DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, under the given circumstances that I am but one fan in a crowd of billions, I do not have ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean and/or Johnny Depp and his fine piece of a--- let's continue with the story, shall we?

A/N: This is my first piece of fiction that pertains to PotC, I do hope you enjoy it and please, try not to flame – behind my cold hearted bitch façade, I'm a sensitive Jackie Sparrow lover.

Tortuga.

God how she hated the bloody place, the name itself an irritancy in each syllable pronounced.

The streets were not crowded with lovers – they were littered with the slime of the Caribbean.

The familiar aroma of Tortuga? Nothing more than the odor of the rotten and the careless.

Sins were traditions there in Tortuga; they were the source of life for the infamous stretch of land. Of course, no man was clean of sins and especially no man of piracy – and women, as well. Despite the insanity that was Tortuga, it was a sanctuary for all those that lived life against the rules and thus included her as well as the crew and captain in that category.

It was ironic to see how just about every man on the run nestled in the ever welcoming arms of Tortuga and yet not a single British flag (nor the Spanish Armada) dared to open fire or step foot in said place.

And a wise decision that was.

A shark against a fleet of dolphins is rendered victim but a fleet of sharks against those dolphins? Enough said.

She, though, could not stand the refuge that most pirates – if not all – deemed heaven on earth. Women, booze, fights – what more could a man possibly want on land?

Aye, it was everything she despised on land. And there he was, in the midst of it all.

Why in the name of God, was he so enticed like all the others? He wasn't like them! He was more than what he led people to believe, more than what legends told of him. He sacked Nassau Port without "firing a single shot" as they say but no one ever seems to realize that he struggled through incomprehensible pain and fought against Death himself for that victory. He was as real as the stories made him and so much more.

So why the hell was he acting like a complete idiot in that tavern?!

The idea made her glare into the horizon, the sparkling waters of the Caribbean trying their best to soothe the woman with their gentle glitter. And yet it was not their effort that softened her countenance and stroked the fire in her to embers.

It was his face faintly emblazoned in her mind.

A Cheshire Cat smile (or had the feline taken the captain's trademark?) that accompanied dark mischievous eyes played on his visage; tanned skin glowing like gold in the sun, trinkets shimmering as they hung around his handsome face, a face that could infuriate, confuse and entice her and everyone else with mere expressions. And his voice…so suave even with his slurs and sometimes confusing dialect, like…a feather brushing against one's skin ever so gently and tenderly…

Ah!

What was she thinking?!

Before another thought of him arose in her wandering mind, Anamaria tilted her head back and gulped down a surplus amount of rum, hoping the burning sensation in her throat would eliminate the thoughts of that daft man.

She panted for a moment, as though the very notion of said captain exhausted her beyond understanding. Sitting with each leg between two spaces in the railings, absentmindedly swinging above the ocean waters, Anamaria contemplated on getting Jack Sparrow off her contemplation.

Captain Jack Sparrow, her conscious corrected, causing the brunette to moan in frustration. "God give me strength…" She murmured, her eyes shut tight as if to block out anymore oncoming thoughts of the pirate who stole her hea—

GULP.

She took another swing at the rum, frowning at the failure of her own will. "I am not….under….any circumstances…in love with that idiot," came the –hopefully – reassuring words, slow and struggled. Brown eyes opened and blinked to cease the blurriness of her vision – everything was so out of its normalcy and the damn world would not stop moving from underneath her!

Miss Anamaria Del Santos was drunk.

Another moan came whining through her lips, her hand grabbing the bar of the railing as she rested her head against it. She had never been drunk before; yes, she could hold her liquor as best as any man (save for Sparrow and Gibbs) in the crew but that night, she had lost the battle against dear ol' rum. Then again, considering how the slim figure (who now murmured something about a pirate being daft) had persisted to drink for two days and two nights consecutively, it was going to take a toll on her body.

And what a price she was paying for such a deed.

"It's all your fault, Sparrow…you stupid…stupid bird…"

Yes, it was he who was to blame!

Had he not angered the woman so with his stupid decision to rest at Tortuga, she would not have begun this drowning in rum procedure! She did not want to care about what he did once they arrived at bloody Tortuga Port and so she would douse herself into a cheery mood by drinking away into her own fantasy land, where pirates named Jack Sparrow were unknown and she had a ship of her own to name The Dahlia.

And who bloody cared if he disliked her sudden infatuation with rum! He knew how she would get!

And at this, Anamaria sighed miserably. "No…no he doesn't know…"

Captain Jack Sparrow did not know how she felt about his womanizing ways, about his flirtatious manners with just about anything with breasts and legs. He did not know how it boiled her blood to see his arms around a woman, his eyes twinkling deviously, aimed at said woman's features, muttering sweet nothings into her ear, charm dripping off his handsome skin and actions like the divine perspiration of a god.

He did not know how her very heart ached in its cage, the hurt only rivaled by anger that he caused for being so oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that she…she….

Ah, what did it matter?

"It isn't like he's going to care…so why should I care?" Anamaria growled to no one in particular, glaring into the horizon that did not stabilize in its changing colors. "If…he doesn't care….then I sure as hell…won't either…Cross my heart….false my heart…" Each word grew softer as her eyes closed tiredly and she gently fell back upon the washed deck of the Pearl, Anamaria unable to win the fight against the sleep that loomed over her.

And even as she drifted off to slumber, the gentle sea breeze dancing over her figure, Ana childishly murmured her thoughts. "Probably….probably with some….some whore…"

Alas, how very wrong she was.