Title: Borrowed – Borrowed Without Permission
Author: Christina13 (Christina S)
Rating: PG-13 for language/implication, since I just turned 15 and don't do smut ;)
Ship: Jack/Anamaria, Jack/Other
Summary: How did Jack meet Anamaria, and just how did he manage to steal her boat? Find the answers to these burning questions in this short prequel.
Disclaimer: In a story about ownership, I own nothing, really, except for Amelia. And even then I'm just loaning her out from my buddy Hillary. At least I asked. glares at Jack, whom she has kidnapped and is having a very nice time with) I DO wish to express my deep appreciation for Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio because for one, they ROCK and two, a comment Elliott made about Anamaria inspired me. So thanks very much.
Reviews: I do wish to become a better writer and would love your imput, positive or negative. Plus, reviews just make me happy.
- - - - - - - - -
The dim lighting of the inn cast a goldish hue on her light brown skin. She tossed her rough black hair behind her shoulders and strode forward to the counter. She then ordered a glass of whiskey and went off to sit at her table with an air that suggested she'd been doing this all her life. Admiring male heads turned and stared in her direction, but she took no notice – she never did.
Anamaria had her memories of this place, but wide and scattered they were. Her father had been called foolish, once bringing an eight-year-old girl to Tortuga, and rightfully so. She could not imagine a filthier, slimier place to dwell – excluding the brig of a rotting, sunken ship. Yet she returned to it, repeatedly, over a span of eighteen years.
As always, she'd come for one purpose – join a crew, earn enough to tide her over during the slumping fishing season, and return home to her village Indura, a few miles south of Tortuga.
She loved the sea. It and piracy flowed through her blood like the oceans and rivers she'd grown up on. So it was only natural that she feel a surge of thrill whenever she got the chance to do a bit of honest pirating, right?
As she took her first swig, she was startled as she felt hot, drunken breath whisper across her shoulder. "I'm lonely tonight, little lady. Care to join me?"
Without turning, she carefully said, "I'm sure your imaginary friend can oblige you – sir." She added this with a tinge of disdain.
Someone had caught hold of her arm, and it was being sqeezed very tightly … she tried to pull it away, back to her side, but found it impossible.
"She's out tonight," snarled her admirer from behind. Still, she refused to turn around and look. "But you, you're on the job. You don't have that much choice."
Somewhere in her chest, her heart beat rapidly against her ribs as she struggled to get away. He thought she was a prostitute… "Get off me, Señor," she spoke as calmly as she could, her desperation rising.
"So she's not just a wench, she's a little Spanish wench!" came another voice on her right, mimicking her. "Ay ay ay, you've got taste, Señor Wilcox!"
So that's his name, she thought numbly. Knowing she had nothing to lose, she swung a punch at Wilcox, but he grabbed that arm, too. He yanked her out of her seat and wrapped his rough, dry arms around her waist. Were it not for his terrible stench and grime, she would've bitten him. Her mind frantically scrambled for a solution.
"You're a fighter – I like that in a woman."
From behind her, there came a different voice, lazy with a slight slur. "I should probably point out to you the enormously big mistake you're making, mate."She felt the Wilcox man stiffen a little and his grip slacken. "Aye?" he tried to sneer. "What'sat?"Anamaria heard the new man sidle up behind her and place a comfortable arm around her shoulder, settling his fingers down one by one. "You see … she might be your wench … but she's my girl." He tilted his head and looked at Anamaria. "Has'is fine gentleman been bother'n you, love?" She noticed Wilcox had released her completely.
"Yes, querido," Anamaria said mournfully, rolling her eyes at her former captor. Instinct told her she was being rescued rather than not.
"But we'll be havin' no more fun from him, right? Right." He flashed a roguish smile. "So Mrs. Captain Jack Sparrow and I'll just mosey right on out, and you, friend, can cast your unlucky lots elsewhere, savvy?" Shaking hands with the stunned man, he added, "Nice seeing you, by the way, you're looking splendid."
As she was escorted out of the inn and down the street, the familiar name was ringing in her ears … Captain Jack Sparrow…
"You picked the wrong inn in Tortuga to have a cup, lass," remarked the man with his arm still around her. "Course I can't say there's a right one-"
Anamaria released herself and looked at him squarely. "I thank you for what you've done, truly. But please – before you leave, know I can take care of myself, and that you have not just rescued a damsel."
"I would never dream otherwise," said Captain Jack Sparrow, but there was a smile playing about under his mustache.
Anamaria found she couldn't keep a serious face, and she pointed a finger at Jack. "Someday I shall prove it to you," she said. "And one more thing. I've heard things about you, Captain Jack Sparrow."
"The human tongue is marvelously effective," commented Jack in that lazy, charming voice. "Anything stick out in your 'ead?"
"My father. You served as part of his crew many years ago."
Jack nodded, then froze and stared at her. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Anamaria."
"Is it!" Jack nodded again. "So you're the sweet young apple of Master Aquila's eye. He was one of the finest captains a boy could sail under." He cocked his head. "He still living?"
"Just about. Retired, living in Indura."
"Well, be sure to give him the regards of a young scoundrel. I know I much more reputable inn for your tastes, love. Come with me."
The inn was stuck back in a corner of the town, and it was much quieter than the wreck she had first stepped into.
Then again, it was still Tortuga.
"Eh… you own a boat, Miss Anamaria?" he asked on the way in.
"Jolly Mon. Just a fishing dory my father passed on to me."
"Ah," he said. After a pause, he told her he'd have a word with the owner and secure the very best for her. For a notorious pirate, she thought, he's got a sense of manners.
She was beginning to warm to this man, who sauntered strangely to the table where a slim, golden-haired woman stood. Jack was maybe in his late thirties – had beaded, braided, long dark hair, and years of the sea etched into a deep tan. And that roguish, swaying way about him. That comforting arm. The assuring grin. It brought a smile to her lips even as she thought about it.
Anamaria considered herself not easily charmed away, but something here, something was different.
It's likely he's had many a girl, she thought as he strode back to her.
"Shall I buy you the drink you left behind after that rude interruption?"
Anamaria narrowed her eyes and feigned some suspicion. Jack raised his hands in innocence. "I assure you, you'll get naught but good intent from me, miss. And you said you'd prove to me you're capable of fending for yourself, isn't that right?"
"Aye, that I did." Eyes still narrowed, but with a certain spark, Anamaria followed Captain Jack Sparrow to the counter. The sound of fiddler music, laughter, and claps filled her ears.
Three, four, maybe five drinks later, Anamaria had never felt happier in her life.
"Promise me – promise me, sweetheart, you'll be on the Pearl when it first sets sail," Jack laughed.
She looked at him very seriously. "Only if you promise to save quarters for me."
"Oh, but love, she's not exactly built for private quarters – I'm very sorry."
Would that really matter to her? She smiled lazily, happily. She was so happy... "I guess I promise."
They'd danced earlier, drawing a small crowd with how utterly terrible they both were, yet somehow working together in perfect time. A cheer had risen up at the conclusion.
"Surely you're not getting tired so soon…"
"You could show me my room, just so I know where to find it."
Jack rose and offered his hand to Anamaria, lifting her up. They somehow made their way up the flight of steps and down a short hallway.
"Whatd'ye think?"
Anamaria surveyed the blurry room with one eye. "Muy excelente," she proclaimed. She turned to look at Jack (the room made a quick, funny tilt) who stood by the door. "Gracias, querido." Spanish, Spanish, language of the devil… it always found a way into her speech at times like these, no matter how she tried to curb it.
"Whatever you said, here's to hoping it was complementary."
She laughed. Then he said, "It's been a good evening, Ana – don't forget – Black Pearl. First sail."
"Of course." Is he leaving? He's hesitating… "Make it a night," she muttered, pushing him up against the wall and pressing her lips to his.
The brown three-corner hat fell to the ground outside the doorway. The door slammed behind it and there it sat, abandoned in the silent hallway.
Amelia, slightly drenched with salty water glistening in her golden hair, sat tapping her foot behind her counter absent-mindedly.
Where was Jack? It occurred to her that he was showing that girl to her room. He could've been going up when she was returning… she'd been out for an hour, searching for … well, one never knew. She could take a chance. She rose with good posture and ascended the steps.
She made a quick rap on the door and asked, "Any assistance needed?" She noticed an object on the wooden floor.
"Well, I suppose I'll be off, then, Anamaria! Good night!" came a hasty reply. There was a muffle, a rustle of linen, and Jack Sparrow emerged solemnly, shutting the door very carefully behind him. "Did you find it, love?"
She held out his three-corner hat coolly. He took it, looking stricken at her expression. "No?"
Exasperated that he couldn't recognize how obviously upset she was, she replied impatiently, "Yes, of course I found it, Jack. It's tied to a rope across from Bianco's Anvils. I even managed to get the bulk of the rope untied… but it is the Jolly Mon you wanted, right?"
"The one and only."
She followed him down the steps. "Jack – won't you take me with you? I'm sick of this horrible town and-"
"Next time, love, next time. Business calls, you know the routine," he said.
Amelia desperately continued to protest. "Business is always calling! You'd think it'd be sick of you by now!"
He turned to her. "Next time, love. All right? Port Royal, you n'me." Without warning, he kissed her on the cheek and started out.
Smiling grimly, she wished him a good trip and hoped that little street urchin she'd spoken to did as he was told.
Luther Owens crouched in the water behind the Jolly Mon. The blonde lady had promised him a shilling if he stuck a few holes in this boat – providin' a man with a mustache and a big hat came back without her.
From what he could see, this odd man was definitely alone. Luther grinned. That shilling was all his.
That Amelia, Jack thought, she's all right. Needy, maybe, but all right. The dory moved at a good pace, and he figured he'd be in Port Royal mid-morning. It was quite a nice boat. It rocked comfortably along under the dark sky.
A pang struck his heart as he thought of Anamaria. Beautiful lass – bright, too, but a bit naïve yet for Tortuga… she'd be all right in the end. He'd see her again. He wanted to see her again. It was rare he felt this way about a girl – but Anamaria had something more to offer than a simple night of pleasure. Fully intended to have her on his crew –
And he was just borrowing the boat. With every intention of bringing it back, of course. He just hoped she would understand his need… of course she would…. or maybe not… He winced. Likely not.
Something caught his eye. What was that?
He bent down and stared at the wall of the boat. A fine trickle, growing a little bigger by the minute, was streaming onto the floor. Ripping a small piece of linen off the sail and stopping it in the hole, he wasn't sure who to curse – but finally settled on Barbossa. He was always a good one to blame…
About the time that Jack was sailing into Port Royal on top of a rapidly sinking mast, a young woman with rough, thick black hair was stirring. She discovered quickly that when she didn't move, her head didn't pound.
"Jack," she said softly. She waited for a sound. When she heard none, she slowly brought her hand around to the spot where he had lain beside her, before she fell asleep. She needed that touch again, craved it…
But it she could not find. She couldn't find him. Slowly she cracked open her eyelids, and her eyes darted over, just to make sure. Still couldn't see… with force of effort, she raised her head and looked.
Jack Sparrow was nowhere in sight.
Anamaria slammed her head down on the pillow and uttered a sharp cry. Her head hammered and swam, but it was her heart that pained the hardest. Forcing her eyes to remain dry, she pulled on her clothes and reeled down to meet the blonde woman. "Did a – did the man who signed me in last night – where did he go? He seemed to know you, did he tell you anything?"
The complexity of Amelia's expression was too difficult for Anamaria to even begin unraveling in her current state – compassion, fear, suspicion, anger… She hesitated. Then she said, "He said he was sailing out of the city."
Anamaria groaned, a small feral cry. She sunk into a nearby chair, close to the table she and Jack had shared. She laid her arms down and buried her head.
Sailing away. Well, what had she expected from a notorious pirate…
I'll never be this naïve again.
Wait a minute.
He said he doesn't have a boat.
Throwing all immediate pain out the window, she rushed out and dashed through the sand and rocks and ships and docks to see to the safety of her Jolly Mon. A small bit of twine lay near the post she had tied it to, and there was a small space of water behind the post where another boat was pulling in.
The bastard had stolen her boat.
"JACK!!" she screamed across the sea. "JACK SPARROW, YOU-"
He'd get what he deserved. She'd be on that crew.
And she would get her boat.
- end -