The scene: Jack and Elizabeth have just been marooned on the island.
"Bloody WOMEN! I won't be any trouble, Jack, I just want to save my beloved Will, Jack. I 'll help you, Jack. Well a bit bloody LATE NOW!' He staggered back for a couple of steps, and took a long swig from the dusty bottle of rum that he was gripping in his right hand.
Ignoring the pirate's ranting, Elizabeth struggled to pull up one of the crates of grain from the underground compartment, and in doing so, sliced the palm of her hand on a broken bottle neck beside the crate.
"Bugger!" She exclaimed, dropping the heavy wooden crate and dashing up the steps to rinse the open gash in the saltwater of the ocean.
"What is it now, Miss Swann?" Jack asked, scathingly. He was mocking her. God, was he angry.
"Will you please, just for once Jack, SHUT UP!" Elizabeth held her throbbing hand beneath the water and was somewhat disconcerted to see the way in which blood snaked out of the wound, red, cloudy and menacing; contrasting with the fresh, translucent blue of the sea.
Jack inched towards her, looking curiously. Upon seeing her predicament, the steely sneer painted on his face softened, and he untied the piece of cloth that he wore tied around his hand.
"Come on, then," he said, taking her hand and beginning to bind it tightly; using the cloth as a tourniquet: the wound was bleeding somewhat profusely now. He didn't speak until he had finished bandaging her hand. "It's not too deep," he said suddenly, startling the young woman. She had been surprised by how gentle his touch was; considering the roughness of his weather-worn hands, and his bubbling anger which, only a moment before, had been directed at her. "But it should take a pretty while to heal. Be more careful next time, eh love?"
"Thank you," Elizabeth muttered, reluctantly.
A smile. The first time Elizabeth had seen him smile since they had been marooned on the island. It was quite becoming to him, it would appear. But this realisation only served to anger her. How could she bear to be stranded with this man, with his erratic mood swings, lewd suggestions, infuriating manner, and, worst of all, dashing good looks and the kind of charm that could reduce any self-respecting, independent-minded girl to a pining idiot? Well, not Elizabeth. She knew "Captain" Jack Sparrow's games. She understood that, underneath his cocky demeanour and tall stories, he was a lost man; a sad man, without his one true love, his own ship. But even at that, he had no right to act the way he did. After all, she was stuck on an island, probably doomed to die there, without Will Turner. Elizabeth realised she may never see him again. And she was surprised to discover that the thought, while it saddened her, wasn't utterly heartbreaking,
Elizabeth let out an exasperated grunt, and sank into the sand, clutching her own bottle of rum in my good hand. She gave in and uncorked the bottle; taking a long swig, and glanced over at Jack, catching him looking at her, with a twinkle in his eye. He appeared to me laughing at her.
"Fantastic," She murmured to herself. And wondered how long she would be able to survive on that God-forsaken island.