A/N: This is in honor of my current sickly status (hence this drabble-thing's crappiness). (Oh, and it's not a drabble because it was more then a page long by about four lines! xD)Thanks to Anna for reading this over for me and making sure it was agreeable. :D This was half-written when I was first sick back in November, and I decided to finish it now that I'm sick again in January. Reviews are more then love.
Buggering Colds
"Who would have imagined that the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow would be brought to his knees by the mere trifle of a cold."
Jack's glare sways over to her, the whites of his eyes stained with tiny red lines.
"Oh, bugger off," he groans, his voice sounding distorted from congestion.
Coyness dances across Elizabeth's face along with a twinge of empathy; he really does look and sound quite a mess, even from her cautionary distance at the threshold of the door. Leaning against the headboard of his bunk, he resembles that of an irritable leopard not to be tampered with, his hair loose from its usual crimson bandana, a wild and wayward black mane of tresses that tumbles past his shoulders. His stained muslin shirt is rolled up to the bend of his arms and unbuttoned mid-way in a vain battle effort against the unruly, vindictive Caribbean heat.
She makes note of the handkerchiefs that litter his bunk, wrinkled ones having fallen victim to the horror of his nose and folded ones awaiting their inevitable fate. She can almost imagine their shrieks of trepidation when his hand lingers over the multi-colored pile.
Jack throws Elizabeth another glance and upon realizing that she does not intend to leave, purses his lips.
"If you're just going to loiter about there, love, then the least you could do is something beneficial toward my recovery from this bloody..."
"Cold."
"It is not-."
"It most certainly is-."
"Not a bloody cold. Just a temporary lack of… physical strength, rest assured."
They take a moment to shoot irate looks to one another and then Jack surprises her by moving towards the edge of the bed and staggering upwards, holding his head when he stands.
Elizabeth extracts herself from the doorway, moves a few steps towards him and then stops, wearily assessing him almost as though she could see the illness wafting off of him. "You really should remain lying down," she objects, as he grabs his coat and hat. "Jack, you're going to sail us into a bloody reef if you go about the deck ill."
"Codswallop," Jack replies with a wave of a hand and shoves his feet through his suede boots. He gives her a smirk that is disfigured by a wince and goes to move past her, only to stop short and swear profusely.
Frozen in spot, his hand cradles his forehead; Elizabeth moves in front of him and replaces his palm with her own, feeling his warm, moist head.
Growling, he says, "It feels like I have bloody Will Turner banging away at his swords in there."
The Pirate King gives a small, sympathetic smile briefly and continues sternly, "You're staying here."
Jack opens his mouth to protest, but she places a finger on his lips.
"And if you leave this room before you are feeling well again, I shall have to be forced to shackle you to the bed and watch over you as you get better, savvy?" she tells him, arching an eyebrow.
He grins suggestively, in spite of his throbbing head and brings her finger away from his face and holding her hand in his. "You know Lizzie, that sounds rather -."
"Savvy?" she says again, loudly. Her irises shine with humor.
Elizabeth ignores him when his smirk increases and he plants a regal kiss to the back of her hand.
"Savvy."