A/N: Thank you so much to all my reviewers! I thought this story was going to be a side project, but it seems to have taken on a life of its own. Jack is just so damn fun. :D Enjoy chapter 3!

Rum and Roses

III: Falling Overboard

Most people would have accused Jack Sparrow of not having a conscience. This wasn't entirely true: he had one, he just chose not to use it much of the time. At the moment, for example, drinking a bottle of rum pinched from his rescuers' cargo hold wasn't eliciting the slightest twinge.

The liquid sloshed sweetly in the bottle and he savored its taste in his mouth. Night was the best time for drinking, partly because that was when the bars were most lively, partly because only at night was the world so peaceful. Perched on the railing of the Demerara's prow, the open sea stretched out before him in a darkly sparkling vista. The cloudless sky allowed moon and starlight to fall onto the dim water, shimmering on the tops of little white waves stirred up by the ship's passing. The familiar rush of the ocean lulled him into rare contentment. This was life: a ship, a bottle of rum, and water all around.

Except the Demerara was a far cry from the Black Pearl, and no amount of alcohol could make him forget that. The drink turned sour in his mouth at the thought of Barbossa sailing away with his ship.

He tossed the half-filled bottle into the sea and rested his head in his hands. The brief moment of peace had vanished once more. He had tried without interruption to forget the mutiny for a time. There was no sense in dwelling on it – he could take no action until they reached a port, and that would be days yet. Nothing to do but wait. Jack had never been good at waiting. Oh, he knew the importance of the 'opportune moment,' as he liked to put it, but delaying until that moment had caused him trouble more than once. Impassive his face might remain, but he chafed inside.

He didn't forget either. Every time he closed his eyes, the Pearl loomed before him, her black sails billowing under another man's command. An imaginary first mate would grin, and Jack would grit his teeth in an effort to remain calm. He would have loved to break out into another screaming fit of temper, but that wasn't an option on board the Demerara. Here, he had to lie low until the situation turned to his favor.

Jack gazed despondently at the softly breaking waves. Thoughts of revenge filled his head, but no plans. The truth was, even if he were off this ship and on his way again, he had no idea how to go about getting the Pearl back. It seemed both his famous resourcefulness and infamous audacity had run out. He cursed himself silently, trying to force his atrophied brain to work, but the gray fog in his head remained. Jack had been in numerous tight places, but never had his own intelligence failed him. It wasn't that he felt confused, exactly, just… blank. Empty. He couldn't spur himself, he couldn't unearth a single reason to bother doing – anything. The Pearl seemed hopelessly distant. So distant that apathy overwhelmed him at the thought of hunting her.

Jack Sparrow felt immensely sorry for himself.

The pirate ex-captain had fallen into this dismal state of self-pity when a small noise behind him broke into his gloomy thoughts. He tensed but did not turn around. It sounded vaguely like a sniff, but he couldn't imagine what someone would be smelling up here. The sea air, perhaps? He scoffed at the idea. Pirates didn't notice the smell of salt.

Something moved on his left and he turned his head slowly. A person stood by the railing, hands on the wood and head down. He noted with some surprise that it was the cabin girl, Anamaria. He'd forgotten all about her.

"Come out to see the sights, love?" he asked, and almost winced. It had sounded surly and feeble, not nearly as witty as he wanted.

Anamaria jerked around. Apparently, she hadn't seen him. Odd, considering he was standing in plain sight. She remained uncertainly still, one hand clenched on the rail, gazing at him through the dark. He couldn't see her face, but something about her stance struck him as curious.

"Sparrow? What do you want?"

He wanted his ship. That, however, didn't seem like a good answer at the moment. He sidled closer, playing for time. Useless time, as it turned out, since the best answer he could come up with was a murmured, "Nothing."  

"You already have that," she retorted, but her heart wasn't in it. Her voice sounded husky. Jack suspected she wanted him to go away, but he wasn't about to comply with the saucy wench's unspoken request. Her comment irritated him. It had caught him off-guard; worse, it was too close to what he'd been thinking. It was bad enough that he felt worthless. He couldn't bear to think how others might see him – as a poor, pathetic, hopeless swaggerer with a big mouth and nothing else.

"It seems we're in the same boat, love." He smiled to cover his discomfort, mildly pleased with the pun. Anamaria, however, didn't take the remark well. She grimaced angrily and glared at him.

"We are not," she snapped, "and never will be in the same boat! If it were up to me, we would've left you on that island! If it were up to me, we'd throw you overboard this moment! If – " She cut off. Jack was laughing.

"You'd like to be captain, would you? Let me tell you, love, it's harder than it looks."

"It can't be, if you could do it. But then, you weren't much good at it, were you?"

"Dangerous waters, love," Jack said, grinning with a painful effort. "Wouldn't swim in them, if I were you. If you're so interested in being captain, why don't you go ask our dear friend Moore? I'm sure he'd be more than happy to instruct you in the necessary skills."

She stiffened visibly. "What do you mean by that?" Her voice held a threatening undertone that Jack was too angry to heed.

"There must be certain advantages to being the only woman aboard a ship of rum runners. With the right kind of persuasion, a pretty thing like you could get whatever she wanted from the crew… or the captain."

It happened so quickly he had no time to react. Anamaria's hand flashed, and suddenly his cheek stung like fire. Before he even managed to pull himself together, she slapped him again. The third time he managed to grab her arm before the blow connected. She tried to wrest herself away, but he held on stubbornly.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he asked softly.

Anamaria's face was twisted with rage. Her wide eyes shone in the starlight, fixed unwaveringly on him, and her chest rose and fell in angry pants. "Let go of my arm!" she demanded.

"I don't think so," Jack said benignly, "Hate to admit it, but I'm really not in the mood to be slapped tonight. Can't think why. Must've been something I ate."

"You can eat poison for all I care!"

"That's not very nice," he reflected. "What's such a pretty girl doing thinking such ugly thoughts?"

In response, Anamaria tried to yank her arm away, but he only gripped it more tightly. She made a sound suspiciously similar to a muffled yelp.

"What's this?" he wondered aloud, suddenly curious. He pushed back her sleeve and bared the skin to the moonlight. Even in the dark, the black bruise on Anamaria's forearm was plain to see. Despite her protests, he examined it; it looked fresh. "Where did you get that?" he asked, glancing up at her.

"I dropped something on it," she replied hastily. Jack snorted.

"Sure you didn't run into a door, love? Or fall down the stairs?" He continued to examine her, his gaze traveling up her arm until it found another bruise on her neck, half hidden by her shirt. "Drop something there, too?" He cocked his head and peered at the mark thoughtfully.

"I'll drop something on you if you don't release me." The hostility in her voice was almost palpable.

Shaking his head, Jack let go of her arm. "Only trying to help, love," he said, "can't blame a man for that, can you?"

"Who needs your help?" she sneered, "You're the worst pirate I've ever seen, and a pitiful excuse for a captain. You couldn't manage your own ship – don't think you can help me!" She turned away suddenly, facing out to sea in stony silence.

"Right to my heart," Jack said sorrowfully, hold a fist martyr-like to his breast. He'd had about enough of this girl. His mood was dark enough without slaps and nasty comments. The time had come to get violently drunk and forget all this. If only he hadn't thrown that bottle of rum overboard… well, there was plenty more. He ought to be able to swipe enough to wash away his troubles. "It's been wonderful chatting with you, but I'm afraid I really must go."

Anamaria didn't answer. She was probably as relieved to see him go as he was to get away from her. Obviously, it would never have worked between them. A shame, but there were plenty of fish in the sea. Anyway, this one was a shark.

Jack strode easily away, already dismissing Anamaria from his mind. Rum was kinder than any woman. His foot found the rung of the ladder descending to deck and he turned to climb down – and froze.

He hadn't heard Anamaria move. She had climbed onto the railing and was balanced precariously on the edge, leaning over the water. The night breeze blew her hair forward like a death shroud; the moon outlined her body, casting a shadow onto the deck. No matter how strong of a swimmer she was, if she fell into the ship's path the undertow would hold her beneath the waves long enough to… well, too long. Not that she would care. Falling was hardly the danger here. The thought crossed his mind that she must be very desperate. She hadn't even waited until he left.

A second later he snapped out of shock and shot back up the ladder. He crossed the deck in two seconds, and then he had his arms around her waist, pulling her back to the safe confines of the ship. She shrieked once and fell deathly silent, as if frightened by the sound.

Then she began to writhe wildly, and the two of them dropped to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs, and curses. She was wiry and surprisingly powerful; it took all his strength to pin her beneath him, keeping her arms still and away from his face. She struggled fruitlessly for a few more moments before collapsing suddenly.

Jack stared down, his face inches from hers. Her eyes were huge and her breath tickled his cheek. Tears glimmered quite clearly on her face. He felt a twinge of sympathy and wished he hadn't been so harsh before.    

"And what was that?" he said quietly, "A night swim?"  

"Why not?" she whispered, "Better than a pistol, isn't it?"

"Neither one seems very inviting. Your face is too handsome to be drowned, love."

"I'd rather it were ugly," she said bitterly.

The facts were beginning to make unpleasant sense to Jack. He was an unscrupulous scoundrel, but some things repulsed him. Harming women was one of them. Despite his habit of staying aloof, he felt himself warming to this prickly, proud girl with her bruises and her painful secret. He wondered if the crew knew. Probably not – the captain would hardly want such information public.

"If I let you up, will you promise not to try again? And don't slap me either," he added as an afterthought.

Anamaria hesitated a moment before nodding. He eased off of her and sat back on his heels, watching her recuperate. It didn't take long. Soon the tears were gone and the thorny façade back in place. She studiously avoided his gaze, straightening her hair and clothing.

She stood, and he found himself looking up at her. "I have to go," she said vaguely.

"You think so?" He rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling carelessly between his legs.  

"I have to," she reiterated, "There's nothing anyone can do about it."

"Something can always be done." He spoke nonchalantly, as if conversing with himself. "There are plenty of ships out there. Why stick with this one? Mine is much better, I assure you. I'll be needing a new crew once I get her back, anyway."

She shook her head and left, a ghost disappearing into the night.

Jack watched her retreat thoughtfully. Her tacit refusal of his offer didn't bother him. In fact, he felt his mind and will stirring to life again. Here was a lady in trouble, one much closer than the lost Pearl, and in graver danger. Something would have to be done.