Hello to you all! Here is my first ever Jack/Ana fic. It was nagging at me to write a oneshot with them in t, since I personally love the couple. Anyone else ticked off about Anamaria not being in DMC?? I sure was, so in my stories, she's going to be back on the Pearl. The way it should be…
There he sits. A man I wish I could hate.
Always so arrogant, always so jaunty and proud… like a bird admiring his plumage in a puddle, as me mum would have said. He is quite birdlike, I suppose… twittering and chattering, impossible to shut up. On wings he courses around the waters like he owns them, soaring over the sapphire waves. And that cheeky smile… enough to send my heart a-flutter as if it were a bird too…
What? No, I am not thinking that! I do not admire the bastard! Sure, he has looks, but that's about it. No soft heart, no gentle caresses, no devotion and honesty like that a girl dreams about of a man. Like Will Turner, come to think of it. Lord, but that Lizzy is a lucky girl. She doesn't have to put up with the nonsense I and about half the female population of Tortuga do. Nope, she's happily married to her man, and expecting their first child. There they sit, across from me now, him whispering into her ear, and gentle laughter following.
Lucky girl. She always was so brave, knowing what she wanted and not being afraid to go to the limits to get there. She and Will have spine to try and raise a kid aboard the Black Pearl. But they've always had spine.
Sure, in comparison to most ladies in the world, I've got guts plenty. I've pillaged, plundered, looted, fought, and killed men… everything a pirate should, despite my gender. But, glancing over at him, I wondered if that was what a man looked for in a lass. Hardly. I suspect most men want a saucy little damsel with cascading golden locks and a complexion of pearls. A real looker.
A looker, oh but I do not think I am. Even if my figure is presentable, it's covered up by practical men's clothes. I aim to keep my hair back in a scarf whenever possible, so it doesn't get in the way of the endless tasks a pirate has to perform. And my skin is nothing pearl-like.
But who am I to worry? I don't need a man! I'm a pirate- not some Tortuga flirt! Anyone who tries to make me otherwise will get a swift meeting with my fist.
He's opening a bottle of rum now, holding it to his moustached lips. I wonder what those lips must taste like…
I wish I could hate him.
Everybody's happy and gallivanting tonight. Rum's being passed around, toasts are being made, and the laughter is getting more raucous by the bottleful. Aye, there he is, parading around, drinking his alcohol. I fasten my eyes on him, as I have done all night. When he moves, it's so carefree and nonchalant; the swinging of the arms, the swagger in his shoulders, the strut in his step. I've yet to see another man who walks like that.
He's so different; maybe that's what attracted me to him when I was young and naïve, easily manipulated. There could never be another such as he. Never another…
I want to hate him.
Oh, there he is, offering rum to Will and Elizabeth. The nerve! He knows they hate the stuff, and that she can't have any because of her condition. Elizabeth's telling him to bug off, and he does. Smart girl; wish he'd do that with me more often. They go back to just themselves, just the two of them… Their foreheads are pressed together, that's how close they are on the barrel; one of Will's hands are intertwined with hers- the other rests upon her stomach, which has just begun to show the signs of a life within.
Much as I hate to admit it, much as I like to hide my feelings away… I want that too. I want someone to hold me like that, murmuring softly in my hair, stroking my skin…
… So then why are my eyes pulled to that idiot swallowing rum near the mast?
He'll do that to me; he'll do that to every girl who has the misfortune to come across him. He and I could never have the bliss the Turners share. Not in a thousand years, not in a thousand seas, no matter how hard or how much we try… He's just like that.
I hate him.
I stand up to leave, so I can go to my hammock in peace. No cabin for me- doesn't that show his care for me?
Ah, that's better. Away from the fuss, away from the noise and rum; away from him. Alone. That's what I want.
At least, I think that's what I want…
Footsteps sound out from behind me on the damp planks. I whip around, annoyed, wanting to be left alone. I'm not surprised at who's standing there, with a bottle in his grubby hand.
Him.
"Where're you going, luv? The party's out there!" He gestures towards the main deck.
"I'm tired," I lie. "Need a break."
Don't you hate awkward moments? I sure do… especially when he's staring at me like that with those eyes… Now, I pride myself of always being able to find my way, but God, if there was ever something I could lose myself in, it would be his eyes. Dark, yet bright they are, almost like twilight. I love the twilight.
Next thing I know, he's kissing me.
And not just a light kiss either.
His lips are in full force against mine, interlocked in passion. I've been kissed before, but never like this. One of his hands are cupped around the nape of my neck, fondling my curly hair; his body's pressed against mine, warm and surprisingly secure. The stench of rum is overpowering, but somehow it seems right with him. His moustache tickles my upper lip pleasantly. Every definition of his being was present to me, even though my eyes were closed. It was so overwhelming, so strange, so unexpected… and so perfect…
I weave my fingers through his dreadlocks, loving the coarse feel of them. I work them down to his slumped shoulders, stroking the hardened muscles. I should be murdering him here and now- hadn't I said I hated him? -but somehow, as I gulp for air, I can't summon those angry feelings. They're gone, vanished, replaced with a wonderful and burning feeling that I've never felt before, in all my years. It's like a torrid fire that was just waiting to ignite… and only he holds the torch.
We break away from the kiss, me panting heavily, him just grinning at me, eyes half closed. Oh, that look… instinct makes me want to slap him, but I don't. I merely drop my arms down from his shoulders and take a step away, an odd feeling in my gut.
"Are you certain you don't want to come back?" His gaze travels over me searchingly.
I open my mouth, nothing but mere air coming out. Aye! I feel like crying out, but something holds me back. Was it pride? No… I say to myself, slowly shaking my head back and forth, pursing my lips. I couldn't let him know how he had made me feel just seconds ago.
"Suit yourself, luv," he slurs, prancing away, rum in hand. A twinge of emotion almost draws me back to him, and it was all I could do to stop myself from running into his arms.
I stay there for a few instances more, leaning against the outside wall of his cabin, staring out over all my surroundings; the black planks of the ship, the drunk crew, Will and Elizabeth, the waves of the ocean, stained by the coming darkness, the rising twilight… and him.
Jack Sparrow.
A man I wish I could hate…
… but I can't.
Reviews are appreciated! Should I join you, Jack/Anamaria shippers, or stay away?