Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters,
so please don't sue me.
**************************************************************************** ****************
When I woke up the next morning, it took me a few seconds to remember
why I was so buoyantly happy. Then it all came flooding back: Jack, the Coke, no
parents, the kiss. I lay in bed for a moment, savoring the perfect wonderfulness
of the world. Eventually I got up and dressed, choosing to wear my favorite
khaki shorts and blue spaghetti-strap top. As I entered the kitchen, I belatedly
wondered whether Jack was still in bed or not, and if he wasn't, what he'd be
wearing. My question was answered almost immediately: Jack was sitting at the
table, the blanket wrapped toga-style around his body. He was making peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches, and had smears of Jiffy and strawberry all over his
hands and face. Judging by the stack of about ten or so sandwiches on the table,
he'd been at this for a while.
"Hungry?" I asked. He looked up at me grinned abashedly.
"It's great fun. The peanut butter just spreads so perfectly. You want to
make some?" he offered, handing me a knife. I laughed.
"What the hell," I said, grabbing two slices of bread and the jelly. "You
realize, of course, that we'll have to live off these for the next week or so." Jack
shrugged.
"Suits me fine, love. The way these taste, I wouldn't mind eating them for
the rest of me life." In the end, we ended up making two and a half bread loaves
worth of PB&Js. We each ate one for breakfast and stored the rest in the
refrigerator for lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch, etc. I helped Jack clean the sticky
mess off his face, then decided it was time to have another look at his cut to make
sure it was healing properly.
"So, do you want me to take a peek at that wound of yours?" I asked him.
"No," he said quickly, his eyes darting to the antiseptic that was still on
the counter near the door. I sighed.
"Jack, when I said 'Do you want me to look at your cut,' what I meant was
'I'm going to take a look at that cut.' Sit down." He flopped onto the futon, an
exasperated look on his face, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like
"women." He undid the top of his toga, which had been held up by what looked
like a sharpened bone of some kind. Trying not to think about Jack wearing
nothing more than a loosely draped blanket, I carefully unwrapped the
bandaging around his chest, wincing when I had to tug it free of encrusted
blood. Sometime last night it had reopened and started to bleed again; probably,
I thought guiltily, when he carried me across my room. I wiped away the excess
blood, then began reaching for the antiseptic when I was stopped short by Jack's
glowering face. Sighing inwardly, I left the antiseptic where it was and turned to
Jack instead.
"Can you lie down for a minute? I need to get a better look at this cut, and
I can't do it while you're sitting up like that." Jack laid back on the futon,
smirking as I bent close over him to examine his injury.
"Well, you're lucky, it isn't infected. The seawater probably helped keep it
clean. What happened, anyway?"
"I don't rightly remember," he said nonchalantly, "One minute I was
having a little rum in my cabin with some, uh, company, and the next minute I
was falling off the edge of the Pearl with wood splinters all around me. I guess I
broke through the rail. Don't know what I was doing on deck, though." His
casual manner surprised me.
"Aren't you worried about your ship?" I asked. He waved his hand,
making a phssaww-ing noise.
"Gibbs'll take care of her. He knows to go back to Tortuga if anything
happens, so I'll meet him there when I feel like it. For the moment, I'm feeling
pretty good about all this. Call it an involuntary vacation, if ye like." Keeping my
doubts to myself, I unrolled a fresh length of bandage and set about rebinding
Jack's chest. As I put my arms around him to secure the bandaging, I couldn't
help noticing how good he smelled. His scent was something of a cross between
leather, saltwater, and rum, and was just as intoxicating as the aforementioned
drink. Before I could be completely overwhelmed, I quickly finished the dressing
and sat back.
"Well, you're done. You can get dressed again, if you want." Jack raised
his eyebrows.
"Dressed with what, love? Me trousers are no better than they were
yesterday." He was certainly right about that; hung across the back of a chair, the
trousers were still dripping water into an ever-growing puddle on the floor.
"Well, you're sure you won't wear my dad's clothes?" I asked without
much hope.
"Sure as sure," he replied firmly.
"I guess I'll stick these in the wash," I said, picking up the trousers
gingerly. "They should be done and dried in about two hours. Can you stand
wearing your, uh, toga until then?" Jack grinned mischievously.
"I think I can manage it." He stood up, the blanket beginning to fall away.
I turned around quickly. A day ago I would have been blushing as well, but by
now I had become accustomed to Jack's immodesty. There was the sound of
fabric against skin, then a second later I felt Jack's hot breath in my ear.
"What now, love?" I wheeled around, and there stood Romanesque Jack
resplendent in a red blanket. Happy yet saddened to see him clothed, I shrugged.
"Well, before you washed up yesterday I spent most of the day in bed, my
brain slowly rotting of boredom. Hopefully today will be more interesting."
"One can only hope," agreed Jack.
**************************************************************************** ****************
When I woke up the next morning, it took me a few seconds to remember
why I was so buoyantly happy. Then it all came flooding back: Jack, the Coke, no
parents, the kiss. I lay in bed for a moment, savoring the perfect wonderfulness
of the world. Eventually I got up and dressed, choosing to wear my favorite
khaki shorts and blue spaghetti-strap top. As I entered the kitchen, I belatedly
wondered whether Jack was still in bed or not, and if he wasn't, what he'd be
wearing. My question was answered almost immediately: Jack was sitting at the
table, the blanket wrapped toga-style around his body. He was making peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches, and had smears of Jiffy and strawberry all over his
hands and face. Judging by the stack of about ten or so sandwiches on the table,
he'd been at this for a while.
"Hungry?" I asked. He looked up at me grinned abashedly.
"It's great fun. The peanut butter just spreads so perfectly. You want to
make some?" he offered, handing me a knife. I laughed.
"What the hell," I said, grabbing two slices of bread and the jelly. "You
realize, of course, that we'll have to live off these for the next week or so." Jack
shrugged.
"Suits me fine, love. The way these taste, I wouldn't mind eating them for
the rest of me life." In the end, we ended up making two and a half bread loaves
worth of PB&Js. We each ate one for breakfast and stored the rest in the
refrigerator for lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch, etc. I helped Jack clean the sticky
mess off his face, then decided it was time to have another look at his cut to make
sure it was healing properly.
"So, do you want me to take a peek at that wound of yours?" I asked him.
"No," he said quickly, his eyes darting to the antiseptic that was still on
the counter near the door. I sighed.
"Jack, when I said 'Do you want me to look at your cut,' what I meant was
'I'm going to take a look at that cut.' Sit down." He flopped onto the futon, an
exasperated look on his face, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like
"women." He undid the top of his toga, which had been held up by what looked
like a sharpened bone of some kind. Trying not to think about Jack wearing
nothing more than a loosely draped blanket, I carefully unwrapped the
bandaging around his chest, wincing when I had to tug it free of encrusted
blood. Sometime last night it had reopened and started to bleed again; probably,
I thought guiltily, when he carried me across my room. I wiped away the excess
blood, then began reaching for the antiseptic when I was stopped short by Jack's
glowering face. Sighing inwardly, I left the antiseptic where it was and turned to
Jack instead.
"Can you lie down for a minute? I need to get a better look at this cut, and
I can't do it while you're sitting up like that." Jack laid back on the futon,
smirking as I bent close over him to examine his injury.
"Well, you're lucky, it isn't infected. The seawater probably helped keep it
clean. What happened, anyway?"
"I don't rightly remember," he said nonchalantly, "One minute I was
having a little rum in my cabin with some, uh, company, and the next minute I
was falling off the edge of the Pearl with wood splinters all around me. I guess I
broke through the rail. Don't know what I was doing on deck, though." His
casual manner surprised me.
"Aren't you worried about your ship?" I asked. He waved his hand,
making a phssaww-ing noise.
"Gibbs'll take care of her. He knows to go back to Tortuga if anything
happens, so I'll meet him there when I feel like it. For the moment, I'm feeling
pretty good about all this. Call it an involuntary vacation, if ye like." Keeping my
doubts to myself, I unrolled a fresh length of bandage and set about rebinding
Jack's chest. As I put my arms around him to secure the bandaging, I couldn't
help noticing how good he smelled. His scent was something of a cross between
leather, saltwater, and rum, and was just as intoxicating as the aforementioned
drink. Before I could be completely overwhelmed, I quickly finished the dressing
and sat back.
"Well, you're done. You can get dressed again, if you want." Jack raised
his eyebrows.
"Dressed with what, love? Me trousers are no better than they were
yesterday." He was certainly right about that; hung across the back of a chair, the
trousers were still dripping water into an ever-growing puddle on the floor.
"Well, you're sure you won't wear my dad's clothes?" I asked without
much hope.
"Sure as sure," he replied firmly.
"I guess I'll stick these in the wash," I said, picking up the trousers
gingerly. "They should be done and dried in about two hours. Can you stand
wearing your, uh, toga until then?" Jack grinned mischievously.
"I think I can manage it." He stood up, the blanket beginning to fall away.
I turned around quickly. A day ago I would have been blushing as well, but by
now I had become accustomed to Jack's immodesty. There was the sound of
fabric against skin, then a second later I felt Jack's hot breath in my ear.
"What now, love?" I wheeled around, and there stood Romanesque Jack
resplendent in a red blanket. Happy yet saddened to see him clothed, I shrugged.
"Well, before you washed up yesterday I spent most of the day in bed, my
brain slowly rotting of boredom. Hopefully today will be more interesting."
"One can only hope," agreed Jack.