Home. The last five days should have felt like the dream, but pushing through the door of John Brown's smithy felt hazy and unreal.

The smithy bore evidence of a scuffle -- Joanna's scuffle, from the attack on Port Royal. Overturned boxes, disturbed straw. Days ago, Joanna realized. Might as well have been years. She briefly wondered why her father hadn't cleaned up, but then remembered that he was a good-for-nothing drunk.

Honest, Jack had suggested. Joanna didn't want to think of Jack, who would die a week from today. With effort, she pushed the thought of him from her mind.

Someone was cheerful. It was the donkey, shaking happily in its harness and braying as Joanna and Will entered the smithy.

"Aw, have you been fed?" Joanna cooed at it, crouching so she could scratch its nose. "Will, get me the feed."

"I'm not your servant," Will said good-naturedly.

"Yeah, yeah. Get me the feed."

"Fine." Tossing his necktie onto a workable as he went, Will crossed to the backroom. "I can't wait to have a bath."

"God, me too," Joanna groaned, standing. She continued to pet the donkey, wishing it had a name. She'd never been particularly partial to it before -- in fact, she wasn't even sure of its gender. Feeling a prickle of guilt, Joanna awkwardly leaned over to check. Male, then.

Will was taking a long time. Cycling through male names in her head, Joanna trotted to join him in the back storeroom. She could see Will -- spine rigid as usual, staring at something on the ground. "William, we should name the donkey. What do you think about --"

Joanna's suggestion died in her throat.

"Joanna --" Will said hoarsely. He grabbed her arm, squeezing until his knuckles turned ghostly white. "Joanna, he's dead."

Joanna didn't answer. She stared at her father, lying flat on his back, eyes dull and unseeing.

~

Like she had almost a week ago, Joanna crept silently down the stone stairs of the jail. Although the pirate raid was in the past, the air still felt thick with upturned dust and dirt.

Prickling with déjà vu, Joanna peered around the corner and wondered if she would see Jack picking away at the lock.

Jack had been relegated to the same cell he had enjoyed previous to their adventure. The door was replaced with one less penetrable -- Joanna noted no half-pin barrel hinges. Taking no chances, the Navy had even retrofitted the cell with two extra locks.

Jack was not making an attempt at escape -- he was pressed against the insubstantial hole marring the wall of his cell, as if he were trying to stick his head through it.

"What are you doing?" Joanna asked curiously, creeping into the gaol.

Jack turned leisurely, as if he'd known she was there all along. "Smelling the sea. The wind's southerly, today."

The bay was north of the Fort. Joanna supposed a stiff breeze would carry the aroma of salt and fish all the way to Jack's cell. She meant to comment on this -- or perhaps Barbossa's feather, dangling over Jack's shoulder -- but what came out was, "My father is dead."

Jack met her at the door, a sympathetic cloud passing over his face. "I'm sorry, darling."

"Don't be." Joanna clasped her hands around the iron bars, letting them take her weight. She felt like she was the one imprisoned. "Will and I just finished with the coroner. He says his heart must have given up, several days ago." Joanna sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Jack's hands drifted to rest over Joanna's, concealing her trembling fingers. "'S all right."

Joanna laughed bitterly, looking at her feet. They were concealed by a steel-colored skirt. She had changed into something respectable to see the coroner. "It's really not," she said bitterly, wearing a smile she did not feel. "I...think there's something wrong with me."

Jack eyed her warily. "Like what, dear?"

Joanna bit her lip. After a prolonged pause, she said, "I should feel more."

"Darling Anna." Jack said softly, caution melting into compassion. He went on, more assertive. "Everyone's sad in different ways, luv. Some aren't sad at all. And some aren't worth bein' sad over."

"He's dead," Joanna said flatly, trying to convince herself. She finally looked at Jack. His eyes, ringed with fading kohl, were as dark as ever. "I just feel...surprised. I'm angry," she admitted.

Jack said delicately, "From what you've told me, he wasn't very pleasant."

"He wasn't." Joanna said, crestfallen. "He used to be. Before my mother died, he was so different. I would mourn that father, if he had died today. But that man has been gone a long time."

"What was he like?" Jack asked curiously.

Joanna was thoughtful. She hadn't purposefully recalled those days in a long time. "He was funny. Hard-working. Then he became so angry, all the time." Joanna shook her head, frustrated with raw memories. She murmured, "The drinking just made it worse."

The two of them stewed in the viscid silence that results from contemplating a life. Eventually, Jack asked, "How's dear William? Elizabeth?"

"Brown was never particularly kind to Will, but he's been a fixture in his life since Will was ten," Joanna mused. "Will's feeling much the same as I am. As for Elizabeth, I've heard nothing from her -- she and Will are not speaking."

Jack's eyebrows climbed into his headscarf. "After all that?"

"After all that!" Joanna vehemently agreed, throwing her hands into the air. "If Elizabeth marries that Commodore, I'll eat my hat."

Jack murmured absentmindedly, "I miss my hat."

They looked at each other. How had they got from death to hats? In mutual, silent agreement, they dissolved into slightly-hysterical giggles.

~

The next day, Joanna found herself skipping down the stairs of the jail, bursting with news.

Jack was sitting in the very center of his cell. His legs were crossed and his eyes were closed. His hands, palm up, rested on his knees. He was not wearing his waistcoat or boots -- those laid neatly on the stone bench on the right wall.

"Jack," Joanna said eagerly. "I'm not sure what you're doing, but this is essential information."

Jack cracked open one eye. "I'm meditating. If you don't have rum, go away."

"Isn't that what monks do?" Jack did not strike Joanna as religious. "Anyway -- recall how Barbossa named a monkey after you?"

Jack scowled. "Aye."

"We have a donkey, at the smithy, which has been unnamed for many months," Joanna began.

Now she had Jack's full attention. Eyes wide open, his face broke into a grin.

Joanna declared proudly, "As of this morning, we have christened the donkey Barbossa."

"Bloody brilliant of you, luv," Jack pronounced joyfully. His eyes caught on Joanna's wrist as she, flattered and modest, tucked her hair back. "You're wearing the bracelet."

Joanna glanced at it, pleased he had noticed. "Of course. It's very pretty." She indicated her neck and ears, saying regretfully, "The earrings and pearls would attract too much attention, I'm afraid. But I have them in a safe place."

She had gazed at them this morning, full of strange nostalgia. After spending several consecutive days burning with adrenaline and adventure, returning to regular life felt enervated and bland.

"Attracting attention is the point, darling," Jack pompously informed her.

Joanna raised an amused eyebrow. "Maybe for you, Captain. But I enjoy my lack of infamy."

That seemed beyond Jack's comprehension; he looked at her oddly, then asked, "How old are you?"

Joanna flushed. "Five-and-twenty," she warily replied.

Jack tilted his head. Beads clicked. "You're unmarried?"

Joanna resisted her jaw's request to fall to the ground. "What the hell kind of question is that? No, I'm -- I'm not married, obviously."

Jack smiled demurely. "Why?"

"Are you offering?" Flustered and irate, Joanna gaped at him.

"No," Jack said with emphasis, making a face. "I'm jus' trying to get to know you better, dear. Answer my question."

Joanna, vainly offended that Jack considered her such terrible wife material, answered moodily. "Well -- I've never made much of an attempt. It's never been a priority. And..." Joanna hesitated, "I've been told I'm off-putting."

Jack frowned. "Who told you that?"

"It's second-hand information, from Will," Joanna explained, nervously fiddling with the silver band on her wrist. "Apparently, I'm not quite feminine. I swear freely and I enjoy swordplay. That's not a euphemism, Jack," Joanna said tiredly when Jack's smile turned ribald.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Anna," Jack said, bouncing to his feet. He stumbled slightly on his way to joining Joanna at the bars. With a grimy finger, he pointed at her. "You intimidate men by having half a brain."

I'm intimidating, Joanna thought tentatively. She smiled to herself.

She returned to gazing benevolently at Jack. She remarked, not unhappily, "You've ruined all my chances at married life, anyhow."

Jack frowned. "How's that?"

Joanna's gaze turned wry. "Jack, I spent an entire night with you -- a pirate and wanted man -- on a deserted island. As far as society goes, my virtue is ruined."

"Society is bollocks," Jack denoted grimly. "What about 'lizabeth? Has she been cast out, too?"

"She has the Commodore to vouch for her," Joanna said, resisting the urge to sound bitter. Resenting Elizabeth, who had acted only for Will's safety, would be absurdly conceited. To change the subject, Joanna flashed Jack a coquettish smile. "Do I intimidate you?"

"Into nightmares, luv," Jack promised with a smirk. "Difference 'tween me and those others is I find that intriguing."

"Do you," Joanna said with amusement. "Thank you, Jack."

"Anytime, dear."

~

John Brown's funeral was just two days after his death. It was modest, involving only Joanna, Will, and the local priest. Purchasing the coffin and plot dried up much of Joanna and Will's savings.

Joanna threw a handful of dirt over her father. She was brimming with sour-tasting memories. Will did the rest, as silent as the grave he buried. He finished by fastidiously patting the dirt with the flat of the shovel.

"Are you okay, Will?" Joanna asked him quietly, observing the tired line of his back.

Will threw down the shovel. He was sweating, his hands soiled by dirt. "Yeah," he said.

Without looking at it, Will padded carefully around the grave; he came to a stop at Joanna's side. He embraced Joanna without a word.

Joanna held him tightly in return. She thanked God for William Turner.

After the funeral, Will jumped into smithing -- Brown had collected a few commissions in Will's absence. Joanna tentatively asked if Will would enjoy her company, to which Will shook his head.

"You'll just complain of the noise," he said with a wan smile. "Go see Jack."

So Joanna did, still wearing her funeral dress.

~

"Here," Joanna said quietly, sliding a book under the bars.

"You deserve the earth, sun, and stars, darling, thank you," Jack gushed, greedily swiping the book from the dusty stone floor. "Gulliver's Travels! I've always wanted a crack at it."

"Yes," said Joanna distantly.

Jack, laying on his stomach and idly kicking his legs, was already nose deep in Jonathan Swift's novel. He was eager for entertainment after three days of silent walls and only Joanna's brief company. "Have you read it, luv?"

"Mostly," Joanna answered. After consideration, she sat, carefully gathering her black skirts. It was the most expensive dress she had ever made -- black dye was tricky and pricey. More than that, the shoulders and skirt boasted delicate, meticulously embroidered flowers. The tedious work had induced a crick in Joanna's neck.

She hated the dress with a passion.

"Joanna? Darling?"

"Hm?" Joanna blinked, finding Jack's face. "What?"

He squinted at her with pernickety eyes. "You alright, dear?"

Joanna sighed. "I was just thinking that I hate the color black." She flattened her hands over her thighs, examining the flash of silver adorning her left wrist. "The funeral was today."

"Is it your work?" Paper whispered as Jack set the book aside. He scooted closer to the bars, fashioning himself into a sitting position. "The dress."

"Yes," replied Joanna dubiously, thinking it was an odd thing to ask.

Jack rested his forehead against the bars and flicked his eyes over the garment's details: the flowers, the innovative cut of the bodice, the suggestion of pleats in the skirt. "Y'know, luv, you're quite good."

Joanna preened. "I know -- thank you."

Jack chuckled at her confidence. His gaze drifted, warm with nostalgia. "I met a princess, once, who could weave the power of the Gods into her work."

Joanna snorted. "Really, Jack."

"Really," Jack assured her, nodding sagely. "Her name was Amendiris. Is," Jack corrected. Then he looked morose. "Well, I dunno, I suppose. 'S been years."

Joanna was intrigued by his frank emotions. "How did you meet a princess?" She asked with cautious skepticism.

"'Tis a long tale, Anna," Jack warned, but his eyes glimmered.

Joanna smiled, forgetting her maudlin. "You've got the time."

Jack laughed. With Joanna's blessing, he settled into explaining the Legend of Kerma. 

~

the legend of kerma is canon! it's featured in the price of freedom, a potc book that describes jack's journey from eitc employment to piracy. that book slaps. 

thank you for reading! xoxo