AN: Uh... warnings for Jack hitting on everyone and everything? And, er, knowing them. This is basically JackxEveryone. And then some. So yeah, boy on boy.

Jack: Mr. Gibbs, it seems we have a need to travel upriver.
Gibbs: By "need" do you mean a trifling need, a fleeting need, more of a passing fancy?
Jack: No. I mean a resolute and unyielding need.

Gibbs and Jack have a bit of a deal worked out. Three knocks, a pause, and then another knock. If the one who is being approached says, "Not tonight," then the one doing the knocking needs to return to his cabin. Posthaste.

However, if the one inside the cabin says something like "Come in" or anything at all that isn't "not tonight", then the one outside the cabin is at his liberty to come in and… er, approach the other in a fashion that is not necessarily typical between a captain and his first mate or at least in a way that is not acknowledged widely as typical.

The first time they carried through with their deal, Jack found himself frowning afterwards. Not in an unsatisfied, that-wasn't-what-I-was-hoping way, but in an I'm-worried-about-the-consequences way.

Which was hardly like him. But he knew how it went. Two people, seeking a little bit of, er, comfort, on those long lonely nights at sea, one is a little more, er, interested, than the other, the other doesn't want anything else, unfortunate tensions ensue when the issue is brought up…

"You, er," said Jack, unsure of how to approach this particular subject, "don't, er, think we're going to, er, allow this to impugn our magnificent chemistry as captain and first mate?"

Gibbs had laughed in his face.

"I'd need to go absolutely stark raving mad first!"

"Well," said Jack, ignoring the stinging blow to his vanity, "that's, er, great, then."

"I think I need a different dress," said Elizabeth, trying to arrange what was left of the one she was wearing so that it was reasonably modest.

"You think so?" said Jack, frowning at her. "But I rather like that one. Now, anyway."

"The battle shredded it!"

"I think it's an improvement," said Jack, leering at her. She grimaced.

And that's as close as he ever gets. From then on, Elizabeth wore mens' clothes.

"You're rather forward," says Norrington, raising an eyebrow and peering down at Jack's hands, which are currently making their way down his shirt. He adjusts his wig and adds, thoughtfully, "I need to be more drunk for this."

His wig is falling apart and sticks out all over the place. His clothes are shredded, and he apparently hasn't slept in several days. He looks positively mad.

This, Jack decides, is probably going to be a point in his own favor.

"Oh, come on," said Jack, who had long since been more than drunk enough. (But it really hadn't taken a lot. Commodore Norrington wasn't a bad-looking man, and the more difficult the, er, knowing was, the more Jack was interested.) "You chased me halfway around the world, mate!"

And besides, Jack can already tell: it's either been a long time since Commodore Norrington knew anyone, or his methods of seduction are working like magic, except not Tia Dalma's, because he's seen her do some terribly frightening things in order to get what she wants.

"I chased you halfway around the world in order to lock you up, not because I found you particularly attractive," said Norrington coolly. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if, to you, the two were one and the same."

And Jack smiles. He'd thought the commodore would be easy to fluster, but he ought to have known better.

"Had you pegged as that type right from the start, love," Jack says knowingly, nodding and tapping Norrington on the nose—but still keeping one hand down his shirt. "It's always the military men, I think."

Norrington takes another swig of his bottle. "I was a naval officer."

"Yes, yes, we know. And that, my good man, carries implications all its own. Are you drunk enough now?" asks Jack impatiently. "Haven't got all night, you know."

Norrington looks at him again, and wipes his mouth.

"You missed a spot," says Jack, and licks off the stripe of brandy running down Norrington's chin.

Tia Dalma is not a modest woman, and Jack likes that about her. He likes that she isn't difficult to get into bed with, but that once he's there he is literally fighting for his life, because she is…

Perhaps rough is putting it mildly.

"Whoo, dat was fun," she croons afterwards, as Jack is hastening to put on his boots. She kneels behind him on her tiny, uncomfortable bed and puts her hand on his chest. They're smaller than he thought they were. Stronger.

"I could say the same to you," he says. His boots are already on, and he stands up.

She frowns at him for a moment.

"What you need, Jack Sparrow," she says, "is someone who can keep up wit' you."

"I don't need anyone," he says.

She smiles, teeth black, and for a moment, Jack is kind of disgusted that he kissed that mouth. She must have… done some of her magic and heard his thoughts, or something, because she scowls immediately.

"You are not exactly the cleanest man I ever kissed, Jack Sparrow," she says, in those sharp, biting tones she uses when she's angry. Jack suddenly feels like it would be an excellent idea to leave soon.

"Yes, it would!" she barks. "But it was fun while it lasted. Now get out."

He does, and nearly falls into the river outside her house.

"I don't get it," sobs Will, "I really don't."

"Shh," says Jack, patting the boy on the shoulders. Jack had, on numerous occasions, wondered (aloud and otherwise) if the boy was, er, lacking, but never had he done so as seriously as he did tonight. "'S all right, really."

Then again, the boy has had a large quantity of rum. By this point for anyone, it would be either maudlin sobbing or outright unconsciousness.

"What does she even see in you? What was it like, kissing her?"

Well, now. That's interesting.

"Er," says Jack, because a William Turner that has had several bottles of rum and is clearly a lightweight, is a William Turner that is not capable of having this conversation in a reasonable manner.

"When she kissed you," says Will. "Before you died."

"Oh, that," says Jack, trying to think up what to tell him. "Well, it was, er, nice. Until the part where I realized she had chained me to the mast. That's why I died, by the way. Did she tell you that? Anyway. It was downright wonderful, until then."

Will takes another swig, and Jack looks around at the empty bottles surrounding them, and isn't surprised when Will falls over and clings to his shoulder, crying into it like his heart's breaking into a million pieces. Jack pats him on the shoulders again, and wonders why he hasn't conked the boy over the head and left him on an island somewhere. He is a perpetual nuisance.

"So," he says, "she did it because she wanted to kill you?"

"I believe I have made that magnificently clear."

That just brings about a fresh round of sobbing.

"I need to talk to her," says Will, and he tries to get up, but falls over. Jack catches him.

"Now's not exactly a great time, mate," he warns Will, but Will is a determined drunk, except for the fact that he can't walk, so he just sort of falls on top of Jack, and lays there, sobbing, too heavy for Jack to be able to get up without a bit of heavy lifting.

Jack weighs his options. Will is very drunk, and his lips are very red, and on occasion Jack has thought that those lips could be interesting. He swallows.

"So, er, we're both very drunk, and unlikely to remember this in the morning," begins Jack, and he stops there, because Will begins to snore.

Oh, well. It was a desperate attempt. He isn't exactly that lecherous, anyway. He shoves the boy off and finds his way back to his own bed.

He wonders, sometimes, if there is someone out there, walking around, who can do what Tia Dalma says and keep up with him. There's Gibbs, of course, but he more or less trails after Jack, and doesn't really keep up so much as run behind, winded and out of breath and calling him mad the whole time. And Tia Dalma, who stays in her cabin, is merely a bit of fun on weekends.

Elizabeth could have been interesting, and so could Will, although the latter more in a purely aesthetic way than anything else.

Norrington could keep up—did keep up for a year, and then it destroyed him, drove him mad and made him desperate. Jack's... not proud of that.

So he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that someone that Tia Dalma spoke of isn't out there.

When all is said and done, when Will and Elizabeth have their odd marriage worked out, Norrington is decidedly not mourned by the men he wanted to hang, and Gibbs and Jack are back on their boat, deciding where to sail next, Jack takes them down a slight detour.

She's still in her cabin, as constant as the ocean.

"Jack," she says, warmly, as though they didn't just do battle with her several weeks ago. "Jack, I knew you'd come back."

"I'm off to find the Fountain of Youth," he says. "May I, er, have your blessing?"

She smiles, the light shining off her blackened teeth. "You may."

Jack checks over his shoulder, to make sure that Gibbs isn't behind him, and then asks.

"What did you mean?" he asks. "'Someone who can keep up with me?'"

She raises her eyebrows. "Surely you ain't worried about dat no more. Not when you off to find the Fountain."

"Ah, but, see," says Jack, trying to explain. "I've just been—only a passing fancy, see, just a notion, a brief curious reflection—"

"You know what curiousity did to de cat," says Tia Dalma.

He ignores her. He's been down that road (or... river, as the case may have been), anyway, and maybe it wouldn't be so difficult the second time around to get out of it.

"Is that person—the one you mentioned, the one who can keep up with me? Are they even out there? Should I be, er, looking for them?"

She smiles, even wider this time.

"Jack Sparrow, you are looking for love," she croons. "Perhaps you feel… lonely?"

"I am the very epitome of wantonness," he says. "Debauchery is practically my middle name. I do not want to settle down."

She raises an eyebrow. "So, why are you here?"

"I'm—I'm not supposed to, am I?"

The thought fills him with horror, a nameless fear. He wants it, too, though, and the horror and the want are tied up in some kind of ridiculous desperation. He's Captain Jack Sparrow. He shouldn't want it, and yet.

"You are supposed to do," says Tia Dalma, "what you want, Jack Sparrow. You do not have de touch of destiny like young William did—what you have is luck and madness. Wit' dat, you can have anything you want—so long as you decide what dat is."

Jack feels in his pockets for the compass. Tia Dalma, no longer smiling, nods.

"Dat is what dat is for."

She pushes him towards the door. He pulls out the compass, to check it. It doesn't point behind him to Tia Dalma, to the North where Elizabeth and Will are meeting for the final time for ten years, to any of the numerous watery graves that hold former friends and lovers (Norrington comes to mind first, with a pang in his chest he'd rather not think too much about). It points to the East, the direction the map tells him to take.

It's like being released from the stocks, like being let out of jail. He grins, and steps confidently into the boat.

"Now go," says Tia Dalma, pushing the boat so it takes off.