Three days later, he told his crew, "If I'm not back in a week … do whatever seems best."

Now he crouched like a thief in the night, stinging from thorns in the governor's rose bushes.  A pirate at a wedding …. As the gay tinkle of music continued he grinned anew.  The looks on their faces - 'ello, Guv'nor, lovely wedding, ennit?  Fancy a bit of punch?  'Ere, let me liven that up with a dollop of rum, ay?  For a moment that mad, delightful impulse was almost too good to resist, but mad did not mean stupid, and so Jack Sparrow stayed put.  Or at least he stayed hidden, once again creeping forward through the garden, his goal a better view of those tall, golden windows.

His thoughts touched upon the newlyweds, yet unseen within that realm of light and music.  Elizabeth Swann.  Keen as a rapier, soft as a rose petal, graceful as her namesake and never quite what she seemed.  Sparrow's gold teeth glinted in a smile that only the stars saw.  You'll have your hands full, Will, me boy.  But then again, Will could surprise a man, too, once he dropped that mask of gently-smiling propriety - and oh, it could drop quick as a razorblade.

That had warmed Jack's black heart to see, the fire of the father still simmering in the son.  Young Will was oft times hampered by all that honor and chivalry balderdash, and insisted on drawing forth the better angels of Sparrow's nature - angels which Jack preferred to keep too drunk or too distracted to bother him.  Will simply could not see the sheer sport to be had in outfoxing the buffoons of the world, the glee of fleecing fat, complacent men who thought they were clever and that their station by birth somehow elevated them above others.  But for a stroke of blind luck, any one of such pompous fools could have been born in a gutter or a London slum.  Oh, it was delicious to leave them helplessly raging at the loss of their gold and riches.  Sparrow had known the hard heel of the world enough, and he felt no pity save for those to whom pity was truly due.

No, position did not make a better man, and perhaps that was why Sparrow could respect the son of Bootstrap Bill: the lad was as common as they came, but he believed in himself and he stood fast for what he held to be right.  Like his father, Will Turner was born with more nobility naturally in his blood, than any landed gentry could ever hope to claim.

Ah, and Elizabeth … born to the very aristocracy that Sparrow found so little use for, and yet she possessed a rare fire and truth of spirit and plain be-damned sense of self that should be the envy of all noblewomen.  He was pleased to no end that she so defied convention to answer the call of her heart.  They deserved each other, in the truest sense of the phrase, and though Jack was no romantic he knew truth when it slapped him in the face.  Had fate led those two lovers to any other path, he would have cursed to his last breath the blind stupidity of a world that only valued treasure when it could be run between the fingers.

Hibiscus, that was what he smelled now, the heady fragrance making him think of lying warmly beneath a fat Caribbean moon, with a willing lass and no care but the moment at hand.  The music had stopped, voices rising in a murmuring wave of genteel cheer, and he could see people moving around the lighted room.  What they really needed was someone to leap out in a high-stepping, knee-cracking jig; that would be just the thing to liven up festivities.  After all, this was a wedding!  Rum and dancing, that's what a wedding should be, not tripping daintily about in silk stockings and buckle shoes.

And then he saw them.  They were beautiful.  The thought astonished him even as it formed and fled.  Commodore Norrington was there, too, in all his starched and polished finery, and the man was actually smiling as he handed Elizabeth back to the groom.  The newlyweds smiled in return, speaking some friendly reply.  Elizabeth glowed like silk and ivory, as if the very light of the room sought her and caressed every elegant line.  Beside her Will Turner stood like a young lord, a prince of lions, tall and poised and meeting every noble face with a smile as steady as a drawn blade.

Sparrow felt a swift, fierce rush of pride as he watched, for he knew that many of the guests wore clothing worth as much as a blacksmith made in a year.  Such as now; a portly couple approached the newlyweds, the gentleman's coat stitched in an obscene amount of gilt ribbon and the lady gowned in enough silk to put sails on a fair-sized boat.  The pirate did not need to hear them to imagine the oh-so-prim tones of their voices.  But Elizabeth simply smiled and Will, Will grinned with charming impudence and said something that startled the gentleman - and then prompted them all into hearty laughter.

A door latch clicked and Sparrow froze, sinking lower into the dark shrubbery.  A bar of light swept the lawn as a brief scent of brandy and something clove-like touched his senses.  Starlight glinted on pristine white uniform piping and matching waistcoat - and wasn't this just lovely, Commodore Norrington had stepped outside for fresh air.  The pirate dared not move, even for the unseen stone biting a chunk out of his knee.  Norrington half-turned and seemed to scan the garden, although what he thought to see in the dark was anybody's guess.  Probably watching for skulking pirates.  Sparrow held his breath, literally, as the man's gaze passed over his hiding place - looked right at him, blast it all! - and then moved on.  A moment more, then Norrington about-faced and stepped back inside.  The pirate barely breathed until through the window he saw Norrington once more, doing nothing more dramatic than dipping a glass of punch.

Relief nearly washed the starch out of him, and Jack sank back with a long, bitter sigh.  Here he was, hiding in the dark watching someone else's party.  What did you expect, Sparrow?  That they would somehow know you were here?  That they would rush to welcome you inside with a plate of dainties and a glass of punch?  Of course not; and here he sat, watching from alone in the dark whilst others went on with their gay and well-fed lives.  Fool and fool, and fool again.

However, he had his proof.  There was still a bit of justice in this grubby ol' world.  Blacksmiths could wed a nobleman's daughter, and a good man could stand straight and proud simply because he knew he was, in all ways that mattered, a good man.  Those were measures to which Jack Sparrow never held himself nor felt a need to.  He did what was right by him, and betimes he had inadvertently done what was right for someone else.  Nobility was no part of him, though, and he would make no claims on it.  But a good man had wed a fine woman, and one corner of the world would rest well tonight.  As for the trifles he had brought with him, as planned he would find a place to leave them, so they would be found on the morrow.  Let that be enough.

He began to move again, crouched like some lanky monkey in a tattered sash and tricorn hat, easing across the lawn and back into the rose bushes.  The door opened again.  Jack sank down and was still.  Two silhouettes there were, man and woman, and they came out and closed the door behind them.  Blast and blast!  Their footsteps tapped quietly closer on the flagstone path and Sparrow tried very hard to think like a rose bush.

"Jack!"

The hissed sound nearly shocked his heart right into his throat.

"Jack?"  The woman's whisper was softer and he was on his feet before he knew he had given his body permission to stand.

They were here.  Limned in lantern light and staring at him as if he had just popped out of a magic lamp.  Hard fingers seized Jack's arm and turned him bodily around.

"Hurry, this way!"

Down a set of steps they pattered until a hedge stood between them and the house.  That same hand grabbed him again and spun him to face the new Mr. and Mrs. Turner.

"Jack, are you mad?"  Will's whisper shot into a near squeak.  "The commodore saw you - what were you thinking?"

"That I simply adore weddings?" Sparrow replied, and stepped back to brush fastidiously at his abused sleeves.  "Really, Will, this whole affair has you nearly in hysterics."

"Hyst - Jack, if you're found -."

"Yes, yes, they'll shoot me, hang me, throw me to the dogs, I know all that.  But -."  He ceased his primping to offer a smile that glittered even in the dark.  "They won't find me, now will they?  Say, what's this old tradition I hear about kissin' the bride, ay?"

"Jack," said Elizabeth, and a soft laugh hummed in her throat.  "You are incorrigible."

"Pirate?" he reminded her.

With that he swept his arm around her tiny waist, around the delectable firmness of a light corset beneath satin, and she squeaked in surprise as he hauled her close.  There he paused, breathing the clean fragrance of lavender.  Her lovely face was just inches away, sculpted in starlight and soft shadow and her eyes were luminous.  Strange, that what he suddenly wanted was none of the things a man usually wanted, when he had a lovely woman in his grasp.  Instead, Sparrow felt as if he held something so precious that his rough hands might shatter it at a touch, and his heart turned queerly in his chest.  When he spoke his voice held a solemnity that the two young people had seldom heard.

"And you, Mrs. Turner, have never been more beautiful."

She lifted her face for his kiss, a brief, chaste brush against soft lips, and he let her go.  When he faced Will again, he could see the smile playing on the young blacksmith's face, between the dapper lines of thin goatee and moustache.  Then in the light of distant lanterns Sparrow fancied he saw another handsome face, like but unlike, older, but with that same light kindled in dancing brown eyes of humor, tolerance, brotherly affection.

Gruffly Jack said, "You done well, boy," and reached to firmly clasp the young man's hand.  "Though it took you bloody long enough."

White teeth flashed in a wide grin.  "Yes, but we sent the invitations well enough in advance, don't you think?"

"What I think," Elizabeth interrupted neatly, "is that Jack Sparrow is a very dear fool, and I wish we had at least thought to bring him a piece of wedding cake.  It's quite good, really, with lots of spices and just a splash of rum."

"Rum?"  Sparrow pivoted to face her and grinned eagerly as he curled his fingers in grabby claws.  "Never mind the cake; I'll take the rum.  You don't by any chance 'ave a bottle stowed in those petticoats, do you?"

"So sorry, Jack," she laughed, and he pressed a hand to his breast with a great sigh.

Then he caught himself and raised a forefinger for their attention.  "Ah, but lest you think me base, I did not come to your nuptial soiree empty-handed."

He dipped his fingers into his coat pocket and pulled out a small and grubby-looking sack.  "A trifle," Jack said, "but it was the best I could do whilst out-running thirty irate Chinamen, four Royal Guards and a cook with a formidably large cleaver.  Word to the wise: never skip out on a meal when dining in Barbados."

Will laughed as he held out his hand - and looked surprised at the weight. Elizabeth leaned close as he hefted the sack to test the contents then loosened the drawstrings.  He up-ended it over his palm, and a gleaming, apple-sized object dropped out.

"Oh …" Elizabeth reached to pick it up, holding it for a transient beam of lantern light.

"'Ave either of you been to Barbados?" Sparrow asked, hands hooked in his sash as he blithely gazed up at the stars.  "Remarkable place, very nearly civilized in spots, but properly boisterous in others."

"Jack …" Will cupped his hand beneath Elizabeth's, the two of them cradling the exquisite sculpture that starlight and lamplight revealed.

"A man there once tried to sell me a woman who was only three feet tall.  Three feet tall, but perfectly formed.  Did I ever tell you that?" 

"This is beautiful.  It …."  Elizabeth's fingers were alabaster in the shadows, cupping a piece more precious yet.

As she held the figurine, Will's craftsman's hand reverently traced smooth curves and delicate carving.  Formed in flawless stone were two swans, forever entwined in graceful curves of neck and wing that somehow suggested the shape of a heart, and most certainly captured the eternal oneness of love.  A priceless gift … from an uncouth, ne'er-do-well pirate.

"Of course," Sparrow went on, "his asking price was completely absurd, so regretfully, I had to decline his offer."

"Jack, what stone is this?"

"Oh, it's jade.  Green rock.  A pity that was, though.  She 'ad the most perfect little hands and a tiny little waist.  Would 'ave been a woman who always looked up to me."

"Jack …"

Sparrow ceased his monologue.  "Aye?"

"Thank you," said Will softly.

Elizabeth moved and Jack yelped as she wrapped a lavender-scented hug around his neck.  To his further disconcertion another arm, much stronger, clamped around him from the other side and squashed him into an embrace that did not smell of lavender.  Which was all very odd.  And not a bit unpleasant.  But for form's sake he clapped a scowl on his face as they stepped back.

"'Ere, now, a simple thank you note would 'ave served."

Will's hand remained lightly on Sparrow's shoulder.  "Jack, if you'll wait we'll bring you out something to eat.  And some rum, if it can be found."

"No, mate."  Sparrow stepped back, gently freeing himself of hindrance.  "Any moment now your commodore will burst out with a dozen Royal Marines at his heels."

"He won't," Elizabeth protested.  "Not here, not now."

"Time to go, lass."  He took another backwards step, and gave his cheekiest grin as he lifted both forefingers in warning.  "A pirate wastes no wind, love, and if I linger I may just abscond with the bride."

"Jack …" Even in this pallid light distress was clear on Will's face.  "I'm sorry - I wish -."

"Don't.  I got what I come for."  His tone gentled as Sparrow stepped again, retreating into shadow.  "I saw you two 'appy."

They could no longer see to read the look on his face.  There was only his silhouette and a brief glimpse of white where his coat opened to expose his shirt.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Will flinched as something flew at him from the dark and he caught it with a clink.  A purse, a surprisingly heavy purse, and he need not open it to feel the weight of coin within.

"Jack -."

"Cheerio, Mr. and Mrs. Turner.  Oh, and watch out for the punch.  I saw a gent tippin' 'is flask over it three separate times."

Then he was gone.  Elizabeth leaned into the circle of her husband's arm and sighed.

"Pirate gold," Will said softly, and smiled as he hefted the purse.

"Just what our wedding needed, I think," said Elizabeth, and looked up at him with a slow, warm smile.  "I want to always have a rogue or two in my life."

"Then you shall, for I will always be here."

They spoke no more for quite some time, or at least spoke not with words.

~ FINIS ~

A/N: There are a couple descriptive terms that get used twice, once in each part.  They're supposed to be there.  :-)