R (sinister_beauty) wrote in jackandanamaria,

We're back...with MORE!

Title: Lovely Ship: Chapter Two
Authors: MK (mangoprophetess), Rachel (sinister_beauty)
E-mail: Rachel: Aimostkind@aol.com, MK: Ansky223@aol.com
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing/Rating: Anamaria/Jack, PG-13 (at least for now *wink wink, nudge nudge*)
Disclaimer: The mouse owns all our souls.
Summary: Anamaria nurses a wounded Jack...
Notes: The prologue can be found here,and Chapter One can be foundhere.

Jack's perpetually kohl lined eyes fluttered open under the weight of drowsiness. How long had he been asleep? His entire body was achy, but he was used to that feeling. Achy from the sea, or achy from doing bad, bad pirate things. It was all the same really. But his blurred vision was blocked by something tan. Finally gaining the strength to open his eyes fully, Jack realized that the tan before him was a shirt. Turning his sore head a bit, Jack took in the sight of a most frustrated Anamaria stretching over him to reach a small basin of water on his bedside table. Her breasts were dangling in his very eyes. A pirate could get used to this.

"Ladies, as much as I 'ppreciate your comp'ny, would ye mind givin' me some breathin' room?" Jack chirped cockily to Anamaria's chest, a smug grin settling over his features as he snuggled his head down more comfortably into his pillow.

Anamaria suddenly jerked back, now aware of his wakefulness and scowled at him. She fought back a small blush that begged to prickle at her cheeks. She also fought back the temptation to smack him. Clearing her throat and cracking her neck rigidly, Anamaria smirked coldly back at the playful and cocky captain. His dark knotted hair was sprawled over his white linen sheets and a cat-like grin decorated his visage in such a way that it took every ounce of her control not wipe it clean off with the back of her bronzed hand.

With a roll of her eyes, Anamaria pressed the wet cloth she'd drawn from the water basin to his forehead hesitantly. She was going to give the crew a good ol' piece of her mind when she was done with Jack. They were all going to pay a hefty sum for dubbing her Jack's nurse after his "running into the wrong end of that bastard's sword" simply because they felt a woman would be best for the job. Though she'd been undeniably worried and kind to Jack once he'd been stabbed, Anamaria felt it beneath her to be too coddling.

The cocky pirate's grin faded into a relaxed pout as the cool water sloshed over his bare forehead. It was a nice sensation he had to admit. Even the big bad pirates had to get a little R and R now and then, right? As a few beads of cold water slid down the length of his brow, he became fully awake and aware of his surroundings. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his entire back and up into his spine. He also winced when Anamaria set the cold compress down and touched his left bicep.

"'Ey! 'Ey! Easy on the goods, love!" he demanded as he stared imploringly at her perplexed and slightly worried face.

Anamaria did not apologize.

"You're damned lucky, you know that, Sparrow?" she told him more than asked him. Her voice was surprisingly soft as she rolled up the billowing sleeves of his shirt to expose his upper arm.

"Captain, love. Captain," he joked, flashing her a row of gold, white and silver teeth.

In all honesty, he knew he'd never get her to call him captain unless it was by her own will. Now it was just a ploy with which to press her buttons. A thing he most enjoyed. Friends one moment, head butting enemies the next. That was him and Anamaria. Most of the crew didn't understand why he let her get away with half the things she did, and in partial truth, he didn't understand it either. Eh, maybe the old Cap'n was starting to go soft? No, not him, never.

Jack's chiding was favored with a perturbed grunt from the dark skinned woman she tugged at his sleeve once more.

"This is useless," Anamaria cried, exasperated. From behind her chair she pulled a small dagger and made to cut his shirt before Jack jolted and put a hand up.

"Put that away, Milady Dagger-Happy! No use in wastin' m'favorite shirt."

He sat up and let out a short scream before blowing air through pursed lips and settling down. Jack the proceeded to attempt to pull the white cloth over his head. The pain in his back was incredible, and he breathed short staccato breaths through his clenched teeth, trying to bring the shirt over his head. Hesitantly, Anamaria leant him a hand and slid the fabric over his mess of dread locked and tangled black hair. Her eyes rested on him a moment before averting beside her to a small ball of rolled cloth and a bottle of alcohol. She dared not allow her gaze to linger on his half naked body. But from what she had seen...it was much to be desired. Perfectly chiseled muscles from years of hard sea fairing work, slight tufts of manly hair upon his breastbone and lower belly that lead down to his more precious parts. She felt a small start in her chest, but it meant nothing to her. Anamaria cleared her throat and reached for the bottle of alcohol.

"Bit early in the morning for a drink, Anamaria," Jack teased, trying to ease his mind of his spine, and now his arm as a new pain came to join in pelting Captain Sparrow. He was such a hypocrite. In fact...that alcohol looked mighty tempting about now.

Another scowl directed at the captain.

Anamaria's rough but surprisingly tender hands ran over the length of his shoulder and arm. A small shiver invaded Jack's spine.

A long red gash ran from Jack's elbow to shoulder. Patches of dried blood crusted the wound's edges, but for the most part it was clean. He'd received it from the cruel barnacles that laced the edge of the Black Pearl when he'd been dragged from the water. Anamaria reached over the captain once more, not caring if he got a good view or not, and rewet the drying cloth. Once satisfied, she sat back in her chair and ran it smoothly over the wound's length. Jack winced.

"Just be glad you didn' get the fever," Anamaria noted. It was the reason she had dampened his head. If his body were trying to burn off any infection, he would have been overtaken by fever. Luckily for him he was not.

Jack let out a yelp of surprise as the sharp sting of alcohol overtook him. He had not been expecting that after the calm touch of a wet cloth and tender hands. Jack nestled his head back against his plumped pillows, seething silently as the whip of the disinfectant lashed him. Anamaria's generally stern face went soft as she patted the wound dry with a new cloth and bandaged him up. She tied the knot a bit too tight and Jack yelped.

"Sorry, Captain."


Jack nodded.

When at last Anamaria had dressed all of Jack's wounds, she shut the door of the captain's quarters and ascended a small flight of stairs to the poop deck. All handy men sat idly by playing cards or simply admiring the beauty of the sea as the prow of the ship made little movement forward. The winds had died for the most part, and though there was always some sort of business to tend to on a ship such as the Pearl, most were happy to take a moment's rest. They had hauled well the night before anyway.

Making her way towards the wheel of the ship, Anamaria's boots clunked heavily upon the wooden planks of the deck. Anyone on the ship who knew those distinctive boots and the vivacious corsair to whom they belonged, would have turned the other way, wishing to keep their solitude and laziness for as long as they could. Soon she reached her destination and relieved Gibbs who so listlessly held onto the steering wheel.

"How's he doin', lass?" he eagerly implored as she exchanged places with Anamaria.

She sighed and smiled, shaking her head despite herself. "Well. As little as I'd like to admit it, he's Captain Jack Sparrow. It's an answer in itself, Gibbs."

"Aye. That it is."

"He's just lucky that it didn' pierce his spine. Just a flesh wound."

Gibbs nodded his head fiercely in agreement, stroking his mutton chop sideburns. "Then I guess he'll be walkin' 'round here in a few weeks then?"

"Count on it," she replied as the wind finally picked up and groggily lulled the ship to glide forward on the crystal waters. Gibbs started and made to reach for something in his pocket. His bear-like hands pressed a small gold compass into her far smaller ones. Anamaria inspected the trinket and flipped it open, determined their course, flipped it shut, and buried deep within the sash around her waist. She twisted the wheel hard to the left. She didn't want to spend any more time in the Puerto Rican waters if she could help it. "But until then, I'm still first mate, which means I'm in charge." Prestigiously she swooped down and retrieved the hat she'd left at the helm before leaving to attend to Jack, and plopped it squarely upon her dignified head.
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