Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Marooned

Jack placed his hands behind his head as he stretched out on the sand.

It was still warm under his back, the heat seeping through the linen of his damp shirt.

He wriggled his bare toes and sighed.

"God, I hate Barbossa!"

The angry exclamation was aimed at nobody in particular, as there was nobody else on the island where he'd been for one of the longest days of his life.

Jack flipped over onto his stomach, propping himself onto one elbow and drawing patterns in the sand with his finger.

Then he rose to his feet, brushed down his breeches and walked to the waters edge.

Stooping, he picked up a stone and hurled it as far as he could out to sea.

Then, swearing loudly, he strode furiously up to a group of palm trees and threw himself down, resting his back against the trunk of one.

He sat for several moments, fuming.

Then an idea struck and he pulled his tinderbox out of his sash, discovered it was wet, opened it and waited for it to dry.

As he was waiting, he gathered a large pile of dry seaweed, palm branches and a few coconuts.

During one of his trips, he noticed an iron ring half-covered in the sand.

Upon further investigation, it lifted to reveal a store of some kind.

Curiosity led Jack to descend the ladder.
A wide smile formed as he took in the countless bottles lining the walls of what looked like an underground storehouse.

"Well done, Hector. Well done indeed!" he whispered as he scooped up several bottles.

He carried them back to where he'd formed the pile of fuel for his fire and set them down.

His tinderbox was now dry so he lit the pile of fuel, tended it and soon had a decent fire going.

Then he laid his wet clothes by the fire to dry them and stretched his bare feet towards the flames as he uncorked a bottle of rum.

With a sigh, he took a long swig before reaching for a coconut.

With the help of a large rock, he got it open and savoured every bite of the white flesh before repeating the process on two more.

Propping himself onto one elbow, he swirled the rum around the bottle before draining it.

His hunger satisfied, Jack opened another bottle of rum, hand reaching up to fiddle with the African beads threaded into one of his dreadlocks.

"How the hell to get off here..." he mused aloud, taking a thoughtful sip of rum.

"Option one-Hope my fire gains the attention of a ship.
Option two-Hope whoever hid the rum on this God-forsaken spit of land drops by and decides to get me off as well as thier rum."

Neither were great options, but they were all Jack had.

He took another swig of rum, running a hand over the back of his neck.

The sand was gritty on his bare skin as he shifted himself closer to the fire, raising the bottle to his lips again.

The flickering light danced over the Pirate brand on his wrist, the ugly scar on his forearm and the two musket scars on his chest.

Jack sighed as he pulled his dreadlocks over one shoulder, standing to add fuel to the fire and resuming his position.

He lay back, linking his fingers behind his neck as he gazed up at the darkening sky.

The stars were just starting to come out.
The waves were lapping gently on the shore a stones throw away from where he lay.

Soon the sky was full of stars and Jack recalled nights spent lying with his father on a ship's deck while Teague showed him constellations.

He picked out Orion immediately, then spotted a few others.
In his mind, he could hear his father's Irish-accented voice as he explained each one, a finger tracing thier shape.

Eventually, Jack fell asleep, flat on his back and naked under the stars.

"Well, well,well. Look what we have here:- The great Captain Sparrow, ship-less and as naked as the day he was born-which I remember extremely well."

The voice woke Jack but he didn't open his eyes.

'Well bugger, blast and damn!' He thought in irritation.
'Of all the bloody people to bloody rescue me!'

A toe nudged his side.

"Ye alive boy?"

"Aye," muttered Jack, eyes still closed.

"Good. Now d'ye want off this spit of land or not?"

"Aye," Jack said again, opening his eyes to see his father.

"Yer not getting onto me ship naked."

Something soft landed on his stomach and he stood up and began to dress.

"What the hell are ye doing here?" Teague asked, as he covered the ashes of Jack's fire in sand.

"Taking a holiday," said Jack dryly as he tied his sash and fastened his belt.

Teague stooped and scooped up a pistol.
"One pistol with a single shot? I think yer marrooned, Jackie."

"Well done. Hector mutinied."

Jack pulled his shirt over his head, holding out his hand for the pistol.

Teague returned it, his gaze straying to the bottles lying on the sand.

"There's a rum cache over there," said Jack, guessing what his father's next question was.

Teague shook his head.
"Only ye, with yer famous luck, would get marrooned on an island with a rum cache Jackie," he said affectionately.

Jack smirked.
"Luck of a Sparrow."

Teague snorted.
"I knew yer mum had a reason for that."

"She's a clever woman. Now, are you getting me off here or not?"

Teague gestured to a small rowboat, then to the ship anchored offshore.

"Yer chariot awaits, Jackie boy."

"Don't call me that," Jack said, stepping into his boots.

"I'm yer Da. I'll call ye whatever I please."

"Fine, Teague-y boy."
Jack smirked at his father, dodged the cuff Teague aimed at his head and swaggered over to the boat.

Soon he was climbing onto his father's ship.

Teague stepped aboard after him.
"On deck ye dogs! We're searching for the Black Pearl. Savvy?" he called.

As the crew obeyed thier captain, Jack thanked Teague before wandering off to the cabin set aside for him on the Troubadour.

He lay down on his berth, running a thumb over his pistol with its single shot.

"Soon," he murmured, caressing the weapon.
"Soon I'll put you to your intended use."

A/N
This is the first time Barbossa maroons Jack but I have Teague rescue him instead of rum runners. Savvy?
Have a nice day!
Captain Storm Sparrow.