Thanks to me reviewers...and no, he is not a rapist. When he gets mad, he has sex. Not rough, or anything like that. Just plain sex.

Chapter eight: The hardest part

Anya was allowed free reign of the ship once they got out to open sea. Any other time Jack would have confined her to his cabin, but he felt apathy for her situation and allowed her this small luxury. She was still not to be talked to, and must be watched at all times. No one would underestimate again, though they were still unaware what she was capable of. They were just plain wary, and the was most likely for the best.

After a few days of walking around the deck, Anya decided to start working in the galley, as she liked to cook a few meals, and always felt better when working for others. It had been her only known life. And she took over the job with ease, allowing Hutt to do more "pirate duties", like sleep against the bulwark, and whittle.

The crew were thankful for her light hand in the galley, and prospered from her ministrations as cook. She would never say more then a few words, but when she did, it was only after she had been addressed first. The crew started calling her–though not to her face–The Kitchen Mouse.

Jack and Anya avoided one another. Anya would have been fine if he simply said he was sorry, but the man was like a peacock, strutting around his small ship, as if it was his old galleon. And Jack himself was too guilty feeling to approach the girl, in case she bawled him out like a mother hen. He determined to give her a little time, before trying to at least be civil once again. They rarely went into each other's domain, and if they did, nothing was said; and you could cut the tension with a cutlass.

One morning, a week after her little escapade that had sent them back a few days, Anya was busy in the kitchen, just sending the pirates away with breakfast.

She was wiping a small cup with the hem of her large gypsy skirt, flustered as a few spots that refused to come out.

The sunlight flittered in weekly, as it was nearing winter. The farther north they went, the cooler it got. (Having no means of clothing for cool weather, Francis had easily given her his own jacket, borrowing one of Jack's for himself. She looked a sight, in a wide grey skirt and somewhat tight bodice, wearing a dark blue military issue jacket that was twice her size; her hair always coming out of its twists to frame her face.) And the galley was most likely the warmest place, having the ship's oven lit half of the time mainly for her own warmth. Anya always got cold easily.

"Oh, sorry...I didn't know you were in here,"

Anya glanced up to see Jack walk in, and stop dead in his tracks. He's eben avoiding me like the plague, Anya mused.

"I just wanted an apple," Anya set down the cup with a dejected sigh, and grabbed an apple from the basket besides her.

"Here," She grunted, tossing it easily to the irritated captain. He caught it, and they stood there for a moment.

"Listen," Anya began, feeling like she should say something.

"No. You listen," Jack took a breath, irritated about how he felt. "Im sorry. I was just really really really angry with you back there. I didn't mean to do that,"

Anya blinked, and let out a slow breath. "Its alright,"

"No, its not." Jack said sternly. "I betrayed your trust and..."

"You betrayed my trust when you kidnaped me and are sending me to England because of some flash in the pan theory that I could be ruler of Russia. Wouldn't I know something that important? How much you want to bet that this Lord Hanover fellow is just going to beat on me, and maybe even take me, when I cant honestly give him information."

"I wouldn't let him..."

"No," Anya shook her head. "You would, because you want money. You are a pirate, Mr. Sparrow. Its not entirely unexpected."

Jack was now angrier at himself. She was so...defeated sounding. And she thought that of him. What was it? It was like she was a slave, who finally decided not to fight when being whipped. That made him work his jaw in frustration.

"Im sorry," he offered, shuffling his feet. "But, its just...he promised to help me get back my Pearl,"

"Just stop," Anya ordered, placing her hands on the counter, trying hard not to cry and laugh at the same time. "I know that your ship is more important then some maid who worked for your dead wife. And if I was ever in your situation, I would probably do the same...anyone would. Just go and take the helm. I want to get this over with. The sooner I surrender, the easier it is on all of us,"

She turned back around and placed the cup into one of the cabinets with another gut wrentching sigh.

"Anya..I..." Jack began again.

"Just leave," Anya said quietly, pursing her lips together, still with her back to the captain.

Footsteps receaded and soon were not heard again. Anya had to quickly sit down, feeling like such a failure, not knowing who she was, or where she was going. She was completely in the dark, and blind as well. All she knew was that her name was Anya Jacqueline, and that was it.

Anya felt a slight wave of sympathy towards the pirate captain. He had lost his ship and crew in one swift movement. His wife had died, and then the whole hassle with herself. He seemed to have other deep inlaying problems other then those she knew about. It wasn't entirely his fault for being so muddled about his current situations. She could tell that he felt guilty for his actions, and she did forgive him for that one time back on the shore. She would never really get passed her abduction. However, that one time she could forgive because in some way, she desirved it. She had escaped and she would have been made if the roles reversed.

Anya herself was confused. She felt a wave of sympathy and disgust mingle on one shore together, for this man. Coupled with the desire to go back to Aunt Charlie's, and see Isaiah, who was practically her own son.

With a bit of repulsion, Anya laid her head down on her arms and let the wrangled tears flow freely from her dark eyes, letting it all out as she never had done before; never being one for tears, but more for action.

Jack strode into his cabin to see Anya asleep on his bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and looked so pale against the dark brown quilt, and her own dark hair. He could tell from the streaks on her chin that she had been crying a great deal, and a pang went through his mind; his fault. He sat down in his desk chair and grabbed a bottle of rum that was closest to him.

She had spoken nothing but truth, Jack thought grimly. Though she had not been too afraid to address the situation with a blunt force that he would have never gotten from anyone else. Then again, she was quite different from anyone else he knew.

A feeling of something crept out of his guilt; though its name, he would be able to say. But a strange feeling of wanting to protect her, and turn back away from England and old man Hanover was so strong, he almost got up and went to the helm to change direction.

He didn't though. It would only mean more trouble for them all.

Jack observed that after he took her to England, he wouldn't have to see her again, and simply take Anya off his thoughts for good. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Jack knew it was wrong.