Title: Prendami La Sede (Take Me Home)

RATED: Dunno yet, so, I'll just kinda rate it . . . R.

Author's Note: I'm a self proclaimed Barbossa fan girl, and I'm happy to know I'm not the only one! So, this goes out to all my sisters (and possibly brothers ..) out there who like Barbossa in that special, fuzzy way. You know the one. wink

Disclaimer: I don't own Barbossa (darn it) or POTC! They all belong to someone else, but the OFC is MY Mary Sue!

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Chapter One

The tender poured another drink into a heavy, metal tankard and sent it sliding down the lacquered bar. It slid into the hand of a tall, ruddy haired, bearded fellow who nodded in thanks and lifted the pint to his parched lips. He wore the ragged clothes of a seafaring traveler; a long, tattered coat and a rumpled white tunic that tucked into a wrapped belt. The belt contained a flintlock pistol and his sword, both symbols of his roguish nature. To top the picture off, his face was worn and scarred, but the look suited him finely, right down to his sea blue eyes.

He'd made port a day or so ago, and ever since his grubby band had made themselves eerily comfortable. Surrounding themselves with wine, women, and everything else they could pay for or steal (without getting caught, of course). The captain, however, had chosen to be fairly aloof to his men, choosing to stick to the more civilized areas around the city. They would be heading out fairly soon and Barbossa had made no effort to engage in any sort of noted activity with any of the natives. However, as with all tales of notable worth, his quiet vacation was about to go horribly awry . . .

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"Take your hands off me!"

The voice that range out across the tavern was that of a young woman, spiced heavily with the accent of the Mediterranean cities. The men bearing her looked to be her keepers or some extension there of. They let go of her a few paces into the tavern and she jerked away with an indignant expression.

"Get back to work . . ." one of them men hissed, "your shift ain't over yet." The two goons who had bore her in gave one, threatening look to the patrons who had turned about to view the spectacle. After a minute, things settled back into their previous state of mind and the dark haired woman slipped seamlessly into the scenery. One set of blue eyes remained on her, though.

"Marzia," the tender said as the girl slid into a seat at the bar. "You've got to be more careful. Master Camden could sell you off any time he likes."

"Like I don't know that." She answered with a roll of her dark eyes. "I'd rather slit my own throat than be here, though."

"I think you'd be better off," the tender said softly, "being used like this just isn't right."

Marzia nodded and slumped in her seat and put her head down a bit, but that was when she noticed him. More though, she felt his eyes boring into her. Blue as an ocean wave, as soon as he saw that she had noticed his gaze, the red-haired man put his eyes back in his head and settle into his pint.

"I'll be back." Marzia said curtly and then she rose. The tender opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead shook his head and continued serving drinks. Marzia, meanwhile, approached her admirer slowly, deliberately; almost catlike, she slipped into the chair at his side.

"I've never seen you before."

Her voice seemed to shock him because he jolted a bit when she spoke. He turned to gaze at her almost bashfully, but his expression was one of appraisal. One brow perked as his eyes moved down her body and back up again.

"You're a pirate." Marzia snapped, matter-of-factly indicating his sword and pistol. The man looked down.

"Aye . . ." he smiled a little, showing his teeth. "And yer a trouble maker."

She laughed a little in her chest, "I bet you know all about trouble . . ."

"I know a thing ar two," he answered. "Now, is thar somethin' yer wantin', or are ye goin' ta let me finish me pint in peace?"

"Sure. See you around . . . pirate."

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The night wind blew something fierce as Captain Barbossa headed back to his ship, half drunk and lighter of gold. He'd wasted days drinking at the bar without one fight to show he'd even been here. "I must be gettin' old." He told himself.

A lighting bolt cut the sky in half on the horizon and the thunder that followed sounded as though the earth had split in two. It rumbled loudly and rattled in the hollow of his chest, the soles of his boots, and his aching skull. However, having a headache was a nice change from more than ten years of not feeling a thing.

Barbossa made it back to the port where his ship was docked covertly. He climbed into the water and walked to the shallow side where the ladder was thrown down and began climbing. His bones ached, and to make matters worse the storm had begun to pick up. Finally, at the top of the ladder, he swung his leg over the railing and was grateful for the familiar, semi-hollow sound his boot made on the deck.

"Nice ship."

Barbossa swung round and faced the mast. Leaning against the wooden trunk was the dark-haired woman from before. In one hand she had one of his treasured apples and insisted upon tossing it up and down, tauntingly. Seeing her, Barbossa inclined his head and sneered a bit.

"Get off my boat, miss."

"No." Came her simple reply. "Listen to me, Captain Barbossa—yes, I know your name—" his sentence had been intercepted before it was even uttered. "You're taking me with you, like it or not. It is a rather awkward situation, but I need a boat and you need a woman." One of her dark brows arched seductively. "I am willing to give you myself in exchange for freedom. No questions asked, you take me to Italy and we'll go our separate ways."

A moment passed in which Barbossa, left standing on the deck, was looking as if a tidal wave had just hit him, full force. His brow furrowed deeply as the entirety of what she had said mulled over in his half-drunk brain. One corner of his mouth hitched up in a strange smirk, as though he didn't exactly believe what he'd just heard (In all honesty, he didn't.). The want to say something intimidating crossed his mind, but the only word that escaped his lips came almost choked.

"What?"

"I said," she started again, but Barbossa cut her off with a wave of his hand. It came as an almost insulting gesture, but she went quiet all the same.

"I heard what yeh said, Miss . . ." the good Captain smiled mockingly and cocked his head all the same.

"Marzia."

"Miss Marzia. What I don't understand is why ye think I owe it to yeh to do such a thing."

"Well . . ." Marzia answered slowly, "like I said: You need a woman, and I am just shameless enough that I would be able to stomach you long enough to get me back home."

"I dun' want ye to be obliged! I want ye to get the hell offa me ship!"

His words made her retract a bit against the mast. For several seconds it seemed as if Mariza were about to burst into tears, but soon the poignant expression was replaced by one of severe determination. The apple soared over his head and plunged into the water with a single toss, and then she crossed her arms.

"I'm not leaving. If you don't want me in bed, I'll work for my keep."

"No!" The Captain snapped crossly. "This ship's bad luck enough without havin' a woman on baird."

"That's an old sailor's myth!" Her face budded red with anger. Marzia crossed the deck and prodded him in the chest with one long, slender finger.

"You will have me on board. I'm not going to stay here forever."

"I'm not sayin' ya hafta! I'm sayin' yer not leavin' with me!"

A sharp shriek came from her as she turned away from him and stomped around to the other side of the mast.

"She can't come with us."

Barbossa's head told him that he barely knew this girl, but his emotions were screaming that something with her wasn't right. It was obvious, by her actions, that someone was either keeping her here against her will or that someone here wasn't treating her right. Of course, he could have been completely wrong, but then why so eager to leave? She had spoken of Italy as home, one thing was for sure, they were far from Italy. But the port was a nice little place; quiet, peaceful, safe. Then, maybe that was just it.

"Marzia . . ." Barbossa said, circling around the mast to face her. The dark haired woman had crossed her arms once more. Barbossa folded his hands in front of him and sighed deeply. If he'd ever felt more like a jerk he couldn't remember when it was. He of all people could relate with her dilemma. When things get too quiet, you want some noise. .

"Fine."

"Fine what?" Her voice was pure acid.

"Yah can stay, but . . ." as she looked up at him, Barbossa closed one eye and put a finger to the side of his nose. "The first time ya start any trouble, I'm throwin' ya off the ship. Understood?"

"Absolutely, Barbossa. You won't regret this." Then, as if he'd spoken some magic spell, she was warming to him, getting close and touching in places he hadn't felt in while. A hand slid between the folds of his shirt collar and she ran her fingers over the battle hardened contours of his sleek chest. The line of his collarbone smoothed flawlessly into the nice, flat plain of his pectoral. As she massaged, more and more of Barbossa's brain turned to mush. However, some part of him that was still functioning put up a warning: So he grabbed her wrist and slid it gently out of his shirt.

"Marzia . . . I dun' know ye."

"When did that stop a pirate?" Her smirk was worthy of a she-devil. "Rape, pillage, and plunder?"

"Being dead can make ya think . . . a lot." Barbossa took a wide step back and surveyed her a moment. "I'll let yeh sleep in my quarters . . . on the floor. I don't trust the men 'round a woman. An' you'd better get some sea-farin' garments."

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(In the next chapter, Cap'n Barbossa escorts Mariza back to gather some things she might need for the voyage. What's gonna happen?! Find out! Stay tuned! Keep reviewing! Don't leave me hanging! I'll miss you!)

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