Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters etc copyright © Disney Enterprises and Jerry Bruckheimer, Inc., 2003. Used without permission, for the purposes of fan appreciation. Basically, I don't own Jack :'( if I did, I wouldn't be writing this ;-) however, I do own Rose, she is mine, and I would appreciate it if you didn't use her without permission. There are also several minor characters of my own invention, but they don't call them minor for nothing.

A/N: This is the first fan fic I have ever written, so any constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Also, if you see any mistakes/bloopers/typo's/incorrect technical terms please don't hesitate to inform me.

I wrote the first bit of this fan fic about two months before my exams. Then the whole revision thing caught up with me, and so i postponed the writing of the fan fic until after the exams. Now it is after the exams, and i have decided to continue writing it all. I am a perfectionist, and i do have the whole story in my head, it's just a case of typing it all up and correcting and re-typing bits until im happy with it. This means that it may be a while before i post the second chapter (im still working on it) but the point is that i WILL post, it may just be a while before i do so. I aim to update once a week.
Remember: keep to the code, savvy?

A LITTLE PIECE OF HEAVEN

Chapter 1

Celia poured another tankard of rum, and glanced across the room at the man sat in the corner of the tavern. He had been sat there for near two hours now and, unlike most of her other customers, he was sat alone. He didn't appear to be too drunk either.

The tavern was packed with the noisy inhabitants and guests of the island of Tortuga and other than the stranger in the corner, there was not one sober person in sight. Drunken men were crowded around tables and swarming about the tavern, local strumpets were weaving themselves seductively around tables. The air was thick with the reek of rum and the candlelight flickered over many small scuffles that had broken out.

Celia handed over more rum to yet another drunken customer, and glanced again at the man in the corner. It wouldn't bother her so much if she hadn't seen the man before, but this was the third night he had turned up. Each night, he sat alone at the table in the corner, and appeared to ignore the melee around him. Any normal barmaid wouldn't have given him a second thought, but Celia wasn't a normal barmaid. She was wary of strangers, of people who lingered too long and eyes that studied her face rather than her body. She wasn't afraid of pistols or swords. Her hair wasn't naturally the muddy shade of brown it was tonight, nor did she need the glasses perched on her nose. Her real name wasn't even Celia. It was Rose, but nobody knew that. That name was from her past life, the main part of her nobody knew about anymore.

Down the other end of the bar was a man half slumped across its wooden top. 'Celia! Oi, Celia!' he called, by means of catching her attention. It was a moment before Rose realised he was summoning her: two years under the alias of Celia couldn't make Rose remember her 'name' at times when she was particularly distracted. She still sub-consciously expected to be addressed as Rose, or even Captain Sharpe, which was ridiculous as nobody here knew of her previous occupation either. The henna hair, the useless glasses and the ability to merge into the background and become invisible made sure that she was never recognised in her current surroundings as the infamous Rose Sharpe.

As Rose moved down the bar, she heard her old name spoken from a nearby table, and spun to see several tipsy men gathered in conversation. From their posture, it was obvious they were in the midst of deep discussion, oblivious to their surroundings, and had been for some time. Rose discreetly listened in as she served her customer.

'... heard she left the ship, ran, and opened a tavern here on this very island!' one man bragged. He was somewhat younger than the rest, and appeared proud to have brought this new angle of theory to the group.

'Nah, ' another began, 'there's no way Rose Sharpe would ever end up a bloody barmaid! I met her once, I did, back when she was co-captain o' the- '

'You never did!' interrupted the first.

'I did indeed!' retorted the second speaker defensively. 'Many years ago now, when I was with ol' Cap'n Bridges on the Voyager. She fought good as any man, better than any man, or so they'd say.'

There was an outburst of discussion at this, until an older man who before now had remained silent spoke up.

'S'true.' The group turned to listen to the old man, who was obviously held in high regard by those gathered around the wooden table. 'Fought and defeated some of the best of 'em, she did. Westly, Deason, me ol' mate Redding... I'll never forget that night he was killed by her aboard the Lady Fortune... Terrible battle, that...'

As the old man continued his narrative, Rose turned away. She would never forget that night either. The Lady Fortune had been the last ship they had plundered before the battle with Grainsley. The supplies she and her co- captain had commandeered on her last prize had probably saved both their lives...

Rose threw herself into her work in an effort to avoid such memories. It didn't do to dwell upon the past - what's in the past has passed. That's why they called it the past. And besides, this wasn't the first time she had heard the customers discussing the mysterious fate of her former self. It was almost routine, and other than tonight nobody had come even close to the true version of events. Despite this, Rose wasn't worried. In a few hours time, the men who had most recently been discussing her former self would be too drunk to remember anything from the evening.

Rose had almost forgotten about the man in the corner, but after a while found herself glancing over to him yet again. His lean body was wrapped in a faded black cloak, his tricorn hat was pulled down low, casting his face into shadow. As he lifted his tankard to drink, Rose caught sight of the mans hand, and froze. On his forefinger was a silver ring with a jewel set in the middle. In this light, the jewel appeared to be black, but was actually green. Rose recognised that ring. She knew that the jewel was green. There was only one such ring in the world, and it had been a long time since she had borrowed it without permission it to give to a pirate she hadn't seen for two years. A wave of emotion swept over Rose, and she turned away as a thousand questions flew through her mind. Why was he here? What did he want? Did he recognise her? Was it even him? Rose distractedly gathered up a few glasses, glanced to the corner once more and stopped - the man had gone. Her eyes swept the tavern - he wasn't there. Disappointment engulfed her, and she sank down onto the counter behind the bar to steady herself. It couldn't have been him. Even the thought was ridiculous. She didn't even know why she was disappointed. But even so. You chose this life hissed her inner voice. You were the one that gave it all up. You didn't have to, but-- 'Shut up' she told herself, and continued to work. It couldn't have been him. He knew she had given it all up. He knew why she had given it all up. Its not something you forget lightly, the death of the man you love more than life itself at the hands of the man you hate more than death... Rose hadn't been paying attention, and the tankard she was refilling overflowed. She cursed, and decided to put all thoughts of the past and the pirate out of her mind. Besides, she told herself, even if it was him...

The evening progressed slowly, and by the time the tavern closed in the early hours of the morning Rose was exhausted. She closed the door behind her and stepped out into the street. The moon cast a silvery light over the inebriated inhabitants tripping down the road, and from all around her came drunken shouts. She set off for her house at a quick pace, carefully side-stepping several unfortunate drunks passed out in the street. It didn't do for a woman to hang around the streets of Tortuga at this hour, and even though Rose was more than able to look after herself, she was trying to avoid drawing peoples attention.

As she passed a dark alleyway, a hand flew out and grabbed her shoulder. Instinct made her grab the hand and attempt to twist it up and around its owners back, disenabling her opponent, however he was ready for it, and grabbed both her arms before she could react, twisting her body around until she was unable to move. Only one man could respond so to her failsafe attack, and as Rose looked down she saw the silver ring on his finger, the green jewel glinting at her in the moonlight.

'Jack Sparrow?' she asked warily.

'That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you, luv' came the reply.

TBC..