This is a day late, I apologize! Plz enjoy!

The rum cellar was wide and damp, lined with rotting shelves and dusty barrels. A series of crates held a plethora of alcohol. Although pale light streamed in from the hatch, it felt still and dark.

Perfect. Feeling invisible fingers clamping around her throat, Joanna sank breathlessly into the silence. She situated herself in between two crates, hugged her knees to her chest, and cried.

Joanna wasn't one to indulge in self-pity. She rarely shed a tear over anything. But she didn't know what had become of her father, she didn't know what was to become of herself, and most of all, she did know what was to become of Will. It was too much. So, on the pretense of getting herself a drink, Joanna retreated to the cache to wallow in her emotions.

At least there's some privacy on this shitting island, Joanna thought miserably, drawing circles in the dirt with her pointer finger. Sniffling, she raised her head to see her shoddy artwork. She immediately realized she was not, in fact, alone.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered in mortified disbelief. Too incredulous to be upset, she squinted through wet eyes at Jack Sparrow. "Why are you -- how long have you been there?"

"Not long," Jack replied colloquially, as if he hadn't walked in on Joanna weeping herself into a stupor. He raised his hand and meaningfully shook the empty bottle clasped within it. "Ran out."

"That was fast," Joanna said wearily. She buried her face in her knees, groaning in embarrassment and frustration.

Something hard rapped the back of her head. She glanced up irritably. Jack stood before her, delicately bonking her head with a full bottle of rum.

"I'm not drinking that," she vowed hatefully.

Joanna's hope was her dismal mood would send Jack packing. On the contrary, Jack dropped ungracefully to sit before her. He perched his chin in his hand and contemplated Joanna unabashedly.

"Why not?" He asked curiously.

It's none of your business, Joanna silently seethed. Jack must have read the emotion on her face because he began the infuriating process of nosing into Joanna's affairs.

"Elizabeth sees no problem with partaking," Jack mulled over the facts as he saw them. "And she's the bloody bourgeoisie, so 'm not sure what your vexation is." He frowned, then asked warily, "Do you dislike the taste?"

"My father is a drunk," Joanna said flatly, just to shut him up. "He's a drunk and it makes him into a terrible person."

Jack smiled, satisfied as if he had just placed the last piece of a puzzle. "Ah. Why do you think that is, Joanna?"

Joanna glared. Her throat was too tight to reply.

"I think," Jack said, "that drink makes us very honest." As if to prove a point, he took a swig from the bottle he had previously offered Joanna.

"The hell are you trying to say?" Joanna asked, horrified by the hoarseness of her voice.

Jack shrugged. The mouth of the bottle rolled against his lower lip as he spoke. "You're not a terrible person, Joanna -- so being drunk won't make you one."

Joanna fought to keep herself from saying anything damning, but the words spilled out, quiet and incriminating. "You think so?"

"Yes'm," Jack nodded as emphasis, bestowing upon her a small smile. He presented the bottle again. "Don't begrudge yourself the freedom of honesty."

There was no harm in holding a bottle in her hands, so Joanna accepted Jack's offering. She shifted her legs so she could cradle the bottle in her lap. It was short, round, and deep burgundy. It was unthreatening.

Joanna sighed. Jack Sparrow had just made her feel better. Stranger things had happened, she supposed. "I think you just want to know what I'm like when I'm drunk," she said gruffly, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.

Jack wore a Cheshire grin. "I confess to a mite of curiosity."

Joanna trailed a finger around the lip of her bottle -- where Jack's lips had been, she abruptly recalled. "I shudder to imagine an honest Jack Sparrow," she murmured.

"He's a tad susceptible to bursts of philosophical prose," Jack said. Despite herself, Joanna laughed.

Laughter dissolved into companionable silence. Joanna's smile melted into a meditative frown. Resolved, she raised the bottle to her lips.

"I've never had rum before," she cautioned Jack, "so I'm not sure what to expect."

"It's...warm," Jack said in a way that did not reassure Joanna. "Best take a small sip to start." He leaned forward; Joanna stiffened until she realized he was only reaching over her shoulder, securing a drink for himself. "How about we have a toast, darling?"

"To what?" Joanna asked, watching the practiced arc of Jack's thumb as he uprooted the cork of his bottle.

Jack smirked. His hand crept forward, fingers gently sliding over Joanna's wrist; she held her breath as he guided her hand into a toast. "Honesty," Jack answered her question. He released her and clinked their drinks together.

Joanna breathed again. Her heart was fluttering, though not unpleasantly. I can handle more than a measly sip, Joanna thought fiercely. With determination, she raised the bottle and took a generous gulp.

The taste didn't hit immediately. For a split second, Joanna waited -- and then bitterness flooded over her tongue. She swallowed quickly and coughed, her spare hand flying reflexively to her throat.

"Holy shit," she wheezed, eyes watering. "Stop laughing," she told Jack, who did not stop laughing.

"I told you to start small," he said around a splitting grin. "What's the verdict, Miss Joanna?"

"It's hellish," Joanna said, although it was an exaggeration. The taste was vile, but it left a comfortable heat in her mouth. The clement flames seemed to travel all the way into her belly. She understood why Jack enjoyed it.

"This isn't the good stuff," Jack appeased her. "I'm sure you'd like the good stuff."

"What's the difference between the good stuff and the bad stuff?" Joanna asked dubiously.

"Good stuff is sweeter," Jack decided after a moment of wistful thought. He took another drink -- he did not cough and sputter as Joanna had -- and bounced to his feet. "Elizabeth will be wondering if I killed you," he explained long-sufferingly, offering her a hand up.

Joanna took it. She wobbled, feeling pins and needles in her legs, but studiously followed Jack out of the rum cache.

"You think I'm that defenseless?" Joanna asked, just to be contrary.

As if he was a gentleman, Jack offered his hand to guide her up the final stairs. Joanna accepted whilst firmly deciding her blush was a result of the sudden sun. When they faced each other, Jack grinned.

"You're not a pirate yet," he said.

~

"So," Joanna said later, sitting diplomatically between Jack and Elizabeth. The pirate and governor's daughter were prone to launching into argument otherwise. Between Joanna's sly mediating and the welcome warmth of the bonfire, they'd found something like a truce. "The pirates are cursed."

"...Aye," Jack said after a pause, as if Joanna had said something unbelievably stupid.

She sent him a sharp glare. "It's not been explained to me."

Jack thought on it a moment. "Yeah, suppose that's true," he said. He took a long drink of rum and flopped onto his back, lazily facing the dim sky. "Well, 'lizabeth?"

"It's Miss Swann," came Elizabeth's perfunctory reply. She continued tiredly. "The gold, in the chest, is cursed. Those who take it become undead. They cannot die." She shivered despite the muggy air. "They...in the moonlight, they are...shown as they truly are. Skeletons. Rotting."

Joanna's eyes grew wide. A few days ago, she would never have believed such a thing. Now, she touched Elizabeth's shoulder sympathetically. "That's...I'm sorry you went through that, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth quirked a smile over the lip of her bottle. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

With a sigh, Joanna curled her toes into the sand. It was a sad day that immortal, decomposing pirates were not the biggest problem they faced. "Guess not."

Jack spoke suddenly. By now, they'd spent several hours on the island, with Jack steadily drinking his way through them. His words held the beginnings of a slur. "When all the gold's returned to the chest, with a blood sacrifice from all who took from it, the curse'll be lifted." He waved at the sky, fingers tracing the swirling constellations. "'S why they need dear William."

"His father," Joanna murmured. She raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth. "Why'd they think you were a Turner?"

Even in the orange light of the fire, a flush was visible on Elizabeth's cheeks. "One of my handmaidens suggested the pirates intended to kidnap me for ransom," she explained. "I...gave them a different last name, to mislead them."

Joanna grinned. "So you chose Will's."

Elizabeth shrugged, still blushing, and drank her rum.

"Have you drank enough to teach us that damned song?" Jack asked, sitting up. He leaned around Joanna so he could squint at Elizabeth. "I'm bloody bored."

Elizabeth seemed to consider it. Joanna smiled bemusedly at Jack, who practically held his breath in anticipation.

"Fine," Elizabeth said grudgingly. Jack hooted and bounced to his feet, twirling into a pirouette. Joanna ducked out of the way of his sash.

"Watch it," she said through a grin.

Jack rocked on his toes impatiently. "You're in the way. Well, Lizzie? What's the first line?"

~

Rum continued to be consumed. All three of them partook, although Joanna and Elizabeth enjoyed moderation whereas Jack led himself into glorious, consummate inebriation -- glorious, consummate honesty, according to Jack's earlier philosophical whimsy.

Honest Jack liked to dance. He spun and stumbled around the bonfire, belting his favorite lyrics from Elizabeth's song (he was quite stuck on "really bad eggs") and stretching his hands to the stars. He was so immodestly carefree that Elizabeth and Joanna couldn't help but join in, laughing and twirling around the fire until their heads spun.

"We don't give a hoot!" The three of them chorused. It was the same feeling as dangling from the Interceptor, pretending one was a sail.

Joanna felt quite honest herself. Her troubles -- William, her father, the marooning -- seemed miles away. She wanted to be effulgent and bright and wild. She had never felt before as she did on that beach, rollicking so close to a fire that it nearly kissed her toes.

She caught Elizabeth's arms and they spun together, giggling like young girls. "You're so pretty," Joanna told Elizabeth sincerely.

Elizabeth's smile was forthright and wide. "Thank you! So are you."

Jack skidded to a stop beside them, joyfully out of breath. He said factually, "I'm the prettiest."

Elizabeth laughed; Joanna said generously, "Of course."

Quite abruptly, Jack yanked both of them to the ground. Joanna and Elizabeth both yelped in surprise.

"I love this song," Jack exuberantly informed the two of them. "When I get the Pearl back, I'll teach it to the whole crew!" Jack's hands weaved through the air. "An' we'll sing it all the time."

Elizabeth sat on her knees and leaned forward. "And you'll be positively the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish main," she said with zeal.

"Not just the Spanish main, luv," Jack corrected. "The entire ocean. The entire world." He looked into the horizon with a smile as if imagining it. His hand found Joanna's in the sand; she let him take it, glancing at him in pleasant surprise.

"Wherever we want to go, we'll go. That's what a ship is, y'know," Jack said earnestly, looking into Joanna's eyes. "'S not a keel an' a hull an' a deck an' sails. That's what a ship needs. But what a ship is, what the Black Pearl really is..." His gaze drifted over Joanna's shoulder, where the ocean rolled and glistened. "...is freedom."

Joanna realized she was holding her breath. She let it out slowly, unable to drag her eyes away from Jack's arcane expression.

Elizabeth's voice sliced into her thoughts. "It must be really terrible for you to be trapped on this island, Jack," she said coquettishly, inching closer to his side. Joanna eyed her suspiciously.

Jack seemed surprised by Elizabeth's candor, but he was pleased nonetheless by the press of her shoulder against his. "Oh, yes," he agreed. His dark gaze flickered between them. "But the company is, ah, infinitely better than last time, I think."

Joanna realized hastily that her hand was still clasped in his. She jerked it away, feeling the creeping tendrils of sobriety.

"The scenery has definitely improved," Jack continued merrily.

Like Joanna, Elizabeth drew away from him, but the governor's daughter retained her pacifying smile. "Mr. Sparrow," she announced, "I'm not entirely sure I've had enough rum for that kind of talk."

"I know exactly what you mean, luv," Jack concurred. He winked, and Joanna could not believe he would do something so silly, but he curled his mustache.

Joanna had to look away, any unease replaced by a powerful urge to burst into laughter. Elizabeth didn't crack, but her voice was a bit strained when she raised her bottle of rum in a toast. "To freedom!"

Joanna coughed and copied after sifting through the sand for her bottle. "To freedom," she echoed with a smile.

Jack joined in after a moment of thought. "To the Black Pearl," he avowed and proceeded to down his entire bottle.

He toppled over unconscious, braids in his eyes. Joanna and Elizabeth stared at him for a moment before dissolving into quiet giggles.

"Holy shit," Joanna said breathlessly. "That was the funniest thing I have ever seen."

Elizabeth snickered in agreement, a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

When they had calmed down, Joanna nudged Elizabeth's arm. Although Joanna was rather tipsy, she hadn't missed the calculating gleam in Elizabeth's eye. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said with a smirk. "Would you like to help?"

Joanna grinned. "Obviously."

~

Moving everything in storage out of storage was a monumental task. It took Joanna and Elizabeth the rest of the night, taking turns minding the fire to ensure they would still have something to ignite the rum with in the morning. As they hauled crates and barrels, they chatted, sharing the details of their late adventures and shamelessly complaining about the number this particular job was doing on their backs.

The one thing they did not speak of, however, was William. Avoiding the subject of their mutually dear friend did nothing but espouse his absence, but neither of them could bear to bring him up.

"You're sure this will work," Joanna prodded, struck with nerves as they gazed over the finished product. "If it doesn't, we're going to starve to death. It's a bit of a risk."

Elizabeth nodded with determination. "It's been, what? A few days? I promise you the Caribbean is crawling with Navy. They'll see the signal."

"Alright." Joanna bit her lip. "Maybe we set aside a crate or two, though."

Elizabeth sent her a long, glum look. Moving the boxes had been more than draining -- Joanna didn't want to undo any of their work, either. But after a moment of consideration, Elizabeth agreed with Joanna. They dragged some of the crates of rum a safe distance away and maneuvered the kindling a safer distance from some of the palms.

Elizabeth was understandably nervous to carry a flaming stick, so Joanna did the honors. "Here goes," she said and dropped flames onto a barrel soaked with rum.

Joanna quickly darted away from the impending heat, dragging Elizabeth with her. They waited with bated breath as their project caught fire.

The first explosion caught them both by surprise, eliciting startled jumps. The eruption seemed to be a catalyst; in a flash, flames were eating up the palm leaves.

"Woah," Joanna said, hoping there'd be some palm left when the fire died. Elizabeth nodded in wide-eyed agreement.

It was about then Jack discovered their transgressions.

"No! Not good!" He shouted, barreling up the beach toward them. Caught, Joanna and Elizabeth turned to him meekly. "Stop -- not good! What are you doing?" He charged at the fire, stopped once he realized he was charging at a fire, and whipped around to face the guilty party. "You've burned all the food! The shade, the rum!"

"Not all of it," Joanna protested.

Elizabeth raised her chin defiantly. "Yes, the rum is gone."

Jack scampered toward them, hands raised beseechingly. "Why is the rum gone?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. Joanna almost shrunk away from her acidic expression. "One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectful men into complete scoundrels." Jack's face pinched in offense. Elizabeth continued in a hiss, "Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me; do you think there is even the slightest chance they won't see it?"

Jack begged, "But why is the rum gone?"

With an impressive scowl, Elizabeth dropped elegantly to the sand and folded her arms. "Just you wait, Captain Sparrow. Give it one hour, maybe two, and you'll see white sails on that horizon."

"Put that away!" Joanna yelped when Jack, so mad that steam practically hissed from his ears, drew his pistol. "What are you, five?"

Jack cast her an icy glare before charging away, stomping so vigorously his feet elicited clouds of white sand.

After a beat, Joanna said, "That could have been worse."

Elizabeth waved a hand airily. "Proving him wrong will be fun."

"You're so sure?" Joanna asked, lowering herself to sit with Elizabeth.

"I'm positive," Elizabeth replied stolidly. Joanna recalled spinning around a fire with her, saying you're so pretty; she thought that a scheming, confident Elizabeth was even more striking.

Minutes later, Elizabeth's brilliance was proven. When Jack rejoined them, sullen and dragging his feet and muttering about white sails, she grinned at Joanna as if to say, I told you so.