Disclaimer: I still own Jaraen, though I'm not sure how much claim I want to lay to him as he attempts to get us both lynched . . .
AN: Okay, this is a special chapter, done when it probably shouldn't have been (ie during Spanish class, during Government class, during Calc class) just because I felt bad leaving you guys in the lurch. Thus it is four days early, and there are no responses to reviews. If I get the next chapter done by Sunday (my normal posting day) I'll put that up with responses to reviews. Hope you enjoy. *nibbles nervously at fingers*
AN2: Before I forget (once again) a huge thank you to Erin, Kayden, and JackFan2, for giving this canine a couple kicks in the rear with regards to posting this chapter despite her nervousness about it.
To Love and Protect
Part 18
Numbness.
Complete and total numbness.
It was a sensation he was intimately familiar with, having experienced it twice before.
His own ragged breaths added a whispering counter-rhythm to the drumming of his erratic heart, a drumming that seemed to encompass everything else as it faltered, slowed . . .
Not yet. Please.
The darkness didn't retreat, but it didn't proceed any further, either, leaving him a few moments to accomplish his goal.
Captain Jack Sparrow refused to die in bed with a man, brother or not . . .make that especially brother. It just wouldn't leave him with the reputation he desired.
Plus, if Will woke up, Jack would rather he didn't immediately see the fruits of the bargain that had been struck on his behalf.
He wasn't entirely certain how he managed to get to his feet, just that he was suddenly relatively vertical and taking one uncertain step through the darkness . . .and a second, more lurching one . . .and a third . . .
"Jack, it's all right." Strong arms were wrapping around him, protective, caring, gentle. The pirate allowed his wavering body to collapse, each breath coming harder and harder, burning in his lungs.
Ana-Maria's arms were a good place to die.
"Oh, Lord, you're cold as ice. Jack? Jack, talk to me, love."
Was he lying down, or was she holding him, cradling him like she did through the bars of their cells? Either way, she was definitely there. He could feel her presence, even if he couldn't discern her touch on his numb skin.
"Love ye." It took an extraordinary amount of effort to force the words out so that they might be coherent, and for a few moments it was impossible to breath as the darkness continued to claim him.
"Hush, ye bloody daft fool. I know."
Good. It was good that she knew. He sincerely doubted he had the strength to say it again . . .to say anything again.
Courteous had definitely turned to demanding.
"Elizabeth, is Will . . ."
"No. I . . .I think he's breathing easier . . .I'm certain of it." Elizabeth's voice fell to a whisper, making it impossible for him to discern what she was saying.
"What d' ye mean easier? Oh, damn ye, Jack Sparrow, ye wouldn't . . .ye didn' . . . "
Trade. Bargain. Accord.
Even thinking the words was becoming nigh on impossible, awareness darkening and slowing down, leaving him alone and vulnerable to whatever games Death wished to play.
"Jack, don't ye dare, don' ye dare do this t' me! Jack!"
The darkness parted slightly and he could feel her lips against his mouth, feel the rush of warm, humid air that filled lungs he hadn't even noticed had stopped working for themselves.
Once . . .twice . . .three times . . .she was panting slightly, the air less fresh but now dripping with her own unique taste as she forced it into his unresisting body.
"Jack, fight this! There's no bloody damn reason for ye t' die! Breathe! I can't keep doin' it for ye. Please, Jack."
Breathe? He could do that, to make her happy, less angry . . .he shouldn't die when she was angry at him . . .it wasn't right . . .
The first attempt at breathing accomplished little, the small gasp barely drawing air into his mouth, let alone his lungs. The second was better, and the third one could almost be taken as a full breath, a full, panting, terrifying breath.
The darkness still surrounded him, though, seeping into his bones, into the fabric of his being, and he knew he couldn't fight it forever.
He would try, though. To make her happy, he would try.
"That's it, Jack. That's it. Just keep doin' that, love, and I'll see what I can do about warmin' ye up, all right? Ye jus' keep hangin' on, Jack."
Were those her fingers brushing his chest?
Was that even what he was feeling? Or was it another probe from the darkness, harder and more insistent, clawing at his heart this time?
Ana-Maria wouldn't be able to help with that. They'd never played with ways to share a heartbeat . . .
"What are you doing? How can I help?" Elizabeth. Her voice was strange, almost choked, combining joy and grief and guilt and a million other emotions that he couldn't wrap his mind around to name at the moment.
"I'm tryin' t' warm him up. Feel his skin. He's cold as ice . . .cold as the grave. I need blankets, and if there's anything hot t' drink that might help. Other than that, jus' stay with yer husband and help him. If I lose Jack, it had better damn well be for a reason."
It was getting harder to breathe again, the air seeming too heavy and sluggish to move through his lungs.
"Jack, love, I'm just sitting ye up now, all right? Jus' goin' t' try t' warm ye up. Don' do anythin' rash like stopping that breathing, savvy?" Maybe that shifting motion wasn't entirely in his head, then. "Jack, ye're still breathin', right? Come on, cap'n. Don' ye quit on me."
He wasn't quitting. Captain Jack Sparrow never quit.
But he could lose.
That must be what he was doing now.
Her lips were on his mouth again, forcing the warm, humid air into his lungs. "Jack Sparrow, what'd I tell ye 'bout breathin'?"
Right. Keep breathing. All he had to do was keep breathing.
He could feel his own heart slowing again, skipping beats, changing rhythm, but there was still no pain. In fact, it was rather exhilarating, a strange sensation that he had never felt before and would never get to again.
Death had already claimed him.
It was just a matter of the darkness convincing the rest of the world that he was gone.
"What happened?" So Brian's pet medic had decided it was time to join the game . . .the last game . . .
That wasn't really fair to the man, though. His only crime so far had been interfering in events outside his scope of knowledge . . .far, far outside any of their knowledge . . .
"I don't know, not for sure, but I think . . .I think . . .God damn ye, Jack Sparrow, keep breathin'! This is gettin' old real fast."
It wasn't really fair, damning him for that. He was trying to breathe. It wasn't his fault that he was dead . . .dying . . .both . . .
Except it was. This time it was his fault, and not just inadvertently due to stupidity or stubbornness. He had willingly traded his life for Will's.
God help him, he had chosen death.
"Thank you, Elizabeth. If you wouldn't mind going and watching your husband . . .I don't trust what's happening here, not with these two. Captain Sparrow, if you can hear me, we need you to cooperate. Your body temperature is very low. We're trying to raise it. You need to drink this. It's just water, but the warmth is what we need to get inside you. On the count of three you stop breathing, swallow, and then start breathing again, understood? One . . .two . . .three."
Liquid was suddenly filling his mouth. Swallowing took a bit more concentration than it normally would have, but it was still a manageable act.
What wasn't manageable was the pain that flared through his chest and gut as soon as he swallowed.
This wasn't warmth.
It was fire, a creeping, crawling, liquid fire that brought awareness back to numb, deadened flesh.
If he could have summoned enough energy to scream, he would have.
"-ll right, Jack, it's all right. I have ye. It's all right. Are ye certain this is helping him?"
Someone was whimpering and gasping at the same time . . .whimpering and gasping in time with his own treasonous lungs . . .
Oh, hell, that would never do. Captain Jack Sparrow did not whimper like a whipped dog.
"Yes, it's helping. We need to get as much heat into his body as quickly as we can. That means working from both the inside and the outside. I'm assuming you're going to be the one holding him in the blankets. Direct skin-to-skin contact is the best way to transfer heat from one body to another."
"Not a problem. Ye jus' keep hangin' on, Jack."
He was hanging on. He was hanging on as hard as he could . . .the only problem was finding things to hang on to.
"Rub his chest. Perfect. Just like that. Any extra way you can find to pour heat into him or onto him, use it."
"When he starts shivering, that's good, right? It means he's out of danger."
"Normally once they start shivering you're basically guaranteed that they're going to be all right if you keep them warm. Then again, I've never had a patient before who's trying to freeze to death on a perfect Caribbean summer day."
Well, it would be a unique death, at least . . .
"He's not goin' t' die, doctor."
"I believe you. If there's anything Elizabeth or I can get you or help you with, yell. I need to see how Turner's doing."
Footsteps. Well, it seemed his audience for his last moments was dwindling rather rapidly. Taking care of the lad was a damn good reason to leave the show early, though.
"Ye hear that, Jack Sparrow? Even the bloody Royal Navy has faith in yer immortality."
Immortal . . .?
Someone forgot to forward notification of that fact to Death.
"Jack, I think I know what ye did, and if ye succeed I swear I'll kill ye."
Well, that threat didn't make much sense . . .
"Any way ye could maybe talk t' me, Jack? Or e'en just open your eyes or . . .just somethin' to let me know ye're still in there and fightin' . . ."
He was still breathing, wasn't he? That was fighting. Talking would take a lot more coordination and effort . . .
"Damn ye, Jack Sparrow, ye aren't supposed t' die like this."
How was he supposed to die? This was at least less messy than most of Death's other attempts had been.
"Oh, Jack . . .ye stubborn damn fool . . ."
Was it normal for people to insult someone as they cried over them?
Cried.
Crying.
Ana-Maria was crying over him because he didn't have the will to try and reassure her.
"Quit . . ." Pause, inhale, fight back the dark.
"Damnin' me . . ." Inhale again.
"Got 'nough . . ." Gasp a bit and keep going. This wasn't so very difficult.
"Strikes 'gainst . . ." It was taking an absurd amount of time to convey a relatively simple message . . .an unimportant message.
"Already . . ." Just one more word, one more reassurance that actually meant something, a message all into and of itself. Then all he had to do was focus on breathing again.
"Love."
It had been worth it. Laughter joined the crying for a second before both were stifled.
Ana-Maria's voice was thick now, speaking of more unshed tears. "All right, ye bloody daft pirate. Can ye feel what I'm doin', Jack?"
Usually the woman was trying to shut him up.
Now that he wanted to shut up, all she wanted him to do was talk.
"No." It didn't seem to take as much concentration to talk now . . .and it drove the darkness back a bit, or at least held it at bay.
"But ye can hear me fine?"
"All . . .o' ye."
The darkness was digging deeper again, clawing its way beneath his skin, into his mind and heart, making focusing nearly impossible.
Not long now . . .
"'M . . .sorry . . .love."
"Sorry for what?"
"Lettin' him . . .hurt . . .you."
"Jack . . .Jack, I still don't remember . . .everything he did, but none of it was because of you or in any way your fault. I trust ye, Jack. I love ye. Don' let me down. Please."
"Should've done . . .more . . .but didn't . . .let go . . . this time . . .least . . ."
"No, ye didn't let go of him, and I'm not letting go of you, Jack Sparrow. Come on, cap'n, start shiverin' for me. I think I'm doin' enough for the both of us here."
Shiver? Why would he want to shiver? He wasn't cold . . .not cold at all . . .
"Jack, don't stop talkin'. What'd you mean 'this time'? Tell me what ye meant, Jack. Talk to me." There was desperation tingeing her voice now.
"Doe'n't . . .matter." Breathing was becoming a problem again.
"It does matter, Jack, if it'll keep ye talkin', keep ye here. Tell me about it."
"Dead men . . .aren't . . .s'posed . . .t' tell . . .tales . . ."
"Ye're not dead, and ye aren't goin' t' become dead, Jack Sparrow. Tell me a tale, love. E'en if it's the most insane nonsense I've e'er heard, I promise not t' say a word against it."
"Can't . . ."
"Can't or won't tell me, Jack? What can be so bad that ye can't share it with me?"
What, indeed? There was a reason the past was past.
"Is it about that girl? The one ye were talkin' 'bout before?"
"San . . ."
God above, he hadn't thought about her in over two decades, not since William Turner found him and saved his life and some semblance of his sanity. Why did she insist on haunting him now?
Because you promised me, Jack . . .you promised me, my very own Captain Sparrow . . .I gave you a name and a home and a rank and you gave me a promise . . .
"Kept it . . .tried t' . . .best . . .could . . ."
Breathing just didn't seem worth the effort anymore.
"Jack, what in Hell do ye think ye're doin'? You are not giving up now!" Lips sealed over his again, forcing him to accept the life-giving gift of air.
She really needed to stop doing that and just let him go. All this was doing was postponing the inevitable.
That's right, Jack. Just postponing the inevitable. You belong to me.
That didn't seem very much like something San would have said. She knew better than to claim him. She had called him Captain before he ever set foot on board a boat.
"Cheated . . ."
"Jack? Who cheated?"
"Death . . ."
"Ye cheated death?"
"Tried . . .cheat . . .me."
"Jack, please just start shiverin'."
"Promised . . ."
"Promised what? Promised who? Jack . . ."
"Promised . . .her mum . . .watch out . . .for them . . .but I . . .couldn't . . .couldn' . . .stop . . .him . . ."
Was he still breathing? It was getting harder and harder to tell.
"Jack, what happened? What happened to her?" Ana-Maria's voice had fallen to a whisper.
"He . . .hurt . . .her . . .and I . . .I . . .killed . . .her . . .and let . . .let the . . .boy . . .let . . .m' brother . . .go . . ."
"Jack, I want ye t' take another drink, all righ'? And then I want ye t' tell the story. Count of three again, savvy? One . . .two . . .three."
Again the wash of liquid fire flared through his body, but he ignored it, too busy watching the darkness to ensure that it didn't venture any nearer. It was already far too close.
"Jack? Ye all right?"
No. Dying . . .or dead . . .whichever it was, it could not be considered an 'all right' thing to be.
"Jack, tell me the story. Please."
"Why?"
"Because ye're hurtin' and I want t' know why. Because ye're dyin' over somethin' I don't understand and I want to understand."
Her voice stopped abruptly.
"Ye aren't dyin'. I still want t' hear, though."
"Dyin' . . .for Will . . .held on . . .for him . . ."
"Hold on t' me . . .hold on for me."
"Tryin' . . ."
"How old were ye?"
How old was he when? She needed a more specific question if she really wanted him to wrap his mind around it at the moment.
"Jack, how old were ye when ye promised San's mother . . .whatever it was ye promised?"
There. That was specific.
"Ten . . .day b'fore . . .she died . . .knew . . .her husband . . .couldn' manage t' . . .care for 'em proper. So she trusted . . .Jack . . .t' make sure . . .they survived."
"What happened, Jack?"
"Her da . . .didn' handle . . .death well. Got drunk . . .got mean . . .hit her. Hard. Bad. She was . . .bleedin'. Tried t' . . .help, stop 'im from . . .touchin' her . . .or Ana or Thomas . . .think . . .think he went after 'er b'cause she looked . . .looked lot like her . . .mother . . .pretty. He didn' . . .didn' like me . . .anyway. Always said I was . . .dirty street-rat . . .didn' deserve . . .t' be in his . . .'ouse, with 'is fam'ly . . .eatin' 'is food. Laid int' me . . .when I got in 'is way . . .t' keep 'im from hittin' 'er 'gain . . .bloodied me up . . .real bad. Thought I . . .was dead."
A convulsive shudder ran through his body, bringing flying shards of pain that lanced smoothly through the numbness.
"That's it, Jack . . .come on . . .start shiverin'. What happened t' ye after he beat ye?"
"Ran . . .ran t' . . .t' the sea. Didn' go back . . .for four years." The comfortable numbness had returned, the dark edging closer and closer with it.
"And when ye went back?"
"Found 'er . . .ended up . . .in 'er bed. She wasn' . . .a virgin . . .wasn't right . . .don' touch family . . .like tha' . . ."
Ana-Maria was silent for a long time . . .almost too long. Breathing was again becoming an impossibility.
"Jack . . .Jack, her father . . .her father raped her?"
"Aye . . ."
Had she even heard the whisper?
The dark was no longer creeping, no longer watching or testing. It was inside him, in his lungs, freezing his breath. Tendrils were already grasping for his heart, causing it to slow . . .
"Jack! Jack, not now, not after hangin' on for so long! Jack, stay with me!" She was trying to breathe for him again, but it wasn't working.
Death was tired of waiting.
"God, no, please no. Not like this. There's still so much . . .so bloody much . . .we had to do. Jack, I need ye. How am I supposed to commandeer a ship and go traitor-hunting alone? Jack . . ."
Traitor-hunting?
Michael. Something about Michael . . .
"Ye swore . . .I heard ye . . .ye swore that ye would kill him. Ye can't very well go killin' anyone if ye're dead yerself."
He had sworn three times that he would see the traitor dead.
"Jack . . .please. For me."
Ana-Maria needed him.
He had sworn he would see Michael dead.
"Oh, God, please, don't let him die. Give him back. He isn't supposed to die, not now. Just because he let some naïve blacksmith slip past his guard . . .there's no bloody damn reason for him to die! Let him go!"
"Ana-Maria, let go. You did all that could possibly be expected of you. Some things are just outside the control of mankind."
"That's why I'm not asking anything of ye, doctor. Now take your hands off me or I will take them off your body. Jack . . .Jack, if ye can still hear me, love, please come back."
He had his lover to protect and a traitor to kill. He had bound himself to kill the traitor. It was something he had to do before he could die.
No. I already own you, Captain Sparrow. We struck a bargain. Your life for the whelp's.
Make an exception.
You don't have the power to command me anymore, Sparrow. You're far too far gone for that. Just accept it.
Fingers curled into his hair and her lips were at his mouth again, still attempting to drag him back.
Her fingers.
In his hair.
He could feel her, the warmth of her touch nearly searing his skin.
"Jack . . ." Tears. Those were tears falling on his face.
Every fiber of his being seemed to scream in protest as he latched onto those feelings with the same stubborn determination that had kept him alive and relatively sane in the past.
He wanted to live.
He needed to live.
The first breath brought with it the pain, pain he hadn't felt before in the darkness-induced numbness. His chest ached and burned as though some large animal had repeatedly kicked him. His head was pounding as though it wanted to explode. His left knee, which for the last year would on occasion stiffen or send a twinge of remembered pain along his leg, was burning as though someone had lit a fire in it.
For a moment he stood poised on the brink of life, deciding whether it was worth it to fight, the darkness still clawing at him, in a frenzy now that something had provided him with a means of escape.
Then he was shivering convulsively, every inch of his body wracked by tremors that only seemed to increase in size until he thought that they must surely tear him apart.
That, too, eventually passed, and he found himself cradled again in loving arms.
"That's it, Jack, you come back t' me. I've got you. Jack? Do ye think ye can open your eyes?"
It seemed a safe enough request.
He instantly regretted acquiescing to it.
Mine, Jack Sparrow. You're mine. They had no right to interfere. You still belong to me.
No!
He hadn't been lying to Will when he said that he could see Death, or when he said that it could be male or female depending on how you were going. Perhaps it was simply his own perspective, skewed by one too many close encounters.
This was the first time Death had decided to look like someone he knew, though . . .or had known.
"Jack? Jack, what's wrong?"
"Ana-Maria . . ." Even when he forced his eyes to focus on only her face, an edge of darkness clouded his vision.
"Jack, everything's all right."
"Not dead."
"No."
"Don't belong to her . . .him . . .it . . ."
"No, Jack, ye belong here, with me."
"Here . . ."
Liar, Jack. Such a wonderfully talented liar. You belong to me.
It was impossible to ignore the voice, whispering directly into his mind, into his heart and soul.
"Ana-Maria . . ." It was getting hard to breathe again, but that might simply be his own panic.
"Here, Jack. Ye belong here with me."
It was good to hear someone else speak the words, give them meaning. He nodded, his gaze dropping from her face with the movement . . .
"Your shirt isn't fastened."
"I had a bloody daft frozen pirate t' warm up. Ye aren't wearin' a shirt at all."
"Oh." It took a minute for the meaning of the words to clarify. "I belong here."
"Ye belong here."
Not quite, Jack.
"Leave me 'lone." Shaking his head didn't help to dislodge or silence the voice.
"Jack? Jack, what is it?"
"I belong . . .with you."
The kiss obviously caught her off guard, but she still responded.
She grabbed both his hands before he could do anything more.
"Please . . .need you . . .help me . . ."
"I'm here for ye, Jack, but ye can't do tha' now. Too many people."
Mine, Jack. Mine to claim when I will.
"Shut up . . .oh, please God, make her shut up . . ."
"Jack?"
"Not you . . .help me . . ."
"All right, Jack. On your feet."
The getting up part was simple. It was the balancing part that proved difficult, but a firm arm beneath his shoulder kept him from falling over as she led him through the few shaky steps.
Maybe he could balance better if he wasn't was seeing his first true lover stalking around him, throwing down claims that he couldn't refute.
The sound of the cabin door shutting was all the permission he could wait for as tendrils of cold again began to snake along his body.
"Love you . . ."
"I know . . .daft fool . . ."
Conscious thought deteriorated rapidly as he threw himself onto her, heedless of pain anywhere.
He refused to be claimed by death again.
* * *
Ana-Maria gently stroked stray strands of beaded hair off his face, listening with true and total awe to his steady, rhythmic breathing.
He had drawn blood. With both his fingers and his teeth, he had drawn blood, marked her as his . . .and she had responded in kind, not caring what had happened, living in the moment, for the moment.
It all seemed so incredibly absurd.
He had traded his life for Will's. He had admitted as much to her.
He had willingly traded his bloody life for another man's . . .traded his life despite what they were to each other.
There hadn't been true anger before. Terror, grief, despair, but not anger.
He had abandoned her.
Yet he also came back to her, to her specifically . . .
Or something came back.
Half of what he had said hadn't seemed to be directed to her but rather to a being that didn't exist.
People could only die so many times before insanity had to take hold.
His breathing was so fascinating, so easy now, not given to sudden failure as it had been for far too long.
"I love ye, Jack." The whispered words seemed to bring a smile to his face, usually but not always a good sign.
"I just don' know if I can live with ye."
He shivered as she pulled away from him and climbed out of the bed. A few deft movements had him firmly entwined in the already body-heat-laden blankets, leaving her free to see what had been happening on the rest of the ship while they fought a hard-won battle for survival.
Jack would be safe until she got back. She would be incredibly surprised if he didn't simply sleep for at least a day.
It just looked like Brian would be wanting new accommodations for a bit . . .and probably new blankets and sheets when he finally reclaimed his bed.
