Author's Note: Well, I haven't done a Pirates fic in a while, so I was kind of in the mood to. That, and I entered a fic contest ... so I should prbably write something for it.

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own the characters from Pirates of the Caribbean. They are the property of Disney.

Spades

Jack Sparrow could feel his arm shaking unsteadily, and he was fairly certain that the entire crew could see it, too. Barbossa's eyes glimmered in the yellowish glow of the kerosene lamps, and something in Jack's gut told him he was going to be sick. His mind was fuzzy with alcohol and half-sleep, and he struggled to make sense of his situation. He wondered remotely if he was just dreaming this whole thing. The wind was cool and briny against his face, and the boards of the ship creaked in protest with each little lurch. It was a good night for travel, but the anchor was down.

Barbossa's brow furrowed irritably; he breathed a heavy sigh and nodded down at the object in his hand again. Jack followed his eyes, unwillingly, to the matter before him. His fingers tingled with reluctance; he ran his tongue over his teeth and gazed at it, outstretched and waiting for him. He glared at the ugly, gleaming thing: Barbossa's pistol, but not the fine, mahoghany-handled one he always kept holstered. The lesser gun and its one, pathetic shot were demanding that he forfeit position and ship to his own first mate, and Jack was finding the pair of them difficult to persuade.

"Are you takin' it or not, Jack? 'Cause I'd just as soon toss you as look on you another blightin' minute."

The men chuckled hoarsely; Barbossa smiled his crooked, dull smile. Jack Sparrow cleared his throat, glancing away from the unbudging firearm to those a little more likely to be coaxed.

"This is mutiny," he reminded with an obvious jerk of his eyebrows.

Barbossa shrugged. "We prefer to think of it as...innovative enterprising."

Jack tilted his head, retorting darkly, "Or mutiny."

"Call it what you will," his first mate returned easily. "A spade's a spade."

"And you're a traitor."

Barbossa threw his head back and laughed, his raspy guffahs ringing in Jack's ears. He quieted, catching his breath to speak. "Do the colors lie, or aren't we all traitors on this ship?"

The captain clenched his teeth, struggling through the haze in his head to think.

"Let's bargain, shall we?" he suggested slowly, glancing at the pistol again. "You want the treasure of Cortez? Good and well. I'll give you my portion. With that and your own, you can purchase your own ship. Just let me keep the Pearl."

Barbossa stroked his grizzly chin thoughtfully, eyeing the crew in consideration. Jack breathed a hopeful sigh, his mouth stretching in a temporary smile.

"What say you to that?"

The fist mate shook his head. "It's a hard bargain, true. But in doing that I'd go broke on the ship, and then there's the trouble of puttin' together a faithful crew, and it's just all a load of work when I can take this vessel all fit with a crew already loyal to me for not but your disposal."

The crew snickered again, and Jack watched Barbossa's smirk sour uneasily for a moment. He glanced down at the wooden boards beneath his feet and blinked; Jack felt his throat tighten with urgency.

"You don't have to do this," he entreated quietly. Barbossa's head jerked up, his eyes glinting hard and sure again.

"Your time here's done, Jack." He took a step forward, extending the pistol again.

"It's share and share alike, you said."

The first mate smiled grimly. "Do you tread on me honor? So I said, share and share alike. And look here. You shared the coordinates of the Isla de Muerta, and I share my pistol with you."

Jack swallowed difficultly, gazing at the glimmering handgun again. The soft, silver gleam of the barrel was stinging his eyes just then; he closed them and wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun. He didn't look at the thing as he stuffed it in the waistband of his pants.

"I'll be sure to return it someday."

Barbossa's ugly teeth glinted in a faint smile. "I'll not be losin' sleep over it."

Those hoarse, nerve-grating chuckles assaulted his ears again; he caught a glimpse of Pintel miming a gun to his temple with his hand. The hiss of Barbossa's sword being drawn from its scabbard caught Jack's attention suddenly. An echo of other hissing blades and clicking hammers followed with grim accuracy.

"It's been a pleasure doin' business."

Jack felt them closing in on him; his self-preserving back-steps ended much too soon for his liking. His back was against the rail and Barbossa was leaning, glowering over him. He gripped Jack's shirt collar in his rough, grimy hands, ready to shove him overboard. His eyes were caught on something in the distance.

"I pray you ain't overlooked my mercy, Jack. We found ye your own little personal island, so you can kill yourself on dry land!" Barbossa looked at him again. "So you oughtn't speak ill of me to the Devil."

The captain gripped the railing with white knuckles, hoping to hold his balance a few moments longer. "The worst 'a hell is for betrayers--"

Barbossa raised his brows in a mocking of interest. "Be it so? And which part is for the naive and daft?"

Jack gritted his teeth, digging his nails into the splintering wood. His once-first mate rolled his eyes, his grip slowly loosening on Jack's collar. Jack Sparrow prepared for the shock of water to encompass him.

"I thank you again for those coordinates."

Jack snorted, his fingers uncurling from the rail. "Well. If I had known it would end like this, I never would have told you."

end.