Chapter 4 – Sick Stumblings

Warnings: mentionin's o' sickness, an' a curse word

As the days and weeks passed and the Pearl put more and more distance between herself and Greenland, the weather became mild enough that it was bearable to stand above deck wearing day-to-day clothes.

The mainsail was slowly regaining badly-stitched patches of cloth that had previously been sliced off during the Pearl's stay at the North Pole.

When the ship was anchored off of the coast of Greenland, Beckett would remain awake until everyone had fallen asleep in the crew's quarters, namely Pintel. Now that he had several personal vendettas against the man, he sought to at least be sailing through warmer waters before preparing himself for the imminent fight, in case he should be shoved overboard. Before the altercation with Pintel regarding the fire, he would wait until the crew was asleep, and set up a hammock as far away from the bald pirate as possible in an attempt to fall asleep, wrapped up in whatever decently flexible fabric he could get his hands on. Now that the tension between him and Pintel had increased, he would simply retire to the area of the brig late each night, hang his hammock from the grated ceiling, and sleep in there, which became easier and easier to bear as the weather warmed up.

During their stay in the frigid North Pole, Jack had made a place for Gibbs on a comfy armchair in his cabin, so that his loyal First Mate would have a warmer place to sleep. Barbossa stayed in a smaller cabin, but because it had no windows, it was not drafty like Jack's cabin, and therefore was the warmest place on the ship. His cabin shared a wall with Elizabeth's cabin. Elizabeth usually remained in Jack's cabin during mealtimes and would retire to her cabin at night, remembering the sole bedmate that for one night slept next to her. It hadn't been Will; it had been an apparently unconscious Beckett, for some silly instinct of hers had told her that it was in his best interest to stay warm. She had been correct of course; his health had improved upon her applying primitive sterilizing agents to his wounds and in his being moved in a warmer environment. And now her own health was on the line and she couldn't do anything to help it.

One morning, dizzy with nausea more so than usual, Elizabeth awoke with a start and decided to get some air. As she traversed the ship and where she thought to always be devoid of crew during the night, she just so happened to stumble down to the brig, unexpectedly finding Beckett there, fast asleep in a hammock.

As she turned and headed back the other way, she happened to step on the perpetually squeaky floorboard in the brig. Beckett's hand shot to his waist, and pulled out a dagger, all before he had even opened his eyes. He had practiced this move for if Pintel should arrive, but had not yet perfected his plan. Upon jerking his upper body up off the hammock, he completely lost his balance and tumbled out of the hammock onto the ground, dagger clattering off to his side.

Elizabeth instinctively jumped back when he fell to the ground in a noisy heap, feeling overcome with a rather persistent wave of nausea. She watched his eyes fly open, their expression rather annoyed as they were yet unable to see anything in the darkened brig.

"Who's there," he demanded, turning onto his side and fumbling with both hands for the dagger as he spoke.

Elizabeth felt on the verge of getting physically sick, her head swimming with dizziness. Before she was to do what she had avoided thus far, she plopped down right where she was, grabbing her heaving stomach in an attempt to settle it. Beckett felt around blindly for the dagger for another minute or so before his eyes adjusted to the light.

It was then that he saw Elizabeth doubled over in front of him, sitting with legs crossed, holding her stomach and rocking back and forth on the floor of the brig.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he asked, watching her continue to sway, a sickened expression on her face.

She glanced up only very briefly at him, her face looking quite pitiful, her skin a subtle shade of green. It seemed that she had her jaw set so as to keep her mouth shut. Beckett didn't know how to read this new expression. Elizabeth's never acted this way before. What is she trying to do? And why is she just sitting there?

He gaped at her as he watched the twinkle of a tear running from the corners of her eyes, both of which were now shut tightly. What the bloody hell is going on here? he mused, utterly lost.

"Are you in pain?" he asked her softly, a tinge of caution in his voice.

She shook her head, continuing to rock back and forth.

"Then why are you cry—"

Suddenly he heard a strained, muffled noise coming from her throat, her hand afterwards shooting to her mouth, and understood.

"You're sick," he drawled, face twisted with disgust but with a dash of sympathy mixed in, watching her in this pitiful state.

She opened her eyes once again, keeping them locked on the floor, and nodded while making a sickening swallowing sound.

His mind raced. What am I supposed to do? Is she going to get sick on me? I won't be able to sleep with that sort of thing present. He saw a pail nearby and grabbed it, pushing it in front of Elizabeth.

She grabbed the pail and held it to her body, using one of her hands to lift her shirt slightly and lay the cool metal against her hot stomach. Beckett felt like an intruder for something he shouldn't be seeing. This is all too—strange. He stood up quickly, looking at her from his new height.

"Would you like me to fetch someone for you?" he asked, watching her body language carefully. More than likely she would still not be able to speak.

She shook her head. He took a small step towards the ladder. Immediately she stuck an arm out towards the ladder as if to attempt to bar his way.

"Do you want me to stay here?" he questioned, noticing the action of her arm. She nodded, still rocking back and forth on the floor, unable to look up.

He sighed very quietly, shifting uneasily from leg to leg as he stood above her, watching her rock back and forth, now giving a sort of down-motion signal with her hand as to tell him to sit down.

"You want me to sit." He had made it seem more of a statement than a question, but he had understood the gesture.

She nodded.

He slowly sank to the floor, watching her warily for signs of physical sickness. He couldn't be around that at the moment—or any moment, really. Things like that bothered him.

Once he was seated across from her on the floor, he continued to eye her for danger signs. I'm prepared to jump up as soon as anything should occur, he told himself, keeping one of his legs bent for readiness.

Another several minutes he sat there, unable to think of anything to say or do. I'd rather not cause her to have to gesture again, because that might be the action that changes her feeling sick to actually being sick. And I'm not going to deal with that.

After a time of Beckett staring off uncomfortably in various directions, none including looking directly at Elizabeth, she began to rock more slowly and was now able to look at him, still keeping the pail clutched against her bare midriff. He said not a word. She swallowed uncomfortably, and then looked at him intently.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said aloud, probably more to herself than to him.

"You've probably picked up a bit of seasickness," he replied. "The waves were rather choppy last night, if I do say so myself."

"Don't remind me," she groaned, her face shiny with sweat. "But I know it's not that."

"Then what is it?" he said.

"Well, this has been a daily occurrence for me."

"You could be experiencing chronic seasickness," he ventured, noticing the faintest sliver of flesh exposed at pail height on her body.

"It's possible, but we were securely tied down back in Greenland. The ship was practically frozen in the ice," she remarked, followed by a scoff. "My house in Port Royal lurched more than the Pearl did then."

"Oh," he replied blandly. "So you've been experiencing this all along?"

It had been a few weeks since they had departed from Greenland. They were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean between North America and Spain at this point in time.

"This has been the worst bout of it so far, but yes. It began almost as soon as we stopped in Greenland, actually."

"What made you come down here?"

She noticed the shift from caring questions to a self-centered question, and sighed. Beckett was back to his old antics…

"I woke up feeling this way, as is now customary, and I decided to get some air. I never imagined you'd be sleeping in the brig voluntarily."

"Well, it's not as if I'm sleeping in the cell, which is demolished anyway. It's just that this grating is a perfectly suitable place to hang a hammock."

"Why aren't you staying with the crew?"

He flashed her a look essentially saying, you should know that.

"It's Pintel, right?" she guessed. "I hope we can be rid of him when we arrive at our destination."

Beckett grunted in reply. Hopefully I can be gone as well, at that point.

"You should have a doctor examine you when we make berth in the Azores," he told her. "It's not normal to feel ill every morning."

"Maybe I should," she replied, intrigued at his concern.

"Actually," he said, a thought occurring to him, "I know the best doctor there, on Pico Island, one of the larger of the Azores islands. I'll take you to him."

He felt a strange pang that he hadn't felt in years. A pang that reminded him he could still feel regret…. Regret that would never be known by anyone but himself.

"You would do that?" she replied, looking a bit excited. Suspicion overcame her. "But how do you know all this?"

"As a former member of the Royal Navy, I made port all over the world. Including the Azores."

"But then, how would you know about the best—"

"I wasn't finished," he snapped, somewhat irritated. "As I was saying, we made berth in Azores, that is, after suffering extensive casualties off of the coast of England. I was one of the casualties. At any rate, we discovered this doctor… one who was somehow able to both give the best advice and to perform the intricate procedures to the best of his ability. Needless to say, he saved all of us from what we had assumed to be certain death."

Please have her believe it, he mused, although the story he told was completely true, because I'm not going into any more detail. His experience with the doctor had led to a life-changing series of events. He had met her then. Elizabeth needed not know all those comings-about. If she believes what I say, I daresay my plans are all falling nicely into place. He gave her a smirk of confidence.

"This all sounds too good to be true," she said. Suddenly she was thoughtful. "I wonder if Jack's ever heard of this doctor."

Suddenly his curiosity was aroused, at what exactly had occurred in the Azores that made Jack extremely hesitant to return. Elizabeth had to have known something, to bring up Jack immediately following his mention of the Azores. He prepared to ply her for information.

"It is possible, knowing as how his problem with the Azores occurred around the time of this doctor's existence there," he lied, having no idea about the truth of that statement. It was a shot in the dark.

"Oh?" she said, her interest piqued. She removed the pail from her belly, pulling her shirt down immediately. "Jack has a problem with the Azores?"

"You hadn't heard?" Beckett replied, immediately feeling glum. More than likely Jack had kept his mouth shut. This must be rather serious indeed, he mused.

"No. All Jack told me and Barbossa was that he had been there before. Now you've roused my curiosity," she said smilingly at Beckett, who could only watch her emotionlessly as he sat across from her on the floor.

Shit. Beckett felt incredibly stupid, remembering Jack's threat. Now she's going to start asking Sparrow all sorts of questions on the matter, and more than likely I'll be tossed from the ship with a cannon chained to my ankles. This was stupid. She's never going to believe me if I immediately renege on the presence of a supposed problem there. I've got to think fast.

"It's not so much as a problem as it is a minor reason that Jack has stayed away from the Azores thus far."

"Then what's the reason?"

Bloody hell. He couldn't think fast enough. If he had some idea of what the issue could possibly be, he could give her some version of that. But nothing came to him. He'd have to take a different approach….

"Elizabeth," he said to her, shifting his body towards her oh-so-slightly. She looked at him, suspicion in her eyes. It was not customary of him to refer to her by her first name. Actually, it was not customary of him to refer to her by anything. He simply hadn't spoken to her in these past several weeks.

Silence passed.

"What?" she said guardedly.

"It is imperative that you refrain from mentioning this to Jack at least until we have already visited the doctor on Pico Island. He told me that if I alert anyone of his apparent problem there, that he'll turn the ship right back around again."

He immediately felt stupid upon the weakness of this apparent threat. If she falls for what I have just said, I will lose any respect I have for her…. However, if I mention Jack's threat of throwing me overboard, that's even less of a threat. Besides, she could care less whether I live or die. She'd probably be more likely to ask him if she knew that fact.

"I doubt he'd say something like that," she replied. Clever girl, Beckett mused. Not that I'm being so clever myself, with my awkward, stupid wording.

"Why do you say that?" was his innocent reply.

"Because he hates Greenland. There's no way he'll ever return there, especially not on account of my simply being alerted to a possible issue he has involving our destination."

Beckett struggled with a response to Elizabeth's directness.

"Well, in saying he was to turn right back around again, I'm not sure that he was referring to Greenland in particular."

"Well then, where could he have meant by it? Surely he's not going to embark on a suicide mission back to Port Royal… or Curaçao, for that matter. He's not stupid."

Beckett held his hands up as a form of surrender.

"Alright, I don't know where he meant. But can't you just refrain from questioning him about it, at least until we've made port there? At least by that point you'll have seen the doctor."

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about my health?" she questioned, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

It didn't make any sense, really. He had to think fast, before he would lose her trust forever. And he simply could not allow for that to happen.