A/N: Unfortunately, ff.net isn't letting me see any reviews, so I have no idea who read and responded to the last chapter. Rest assured that I'm grateful anyway and I hope you keep reading!

Rum and Roses

II: Wounds

Anamaria didn't have a last name. In her opinion, she didn't need one, especially not a stupid one like that Jack Sparrow fellow who kept staring at her had. No name was better than a bird's name – particularly a small, irritating, dirty bird's name. Sparrow might not be small, but he was definitely irritating and dirty. The worst part was, the crew had put him in her care, owing to her feminine healing abilities or some such nonsense. Just one more drawback of being the only woman aboard.

She'd tried to argue with Alexander – Captain Moore, she attempted to remind herself, but the illusion of distance was pointless – but he only snapped at her. She knew he'd been angry with her for wandering off, and downright furious when she brought back the marooned captain. Not that Alexander had a problem with giving Sparrow passage. He just didn't like the fact that Sparrow seemed more than little interested in her.

However, Alexander knew nothing about treating injuries, and Anamaria did have a rudimentary knowledge of medicine. Besides, he sensed she wanted to stay away from Sparrow. To Alexander, this was all the more reason to force them into each other's company, at least temporarily. As a result, she was forced to bandage the arrogant new crewmate's hand. Knowing that Alexander would make her pay for it later only made everything worse. It wouldn't take long for his jealousy to flare up, and then she'd be in trouble.

Anamaria had obtained a place among the rope coils on deck where the two of them were mostly out of the crew's sight. The last thing she needed was spying deckhands to go running to Alexander with fabricated tales. Only wind and twine provided company as she concentrated on cleaning and tying up Sparrow's hand. He didn't speak during the process, something she found both surprising and relieving. On the other hand, his stares were louder than words. She refused to return the looks. Once in a while he would move and his clothing would rustle or the beads in his hair would clink, but otherwise she almost succeeded in ignoring his existence.

She'd found Sparrow a shirt, at least. Not that forced modesty stopped him from making shameless advances. Her deliberate roughness in binding up his bleeding wound didn't provoke so much as a wince. In fact, he seemed more amused than anything else. It made her powerfully uncomfortable, and her task seemed to take endless hours. The sun had begun to set when she'd finished, and she was looking forward to escaping belowdecks into the safe, comforting darkness of the ship.

"Thanks, love," Sparrow said with a smile that set his golden tooth flashing, "You've a soft touch."

Anamaria gritted her teeth. She did not have any softness about her and she detested mockery. If only she hadn't thrown the damn rock, none of this would have happened. That's what you got for meddling in other people's affairs. Not gratitude, but exploitation and ridicule. It was a lesson she planned to remember.

"Finished," she said curtly, drawing her hands away with relief, "now if you don't mind, I have to go – "

He grabbed her wrist as she rose to leave. "Go where, love? I don't think they need you right now."

Anamaria restrained an urge to tear her arm away and run. Apprehension and disgust warred for mastery over her. She struggled for a moment to contain her anger, wanting desperately to look cool and unaffected. It was something her temper had never let her achieve, and this occasion was no exception. "First of all, this isn't your ship, so you haven't an inkling what anyone needs. Second of all, I'm a cabin girl, so someone always wants me. And thirdly, let go of my hand!"

"Only if you promise not to run away," Sparrow said with a smirk he probably meant as an enticing smile.

"I do not run away," she snapped, feeling her jaw jut as it always did when she was simultaneously furious and helpless. "I have work to do, Sparrow. You may not have noticed, being too busy with your important deliberations, but I am a member of this crew."  

Sparrow nodded solemnly. "The resident guardian angel." He released her hand suddenly and she drew it back, rubbing the wrist joint even though it didn't hurt. His grip had been gentle.

"What?" she couldn't help asking. Instinct told her to leave now – Alexander would be paying close attention to just how much time she spent with this man. Long enough was chastisement and acceptable; too long was impudence and punishable. A perilously fine line separated the two.

"Isn't that what you do?" Sparrow asked with an innocent lift of his eyebrows. His expression betrayed no inner thoughts. "Or perhaps you've taken it upon yourself to be my guardian angel," he added with another impertinent smile.

Anamaria's grin resembled a panther's bared teeth. Her heart pounded feverishly, but she made sure her voice remained calm. "I don't know what you mean."

"I rather think you do. Captain Jack Sparrow's not dimwitted, love – I know rocks don't throw themselves. And I recognize pretty girls when I see them."

Anamaria folded her arms defensively. Realizing what she'd done, she unfolded them again quickly. He'd already noticed, of course, so she blurted out something to distract him. "So what?" Nothing else followed, and she stood silently, feeling distinctly foolish.

"So why did you do it?"

She blinked. "What do you mean, why? It was the decent thing to do, wasn't it?"

He shrugged. "In theory, yes. But come on, love – we're pirates. We're not decent. Every one of us is a rotten, dissolute, self-centered man."

"I won't argue with that! But I'm not a man."

"You don't like men much, do you?" he asked, cocking his head with a grin.

"Men are fine. It's cads I don't like," she answered, the implication clear.

"Then why save one's life?" Sparrow obviously didn't plan to drop the subject. It wasn't that she minded answering – she just didn't know how. In all honestly, Anamaria didn't know why she had prevented Sparrow from shooting himself. There was no sentiment involved, to be sure. It had just seemed like the right thing to do.

"Why not?" she countered to avoid the question, "what does it matter? Why shouldn't I stop you from blasting your brains out?"

"Perhaps I didn't want to be saved."

Startled, Anamaria glanced at him, and found herself caught by his eyes. It wasn't that they were particularly beautiful. Sparrow's eyes were an ordinary shade of brown, a bit darker than usual perhaps, but nothing more. It was the darkness of pain that gave them vibrance and seized her attention. For all his relaxed stance, those dangling arms and bare feet, the slumping shoulders and loose muscles, his gaze burned with almost palpable tension and bitterness. She'd seen such a look before, and it frightened her this time as much as it had then.

"Don't be silly," she said hoarsely, "Everyone wants to live."

"Depends what you have to live for." He shrugged dismissively, still holding her gaze.

"I suggest you find something on your own. It's hardly my business to give people reasons to live."

"No," he laughed hollowly, "you only save them when they don't ask for it. And then desert them."

"You are not my responsibility!" Anamaria said furiously, raging at the injustice, "If you're unhappy, it's none of my business! I saved you – you should be grateful! Instead you try to make me feel guilty for something that's entirely your fault! Well, Sparrow, you were right. I don't like men much, and I like you less than most!"

Quivering with anger, she left him there and stalked away. Blinded by rage, she didn't notice the deckhands glancing at her as she passed. It was only when she reached the belowdecks entrance and saw lamplight streaming through the doorway that she realized night had fallen in earnest.

Horror overwhelmed her immediately. Too long! She'd passed long enough minutes ago. Alexander would be furious. For a moment her heart quailed. Why hadn't she cut the conversation off sooner? It was Jack Sparrow's fault, she told herself, choking on a potent mixture of anger and fear. Sparrow had upset her and now, because of Sparrow, Alexander would make her pay. It wasn't fair; but then, nothing had ever been fair in Anamaria's short life.

She crept down into the body of the ship, hoping to slip past the captain's cabin and to her own closet, shared with two other crewmembers. A lantern lit the Demerara's interior hallway, but Alexander's door remained closed. She began to hope again. Perhaps he'd forgotten about her, fallen asleep… she chose to ignore the fact that he'd never forgotten about her before. There was a first time for everything.

Silent as a black cat, she stole down the hallway. The captain's door lay behind her; the other cabins were quickly passed. No one came after her. He must have overlooked her long absence, she decided with a flood of relief. The next moment she stood before her door. Her bunkmates would be inside, one or both of them, and she would be safe, for tonight at least.

Anamaria opened the door, ready for a night of respite. It would not be granted her. A man waited inside the tiny closet cabin, but he was not one of her bunkmates. Instead, Captain Alexander Moore waited in the middle of the small space, a threatening thunder cloud darkening his face. The bunks behind him lay empty. There was nothing else in the room but a little table and a lantern.

The captain reached out one long arm and shut the door behind her. Anamaria felt suddenly claustrophobic.

"Alexander…" she whispered.

His smile was deceptively sweet. "Have a nice chat with our passenger?"

"No," she said, knowing this would not satisfy him. Alexander Moore did not like people touching his possessions, and in his mind, she belonged to him.

"No? I doubt that. You were together for a long time. What did you talk about?"

She couldn't tell him about the pistol and the rock. Or about Sparrow's too-friendly manner. Grasping for a reply, she hesitated too long.

"What," he bellowed, slamming his hand against the door next to her head, "did you talk about?"

She slipped deftly under his arm, backing away as far as she could. "Nothing. You told me to bandage his hand. That's what I did. What could we talk about, Alexander? You know I don't like him. That's why you made me treat the wound."

"He seems to like you well enough."

"I can't help that!"     

"Can't you? Don't bother lying, darling, it's not your specialty. I know how the men on this ship look at you, being the only woman on board. You don't exactly discourage them, do you?"

"That's ridiculous," she protested, hearing her voice tremble. It shamed her, but she could not control it. "I don't ask for attention. You can't blame me for what others do."

"I'm the captain of this vessel," he grinned, "I do whatever I want. And right now, I want to make sure you understand that you are my woman and not the whole ship's."  

One of his hands found the back of her neck. The other arm pressed her against the cold cabin wall. She didn't bother to struggle. It had happened too many times before to make a difference.

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A/N: Please pay no attention to my complete ignorance of ship geography and nautical terms. Since this is mostly a side project, I'm not doing any research on it. Hope you liked. Chapter 3 will hopefully follow soon.