A/N: This is an original story (duh!) that I had the urge to write. If you read Guess Who's Back, I'd like to say that I will try to work on it soon, but that I just simply had to get this first chapter out Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, as much as I would like to. I do, however, own both Alana Cording and Lynda Wexler, considering they are both the same person. I also take credit for the plot, which is obviously mine since I am not a plagarist. Plagirism is illegal, just incase you didn't know. Lol.

Chapter One - The Awakening

"Well, here we are."

"Thanks. This'll be just fine."

"Good. And I'll be needing the money now."

"Right, the money. Just give me a second and…here."

"Thank you, and enjoy your stay. Dinner will be at seven."

The door clicked shut. Dropping her bags on the small bed, Alana Cording allowed her body to fall back on the twin mattress as well. Bouncing slightly to test its quality, she surveyed the room. It was small, but it would have to do. Besides, it was only a five daytrip, and then she would be free. She loved Miami, she really did, but there were some things a person had to do, and leaving her beloved city was unfortunately one of them.

'I'll be in the Caribbean, though. At least the weather's going to be the same.'

It was the summer of 2005. Sadly, the world had not ended in 2000 as many had surmised. That was when her troubles all began.

"It's not my problem anymore. It's in the past and it will sure as hell stay there," she whispered. A sudden jerk brought her from her reverie. Kneeling she looked through the porthole above her bed, and then laid down again, smiling. They were making way. In a matter of time, she would be sailing international waters. She imagined herself spread out on the white sands of a distant island, tanning under the hot sun, turquoise waves lapping at her toes…

"Miss Wexler?" Alana's grin faded at the short knock on her door. Sighing she got up and opened it, revealing the middle-aged man who had escorted her in the first place.

"Yes?" she asked pleasantly.

"Miss Wexler, I'm sorry to bother you again, but I owe you some change. Here, you gave me fifty over the total charge."

"Oh, thank you so much! I must've been spacing then. And please, call me Lynda – we're going to be seeing each other for quite a while before this trip ends."

"Alright, Lynda. Don't forget, dinner's at-"

"Seven. Got it!"

At last, he left, leaving Alana once again alone. Not that she minded much. 'Better no company than bad company.' Returning to her bed, she lay down and wrapped her arms around her two duffle bags. They were all she had to start a new life. She had done a lot of running lately, and decided that what she needed was just a good, long rest. Once she closed her eyes, Alana easily found the deep sleep that she could not grasp for a long time. 'This life will be better, Lana,' she thought, 'This life will be yours to make.'

Alana jolted upright in bed. Her forehead was wet with perspiration. She had dreamt of him yet again.

'He's not here anymore. Just forget him; forget it all…' She had closed her eyes to steady her breathing, to imagine all the possibilities that her new life would bring to her. Gradually she fluttered them open. When she could see everything around her, they widened. Alana felt her heart begin to race wildly, as an overwhelming pressure began to spread through her chest, giving her trouble breathing.

"What the fuck…Where the…" Her surroundings had changed. No longer was she in the room on the small ship she had boarded earlier that day. It had not been a dream, because she was not in her old room either. The room was dark. Everything was dark. All but a silver streak of moonlight coming in from the porthole across the room. So, she was on a ship. But whose? She felt around her looking for nothing in particular. She just wanted something that would comfort her, and she would find it. Alana nearly cried out as her hands fell upon a coarse fabric.

"Yes!" It was one of her bags. All her worldly possessions – all she had left – were in those bags. Without much effort, she managed to come across the other one. Now that they were secured in her arms, it was time for her to figure out where she was, and more importantly, how she got there. As she sat there in silence, contemplating all the reasonable explanations, the door swung open.

Alana screamed and almost fell off the bed. Another startled scream followed hers. Apparently, her visitor had not been expecting her. She heard a swoosh, and stepped away from the sound. A light then illuminated the room. There was a man standing beside the desk on which a lantern had been lit, and he was holding out a sword with a most bewildered look on his face.

"Who the hell are you, and where the fuck am I!" Alana demanded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I should be askin' you questions!" the man yelled. "What the bloody hell are you doin' on my ship!"

"Now if I had come on my own, you idiot, I wouldn't be asking you!"

There was a short silence before the man spoke up again. He was obviously trying to stay calm.

"What's your name?"

Alana sneered. "As if you don't already know that. I wake up on your stupid ship, I don't know how the hell I got here, and now you expect me to act stupid and pretend like I don't know that you kidnapped me? You've got to be joking!"

"For the last time, you tart! I don't know who the bloody hell you are, much less from where you are with that accent o' yours!"

"Hey! That's not nice, I don't go around making fun of your accent! Stupid Brits…"

"Just make this easy for the both of us, will ye," he glared frustrated.

"Not until you answer my questions first." Alana replied stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest.

The man looked at her incredulously before starting. "The name's Captain Jack Sparrow. This here not stupid ship is the Black Pearl." He smirked, waiting for the girl's reply. When she looked at him blankly, the smirk faded. "What now?"

"Well?"

"Well What? I answered yer questions. I told ye who I am, and where you are! As to how you got here is beyond me."

Alana huffed frustrated. This was getting her nowhere. Maybe if she let him question her new windows would open. "Alright, it's your turn. Shoot."

Jack Sparrow shook off the unusual language the woman was using and got straight to business. "How's about we start with your name? Surly you've got one of those."

'Heck, I've got two.' Which one she would give him was the difficult part. "Lynda," she said finally. "Lynda Wexler."

For a moment, the man seemed amused. "You're lying," he stated plainly. Shifting his weight to one leg, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Alana Scoffed. "No, I'm not!"

'How does he know?' This could be a problem. A big problem. "Why would I lie? Why accuse me of something so silly?"

"Because I know you are, love. And although you're quite the actress, I'm not inclined to believe ye. May fool others, but not me."

Hesitantly, she spoke up again. Surly there would be no harm in telling him. "My name…My name is Alana Cording."

"Ah, Alana – pretty name, to be sure. Now, why-"

"Forget it, Captain, it's my turn. You already had your question. What's your trade? I mean, why are you sailing?"

"My trade?" Jack chuckled. "The Black Pearl is only one of the most legendary pirate ships in the world! Why I'm sailing, of course, is quite obvious." Sparrow frowned as Alana erupted in laughter.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that crock. The only pirates left in this world are off the coast of Brazil and such, and they operate with high-speed motor boats and machine guns! Good try though."

Jack Sparrow looked at her oddly. It was now that he let his eyes scan her body, and that he noticed her unusual clothing. The pants she wore were tight fitting and hugged her hips, so that he did not have to guess how slim her thighs were. The odd shirt she had on was black and button-less, reaching almost to her collar. It read simply in white letters "Ok Go." He also did not fail to notice that it was a bit short, exposing some of her lower stomach.

"What?" The woman ceased laughing, taking Jack's attention away from his inspection of her.

"Where did you say ye were from?"

"Gees!" she sighed exasperatedly at his ignorance. "You would think that by the year 2005, with such a globalized economy, everyone would be able to tell when someone's American! I mean, that is what you people always say, isn't it? 'Stupid Americans!'"

"2005?" he repeated skeptically.

"Uh, yeah! What's wrong with you, have you been stuck in a closet for your whole life or something?"

"On the contrary, you're the one insane!" the captain stated frankly. Alana glared at him fiercely, not understanding. "Love, this isn't 2005. Far from it, in fact."

Alana uncrossed her arms and replaced her hands on her hips. "Then where –or should I say when – the heck are we, genius?"

Jack rolled his eyes and waved his arms. "If you'd let me finish my sentence, maybe ye wouldn't have to ask! As I was saying," he cleared his throat, "This is not 2005, it's 1755."

For the first time during their encounter, her frown was not one of anger. "This doesn't make any sense," she shook her head slowly. "I can't…this just can't… Don't lie to me, not about this."

"Why would I lie?"

"Well, if you are indeed what you claim to be, then lying would be part of the job."

"Ah, but you see, there come times when even dishonest men must be honest – honestly." The woman raised an eyebrow, confused. Tiredly, Jack sighed and ran a hand over his face, closing the door.

She watched him warily through narrowed eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Closing the door," he said obviously. "It's been a long day. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

"Oh, no you're not!" Alana protested as he removed his coat and vest. "I'm not staying in here!"

"You're not leaving either," the captain said firmly.

"What do you mean I'm not-"

"I don't know you well enough, therefore you're not going anywhere unsupervised at this moment." Saying so, he waltzed up to her after snatching some rope off his desk, and tossed her to the bed.

"Hey!" Alana struggled. "Get away you damn bastard!"

Despite her best efforts, Jack managed to tie both her hands to the bedposts, and then proceeded to tie her ankles together. "Will you stay still!" he ordered, ducking a swinging leg. He pinned it to the mattress and secured it to the other, slipping fabric between the coarse ropes as he had with her wrists. Completing his task, he walked around the bed and removed his boots, as Alana ranted obscenities.

"Good God, do ye ever shut up?" he cried, lying down beneath the bed sheets.

Alana turned her head and smiled at him evilly. "No."

Jack growled in response. He usually had a very laid-back personality, being the brigand that he was. Nevertheless, he did have one hell of a temper. Normally he would make a cheeky reply, or try to make her uncomfortable by touching her in places that no respectable man should (he never went too far, of course.) Now, however, he was simply not in the mood. It had been a long day of sailing under the sweltering sun, and he was exhausted.

"Well, shut up before I shut you up!" Turning his back to her fitfully, he closed his eyes and tried to forget about the woman in the bed next to him. Mind you, he did not often try to forget these things.

Alana became quite, the pirate's threat seeming to hold her back for the time being. It was when she heard his deep breathing and light snores, that she sighed. A single tear rolled down her cheek, gleaming in the moonlight. She was gone. She was as good as dead. Her life had changed drastically, and she had not the faintest idea how or when. How being the better question. When was undoubtedly last night…or earlier this afternoon? Alana found that she didn't even care. All that she was, everything she ever knew, was gone. But wasn't that what she had wanted? It was all perfect. She wanted to forget, for everyone to forget her. She wanted to start a new life, where no one knew her name, knew her past. Now, no one knew her, and she knew no one. It was all ironically simple. She was convinced that the universe was laughing, and she was the joke. It had to be God punishing her for what she had done. For the first time, she almost wished she were home in her own bed.

"No," she hissed in an angry whisper at her own betraying thoughts. "I don't wish I was home. Nothing is worse than being subjected to that man." Willing the pools in her eyes to recede (for she had become very good at that), Alana closed her eyes and urged sleep to overcome her. It was not an easy task, but eventually she situated her back so that her arms were not terribly strained, and she fell into a sleep of troubled dreams. They had always been troubled dreams. They would always remain troubled memories.

"See who am I to say this situation isn't great? When it's my job to make the most of it, of course I didn't know that it would happen to me. Not that easy." – Jason Mraz

A/N:Well, that was interesting. I tried to make it a little realistic, but those efforts i'm afraid were futile. Please R/R and give me a piece of your mind! I would love it, really!