**Author's note: I ordinarily update more often, but with the shaky status of fanfiction.net these last few days, I've been unable. The chapter that follows is not what I consider my best, but it's transitioning… it's getting me somewhere. So bear with me, readers, as I'm heading someplace. Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement… happy reading, mates!**
He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Jack hadn't had a moment's peace since Amelia Hamilton had worked her way onto the Black Pearl, so a little more unrest was unpredictable.
Unrest was a mild word, though, for some situations. Lounging at the wheel of the ship, his eyes cast to the approaching body of land before him, Jack didn't see or hear Anamaria's approach until she was upon him, her hand laying a bright red imprint on his cheek.
Widening his eyes and working his fingers over his jaw, Jack rounded on the small woman. "What in the bloody hell was that for? I feel I should inform you, common sense dictates a limit on how many times a man can be slapped for one transgression."
Her arms akimbo, Anamaria stood toe-to-toe with the captain, not bothering to show any of the respect she knew he expected. "What did you do?" she asked sharply, pushing her face into his.
"Most currently, love, or are we looking for a specific moment in time for which I am to answer for?" But as he worked his sore jaw back and forth, he knew what he had to answer for.
Blowing out an impatient breath, Anamaria poked a finger into his chest. "It's in over yer head ye've gotten this time, with the miss walkin' around here lookin' dragged. She isn't one of yer pay-by-night ladies, and she's not a penniless Negress lookin' fer a man to teach her to sail."
Though the reference wasn't lost on Jack, he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Well, then, I can't express to you how glad I am we cleared that up, Anamaria." He turned his attention back to the water. "Do us a favor, love, and ready an anchor for me."
"Oh, all my pardons, Cap'n," she responded in a voice too syrupy to be genuine. "Did ye finally find one who made ye feel foolish before you could do the same to her?" She blinked innocently as he turned, his eyes fiery.
"Excellent," he said, tugging his hat down tighter on his head. "I'll prepare the anchor meself."
~~~
Those constantly in fear learn to be quiet, to escape notice, to pass by without attracting attention. So skilled had Amelia become at blending in that she, even as a woman on a ship full of men, was able to engineer her own departure without attracting widespread attention. With most of the crew at dinner and Jack on his way to shore, it was easy to become invisible.
Of course, even experts needed help.
"Are you certain about this?" Amelia eyed the small boat with a healthy amount of fear. "I'm fairly certain this will capsize, and it will be difficult for me to follow your beloved captain if it's at the bottom of the ocean I am." Jack had left only minutes before, his quick, clean strokes carrying him to shore quickly.
Anamaria shook her head. "Beloved he's not, and it'll hold ye just fine." She stood portside of the Pearl, and after several minutes stood watching the high-nose row awkwardly toward the shore. It had been a long time since Anamaria had taken the right road, done the right thing, and the feeling of it was foreign to her. As independent as she liked to think she was, she knew she was one of Jack Sparrow's lost girls, one of the trail he inevitably left lying behind him. The time for regret had come and gone, and now all Anamaria regretted was that she wouldn't be there to see the captain meet his match.
She watched her mentor until she was out of the shadow of the Pearl before going to take her post in the nest. As long as she was posted at watch, no one else would see the girl come and go. Before she could turn and cross the deck of the ship, a single hard blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling unconscious on the deck, leaving the ship without watch and Amelia without protection.
Daniel Covington stood over Anamaria's still form, a smile crooking his thin lips. "Aye… y'never know when opportunity might arise, ye meddling shrew," he whispered, stepping over her and looking portside, where a single boat slowly made its way to shore.
~~~
Jack stood in the darkened doorway of the unnamed establishment, a smile playing over his lips. It had been too long, indeed, since he'd come to a place like this. Even the strongest of men had weaknesses they could only go so long without.
"If that's Jack, ye filthy bastard, ye still owe me from last time. Ye'll not be getting' a single thing from me, ye bloody thief." The voice floated from the interior of the small, dusty front room, the cultured voice ill-suited to the salty slang.
Jack grinned, swaggering farther in. "Have a heart, Yancey. I've plenty to cover last time, as well as my pleasures for this day." His eyes adjusting to the gloom, he saw the tall, thin man sitting in a chair in the corner. "I'll have two of whatever's most current, mate, as thick as you have 'em."
Yancey laughed then, unfolding his long frame to stand and cross to a man he'd once sailed with. It had been long years since Peter Yancey had walked the deck of a ship or answered to the big Irish captain they'd both admired, but the camaraderie was timeless. "I seems to remember ye always liked 'em as thick as ye could get 'em, Jack-my-boy." He laid a hand to Jack's shoulder, his old eyes twinkling. "Incidentally, I've two lovelies I've been holding just for you."
~~~
A moist wind whipped through the streets, carrying the smell of the water with it, and Amelia suddenly felt as though the last month had not happened at all. Back in the streets, she was, following a man up to unsavory business in an unsavory part of town.
Only this time, she had no fear of the man she tailed, only a tight, compressed ball of sick jealousy and anger in her stomach.
'Tisn't any of your concern what he does in port, she told herself as she stayed well behind the weaving, brightly-clad captain. The staggering walk no longer seemed strange to her, but she saw the glances from other people in the street.
She hadn't a clue what she would say to him when he finally reached his destination, when she finally caught up to him. It wasn't her right to chastise him, nor did she particularly want to. She'd known from the beginning what sort of man he was, and to pretend otherwise would not only be foolish, but unfair.
It was only
that the thought of him cozied up with some faceless
strumpet made her absolutely ill.
What I can get from Amelia has no novelty.
Clenching her jaw, she tried to banish the lilting, slurring voice from her memory. She'd pitied the bastard, she had, and cursed herself for treating him as less than he was. She'd not make the mistake again, she warranted. She'd not underestimate him as so many others had.
'Twasn't a bookish man she was after, not a scholar or a gentleman, but a pirate. He had no apologies for being such, and she expected none of him.
In that case, Amelia thought as she watched him enter a building facing the street, she'd offer no apologies for being what she was: a very confused, very angry, and very irrationally jealous woman.
