will." You say affirmatively, knowing if your plan goes right… well, Jack's not gonna feel like sitting around drinking. "So… anything for me to do?" you say conversationally. "Aye, you could help Randall with the dishes." He says, hardly taking anytime to think about the matter. 'No! Not the dishes! I haven't done those in 11 years!' Jack notices your slight pause as you try to think of something to say to get out of this. "As Captain of this ship, I'm orderin' you as a guest on my ship to help wash the dishes." He says, sounding like a condescending bastard. 'Oh…' you fume. 'He is so lucky I'm not revising my plan to involve a tiger trained to maul male pirates.' "Fine… Captain…" you say grudgingly. 'This means war!' your head says animatedly, more for your own entertainment than anything else. ::a few minutes later:: Upon entering the galley's kitchen, you are greeted by a sight and a smell. The smell is one of bread, liquor, and harsh soap, while the sight is one of a lone man standing in front of a large bin situated atop a make-shift counter, albeit a table propped up to run lengthwise along a wall. The man is turned to his right so that most of his back faces you and he doesn't notice you come in at all. 'This would be the perfect time to slink away...' you think, but don't - it was your duty to help him, and by God, you were going to do your duty. "Um, hi? I'm supposed to help you with the dishes... Captain's orders..." you say nervously, hoping you don't scare the man and have him go on a killing frenzy. You had heard cabin fever was worse if you stayed below deck... The man turns to look at you, and you wait expectantly. He gives you a passing glance and looks down at the large basin his hands were submerged in, then looks back over at you. You can't help but notice two very prominent scars on his face - one deep scar running about two to three inches across his right cheek, obviously from a sword, and a thick black dash over his left temple. You smile despite yourself at your own musings; you wouldn't challenge this man to a one on one duel unless it was a life or death situation - he had to be six foot and weigh over 250 pounds. He finally makes a decision and looks at you, smiling, as he wipes some of his black hair off his forehead. "Could use all the help I can get, gem." he states earnestly. He called you 'gem'...you knew you liked this guy. "All right, where would ya like me to start?" you say chipperly. "Ye could start by grabbin' that other washbin over there and heavin' over nex' to mine so I can put water in it for ye. This one's too small fer two people to be workin' out of." he advises, nodding to another bin a few feet away from where you stand. You pick up the empty bin with ease and plop it over next to the full one. "Name's Randall, by the way." Randall informs, glancing over at you as he heaves the washbin he's been working out of and tilting it twoards yours. "Yeah, the Captain told me. I'm Arianna. Ari, for short." you say, holding the empty bin as he carefully pours water into it from his own full tub. "Nice te meet ye... So what's a lass like yerself doin' floatin' around in the ocean? Surely you didn't go fer a swim this far out..." he says casually with a laugh, as he hands you a rag and a stack of five or so dishes. You hadn't thought the men were using their plates at dinner, hm. "Nah, I uh... well, ya see... I don't quite know how I ended up here. I was on my way home and something went wrong on my trip - a storm, to be precise - and the next thing I know, I'm here. To tell the truth, I'm not even sure what part of the Caribbean we're in." you say without lying, only... editing the truth to avoid anything related to the time you came from. "That's very odd. But if ye'd like te know, we jest came back from a coast line run by natives in the gulf o' Mexico. We was lookin' fer a Spanish Galleon wreck, but apparently the Captain found something more intriguing. We're headed for Grenada, so I'm guessin' we're somewhere south o' Cuba." He informs you, occasionally flicking his hazel eyes in your direction as you work on scrubbing a few stubborn spots off of the dish in your hand. If you didn't know better, you'd say a few of these spots were even more stubborn than you. "Ah. Thanks, at least I know where I am now. If only I knew how I got where I am. Not that I'm complaining." you add the last bit quickly, hoping the way you had said the previous sentence wouldn't offend him. Randall nods in understanding and you continue to wash dishes in silence. Well, silent enough without your occasional mutterings of contemptment to the dishes. * * * * * CHAPTER 5 - The Cat and the Canary A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies. -Oscar Wilde * * * After twenty minutes of grueling scrubbing, you finish up the dishes in your bin as Randall lazily washes the last one in his. “Randall, do you think it would be alright if I left now? I was going to go see about finding another shirt now that this one’s got water on it…” you ask timidly. It would all be over for you if he suspected you or at least a prank for today would be. “Sure. Ye’ve finished up your work, anyway.” He says, glancing over at your bin. “Thanks.” You say, lingering for a few more minutes to snatch a piece of moldy bread and place it in your pocket when Randall’s not looking. Okay, you are so changing when you wake up. You could tolerate non-cleanliness to a point, and you just crossed that point. You even felt grimy. “What? You’re still here? Go on, get out!” he says, making shooing motions with his hands. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” you say, hurrying out the exit. As soon as you’re out of the galley you head for the bilge. You knew exactly how to handle Jack Sparrow. Or, at least, you think you do… * * * * Thirty minutes later, your plan was in motion and none were the wiser. Jack had just gone in his room after you told him there was water on the seat of his pants. Needless to say, he found it an interesting conversation starter. You smile and walk down on deck to Gibbs, faking interest in his Irish heritage so as to get a look at the mishap from the crew’s point of view. Oh, this was going to be priceless. Or at least, it will be if it goes right. Gibbs is still going on about how his mother told him stories about leprechauns or something when he was ‘just a lad’, but your attention is more focused on the door to Jack’s cabin. Any minute now… Sure enough, your ability of timing hasn’t left you after your ‘trip’ and, on key; you hear a “Holy effing Gods!” from Jack’s cabin. Smothering a grin, you look around to see if anyone else heard it. Gibbs appears to be the only one and he’s glancing carelessly at the door. Luckily, you’re on the opposite side if Mr. Gibbs, facing the door, so he doesn’t quite catch you looking. All of the sudden, the door to Jack’s cabin bursts open and there stands Jack looking very distressed. The only problem being, he’s not wearing any clothes. You actually have to look away, at the horizon, to keep from laughing, and try as you might, it’s not quite working all that well. You know you’d never be able to curb your smile, which is causing your cheek muscles to hurt and the number your unsung laughter is doing on your throat has made you question whether it’s all that wrong to laugh. Oh, this was too perfect. It’s even better than you planned. Only a few seconds pass before you notice a few other members of the crew have stopped to see what Jack’s commotion was all about. He looks over them, positively scathing and you’re sure that there’s fire in his lazy gleam. Though, you’re finding it quite hard to keep your eyes on his face. Your gaze keeps trailing downward and you end up biting your lip after you snorted quietly. “You know what ye did and if I find out which one of ye lowlifes done it, ye’ll be getting one hell of a flogging.” He drawls slowly, retreating back to his room. Gibbs shrugs and you try to figure the best way to keep yourself from incrimination. “That happen often?” You inquire, on the verge of dying in laughter. “Nah, not really. I ‘spect it may’ve been just fer you.” He answers, patting you on the shoulder as he walks off to help the short guy with some ropes. Oh, you need to memorize the crew’s name. Just not now… You glance around as care-free as you possibly can and notice some of the crew is still exchanging confused glances over Jack’s outburst. Oh, how funny. You walk up the stairs to the helm, so that no one can see you, and stay there laughing for a good few minutes. As quietly as possible, of course. You manage to control yourself as you hear the cabin door open again. Biting your lip you position yourself casually against the railing. Jack’s head appears on the stairs and the rest of him follows. ‘Oh God, not the Jim Carrey quotes.’ You think as something about missing pants pops into your head in a very Ace Ventura voice. Regretfully though, Jack is fully dressed again and seems to be in a bit of a better humor. Or at least, he’s not fuming or anything. He looks at you for a moment with an expression you can’t quite place and then again, you’re mind is quite focused on not falling over in a fit of giggles, so that’s quite understandable. As Jack turns his back to you, though, to survey the crew, you can’t help but snicker a little. Without even turning around, Jack knows it’s you. “Shut it,” he warns, and adds lowly, “Keep laughing and you’ll ‘ave a permanent job in the kitchen wif’ Randall.” “What, no flogging?” you ask laughingly. It wasn’t helping your little fit that he had a bit of an English accent when he got upset. “Keep at it, missy, and there will be.” He says, turning his head slightly to glare at you over his shoulder. You smile at him amicable and control your urge to start laughing again; the novelty had worn off anyway… * * * * It was now a couple of hours later, or so you imagined and your entire prank on Jack seems to be utterly forgotten. You had wondered after half an hour how the rat had been getting along. Well, putting a rat in a box with some open rum isn’t the best idea for the rat, but it will scare the utter crap out of the Captain and piss him off to no end. Or at least get him to run out of his cabin with no clothes on. Apparently Jack had been changing when he decided to take a bottle of rum with him back to the helm and your prank had been set in motion in the wrong order. You hadn’t taken into consideration that he might change, but he had and, oh boy, was it a nice little two minutes to log away in your memory forever. Forever and ever. You yawn visibly; tired from everything that’s happened today, excluding the incident with a naked Jack, and glance over at Jack. He looks over at you at the same time by sheer coincidence. “What?” he asks suspiciously. “I was just wondering what time it was.” You say, shrugging like you didn’t care. “It’s about an hour to bed. Why?” he answers quickly. “Oh. I don’t know; I like knowing what time it is.” You answer as another yawn claims you. “How early do ye go to bed in the future, hm?” Jack asks mockingly. “Same as you, it’s just been a long day. And yawning doesn’t necessarily mean you’re tired. It could mean you’re bored as well. “Is that so? I’ll ‘ave to remember that. Why don’t you go ahead to bed? I mean, ye’ve had a long day and all, like you said. You should get comfortable in the cabin anyway.” He suggests. Oh, you bet he was trying to make you feel bad about the rat. Wait, he didn’t know about the rat… Oh well, it was a good idea anyhow. “All right, but only because you suggested it,” You answer, stretching and heading down the stairs. “Good night, love.” He calls to you as you descend. “Night, Captain.” You call back from the bottom of the stairs. You push open the cabin door and close it, not bothering to see if the crew is watching you. Descending the stairs and turning around in the Captain’s cabin, you must admit it’s quite nice. Nicer than the Liberator, which is saying a lot, but not quite as homey as your own ship. You don’t think that could ever be accomplished by any other place. Looking down, you notice, with a hint of relief that you have on your athletic shoes and not some terrible slip-ons as usual. Why that hadn’t occurred to you earlier today, you’re not quite sure. Certainly it was something that would come in handy in the future. Then another strange question crosses your mind; why hadn’t the crew asked about what you were wearing. You know no one was wearing shoes like yours and denim wasn’t invented until the nineteen hundreds. You’d have to worry about it tomorrow, you decide and walk carefully to the door you remember as the bedroom. Pushing it open easily, you walk in and cough a bit. You hadn’t noticed how much it smelled like rum in here. Shaking your head after the onset has worn off, you have to admit, your room smelt like that after almost all of your bad days anyway. It was just such a raw smell, you’d never quite let yourself get used to it. You sit down on the bed, well, plop down really, and kick off your shoes. You peel off your socks after that and tell yourself with much regret that you probably won’t be wearing them tomorrow. Salt water was going to make them stiff and they were still even a bit wet now. It didn’t really matter anyhow, did it? Figuring it didn’t, you take off the over shirt Jack had lent to you and walk over to his dresser. Pulling open one of the drawers, you deposit the shirt and look down. Well, you knew you couldn’t sleep in your bra and a white tank top wasn’t going to do the trick. You flip through the other stacks in the drawer until you find a shirt that looked like the sleeves had been ripped off. Other than that, it looked pretty similar to the one you had on earlier, just with a higher neck. You slip on the shirt and close the drawer. You never had a problem sleeping in pants. You preferred boxers, but you figure it’s best for your own reassurance that you sleep in jeans. After unclasping your bra and taking it off, there’s only the problem of finding a place to hide. Remembering something Angelica had done on one of your trips; you place it inside your shoe and tuck both of them under the edge of the bed. You throw your socks under the bed as well and straighten out the blanket on the bed. You really hope you’re not a cover hog like Angelica was when you were younger. Sighing contentedly, you slip into the bed after blowing out a candle Jack had left on God knows when. The room allows a quiet hum and an echo of the waves just like your room did, only it’s louder here aboard the Black Pearl. The night always seems to make everything seem louder, especially if you were nervous, so maybe it wasn’t really louder; maybe you were just nervous. Either way, you couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive in your current condition and turn on your side, hugging a pillow to your head. “Sweet dreams to me.” You say aloud, hoping to maybe lighten your own spirit. Here comes the night |