A/N: First things first, ahoy there! This be me first Pirates o' the Caribbean fic an' all tha', so spare me yer scathin', scrutinizin' eyes, yer filthy landlubbers! Oh, I'm just playing around, please do ignore me; I do go a bit overboard on all things piratical sometimes! Not much to say really, but please bare in mind that this is a multi-chapter fic. Not just a one-shot, which are generally my safe zone. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean + 1-3 and 4 = not mine. *sad face*
Summary: Jack has the flu and without his rest he can't recover. How will Elizabeth get a stubborn pirate to go to bed?
The Flu
by Slaying the Dreamer
When your back is broke and your eyes are blurred,
And your shin-bones knock and your tongue is furred,
And your tonsils squeak and your hair gets dry,
And you're doggone sure that you're going to die,
But you're skeered you won't and afraid you will,
Just drag to bed and have your chill;
And pray the Lord to see you through,
For you've got the Flu, boy.
Part I
"Urrgh," Captain Jack Sparrow groaned, writhing in his sweat, self-pity and the stench of sickness that consumed the cabin. He kicked the sheets away from his clammy figure which had been disfigured into a whole manner of awkward shapes that evening as he spent the hours willing sleep to come forth. Coughing melodramatically, he whined once again.
Jack was not feeling well, at all.
As another spell of fever emerged and took toll, he rolled over, pressing his face into the material of his pillow and muttering into the fabric that was swathed to his damp brow that, in due course, muffled his unflattering oaths.
The sheets that enveloped his weakened form were suffocating: choking him as they mummified him alive, curling their long, white fingers over his withering shape as he did battle with his fever.
Sick. Pirates did not get the sick.
Grunting, Jack thrashed about again with the intent of slaying the bed sheets brutally, venting his irritation at being ill out on them and tearing them to shreds stitch by vile stitch. He continued to squirm restlessly till his breaths became shallow, his heart became a taut and tender mantra against his chest and the dull pain in his limbs metamorphosed to an ugly cadence. He would be the laughing stock of his crew; the blasted scurvy dogs would find the whole affair utter mirth, even if this had been them just days ago. Nevertheless, they would laugh. Their pirate captain who had skirmished with the Kraken, tussled with an entire crew of undead scallywags and faced Davy Jones himself, was now waging wars against the most demeaning demur of all: the flu.
The flu. The bloody flu.
He slammed his throbbing head against the pillow out of frustration at being bedridden, but the knock was a little too hard than intended. The precariously balanced pillow that had been hanging off the bed in the first place slipped off the side of his berth, gravity luring it to the floor below. Jack cursed yet again, damning the Laws of Science to the fiery pits of Hell.
Rather than climbing out of his smothering sanctuary and salvaging the pillow from the floorboards below, he remained nestled in the oppressive, sweat-soaked blankets. Reaching out a rough, tan-toned hand, Jack felt his fingertips graze the material of the pillow that lay on the floor, leering at him and his dismal attempts of rescuing it from the ground. It was just a little too far out of reach for him to pick up then and there. He leant further out of his safe haven of sheets, his sweaty skin thirsting for the cool night air of Isla Tortuga (and, perhaps, for the familiarity of its taverns). Gibbs, whom had replaced Jack at the Black Pearl's helm for the past few days, had vowed to man her with all the affection Jack always did as they sailed towards Tortuga, reaching its docks by daybreak. Though ill and confined to bed by Elizabeth who had been tending all flu patients for the past few weeks, Jack felt parched of the familiar bitterness of his grog and had insisted on replenishing his rum collection that, in his eyes, was running low.
Grog-orientated thoughts aside, Jack was once against disheartened to feel the strain of his arm muscles which still didn't quite reach the pillow on the floor. He would have left it there had his neck not felt like it had been set alight, craving the idea of just letting go and resting against the lushness of his fallen cushion. But his eyes burned too and his mind throbbed like that of a beaten drum head. His back ached, his limbs ached and, regardless of all his effort, he still couldn't reach that damn pillow. Taunting him; he could image its plumose sneer, mocking him as it inched further and further and-
Oh, bugger, he was delusional - lost his marbles and flown off with the fairies.
The fairies? They better be bearing tricorns instead of tiaras, with parrots and patches over unicorns and-
Bugger, bugger, bugger! Again with the bloody fairies!
Jack hissed, both out of pain of movement, the flu immobilization and from his girlish imaginings. He shifted a little further to his left, ignoring the swaying of his bed that creaked unnaturally – unsteadily – as if hearkening its warning that if he leaned just a little bit more, he would fall…
A little closer, just a little… a little closer, just…a…little…clos-
"Jack!"
Jack had barely noticed his sudden closeness with the floor (and the fact that he'd fallen in the first place) when Elizabeth's voice cracked the previous solitude and silence much like that of a whip.
"Captain," he corrected, flashing gold as he gazed up at her from the floor. His smile was somewhat weak as opposed to his usual impish grin but that didn't refrain him from bringing up his seafaring title either, "Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"
"I thought I'd told you to say in bed."
It wasn't a question but Jack's brazenness did not falter.
"Lizzy, luv, in case you 'aven't checked, I'm a pirate. I'm ne'er bone idle in bed, nor am I ever in bed by me onesies. If I have t' sleep with somethin', I'd much rather it be a pretty wench than th' flu an' it's big, ugly head."
Elizabeth blushed slightly, but Jack continued.
"So unless ye find me tha' pretty wench – or come join me yerself – there's no chance yer'll be gettin' me anywhere close t' dreamland. Not that I'd 'ave the time t' head there with a lass by me side."
His innuendos had caused her to flush to the same shade of the cabin's interior. Jack smirked at her silence and how riled he had got her. He wasn't finished with his fun yet, though.
"So, please stop playin' healer an' let me 'ead back to me helm before the Kraken's kin skirmishes me ship again. As much experience Gibbs may 'ave at sea, I can't see 'im battlin' sea monsters by 'is onesies. No one should, not after experiencin' bein' left as Kraken food meself."
Was it Jack's goal to make Elizabeth feel bad? The amount of times she had apologized to him for leaving him as the sea monster's live bait had made the word 'sorry' sound like a religious mantra. Still, she felt shame-faced as she recalled chaining him to the Pearl's mast, disguising her act with a kiss.
"Cat gotten yer tongue 'gain, Liz?" He winked. Despite being left as a feast all that time ago, it clearly distraught him no longer. Or at least not visibly.
In fact, he appeared to enjoy flustering Elizabeth.
"Snap out of it and get off the floor, Jack," she sighed, the moment the imaginary feline returned her verbal muscles, "and what do you mean by 'again'? Oh, for Heaven's sake, Jack, the fever is only going to loiter longer if you keep staying upright. You need your rest, at least if you want to return to the Pearl's helm."
"Fair 'nough, Lizzie. I'll be back to th' bed in a flash, with the exception tha' you be flat on yer back with me, too."
He gestured to the cabin's berth and its creased and crinkled sheets, which Jack had taken his flu-orientated frustration out on minutes ago before his fall.
Elizabeth scowled at his unconcealed ambiguity but settled on not replying. It would only encourage Jack's childishness further and, having put up with it for the past two days, Elizabeth didn't know how much more she could tolerate.
"No. Now, up, Jack."
"Didn't take th' offer suggested, so no."
"Jack! Off the floor, now!"
"No."
The pirate was stubborn, that was for sure, but he was acting like a silly child who refused to go to sleep at bedtime. Getting him to climb back into bed was much easier said than done.
"Jack…"
She tried to sound daunting, stern. It lacked triumph.
"No."
She tried pleading with him, playing damsel in distress (which was quite accurate when the first two letters of 'distress' were removed).
Again, all she got was a firm 'no'.
She tried reverse psychology.
"So be it, Captain Sparrow. Savour the moment of being refered to as 'Captain', though. For as long as you lay here, your fever will worsen and consequently leave you bedridden for life. You won't be able to return to the helm, you will no longer be the Pearl's captain and perhaps Barbossa will return and take her with him once again. In fact, we'll probably be cast away to your island, again. This time...without the rum!"
Jack remained motionless on the floor, not giving the slightest. He barely acknowledged that Elizabeth was there in the first place, nor did he openly recognize the fact that she was seething. He took her help for granted; she had been slaving away at his bedside for the past forty eight hours without so much as a 'thank ye, Lizzie'. While the rest of her shipmates weren't the most civil of people, they could at least accept she was there, sometimes with an addition of manners. She felt venomous bile building at the back of her throat, a string of unflattering insults fighting past the barriers her courteous upbringing presented.
"I'll just have to put you to bed myself then."
Jack seemed to find this amusing. With poorly obscured wincing, he rolled over onto his back so that he was facing her, not before positioning his head on the damned pillow, though.
At least he seemed to be aware that she was actually there now.
"In which way?"
Elizabeth glowered. "As in physically dragging you to bed."
"There's more than one meanin' behind tha'. Two, actually; one much more initimate than th' other. Which one?"
She grit her teeth, "the one you're not hoping for, Captain Sparrow."
"Go 'head then, Lizzie. Do yer very best."
Elizabeth marched towards the fallen Captain, the smirk still lingering. Her eyes showed unorthodox willpower, the determination that, though improper for a lady back in the Land of the Landlubbers (perhaps with the exception of Tortuga) and disapproved strongly by the pretentious people of Port Royal, was one aspect that Jack admired about his Lizzie.
Retrieving his arm that had lolled to the side following his fall, she proceeded to drag him little by little towards the cabin's bed. He squirmed melodramatically, wincing in pain and making each line and crease in his face a thousand times more profound. Following his writhing, a coughing fit ensued, making Elizabeth drop his arm in shock. She only let go of his arm out of surprise, though. She didn't know for sure if his fit was genuine or not. Everyone knew that Jack was a very good actor, including Elizabeth.
Still, he continued to cough and writhe.
"Jack, are you…alright?"
All traces of 'flu-induced' symptoms suddenly vanished, and his face contorted to a smirk. Apparently, it wasn't as bad as Jack's theatrical gifts made it appear.
"Just fine and dandy, but it looks as if yer still 'aven't finished yer gruellin' task of takin' me back to bed. How about we just cut t' the chase, 'ere? Yer say yer'll let me do anythin' I like an' I'll take it from there, aye?"
"What happened to you being ill?" she questioned, scrutinizing him. He definitely looked it, but sometimes his boldness got in the way of that.
"Honest t' God, Lizzie, I've been feelin' bet'er since yer arrived. Either it's part of yer charm and yer general appeal, or the adrenaline rush o' fallin' out o' bed scared the germs silly."
Elizabeth had to refrain from rolling her eyes, but she couldn't help but laugh slightly. Jack's immaturity could be so entertaining sometimes. As for their former conversation, she had a good guess at what Jack was implying, and, in all honesty, his offer was tempting. Sometimes, his stubbornness was frustrating beyond belief. However, the other side of the coin would involve something she would most likely regret come morning.
Wouldn't she?
She took hold of his arm again, dropping the matter. His coughing fit may have been a faux, but his tan was a shade or so paler than usual. While Jack was truly an extraordinary actor (for an untrained pirate who had never set eyes on a theatre), he seemed to have truly been affected by the flu that had been lingering upon the decks of the Pearl for the past few weeks.
She had already played nurse for three other crew members. Cotton, the first to succumb to the virus, would have been somewhat difficult to tend to had it not been for his voice in the form of a parrot. While he was not much of a faultfinder (unlike Jack) and was far from being as stalwart (ditto) as his Captain, his muteness made it somewhat difficult for her to help him with his needs. On the other hand, his pet parrot was much more vocal and much more demanding. In fact, the bird could probably give Jack a run for his money in terms of outspokenness and general loudness. Had the bird been Jack's, she would, without a doubt, be long gone from the Pearl's decks; most likely having walked the plank like the parrot so often suggested. The two alone were enough of a handful, but together, she wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the crew shipped them off at the nearest island and never looked back.
Dropping the terrifying idea of Jack and the parrot, she heaved and pulled Jack, a little closer to the cabin's berth. Unsurprisingly, Jack had tried to embellish his transportation to the bed with more coughing, much like his fit before, but Elizabeth was far from a fool.
"Fool me one, Jack, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you," she had quoted.
While Jack was far from cumbersome, especially with the flu and, as a consequence of it, his lack of appetite, she was soon exhausted. Dragging a grown man (who was far from grown mentally) with no idea on how she was actually going to get him into bed was gruelling, as Jack had mentioned.
The pirate was of no help, either.
"Lizzie, yer can't say I didn't offer yer a simpler solution."
Elizabeth scowled, but was pleased to see that she had moved Jack a few centimeters across the length of the room. She watched him as he repositioned himself on the floor, resting his head against the side of the bed rather than the pillow that was resting nearby. She sunk down next to him, their closeness and sudden intimacy only just grazing her mind.
While Elizabeth was far from the seductress that Scarlett, Giselle and the most part of the other female inhabitants-slash-strumpets of Tortuga were, she didn't feel any awkwardness between the pirate and herself.
It wasn't particularly romantic, nor was it erotic. It was just...fitting.
They didn't say anything for a while. Jack was, once again, out of character. Silence was not, in his eyes, the most appealing trait, nor was it usual for him. Perhaps it was one of the reasons why he was always running back to those harlots from Tortuga. While they're chatter was far from philosophical, there was never any silence when in the Faithful Bride tavern, intermingling amongst the seeming talk of the many smugglers, prostitutes and pirates that inhabited the town.
Elizabeth sighed, much more loudly than she originally intended.
"What be botherin' ye, luv?" she heard Jack speak, breaking the silence between them. She felt him move, repositioning his arm so that it brushed against the area of the bed behind Elizabeth and ultimately rested it over her small shoulders. She could feel his warmth from his body heat, his illness and from the heatedness of the situation. Her heart beat widely against her chest. Back in Port Royal, she often read, craving the tales of romance and happily ever after's (almost as much as she did pirates). Perhaps it was because, back then, it was all she thought would ever become of her. She would marry Will, live in a beautiful cottage by the sea, with honeysuckle winding its way up the whitewashed walls. She would conceive their kin, boys with Will's stature and skill with the sword and girls with Elizabeth's blonde-brown hair and eyes and femininity. She never expected to become a Pirate King. In fact, she didn't expect to be swashbuckling with them in the first place. True, she had been fascinated by the nautical tales and dreamed of meeting a pirate, despite the people around her being adamant that no young girl should ever wonder about such a thing. She didn't expect to lose Will, the man she had fallen in love with. She didn't expect to see him only once every ten years, nor did she expect to be so close to a pirate. A true pirate; one who's tales had captivated her as young girl.
So it was not surprise that the beating of her thumping heart surfaced as a cliché in her eyes. Still, she couldn't resist from leaning into Jack's touch, so that she her head was laid across his broad shoulders, the rough material of his white shirt coarse against her smooth skin. She was tempted to rest her head against his chest, listen to the melodies of his heart that she hoped sounded like her own, but she didn't. She thought of Will and how too much intimacy with the pirate would feel like betrayal and faithlessness. She was also afraid that Jack would reject her gesture.
It was all or nothing with him.
From what she knew, he was starved of the romantic side of physical relationships.
It was all lust, but no love.
Not that she was in love with him, of course.
Of course, Elizabeth. You love Will.
"Nothing, Jack. It's nothing," she replied, finally.
"Good, 'cause I don't want t' be breakin' the truth t' yer while yer feelin' low."
If it was possible, her heartbeat grew more rapid, and furious.
"What, Jack?"
Could this be the moment of truth? When all feelings came to light?
She wasn't in love with him. As such. It hadn't been that long since she had left Jack for the Kraken, left him for the dead. It hadn't be long ago since Will had left, either. Left not as the humble, mild-mannered apprentice she had fallen in love with, but as the immortal captain of the Flying Dutchman, doomed to sail the Seven Seas forevermore, stepping foot on land only once, every ten years.
But Jack; was she in love with the fact that he was a pirate? In love with the idea of them being in love? Was it infatuation?
It couldn't be love, yet only time would tell such speculation.
The pirate's face showed traces of discomfiture, if that were possible, of course. Jack was such a confident person that any negative emotions portrayed were a rare sight. Elizabeth's chest was beginning to hurt from the throbbing cadence her heart created.
Maybe there was something between them. Maybe, but what about Will? She couldn't betray him, could she?
"Lizzie, since we've been gettin' all close an' initimate just now, yer should know tha'…"
Any moment and Jack would admit his undying love for her. What would she say? What would she do?
"Lizzie, well, yer see..."
Oh, God. Any moment, just any moment...
"...I'm contagious an' since we're so close an' all tha', yer should know tha' yer'll probably be th' next one t' come down with this bloody sickness. Don't say I didn't warn yer if, by tomorrow, yer hurlin' your innards into th' locker below."
He didn't.
"It's a bit belated now, Jack." Elizabeth responded smoothly.
It wasn't the moment of truth she expected (or hoped for), but she couldn't restrain the silvery bubble of laughter that still fought its way past her lips.
"Then tha' gives us th' perfect opportunity t' get even closer! Then yer tryin' to get me t' bed won't be as hopeless as initially thought, aye?"
Elizabeth wondered if she could resist his offer it this time.
Don't worry, dear Readers. This is not the end; there is still much more to come. Or much more as in three or four more chapters. On such subjects, I hope to post the next part to this fic sometime this week, PERHAPS. Alas, I use perhaps as perhaps because it might not be a definite perhaps, if such perhaps-related things could occur. Ye see, I am going away to Belgium next week (week before we break up for summer! WOOH!) for this whole music tour thing with my school and all that jazz (pun intended!) so if I don't post sometime later this week, I will have to beseech your pardons as a 2-week hiatus will have to be burdened upon this fic. Fourteen days before I'll update again *sad, sad, sad face*
That said, I'll do me very best in trying to get at least one more part up before Friday.
Anyway, I was initially going to make this a very long one-shot, but I decided to break it up a bit; I don't know about you, but 10k-odd one-shots just hurt my head. Oh, and as for the epic flu poem that is sadly NOT mine, all credit goes to J.P. McElvoy. I'm just borrowing from a website in which I found it. Apologies about how OOC the characters were: y'see, I'm not much of a comedy genius, as much as I wish I was, but I can't deny that Jack is a bit pathetic in this. This is my first PotC fic though, so I hope I can only get better with the more I write. Feel free to drop a review regarding this chapter, though. Any praise is precious and con-crit is always taken into account.
And as for Jack and his knowledge of the Laws of Science (which, for the most part, did exist in the 1700s) I really don't know. It reminds me of my fic in which Gimli (of Lord of the Rings) knows all about nervous systems. You may have seen the deleted scene, in the first place, but a-n-y-w-a-y.
Ah, one chapter in and I'm already rambling like I've known you all for years. Sorry! ;-) So, yeah, drop a review if you like! *happy face*
For now and fairwinds,
Slaying the Dreamer xoxo