What Doesn't Kill you...

Jack had been pacing his cabin for hours waiting for Elizabeth's return. She'd gone ashore with three of the crew to retrieve a map from an old friend of Jack's. Old nemesis was the actual truth of it, thus him having to stay aboard while she ventured to meet said nemesis.

He desperately didn't want her to lead the land party. He would much rather have had Gibbs take care of it, but Gibbs was synonymous with Jack Sparrow and she wasn't likely to be recognized, she'd argued. He couldn't find enough evidence to refute that fact so he was left with no choice but to let her go.

Suddenly there was a clamoring on deck and Jack burst out of his cabin. He scanned the group anxiously and relief quickly flooded his veins when he spotted her in all of her triumph. Map in hand, she'd walked toward him, grimacing slightly. She never liked him to fret over her, so he pretended not to notice and gathered her into his arms, thankful she'd made it back at all.

"I was beginning to fear the worst." He said pressing his lips to her cheek and ushering her back to their cabin.

"You doubted me?" She asked him teasingly, but clearly struggling with each step she took.

"Never. It's the other three that leave much to be desired." He smirked back at her, watching her movements carefully.

She gave a small laugh and stumbled into the cabin, gripping his arm for balance. She looked as if she was about to faint. He held her up against him. "Are you all right?" He asked looking into her eyes with more concern than she would have liked.

"Right as rain." She answered with her chin lifted. Though the pallor of her face told a different story.

He looked at her through a lidded gaze and she fell against him, unable to hold her stance any longer. Looking down, he noticed beneath her now opened coat quite a bit of red spreading through her tunic. "You're hurt." He observed angrily.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch." She said in her delirium

Jack scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down as gingerly as possible. Pulling out his knife, he ripped her shirt open and found an angry and seeping wound on her left side. "You've been run through!" he scolded. "What the bloody hell happened?" He screamed at her.

"I was lightly stabbed, lightly." She whispered with closed eyes. "Apparently, I'm not as anonymous as I once was."

"I should have gone with you." He said bending over her, his palm cupping her cheek.

Her eyes snapped open, annoyed with him for demeaning her efforts. "And you'd be injured right along with me, or perhaps dead." She said through gritted teeth, paying a quick glance toward her stomach. "It's not as bad as it seems. Surely you've had worse." She said shifting beneath him with a wince.

"Be that as it may…"

"Just patch it up and pour us some rum, would you? I don't have the energy to argue. We have the map and that's all that matters." She commanded bringing her hand to his.

"My stubborn Bess. What am I to do with you?"

"I'd like very much if you'd take care of this gash and stop your fussing." She urged him again. "Unless you'd prefer me to bleed out all over the bed?"

"I have been known to have the odd fetish or two." He said, raking his gaze down her svelte form.

"Jack." She admonished.

"Oh, all right." He said getting to his feet to finally tend to his wounded wife.