Joanna was patching a hole in one of Will's shirts, humming softly to herself, when the pirate burst into the smithy.

"Shit," she said in shock, dropping the needle into her lap. "Oh -- woah, woah," she continued in a panic as the pirate advanced on her. She'd never looked down the mouth of a pistol before and, now that she'd done so, she decided it was not to be recommended.

The pirate's mouth twitched enigmatically. He looked rather silly, trying to threaten her while wearing handcuffs, but there was nevertheless a gun trained on Joanna's forehead. "What's your name?" He asked.

"Joanna," she answered quickly.

She received a smile -- wicked, golden, and more than a tad menacing. "Well, Joanna. Have you any idea how to remove me of these infernal things?" He shook his hands; the chains rattled.

"Do I look like a blacksmith?" She retorted, finding her courage tended to recover if she focused on the pirate rather than the pistol. He was wild-looking, with a shock of ropey, bedazzled hair. A red headscarf tamed it from amnesty. His dark eyes, ringed with black makeup, held a steely resolve Joanna was not eager to test. "If you're in need of one, my colleague should be returning shortly. Then you can threaten him, instead."

She neglected to mention Will was highly trained with a sword, but what this pirate knew couldn't hurt him. Yet.

"Your colleague, eh?" The pirate raised an eyebrow. "So you do work here."

Joanna raised the shirt. The tear was nearly repaired -- she thought just a few more stitches would do the trick. "I sew. I'm quite good, actually."

"Hm. How nice for you." He wiggled the gun. "Will you try anything stupid if I lower this? Me arms are getting tired."

Joanna smiled without humor. "By all means, lower your heavy shackles, sir. Would you give me the honor of your name?"

He bowed as gracefully as one could while handcuffed. "Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, milady."

Joanna's fear drained in a swirl of disbelief. "The Jack Sparrow?" She gaped at him. "Y'know -- sacked Nassau without firing a shot? That's you?"

He looked pleased with himself. "The one 'n only, luv."

Something in Joanna grated at luv, spoken so familiarly, but she was mostly filled with delighted curiosity. "I've read about you," she elaborated, "and I've always found the stories fascinating, but I must say, none of them are quite as ridiculous as your hair."

He smiled with narrow eyes. "I wouldn' laugh if I were you, darling. Each of these shinies 's a trophy."

"Oh, from the men you've killed, I suppose."

"All in cold blood, o' course."

"Right." Joanna took up the shirt again. The needle almost slipped through her palm, sweaty from nerves. "Well, I'd prefer you to kill me sooner rather than later, if that's your plan," she said with a bravado she didn't have.

It was then that the smithy door rattled. Joanna looked up as she pulled the final stitch, bursting with relief as Will Turner's silhouette filled the doorway.

The pistol rejoined the act, this time pressed to the back of her head as Jack slipped behind her. His unoccupied hand dropped to lay on her shoulder, thumb resting against the bare skin of her neck. "G'day," he called cheerfully to Will.

Will's jaw went slack. Then he began slowly divesting himself of his coat, beginning a slow prowl toward Joanna and her captor. His eyes flicked over her before he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Marvelous," Joanna said. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "This man wants you to remove his handcuffs."

Will's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "You're the one they're searching for, aren't you?" He said to Jack. "The pirate."

There was a pause. Then, "You seem somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?"

"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates."

Will was close enough now that he could grab a sword from the rack. Joanna snapped into thought, looking around furiously for a way to escape Jack's grasp -- there were no weapons within reach, and she certainly wasn't strong enough to wrestle him...

"I hate to put a black mark on your record, mate, but --" the chains rattled, "'m sure you understand."

Joanna was jolted from her thoughts as Jack shoved a hand under her arm and jerked her to her feet. She couldn't help gasping in surprise, but she managed to hold onto the shirt and the needle.

Will's face was thunderous. "Be careful with her," he said in a low, foreboding voice. Joanna gulped.

"It'd be easier t' be careful if I had me full range of motion, mate. Either help me or learn what Miss Joanna's brains look like, you choose." He punctuated this threat with a tap to the back of Joanna's head. The cold terror rushed back, mixed with a healthy amount of righteous indignation.

"Will," she said, a tad breathlessly. "I would really recommend --"

"Fine," Will said through his teeth. Joanna breathed again as some of the tension left the air. "Follow me."

Obligingly, Jack nudged Joanna forward. Her skirt found its way under her feet in her eagerness to comply, earning it a sharp look. She hadn't had the chance to take it up, yet -- it was next on her list after Will's shirt -- Will's shirt.

Joanna anxiously waited for Will to turn so she could catch his eye. Emboldened by his grim expression, she gave him the tiniest of nods. Before he could even think to respond, Joanna had raised her fist, still clenching that needle, and drove the spiny thing into the back of Jack's palm.

Jack yelled loudly, falling away from her to clutch his hand. "Will, now!" Joanna yelled, stumbling away from the pair, and Will leaped into action.

He darted to seize a sword from the rack and guided it in an arc toward Jack's head, but the pirate spun away, struggling to draw his own weapon. The pistol had fallen at Joanna's feet.

She delicately picked it up and stared at it, then jumped as a sharp clang pierced the air. Jack had drawn his sword -- a cutlass, Joanna faintly recognized -- and was dancing down William defensively, shock and pain warring for dominance on his face.

Joanna had no clue what to do with a gun. She'd be more likely to shoot herself than Jack, and the thought of killing a man -- even one who had held her at gunpoint -- made her sick. She dropped the pistol reflexively, breath coming quick.

"Move!" Someone shouted. Joanna did. She jumped backward as Will and Jack careened past, swinging at each other's ears. Heart racing, she tripped and pitched over the donkey responsible for powering the racks.

It brayed in panic and stomped forward, tossing its head anxiously. The great gears above Joanna's head groaned into movement. Glinting swords, hammers, and pots and pans shifted, bumping together in a cacophony of noise.

Joanna dove in another direction as she found herself in Jack and Will's trajectory once more. She stared, astounded, as Jack held his own against Will, a trained swordsman, while cuffed.

"Who makes all these?" Jack asked conversationally as he spun around the machinery.

Will's eyes were aflame, his hair tumbling from its queue. "I do!" He replied, sounding mad about it. "And I practice with them --" a swing and a miss, "-- three hours a day!"

Jack chirped, "You need t' find yourself a girl, mate!" And off they went again, leaving a wake of overturned boxes and splinters.

Joanna watched them helplessly, feeling about as useful as a board.

There were plenty of swords of all kinds laying about, but Joanna was flooded with fresh nerves as she thought about using one. She was barely decent in her sporadic practices with Will, who always took it easy on her and insisted on wooden blades.

Stomach twisting, she grabbed a rapier, a long, elegant sword. It felt like it might be the right weight. Steeling herself, Joanna tightened her jaw and charged into the fight.

Jack and Will had advanced across the length of the smithy once more, entirely due to Jack's creative technique of parry, evade, evade. Joanna approached with a tight jaw, looking for an opening. It didn't take long. Joanna struck with a cry, aiming for Jack's outstretched hand.

He twirled with a yelp, twisted in a surprisingly flexible manner, and high-tailed it for the opposite end of the room again. Joanna exchanged a determined glance with Will, and they both followed.

They caught up beneath the gears. Jack crouched nervously, gaze flitting around like a cornered animal. The three of them circled each other like dogs, moving through air thick with tension.

In a flash, Jack was darting toward Joanna, sword raised high. Joanna bravely rushed forward as Will simultaneously attempted to dart in front of her.

They collided with a thud and fell to the floor in identical piles of discombobulated limbs. "Sorry!" Will huffed as he scrambled to his feet. Joanna followed, waving a hand dismissively, and they turned to find Jack dangling from the gears by his chains.

The chains caught in a groove and snapped loudly, swinging around Jack's wrists with a clatter. There was a breath as the three considered this new development before the fight resumed with bitter inevitably.

Joanna was full of panic and consumed by the hysteric prognostic that she would lose an ear any second, yet she found herself grinning as her blade bit through the air. She heard nothing but the song in her sword and felt nothing but her heart hammering in her throat.

The three cavorted around the smithy, raising a cloud of dust in their wake. Jack was utterly silent, his focus drawn completely into the two persistent pointy things aiming for his tender bits. Soft grunts escaped Will as he bore forward, followed by Joanna, picking up what slack she could.

One wrong step and everything shifted. Will feinted right and Jack fell gullible; in a flash of silver, Jack's sword flew from his hands. The pirate scowled before clambering away, hair whipping in his wake.

Joanna remembered the pistol a split second before Jack did, yet Jack was closer -- they both dove for the weapon, but Jack's bejeweled hand clamped around the gun.

He skittered away and skid to a stop with the pistol trained on Joanna and Will. For a pregnant moment, nothing but labored breathing filled the air.

Joanna and Will determinedly blocked the back exit. Jack's other option, the front entry, would lead him into the bustling streets, speckled with the King's Navy.

"Move away." Jack's command was quiet and deadly.

Will answered. "No."

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. Jack frowned in frustration. He pleaded, "Please move?"

"No!" Will insisted with the pig-headed stubbornness Joanna knew him for. "I cannot step aside and let you escape."

Jack cocked the gun. The sound echoed in the deadly silence. Then, in an entreating way Joanna wouldn't soon forget, Jack said, "This shot is not meant for you."

Then, of course, Mr. Brown's bottle came crashing down on Captain Jack Sparrow's decked-out head. Dazed, the pirate plunged to lay at Joanna and Will's feet.

The agitation left Joanna's shoulders in a flood. She let out a shaky breath. "Thank you," she told Mr. Brown, who looked just about as drunk as he'd been hours earlier when he'd stumbled back into his bedroom. She tacked on, awkwardly, "...Dad."

Mr. Brown was saved from replying by the Royal Navy, which righteously busted down the smithy door and filled the room like a hurricane. Commodore Norrington himself led the pack, resplendent in blue and gold. He surveyed the room briskly, one hand resting on the hilt of the beautiful sword Will had crafted and received no honor for.

Joanna couldn't blame the Commodore for the conclusion he drew. Mr. Brown with a broken bottle + Jack Sparrow out cold in a pile of glass. Still, she nursed a flare of resentment as the Commodore said, "Congratulations, Mr. Brown. You've just assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive."

"Jus' doin' my civic duties, sir."

Joanna's bitterness shifted to her drunkard of a father. She turned a vexed gaze on Will, who offered her a dispirited shrug. Shaking from adrenaline, they watched the Navy drag Jack from the smithy.

She and Will would always live in the shadow of Mr. Brown, and any adventure that interrupted their existence would soon be escorted away. Some things, Joanna figured, would never change.