The bullet from Will Turner's gun did not cause Jack critical injury. Of course, the barrel of the weapon had been aimed at his heart, and Will had been a quick learner when it came to aiming... But somehow, during the bullet's path to Jack's cardiac system, it veered. Perhaps it was a particularly strong gust of wind, or maybe the soon-to-be victim turned slightly when he realized that someone was firing at him. Either way, it ended up that Captain Jack Sparrow found himself with an umcomfortably sized piece of metal embedded in the muscle tissue of his shoulder, and blood seeping through his new black shirt.
For a moment, he just stared at the hole Will had made, eyes wide with shock. Then Elizabeth began screaming, and the world went black.
He didn't awaken for several more hours, and by then he was safely placed within the confines of Desert Springs Hospital, which was a little over two miles from the scene of the crime. Jack slowly opened his eyes, and nearly fainted.
Everything was white. It was just like that place he heard of when he was young...er. The place old people and their cats went when their lives were over. Eye-blinding and unnaturally clean, no one in sight... The pupils of his eyes slowly went from the right to the left, examining the room without making any noise. And then --
"...Jack,"
A heavenly, ethereal voice floating down from somewhere above him. For a moment he was captivated by it's melodic quality, and thought that he could spend hours listening to anything this creature had to say. And then he saw her. Curly hair falling about her shoulders, skin like the sands of Jamaica, and a white robe that went to her knees.
"...Jack, can you hear me?"
Oh hell, she was a bleedin' angel!... or, cherub. Or whatever those churchy people called the things that tended to the old people and their cats once they were dead and gone. She had to be one of those things, anyway, because she had the most perfect face, and the loveliest eyes, and a very nice figure...
"Am I dead?" he asked, his voice very low and quiet.
She sat down on the side of his bed, brushing her hair from her face, and raised an eyebrow. "Jack, you idiot, you're in a bloody hospital."
Oooh, he thought. Doesn't want to frighten me... The Man Upstairs must not've told her much about me...
"Miss," he said, looking directly into those increasingly appealing eyes of hers. "I am not afraid of death, nor what comes after it, so please tell me outright: Am I dead?"
"No," she said, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "but you are incredibly thick," When he raised an eyebrow she added, "Jack, it's me. Elizabeth Swann. Elizabeth Swann. You're in the hospital because an acquaintance of mine shot you in the shoulder, and they needed to get the bullet out. I'm here because Will wanted to see if I'd suffered any shock..."
He blinked a few times, and then examined the area again. It did look more like a hospital room now, and the angel girl looked more like Elizabeth in a hospital gown. He furrowed his eyebrows.
"Bullet in my... shoulder, did you say?"
"Yes, Jack,"
He took his first glance at the bandages over his left shoulder. "I don't feel anything," he said.
"That's because there's pain medication in your IV. It'll probably wear off very soon..." She smiled a bracing smile.
"Will I have a scar, do you think?" he asked, thoughts turning to whether or not it would be visible if he wore one of his wife-beaters, and what would people say when he answered the door shirtless?
She patted his knee, and sighed. "I'm afraid so, Jack..."
"How unattractive," His eyebrows lowered even further.
There was a long, intense silence during which Lizzie stared at him and he turned various thoughts over in his head. He could make a story up concerning the scar, he decided. Perhaps he was fighting off a band of police one day, just for fun, and one of them had (stupidly) decided to try and blow his arm off with a... with a shotgun. (He was in a country where policemen carried shotguns.) Then he had taken the weapon from the moron's hands, beat him over the head with it, and --
"Jack, I'm here to say goodbye, you know."
He looked up from the thin quilt of his bed, eyebrows very much unfurrowed. "Beg pardon?" he said.
"I wasn't looking forward to this," she said with a frown. "I told you I wasn't looking forward to this... I knew it was destined to happen ever since I watched that film in the hotel room." A pause. "Will's taking me back to England... our flight takes off in four hours."
At this point, several thoughts were flittering through Jack's head. confusing him to the point of anger. She's...leaving? Without me? And who does that bloody fool think he is, taking Liz along as though she were a puppy and he the lunatic owner... And why am I staying here? And who does that psychopath think he is?
Lizzie kept talking. "Will sent for a police chief that was in charge of my return to safety... He'll be here within the hour. He's going to arrest you, Jack, and bring you back to England. You'll be imprisoned and put on trial, but I won't speak against you, Jack. I told Will and James that I wouldn't..." She started to cry, now, lovely eyes welling up with tears and face turning a dainty shade of pink. "God, Jack," she whispered through her sobs. "I can't bear the thought of you being locked up with finks and rapscallions..."
...And who does that delinquent think he is, making her cry so bloody much!? "Elizabeth," he said softly.
Without a warning, she leaned down and kissed him, careful to avoid his wound. And he kissed her back, which was something he hadn't ever done whilst he had his wits about him, and not in the bottom of a bottle of rum.
It was a very good thing for the both of them that Will was on his way to pick up James Norrington at the airport, and the nurse who was attending to Jack thought it quite romantic.