Author: Hallo there! This is my first POTC fic, but I've been fanficing for a while. I've got about 3 other s/n's here, each with at least 3 incomplete stories on it….:P Oh, well. I PROMISE I'll try to finish this one though….I PROMISE!

Disclaimer: (sighs) Sadly, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. Nor Johnny Depp….(breaks down into tears) (stops crying) But I do own my original characters, such as Alex and Pete Gerald!

Pirates of the Caribbean 2:

The Dead Man's Chest

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"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me…" Captain Jack Sparrow paused in his singing. "Dammit, Anamaria! You got that song stuck in me head!"

The dark-skinned pirate woman just grinned and gave the captain a cocky two-fingered salute.

"Wench," Jack muttered, rapping his fingers rhythmically on the wheel. After a moment's hesitation, he struck up the pirates' ode again under his breath.

"Na na na na nana...and really bad eggs…" he muttered. It was nearly midnight and there was a drowsy lull on the ship.

"Cap'n!" a gruff voice called from the deck.

"What is it, Mr. Gibbs?" Sparrow asked wearily, slightly annoyed about being interrupted during his musical number.

"Nikket just spotted land, sir," the scruffy-looking man said. "Just thought you ought ta know."

"Thank you Mr. Gibbs," he replied, though truly he didn't give a damn.

After a few minutes the thin, shadowy coastline became clearer and more solid.

"Tortuga," Jack Sparrow sighed with both a fondness and a mild dislike.

After Jack was able to dock the Black Pearl, he turned to his crew, who were obviously eager to get a drink or find themselves next to very curvy women in the morning. Counting out Anamaria, of course. Okay, he didn't want to think about that…

"Be back at at least noon, alright?" he bellowed as they made their way off the ship. After impatient 'ayes' from them, he sent them off. "Have fun, and don' get shot or gutted. Wouldn't want that!" There were some chuckles from the crew, but most were already making their way to the prostitute/pirate/ne'er-do-well-filled streets, fervent for an alcoholic drink in their hands.

Jack sighed. They'd always be the same. Then again, he would too. He grinned as he headed out onto the streets, visions of rum and women swimming in his mind.

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Alexandria McCain was in a sour mood.

She had just narrowly avoided being manhandled by her employer, and was now sulkily serving rum to the already drunken patrons of the DANCING PONY in punishment for protecting her honor.

The usual dishwasher and barmaid, Alex hated being a waitress. She always had to endure constant slaps on the rear and fondling of her…well, good thing she always kept a sharpened dagger hidden in her bodice. The hotheaded young Irish woman never hesitated in bringing it out and telling the overeager men that she had slit throats before and would be obliged to do so again if she felt like it.

Most of the time, no matter how drunk they were, the men of Tortuga got the message.

"Still workin' here, eh?" one grizzled old man said to Alex as she served him the house special.

"Aye," she said wearily. "Redbeard tried to woo me a few hours ago, an' now I got waitress duty fer nickin' him with me knife." Redbeard, her employer, was a large man with a red bushy, unkempt beard and beefy hands. "I jess wanted ta git a point across, yah know?" she sighed. "Anyway, wha' 'ave ye been up to lately, Mr. Gerald?"

"Please Alex, call me Pete," he said gruffly, waving his hand around as if expelling the formalities. Pete Gerald was a lean, tough-looking man in his late fifties, perhaps. He wore a dirty, stained shirt and patched, worn trousers tucked into just as badly patched tarnished, black boots. His hair was a wild mass of grey. His teeth were slightly yellowed when he smiled warmly. "And business is goin' fine…"

"ALEX!" a harsh voice bellowed suddenly. "I don' pay yah to socialize! Back to work!" Alex groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Talk ta yah later, I s'pose," she said to Pete as she went back into the hordes of drunken men. When the last of the nearly unconscious drunks were kicked out, Alex walked back inside to clean up with the rest of the girls. Just when she was about to leave, however, out of the corner of her eye she saw a lone figure leaning against a dark wall. Curious, but ready to defend herself if she had to, she approached the person.

"Mr. Gerald!" she exclaimed when she recognized the mass of wild gray hair. "I though' yah left!"

"I was waiting for you to get off your shift," Pete told her. "You said we'd talk later, so let's talk as I escort you home."

"Alright…" she said, pleasantly surprised. Alex hated walking to her home alone at night. She was always a target for womanizers. She trusted Pete, though. He was like an uncle to her.

The two of them walked hurriedly through the streets as to avoid pickpockets. When they reached Alex's door, she smiled at Pete and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank ye kindly, Mr. Gerald," she said with a small smile on her face. Pete's face flushed a bit.

"I told ye to call me Pete, you flattering wench," he said teasingly, patting her arm and turning to go. But he paused. "Did ya hear, Miss McCain? Jack Sparrow has the Black Pearl again. I heard 'tis a great tale, an' he's landing soon. Perhaps he'll come to the Pony, eh? " Alex unintentionally stiffened.

"Perhaps," she said, really wishing he wouldn't. "G'night, Mr. Ger… Pete." Pete raised hit hat in farewell and went on his way as Alex opened the door and went into the shabby stone warehouse that she lived with many other girls.

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The next night was as crowded and tiring as the last. Alex was still assigned to waitress duty. Mr. Higgens, or Redbeard as he was called behind his back, obviously still felt the sting of the cut she had given him the day before.

However, she would have waitressed for the rest of her life if she knew what was to happen.

As Alex was pouring drinks, she noticed John Higgens was heading toward her. Her stomach churned distastefully as he leaned toward her ear.

"Alexandria," the barman hissed. "Follow me."

He grabbed her arm. Alex instinctively wrenched it out.

"I'm doing my job righ' now, Mr. Higgens," she muttered in an almost spiteful voice. Redbeard laughed menacingly and Alex felt the sharp point of a knife against the small of her back. The pressure sent sparks of panic up her spine.

"Ye can check yer bodice, Miss McCain," he said into her ear. "It's yer dagger I have in me hand." But Alex didn't have to check. She only just noticed that the comforting weight of her weapon against her chest was gone.

"I always had a gift fer pick-pocketing," he chuckled sinisterly. He then led the fiercely resisting Alex to the back alley behind the bar. He slammed her against the cold stone wall. He then leaned forward and kissed her roughly on the lips. She could smell spiced rum on his breath. Alex, her mind spinning wildly now, tried to kick him, disarm him in a way. Any way. But it was no use. She was pinned, and Redbeard was at least twice as strong as she.

"Stop it!" she screamed, struggling against the iron grip he had on her. "Get off me, you bastard!"

Redbeard just chuckled manically again, and slapped her across the face. The blow almost knocked her out.

"Aw…" he mockingly crooned as she gripped the right side of her face, gasping in pain. "Be a pity to mar that pretty face." He suddenly grabbed her and threw her down, sending her sprawling into the dirty street. He straddled her, pinning her to the ground. One hand holding her wrist, Higgens laid the edge of her knife against her throat. Electric currents of fear coursed through Alex's veins. She didn't dare to breathe.

Higgens snickered again and flipped the dagger so that the broad side of the blade lay flat on her throat instead of the sharpened edge.

"Yer to pretty to waste," he hissed, sending a wave of spiced rum-induced breath into her face. He then slowly ran the blade across her throat in an almost loving caress and began to lead it, handle down, keeping the blade on her skin. When the blade reached the low collar of her blouse, Higgens sneered greedily, a mad glint in his eyes.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered hoarsely. He raised the handle so that the knife was now horizontal, the point just above her blouse. Alex was still struggling uselessly from under the heavy man, paled a few more shades and began to shriek, hoping desperately that someone, anyone, would hear her and help her. Before it was too late.

But as John Higgens ripped her blouse open with her dagger, despite her violent protests, she knew it was no use. The sounds of midnight partying, gunfire, and drunken fighting would drown out her voice.

Damn this cursed hell of a town! She thought hopelessly as he began to feel her up.

"No!" she screamed, angry and fearful tears welling up in her whiskey-colored eyes. "Stop it!" Redbeard then proceeded to lift up her skirt, and pulling down his own trousers. He was panting eagerly; his eyes had a frighteningly animal look in them.

Suddenly, she was able to wrench a hand free and punch him hard in the face. She took this chance to bolt.

Unfortunately, John Higgens recovered from her blow quicker then she would have thought. A searing pain in her right shoulder as he sliced it with her dagger made her stumble and cry out in pain. Alex fell on her knees, gripping her bleeding shoulder.

Oh, God, no…

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Author's Note: Weeee! Cliffhanger! Sorry, that was really explicit, wasn't it? Well, I'm trying to broaden my writing criteria. I've never written anything this dark before. Don't worry, though, it'll get happier….(see Emo reviewers walk away, sulking)….erm, at least it'll be better for some people. Hee.

REVIEW, MY PRECIOUSSSSS!