Author Note

Okay, first Fan fiction, so play nice with flamessss. And if the geography is wrong then I say this THINGS WERE DIFFERENT IN THOSE DAYS okay? (I never took geography and never will. When are you ever going to need a map in real life? Huh? Cars what? What do you mean India isn't part of Australia? ()

Who ever said that the boat Jack sunk in Port Royal was Ana-Marie's? This is straight after the movie, and how they first met my way, and how Jack became Captain Jack Sparrow. J/AM

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, Disney own all. (But I am hoping to buy Jack Sparrow's hat in down payments.)

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Ana Marie stared out her small window gloomily. The darkening waves did little to improve her mood, knowing that this boat was no longer hers. The Pearl, and the promise of freedom she held, had been gifted on another.

And Ana-Marie was just another sailor on this rotting tub. While that Sparrow usurped her, again.

She shook her head wearily, trying to shake of the angry thoughts. There was no one to blame but herself for this.

It had been her choice after all, with heavy persuasions from Gibb's and the rest of the crew, to save Jack Sparrow. To rescue him from the gallows once again. Even though it had required asking for help from that Turner boy, who now thought just because he'd helped Jack defeat Barbossa that he was a pirate, she'd done it. That ridiculous hat that the boy wore! She'd had to stop herself laughing at the size of the feather.

Her cabin was tiny, her chamber being segregated from the rest of the crew for obvious reasons, which Ana-Marie had had to prove by breaking two sailors arms. Neither the less, she had her own cabin now, though it was not as nice as the one she had enjoyed during her time as captain.

Its walls bore little decoration, the sound of the water being enough for Ana-Marie. Forced nighttime separation from the rest of the crew made her the butt for rude jokes varying from her night attire to "visits" from the captain.

Though very little was known about Captain Jack Sparrow, every sailor on the Pearl had recognised the slap of a slighted lover. Not that there would be any more of those visits, Ana-Marie thought angrily.

Few had known Jack before he was the captain of the Black Pearl. Ana-Marie counted herself as one of the few unlucky ones that had. Everyone has to make a start somewhere, Ana-Marie thought grimly, and it just so happened Jack made his at the expense of yours truly.

No, tonight she was not in a good mood. She had once again relinquished a ship, which should have rightfully been hers since someone, other wise known as that-bastard-son-of-a-bitch, had sunk the HER Interceptor.

Stupid Jack.

She knew he was outside her door before he opened it (like Jack Sparrow would ever knock if he thought he could get an eyeful of a lass changing). She had recognised his footsteps. She could recognise them anywhere because of the stupid erratic gait of his. Old Jack had always been an excentric.

Part of his charm, she remembered once saying.

In the last ten years though, he'd developed some peculiar habits.

She ran her fingers through her already frizzing hair, scowling at her woeful black pirate nails. She remembered the absolute perfect ness of that Bitch Elizabeth's nails.

Only that girl could get away with being kidnapped by un-dead pirates, engage in sword fights between two pirate ships, get stranded on a desert isle with a womanising captain, and save the man she loved from certain death without breaking a nail.

"Jack Sparrow, if you even think about trying anything, I'll send you to the briny deep myself." Ana-Marie said smoothly as she turned around. Jack Sparrow was leaning against the doorframe, his kohl eye make up smudged.

"Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow," He corrected flashing her his gold teeth. She simply raised an eyebrow.

"Captain, get the hell out of my room." Ana-Marie snarled. Jack placed his hand on his heart mockingly.

"You'd think from your manor Ana-Marie," He drawled, and she suppressed a shudder. Damn him. "That you weren't happy to see me."

"I wonder how you got that bloody impression Jack." She hissed lowly, acutely aware that the door was open, and that the entire crew could probably hear her.

Jack wagged a finger at her. He shifted, his braids clinking slightly as he moved. He shifted from the door, collapsing on her thin bunk and extended himself out full on it, his hands relaxed comfortably over his head. Ana- Marie sighed, closing the door behind him, and leaning against it heavily. "What do you want Jack?" She said defeated.

"You're unusually glum tonight, poppet" He said, his eyes trailing the low wooden ceiling. "Eating dinner by yourself in this little room, without even a sip of rum to welcome your Captain home. Anyone might think that you were avoiding me."

"I thought you'd be making love to your helm by now, the way you fondle it." She said scathingly, her hand pulling her black hair back into a high ponytail. Gold earrings glinted at her earlobes

"'Do love the Pearl." Jack murmured. Ana-Maria shifted. "But what have you been thinking about, sulking down here Ana-Marie?" He raised his hands. "And please, not another slap."

"For your information, saving your scrawny neck once again lost me the job as Captain. I have no reason to celebrate tonight. Being Captain's the only thing I've ever loved," She raged, the words spilling out of her.

She halted suddenly. A memory of saying those words to Jack spun before her eyes, his face so much younger, his eyes bristling with desire and curiosity. She'd thought him just a young sailor, beautiful and brave, ready to be moulded. She'd thought the desire in his eyes were for her.

But she was wrong. He was not just another sailor, he was her curse and his desire was for the sea and the hope her words had kindled that day. Ana- Marie thrust the memory aside.

"You know, that year after I found out how you had betrayed me Jack, I spat on the ground at the name Sparrow. I called down every black wind upon you, and drank to your downfall when you went after the treasure of the Ile De Murte." She said quietly.

She saw him still, his face unreadable.

"If you want to know what I've been doing down here, I've been thinking about how we met. About Johnny Jackson, the son of a Mexican whore and a English plantation owner. That was a pretty tail you spun me that night. I've often wondered if such a story, coming from the mouth of the famous Captain Jack Sparrow could ever be true." She spat out, watching the way his body responded at her words, the slight tremor that ran down him. The lamp overhead swung uneasily.

Jack sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He tilted his head.

"Ah well, love, truth's a funny thing. But we didn't call her a whore back then." Jack extended a be-ringed hand. "Still doing the same ol'dance are we, Ana? Come here love, I want to see it your skin is a smooth as I remember."

Ana-Mare moved, her trews brushing the leg of the small table, and stood a step in front of him. She took his hand with her own, feeling the healing cut that had torn across his corse palm. Heavy shadows played across Sparrow's face, his thumb rubbing the Ana-Marie's the mocha coloured skin. Ana-Marie raised her other hand, resting it gently on the side of his face, wise enough not to attempt to run it through the dark matt that was his hair.

"Ah, Ana." He murmured. He moved, his arm sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. She stood above him, gazing down into his face, searching his eyes. He moved up to kiss her, but she shifted away from him.

"Jack, I'm not another one of your whore's from Tortugua. The Pearl is my home now. I'm not going to screw that up for you. Savvy?" She said, the last word bringing a hint of a smile to his mouth. And what a mouth, Ana- Marie thought.

"Ana, you've changed so little. Well," He said, his eyes clouding with thought. "Less then me, but then I seem too age so well."

"Yeah, you're still a rum-soddened old pirate with really bad accessories." Ana-Marie retorted. Jack smiled distractedly, his hand touching the scar on her collarbone cautiously.

"Can it really have been eleven years?" He said. She gazed over his head, at the bare walls of her cabin.

"Yes, it's been eleven years,"

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