Disclaimer:I do not own POTC or any of the characters, to my ever-lasting sorrow. Ok, I'm over it now.

Rating: R because I don't have self-control.

Summary: Ok, um, the thing that happens basically is that Raven –I know, I know, it's boring and over used! Sue me for liking the name- washes out to sea, only to be rescued by Jack Sparrow. As they fall in love –I did mention I'm a romantic, right?- they have to fight multiple external forces –I'm not studying for mid-years shifty eyes- who want to have Raven for their own evil –very- purposes, because Raven isn't as normal as Jack –or even she- thinks.

Note:Please review! But be nice, this is my first fanfic, like, ever. Sorry 'bout the spelling mistakes and such. My comp hates me, so I'm just happy I got hte bloody story onto the net as it is. I'll get the hang of this...eventually.

Chapter 1

Drift Wood

It was a typical, mid-July morning on the Caribbean Sea. It was hot, warm, and humid. Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of his ship, the Black Pearl, watching the turbulent waters churn around the ship. Clouds seemed to smother the sea and Jack knew it would rain before night fell. He watched the water turn and turn, completely empty and steel grey, reflecting the dark sky. The crew scurried around, keeping the ropes in order and the sails taught. His second mate, Gibbs, was sleeping off his exhaustion after coming down with some obscure sickness. Jack simply hoped that it was not contagious or fatal.

Jack's eyes scanned the horizon out of habit. He watched a small piece of driftwood bob along, coming closer and closer to the ship. Jack raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his semi-closed eyes. The night had been too short and the morning had come too soon. He went back to watching the driftwood absent-mindedly.

Then, a thought occurred to him. What was driftwood doing this far out at sea? His dark eyes focused on the black splotch. As it came closer, he began to see other colours. A deep maroon, pale tan, a lob of navy lob and a raven black. It was a woman, floating along with the sea.

Without a second thought to his own safety, Jack threw a rope other the wheel to hold it steady, shed his overcoat and his weapons and dove into the churning sea.

Water didn't scare him. Jack had often wondered is even being caught in an undertow would scare him. But the sea was a part of him, he was no more able to fear it then a nursing child can fear its mother. Jack began to stroke towards the girl. He could hear some one, most likely Anna-Maria, calling his name. The crew would probably be worried about his safety for days to come. If only they knew, Jack thought tartly as he swam.

Because he was swimming with the current, it did not take him long to catch up with the woman. She was mercifully small, but her thin dress was soaked. Jack regretted having left his boot knife on board. He could hardly swim against the current carrying her, much less her weighty dress, as thin and minimal as it was. Jack grabbed harshly at the lacing and gave one decisive tug, tearing the entire thing off, leaving her only in her thin undershirt and pantaloons. Jack slid an arm around her waist, and headed back to the ship.

When he got there, he snatched the rope someone had wisely thrown out for him. Numerous crewmembers pulled Jack back on board with the girl. Jack laid her down on the deck, brushing a soaking braid of hair out of his face as he bent over her. Her breathing was shallow and she didn't look all too good. She was shaking like a leaf, a clear indication that the abnormally cold water had gotten to her. Jack grabbed her shoulder to roll her over, but received a different reaction.

The woman cried out, her glassy eyes flashing open to reveal green irises like emeralds surrounded by streaks of red. She screamed a word in a language other then English. The woman lay on the deck, sobbing and blabbing in her language and clutching her shoulder where Jack had touched it.

The woman lay there, gasping for air until Jack gently cupped her chin and began to talk to her, slowly in English.

"Miss, it's alright. Yer safe now. Yer on the Black Pearl. T'es sauvé," Jack said soothingly. The woman gave a hiccupping laugh as Jack spoke the last part. She continued to sob, but she now longer cursed in the language Jack identified as French. The group stared at the woman in observant silence. Even with clothes, she would have been a site. Both of her eyes were blood-shot far deeper then could be done by seawater. Her right eye was a deep purple, and there was a long cut on her arm that could only have been made by a sword. It was closed up, but only barely, indicating that it was a fresh wound. There were other sword wounds on her arms and face and bruises covered her entire body. Most of the cuts were older then the large gouge of her arm and some were simply scars. The woman's shoulder bore a deep, black patch on it that was very plainly visible through her soaking under-shirt. The woman held her right hand against her chest protectively.

"L'aise moi voir ta main," Jack said. The woman gave a hysterical giggle but only clutched her hand closer to her chest.

"Tom," Jack called.

"Yes sir."

"Heave to."

"Aye Cap'n."

"Anna-Maria, see if ye can't find some clothes for the lass."

"Aye." Anna-Maria paused a few feet away and watched as Jack scooped the woman up gently in his arms and began carrying her to the cabins.

"Cap'n?"

"That be my title," Jack said in his trademark tone, dripping with sarcasm, only he wasn't smiling. Jack turned to face Anna-Maria, shifting the woman's weight effortlessly. The woman seemed to have lost consciousness, but Anna-Maria heard her sharp, albeit subtle, intake of breath as Jack rearranged her in his arms.

"What are we to do with her?" Anna-Maria gestured to the woman, who seemed small in Jack's arms, even though she probably stood just as tall as he did. Jack glanced down at her.

"That'd be me problem now. I'll set her to rights."

Anna-Maria nodded and went off to her cabin in search of some decent clothes. Jack carried the woman into an unused cabin. Normally, Will Turner used this cabin when he decided to take a run with Jack and the crew, so naturally it was well furnished. But it was the only free cabin and the woman wasn't going anywhere.

Jack lay the woman down on the floor, not wanting the water in her clothes to spread to her bed. As she relaxed onto the floorboards in her would-be sleep, her right hand slipped into view. Even though he had seen many horrible things in his time, Jack couldn't help but gasp at her hand. Its absence would have shocked him less. Her fingers were broken in many places and one was even twisted right around in two places.

"Mary mother of God…Lass, what happened to yer hand," Jack asked, kneeling back down to get a better view. He was so taken back that he forgot she didn't understand English and that she was supposed to be asleep. The woman's eyes fluttered open and she glanced down at her hand. When she took in the sight that was the ending of her own limb, she moaned and dropped her head back onto floor.

Jack stared in amazement at her hand.

"Well, you're a fine mess," he said absent-mindedly, his eyes still fixed on her hand. The woman snorted cynically, her gaze turned away from Jack. Anna-Maria came clomping through the door just then. In an instant, she took in the site that was the woman's hand, dropped the stack of clothes and backed away, her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. Jack got up, blocking Anna-Maria's view of the horror. He heard her utter a few curses in Spanish as she gaped behind her hands.

"Very befitting language for a lady such as yer'self," Jack chastised lightly. "I need 'er out of those rags, or she'll sink the entire ship," Jack said casually, trying to ease Anna-Maria's discomfort. Jack left the room, closing the door behind him. When Anna-Maria emerged, she looked whiter then snow, but the woman was dressed in one of the two loose fitting shirts and a pair of loose beige slacks.

"I'll be thanking ye Anna," Jack said as he picked the girl up and placed her on the bed, where Anna-Maria covered her with some sheets to try and ward off the shivers that wracked the woman's eerily thin body.

"Now, if you'll go get a bottle of whisky, some scrapes of cloth and a small end'a' wood, it'd be much the better. 'N' maybe a belt of some form," Jack added as an after thought." Anna-Maria nodded and turned to leave. But again she turned back to Jack.

"Jack, n'er 'ave I seen such things, but heard of 'em ay'ave. Only prisoner's who've been tortured would bear such a thing." Anna-Maria looked again at the mangled hand and repressed a shudder before she went off in search of the things needed.

"She's right, you know." Jack whirled to face the woman, one hand on his sword. She had a young voice, full of pain and sorrow with only the slightest accent. She was staring at the ceiling now, but Jack's sudden motion drew her gaze.

'And I thought ye only spoke French. Fool I am." Jack dropped down onto the stool he had dragged alongside the bed. The woman made a pfuit sound. Anna-Maria returned momentarily with a bottle of the ships oldest whiskey.

"I thought it best give it time to work," she said, eyeing the woman nervously.

"Ay," Jack answered thoughtfully, working the bottle open. "But it won't do much."

Anna-Maria left abruptly, not wanting to stay near the woman for very long; almost as though she were a leper. She and Jack sat in silence for a moment.

"So," Jack began conversationally as he helped the woman sit up. He handed her the bottle of liquor. "What are ye doing floating around out on the sea all on yer own then?"

The woman shifted uneasily as she took a sip of the drink. She didn't respond for a long while, but simply sat there, staring through some unseen portal through time and space.

"Your g'on' ta have to drink more'n that if ye dun' wan'ta feel the world spinning for an hour when ye come to," Jack said matter-of-factly, still not ill at east because of the woman, but mostly wondering how much sanity she still possessed. The woman shrugged as though she didn't care. She raised the bottle to her lips and took a long draught from it. Jack watched, fascinated, as she downed the better half of the bottle. She sat quiet for a few more moments, still staring into nothing.

"I was thrown off of my ship," she said quietly after many minutes. Anna-Maria returned to see Jack watching the woman. Anna-Maria frowned, handing Jack the shreds of cloth and the smallest pieces of wood she had found in the hold. She tugged a small belt off its perch around her neck and gave him that too.

"Jack, d'ye want me to send one of the others down to help?" Anna-Maria was shifty, the woman's hand still making her nervous. Jack glanced at the woman, who continued to watch things unseen. Jack shook his head. Anna-Maria nodded and left quickly. Jack pulled as many of the splinters off of the wood as he could, then wrapped it with cloth, padding it so it wouldn't cut her. Though she probably wouldn't have noticed, what with all her cuts and bruises.

Jack avoided talking as he worked, trying to make the woman comfortable, even though she seemed to be far from caring about anything. When he had prepared the wood, he glanced at the bottle of whiskey sitting in the woman's lap. There was a small gulp left, swishing around in the bottom of it.

"Ye best finish the last of it," Jack said, indicating the amber liquid. The woman nodded and downed the remainder of the drink. It occurred to Jack that he still didn't know the woman's name.

'Well, here's what I'm goin' to do," Jack began. "For yer … better three fingers, I'm goin' to re-break 'em and straighten them along the wood, then I'll splint 'em. But yer other finger… well, I'm going to have to re-break that too and spin it back 'round. I don't expect ye'll stay conscious for any u'that, but I figured ye may like t'know what I'm about ta do." Jack watched the woman's face. Not even meeting his eyes, she nodded as he finished. Jack paused a moment, then handed the woman the belt, taking form her in return the bottle. Obligingly, she placed the leather between her teeth, eyes still diverted.

Jack watched her face for a moment, and then gently picked up her wrist. As gently as he could, he took hold of her index finger. It was crooked in two places, giving it the appearance of a Z. He held it just above the first break. The woman hadn't flinched once yet and Jack took some courage from that.

"Ye realize," Jack said as he cracked her finger in the opposite direction of the break. She was taken by surprise, her teeth clenched down on the leather and tears formed in her eyes, but she was still very awake. Gently, Jack twisted her finger around, trying to straighten it as much as possible. "that ye may ne'er use this hand again."

The woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. Jack slid his fingers up to the second break, careful to hold the other half of her finger as well, lest his work should come undone.

"Now the second part," Jack continued as he cracked the second break and twisted it back into place. A muffled scream came from the woman's mouth, but she didn't try to take her hand back, nor did she lose consciousness. "That's good lass," Jack said as he straightened her finger along the wood.

"Yer a real fighter lass. Yer finger is more er less back to itself," Jack said soothingly. Jack took her finger and the piece of wood and lay her finger along it, making absolute certain that it was straight. He placed her hand on the wood, which lay along the edge of the bed. Her second finger was only broken in one place, just between the tip and the last knuckle.

"Well," Jack began again as crooked her finger forward, straightening this one onto the board in its turn. "Ye seem to be doin' alright, so far's yer fingers go." Jack had a look at her last finger, not wanting to begin the horror that was her ring finger. Jack continued talking, trying to keep the woman at ease as her worked diligently at her fingers.

"But," Jack said, twisting the little finger around some so it sat properly. "I can' imagine ye dun feel to great now, e'en though yer doin' quite well, luv." The woman nodded as Jack snapped the second part of her finger back into place.

"That's it luv," he said as he straightened her finger on the board. The fourth finger still lay mangled; Jack felt compelled to let the poor woman rest some. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping at her face. He pulled the belt out of her mouth.

"And the other one?" The woman asked. Jack shook his head.

"Later, when yer more up for it. Let's talk for a bit, shall we?" The woman, no, girl, nodded. Jack studied her face for a few moments. Now that he actually looked at her, he saw that she really was young.

"How old are ye?" Jack's voice was level and bore no emotion, even though a small, weaker part of him wanted to run from the finger that lay in a twisted mound of flesh. The girl looked at him.

"I've seen thirty-two summers," she said soberly, her eyes showing that she was lying.

"No, ye haven't. Yer no more then twenty-four, and that's pushing it so far's ay'm concerned. So," Jack said patiently. The girl sighed.

"I'm nineteen," she said quietly.

"And there's no one looking for ye, a fine girl as yerself?"

The girl shook her head vigorously, eyes widening.

"There's no one. Please, if it were possible, I'd much prefer to stay here. I can work for my keep and I won't be any trouble, I swear." Her voice was pleading and desperate. Jack eyed her.

"Yer on the run aren't ye?" The girl nodded her head sadly. Jack considered her for a moment.

"Well, I don't see why not. But I won' have ye working till these have set good and well. I'll not have ye disturbing me work here," he said nodding at her hand. Jack began sliding a band of cloth beneath the wood, preparing it for when he'd tie it to her fingers.

He had decided it was time to fix the last finger. He studied it for a few moments. It had been broken in two places, each part twisted in opposite directions. He'd have to re-break both parts and twist them half way back around.

Jack handed the girl the belt. There was no foreboding in her eyes, just sadness. Even though she had just endured a horrible pain, she was prepared to bear more.

"Ye must be running from Satan himself, lass, for ye not to fear the pain as ye clearly don'." As he said this, he broke her finger with some difficulty. It must have been the earliest break, since it seemed to have already begun to heal in its twisted position. The girl's eyes clenched together and her jaw clamped down on the leather. She screamed through the belt, her face red and her tears leaving shining trails on her face. Jack twisted the finger around carefully and quickly, deciding that the faster this was over, the better. It wasn't like he could make it any less painful then it already was. The girl panted through the belt when he had finished.

"That's it, luv, just scream it out. One more," he said, breaking the last twist. It was less difficult then the other, but not by much. The girl screeched through her clenched teeth, her other hand encircling Jack's arm rather painfully. Jack let her to it; she was going through much worse pain then she could do to his arm. Still working with quick, careful motions, Jack spun her finger around. There was definitely something beginning to happen in his stomach as he watched his hands work, his mind having long since separated from his body.

"Hold on luv, I'm almost finished," he said gently, quelling the nauseous feeling that was growing rather steadily. Very surprisingly, the girl was still conscious, even though he had just fixed seven breaks, two of which were particularly severe. Jack flattened her finger along the wood and began to tie her hand onto the plank, taking care to tie all the fingers tight enough so that they would not heal crooked, but loose enough that they would not cut her circulation.

"So lass, d'ye 'ave a name," Jack asked, more to distract him from his own sick feeling then to ease the girls discomfort, particularly since she didn't seem very social to begin with. Jack was fairly certain he wouldn't last much longer, but he was insistent on finishing the job he had started before he did anything else.

The girl released Jack's arm, which had begun to tingle somewhat, to remove the belt from her mouth. She tossed it to the floor and wiped at her face with Jack's handkerchief, which had lain not far from her now straight fingers.

"I had a name," she said, her voice crackling slightly from her screaming. "But I've left that child behind me. I've changed; I'm not her." Jack look at her, meeting her eyes.

"Aye, ye aren't a child. Over man'd 'ave been lying cold, but yer still here, talking with me. Yer brave and strong, luv. And lucky. Ye could have floated with the current till ye were dead. But, the crew can' call ye by lass n luv all the time."

The girl nodded.

"Call me…Raven," she said finally. Jack grinned. It was the perfect name for her. Her hair was blacker then that of the creature she had called herself and her skin was fair.

"Raven it is then." He stood, leaving her splinted hand where it was on the bed. She slunk lower into sheets that Anna-Maria had wisely brought for her. She was no longer shivering, but she still looked sickly pale. Jack turned to leave, that nauseous feeling beginning to become uncontrollable.

"Wait," Raven said quietly, her voice beginning to grow weak as the pain and the liquor began to take complete control. Jack turned to her, his face an ashen colour from his attempts to restrain himself.

"I know you are captain, and I believe I know who you are, but I must be certain. What is your name?" Raven's eyes were watching Jack's face, their green depths calm and patient. Jack took a deep breath.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl," he said. His tone lacked most of its usual gusto, but still managed to sound imperial and powerful just the same. Raven smiled as she closed her eyes and nodded.

"Thank you," she said whispered. Her tone was truly grateful. Jack nodded and left quietly, closing the door behind him before sprinting up to the deck where he allowed his normally stable stomach to over turn itself out unto the sea.

But regardless to all the questioning looks the crew shot at him, Jack knew why he was so upset. She was only a child, younger then twenty and someone had intentionally broken her fingers, probably daily for some time. It had been a gruesome sight and one that he would take to his grave. He may have been a pirate, but he was still a man. He had morals, values and personal rules. It's people like those that harmed that girl that who should hang, Jack thought as he straightened himself.