(My chapter is a day late. Apologies to my co-writers *bows*)
~ Part 3 ~
Written by Jackfan2
Moments after Captain Jack Sparrow landed on the deck of the Black Pearl; he spun and gave the order to fire cannon. The resounding boom of one of the ships port guns billowed and chain shot expelled, efficiently taking out the mainmast of the Spanish Galleon.
The sound of wood splintering and men shouting told the pirate crew that their aim had been true. After the initial blast the rest seemed to happen in slow motion. There was a loud creaking and then the once tall, proud spire began its downward decent. Sail still attached, lines snapping from the weight until finally the heavy mast landed with a thunderous splash into the sea.
The crew of the soundly defeated galleon skittered about the ship's deck shouting orders and calling responses. Desperately, vainly, Anamaria knew they would attempt to salvage what they could of the sinking canvas. The proud Spaniard Captain stood at the starboard rail of his now wounded ship; head high, eyes dark with rage.
As the crew of the Pearl cheered, Jack released the rope and sauntered unsteadily to the port rail. With a broad, gold-toothed smile he gazed across the water nodding to the enraged Spanish Captain. In a smooth motion, Jack drew the gold-filigreed cutlass and tipped it high into the air. Ana eyed the gleaming steel a moment, and then noticed something red and slick coated the tip. Blood.
"Nice sword, Captain DeLeon! Shame I had to take it from ya, but you left me little choice. Rest assured however, that I shall wear it in good health." Jack eyed the dour captain and clucked his tongue. "Now, now, Jorge, don't look so angry. Just remember this as the day that you were out-witted and out-maneuvered by the Captain Jack Sparrow, and the indomitable crew of The Black Pearl." At the last he bowed in a mock salute and his crew roared with laughter.
Still smiling, Jack turned to face his crew. "Good raid gents. Stow the swag below and make it quick. Mr. Gibbs!"
"Aye, sir."
"Adjust our course and make for Port Royal, full canvas."
"Port Royal? Full canvas, sir? You sure 'bout that, Jack? Port Royal?"
"You repeatin' my order's Mr. Gibbs," Jack's eyes narrowed, "or questionin' them?" Gibbs mouth snapped shut. The old sailor cast a speculative look at Anamaria, who seemed stunned to silence. Then with a muttered, 'No sir, right away sir', he stepped around his captain, shouting orders along the way.
Anamaria stared in disbelief at the retreating back of their Quartermaster and friend.. Never had she heard Jack address him in that way. Over the last four days there was a decided change in the Captain. He seemed… anxious and edgy. It seemed to have started the day she awakened him, after the storm. After he'd spoken of some woman… Mary. That name stuck in her craw.
Over the past three days, Ana observed his sleep becoming more and more restless. On the second day, while on watch in the crow's nest, Ana noticed Jack sleeping on deck. Hearing a muttered curse, she turned and watched as he tossed and turned, caught again in yet another nightmare. This one, unlike the others, seemed infinitely worse. The shouting and thrashing decided her and she just as she a leg swung over the edge of the crow's nest he suddenly bolted up right. Even from a distance she could see that he was bathed in sweat and breathing hard.
After that, she noticed he no longer slept in his cabin with her. Moreover, she'd not seen him sleep much at all, anywhere. For two days he wandered the deck, checking lines, climbing the rigging to tighten sail. None of the things he normally did any more. It occurred to her that he avoided sleep, fought against it. However, it was during those first two days of restless wanderings that he led them in taking two nicely laden merchant ships near Cape Hope, and today this foolish of all follies, a heavily armed Spanish Galleon. No, this wasn't at all like Jack. Something was definitely wrong. She had to find out what it was before he got them all killed, or drove him self even more insane than the world already believed him to be.
Determined to make him talk to her, Ana squared her shoulders and turned back…But Jack was not there. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him stalking off toward his cabin. In five hurried steps she managed to catch up, just in time to step into inside behind him, before the door slammed shut.
Exactly as she expected, he turned to address her. Swiftly, she struck out with the flat of her palm and connected hard across his mouth. The slap resounded in the room spinning the pirate back around.
"What the bloody hell is the matter with you, Jack? God's teeth, taking that Spanish Galleon was the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do, and knowing you as long as I have, that makes it borderline asinine! What were you thinking? You could've been killed. The Pearl could've been blown to bits. Then, you snap at Gibbs like he's some mangy squib in the Royal Nav—."
"First of all, luv, it's captain." Jack interrupted taking a bottle of rum from a cabinet and several strips of cloth. Propping the newly acquired Spaniard's sword against the wall, he moved slowly back to the table. "Secondly, the title should be sufficient enough as to my reasons. Now then, lets just try t' remember who's captain, savvy?"
Ana's brow furrowed at the lack of emotion in his words. Tilting her head she eyed the items on the table and realized how tired he sounded. A sharp intake of breath drew her attention back up. With visible difficulty, he removed his heavy outer coat and her eyes widened in surprise. Blood, she noticed, had soaked through the once white shirt and outer vest.
Sighing, she walked over and batted his hands away from the buttons of his vest. "Don't. Lemme have a look first." Arms at his side, she pulled gently at his shirt to release it from the sticky fluid and peered inside at the wound. It still bled profusely and she could see a dark hole just below and to the left of his collarbone. Quickly, she released the shirt and began unwinding the sash from around his waste, that done, she unbuttoned the vest and un-tucked his tunic. Grabbing a bandage from the table she folded it several times to make it more absorbent and pressed it to the wound. The pressure made the pirate captain wince in response and he teetered sideways.
"Let me guess," she continued as she steadied him with one hand. Confident that he would remain upright for a bit longer, she reached back and grabbed the bottle of rum and gave it to him. "that fancy sword with the blood on the tip; a gift from the Spanish captain?"
"Aye," Jack said, after taking a long swig. "But he didn't exactly give it willingly, well, all except for the hole in m' shoulder. That he dispensed with great alacrity."
"Gotta get that shirt off ya. Ready?" Jack nodded in response and Ana, as carefully as she could manage, pulled both garments up and over his head. The injured shoulder rose with the motion and she heard him grunt in response. One quick look at his face and she noticed the tight set of his jaw, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"'M feeling… dizzy…" he slurred, swaying sideways again.
"I know," She said catching the uninjured arm in her strong grip. "Now, sit down, b'fore you keel over." She said as she guided him back in the direction of a nearby chair.
"Thank you." he muttered and wearily dropped into the seat.
"Bloody hell, Jack." She replied, her tone mildly reproachful. Grabbing another clean bandage and, taking the bottle of rum from his hand, she doused one side of the fabric. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Wasn't," he winced at the rum covered cloth as she pressed it to the wound. Through gritted teeth he continued. "… time, lass."
Holding the bandage pressed to the wound, Ana walked on her knees to kneel between his legs. Leaning in, she spoke softly, "What's wrong with you, Jack? You're not sleeping; you're taking horrible chances. This isn't like you at all. Tell me, I want to help."
Ana felt his gentle touch tilt her head back. Weary, blood-shot eyes looked at her. "I wish I knew, love. It's like... something has a hold of me.. by the gut.. an' it won' let go. An' I don't understand it, but it's callin' t' me. In the dreams… she keeps coming to me… it's…" he sighed in frustration. Rubbing at his weary face with one hand, he continued, "it's bloody hard to explain. I'm sorry, love. God's, I'm tired."
Taking his uninjured shoulder in one hand Ana stood, pulling him along with her. A small smile tugged at one side of her mouth at his curious look. "Come on, dressing that wound would be a lot easier if you're lying down." With great care she pressed him to the mattress. Glancing at his face while she worked, a tender smile softened her face as his eyes drifted shut.
Finally, he rested.