A New Life part 2 by Kazren/Bainpeth
The Characters are owned by Disney - just playing.
Rated: PG for language and situations
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A persistent knocking at his cabin's door brought Theodore awake. The ship was heaving to and fro, her timbers groaning eerily as the storm continued to bombard them with wind and rain. The Resolute rode over crest and into trough, sending the cabin's lamps dipping and swaying.
"One moment," the Captain called, pulling on his breeches and tucking his shirt hastily in. He reached for the lantern, its flame a mere glow, and fed it more wick. Picking it up, he carried it to the door.
Groves opened the door a crack and saw one of his junior officers, Midshipman MacGregor, standing in his oil skins, holding onto the door frame for balance. "Sir, Mr. Williams' compliments, sir," the Midshipman yelled to be heard above the howl of the wind. "We've got all the sail taken in, but it looks to be a hurricane. Mr. Williams says we're not far from Jamaica. Would you like us to steer clear, sir?"
How Mr. Williams knew where they were in these winds and blackness, Groves could not guess, but the young lieutenant had already proven himself something of a genius at navigating the sometimes treacherous waters in these parts. "My compliments to Mr. Williams," Groves spoke loudly. "Tell him he has my permission to make any maneuver he feels wise. And, Mr. MacGregor, wake my steward at eight bells and instruct him to prepare breakfast for me and my guest."
"Aye, aye, Captain." The young officer might have saluted him, but it turned into a fight to keep his hood on as a gust of wind whipped around and Theodore shut the door against it.
Crossing back toward his bed, he set the lantern down and looked at Jack. He appeared to still be asleep. A hint of color was in his face this morning. Theodore leaned in closer.
Dark eyes opened and met his own.
"I see you're awake," Groves stated the obvious. "How do you feel?"
"Oh, just ducky." The voice was slurred, reminding Theodore of something he'd noticed that night back in New Orleans. Jack's speech pattern depended upon with whom he was speaking. When they played cards and a new person joined the table, Jack's slur was suddenly back in place. Clever dog, Groves mused, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Listen, Jack. You need to pay attention to what I say." Theodore leaned in close, making sure Jack's gaze was upon him. "Your name is Thomas Wells, understand? You fell off the Muratania. You're now on board the Resolute. Got that? You're not a pirate. You don't know Jack Sparrow."
Jack's eyes studied his face. "If you say so, mate, but everyone knows Captain Jack Sparrow."
"You'll have to watch your speech, too."
"Hows about we say I'm a spy. I like that. Has a sense of adventure, like. One of His Majesty's spies sent to investigate ole Henrich. That's how I fell off the Muratania. No, I didn't fall, I jumped off, seein' as how they was about to shoot me and we'd gotten into a battle with the Black Pearl. I was about to jump off." Jack's voice trailed off. "Got blasted. Hit with a splinter. Aye, I like bein' a spy."
Theodore watched Jack's lids flutter shut. He reached a hand to feel the other man's forehead. Jack finally felt warm to the touch. Actually, he felt hot. Too hot.
Well, there wasn't much he could do about it tonight. Theodore reached to pull the heavy black blanket they'd put over Jack down a little. With a yawn, he sat back down on his own bed, pulled off his breeches, and reached to once again lower the lantern's flame.
Lying down, covered in his heaviest blankets, Groves still felt the chill. The Resolute continued to sing her storm song, it's eerie groans lulling him back to sleep.
"Sir." Jamie Trustwall's voice interrupted Theodore's dream. He was at school again and he'd forgotten to study for an exam. Waking was a relief. The scent of hot coffee filled the cabin, chasing a little of the salt water smell away.
Theodore could tell from the way the ship moved that she was in no trouble. Rain continued to lash the cabin's windows, but there was the hint of daylight beyond.
A tray sat on the captain's table. "Sir, would you like your coffee now while I shave you?" Jamie asked as he did every morning.
"Yes." Theodore stood, drew on his breeches and reached for his heavy dressing gown. He sat in his chair, his mug of steaming coffee a warm relief in his hands. "Jamie, I want Mr. Wells shaved every morning, too. He will understand it's for his own good." Theodore cast a glance at Jack, who slept in the chart room, his right arm across the covers.
As Jamie ran his razor across the leather strap, there was a polite knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Theodore called, a little annoyed that his morning ritual was being disturbed.
"Holmes, sir." The voice of Mr. Holmes was muffled.
"Enter."
The door opened briefly, then was shut against the wind and rain. "'Mornin', sir. Jamie." The Doctor threw back the hood of his oilskin and took the cloak off. "No let up," he commented, hanging his cloak on a peg.
"Good morning, Doctor. Come to see our patient?" Theodore asked. "He felt a little warm when I checked him last."
A slight frown tugged at Holmes' lips. He lit a three-stemmed candelabra, then moved directly to his patient. On the other side of the cabin, Theodore could hear Jamie whipping up the shaving soap and water.
"I tried to explain to him who he was," Theodore's gaze followed Holmes. "He embellished the story already. Said he was a spy tracking von der Kirchoff and he was about to jump from the Muratania when a splinter got him."
The Captain watched as Holmes set the candelabra down on the edged shelf in the chart room and felt Jack's forehead. Next he checked the wound. "He probably played many roles in life," he said. "I heard he passed himself off as a clergy man once."
Theodore had heard that one, too. At Jack's hanging. Luckily, it had been foiled or neither he, nor Jack would be alive today.
Jamie, who had been going about his duty and paying little heed to Jack, turned around to put the soapy mixture on his Captain's face, and the steward's mouth dropped open.
"Is that him, sir?" Jamie asked, obviously amazed by Jack's overnight transformation.
"Yes, Jamie, that's him. Thomas Wells," he stressed the name.
"Sir, I would never in a hundred years have thought that face lay hidden under that beard." Jamie was openly staring.
"My thoughts, exactly," Groves admitted.
"No wonder he grew the beard." Jamie began to apply the foam.
"No wonder," Groves echoed.
"You can't command the respect of a load of blood thirsty pirates with a face like that," James added.
"Not that Mr. Wells would ever have need of such command," Theodore added. "Seeing as how he's a agent for His Majesty's government and all."
"Oh, I see." The steward finished applying the lather and picked up his blade. "Well, that business is over my head, sir. I would know nothing about agents."
Groves snorted. Jamie, he was confident, knew everything that occurred in the Captain's cabin. He discreetly served his captains, whoever that might be over the years, overhearing every dinner conversation, knowing who snuck in and out, and whether one or two people had occupied the Captain's bed at night.
"Thomas," the Doctor said, gently shaking his patient.
Groves held his head still, so as not to get nicked, but his eyes moved toward Jack.
"How about a little something to eat this morning?" Dr. Holmes continued. "Are you awake yet?"
Jack swam up from somewhere dark and deep that weighed heavily upon him. He forced his eyes open, regretting consciousness the moment it settled upon him. With consciousness came the pain. It burned in his shoulder and ached in his lungs, clawing its way up his throat.
His vision came into focus and he saw a friendly round face touched by age and topped with gray hair trying to escape its que.
"Thomas, do you want some breakfast?" the man asked. For the life of him, Jack couldn't place the man. Then he remembered the pain in the night.
"You me surgeon?" he asked groggily.
"Yes, I'm Doctor Holmes."
"A real doctor?"
"Yes."
"That's odd." Jack tried not to breath too deeply, afraid it would cause him to cough and he knew beyond a doubt that would not feel good.
"You're right, of course. Not enough real doctors to go around. How do you feel?"
Attempting to focus on the Doctor's face, Jack blinked several times. "Like the cannon ball hit me."
"Luckily only a splinter hit you," Dr. Holmes told him. "I'm going to help you sit up a bit. It will not feel good, but you need to sit up. Your lungs need it."
Yes, my lungs, Jack thought. Hadn't he been breathing water?
Rolling up the heavy blanket, Holmes helped Jack, who felt as weak as a kitten. He edged the blanket in beneath the pillow, so Jack's head was up a little better. Unfortunately, the movement sent shafts of searing pain running from his shoulder down his chest and arm and up his neck, causing the breath to catch in his throat.
"That was fun," Jack said, his voice sounding weak even in his own ears.
"Here's a little coffee," Holmes said holding up a mug. "Take a sip."
He put the mug carefully to Jack's lips and he took a tentative sip.
"Gar, it's got no sugar," Jack turned his face away.
Holmes looked to his left. "Jamie, do we have sugar?"
A short man came into Jack's view, a razor in one hand, a towel over one shoulder. "In here." He handed Holmes a small pot with a spoon sticking out from beneath the lid. The man's eyes studied Jack's face.
"Do I know you?" Jack asked.
"Jamie Trustwall," the man told him. "I helped with your rescue."
"Trustwall. I'm waiting, if you please." Grove's voice held the hint of irritation. Jack looked further over and saw Theodore sitting in a chair, his face awash in lather. Seeing him, reminded Jack of their conversation from earlier that morning. Or had it been a dream?
"Try this." Holmes had the mug back under his chin and Jack looked down and gasped.
"What is it?" Holmes sounded just a bit alarmed, but his alarm was nothing compared to the horror creeping into Jack's mind.
"Me beard! Me hair! What have you done to me?" Jack's voice rose with the question. "Why?"
"You are Thomas Wells," Holmes reminded him.
"Trusted servant of His Majesty's government and all that," Groves added. "Remember?"
"But my beard!"
Jack felt totally defeated. He hadn't had a proper shave in over fifteen years. Then he realized his head felt different. He reached with his good arm up and felt the shorn locks.
"A spy," Groves added.
A smile slowly crept over Jack's face. Now he remembered. He was going to play the spy. Lots of quiet staring. Answering few if any questions. He could always grow his beard and hair again.
"I'll take that coffee now, if you please, Dr. Holmes." Jack reached to help hold the cup. The sweet dark liquid filled his mouth and made its way down his sore throat.
"That's good," Holmes encourage him.
"It would be more than a wee bit better with rum in it," Jack said suggestively.
"No rum," Groves said firmly.
"You have a fever," Dr. Holmes told him. "So you will convalesce in here under the watchful eye of our Captain, Mr. Trustwall, myself and two other men who are in on our little secret.
"Oh, lovely," Jack looked around and realized he was in the chart room of a small ship. "Sloop of War?"
"Yes," Groves answered.
"How many guns?"
"Eighteen and a bowchaser. Really, Thomas, you need not concern yourself about the running of my ship." Groves emphasized the word 'my.'
"Your sole job is to recover," Holmes said, looking him in the eye. "You must have a remarkable constitution to survive all you've survived already."
"It's not the first time I've almost drowned," Jack told him.
"There was no almost about it. You had drowned. I had one of the marine sergeants use a technique on you I'd read about in a French medical article. It worked."
"Or I wouldn't be here," Jack said softly. He would have liked to go back to sleep, but Holmes went over to the Captain's table and came back with a bowel of gruel.
"Have some." He put a spoon to Jack's lips.
Jack took a nibble. "Needs sugar. And salt."
"Do you put sugar on everything?" Holmes asked him, adding the requested ingredients.
"It's not like it isn't plentiful out 'ere," Jack rebuffed.
"It is not the condiment of choice back home," the Doctor told him. "How did you get a taste for it?"
"This has been my home for a very long time," Jack said taking the spoon from Holmes and feeding himself.
"You don't look much older than twenty-five. How long could it be?"
"I'm long past me twenties," Jack said. He had eaten only a few bites, but he felt exhausted already, too tired to eat more. He let his head lay back against the pillow and let the spoon fall back into the bowl.
"All done, Captain," Trustwall's voice brought Jack's attention back to Groves. The steward held a mirror up for Groves to inspect his face.
Standing, Groves took the mirror and walked over to Jack. "Mr. Wells, I think I should show you evidence of what Dr. Holmes said." He held the mirror for Jack to see his own reflection.
Wearily, Jack looked at his face. Except for the dark circles under his eyes, he looked almost the same as he had fifteen years ago when he'd last had a cleanly shaved face. "Yeah, I know him. That's Thomas Wells," Jack said in a tired voice. "Got to watch 'im. Sneaky bastard."
Groves looked from Jack to Holmes, who stood now with the almost full bowl of gruel in his hand. "I think my patient needs rest. Mr. Trustwall, I will give you the task of giving him something to drink every hour."
"Rum would be nice," Jack mumbled.
"Lime juice and water with some sugar in it would be better," Dr. Holmes told him.
"Lots o'sugar," Jack added softly.
Groves watched Jack's eyes shut. "What about the fever?"
"It will have to run its course. He needs sleep and drink and food, in that order right now. Tomorrow we start his rehabilitation."
Groves saw a frown tug down the corners of Jack's mouth. Sparrow was still listening to them, even if he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
"Hear that, Thomas?" Groves leaned over Jack. "You're going to be rehabilitated.
Half asleep, Jack managed to whisper back, "Fat chance."
A persistent knocking at his cabin's door brought Theodore awake. The ship was heaving to and fro, her timbers groaning eerily as the storm continued to bombard them with wind and rain. The Resolute rode over crest and into trough, sending the cabin's lamps dipping and swaying.
"One moment," the Captain called, pulling on his breeches and tucking his shirt hastily in. He reached for the lantern, its flame a mere glow, and fed it more wick. Picking it up, he carried it to the door.
Groves opened the door a crack and saw one of his junior officers, Midshipman MacGregor, standing in his oil skins, holding onto the door frame for balance. "Sir, Mr. Williams' compliments, sir," the Midshipman yelled to be heard above the howl of the wind. "We've got all the sail taken in, but it looks to be a hurricane. Mr. Williams says we're not far from Jamaica. Would you like us to steer clear, sir?"
How Mr. Williams knew where they were in these winds and blackness, Groves could not guess, but the young lieutenant had already proven himself something of a genius at navigating the sometimes treacherous waters in these parts. "My compliments to Mr. Williams," Groves spoke loudly. "Tell him he has my permission to make any maneuver he feels wise. And, Mr. MacGregor, wake my steward at eight bells and instruct him to prepare breakfast for me and my guest."
"Aye, aye, Captain." The young officer might have saluted him, but it turned into a fight to keep his hood on as a gust of wind whipped around and Theodore shut the door against it.
Crossing back toward his bed, he set the lantern down and looked at Jack. He appeared to still be asleep. A hint of color was in his face this morning. Theodore leaned in closer.
Dark eyes opened and met his own.
"I see you're awake," Groves stated the obvious. "How do you feel?"
"Oh, just ducky." The voice was slurred, reminding Theodore of something he'd noticed that night back in New Orleans. Jack's speech pattern depended upon with whom he was speaking. When they played cards and a new person joined the table, Jack's slur was suddenly back in place. Clever dog, Groves mused, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Listen, Jack. You need to pay attention to what I say." Theodore leaned in close, making sure Jack's gaze was upon him. "Your name is Thomas Wells, understand? You fell off the Muratania. You're now on board the Resolute. Got that? You're not a pirate. You don't know Jack Sparrow."
Jack's eyes studied his face. "If you say so, mate, but everyone knows Captain Jack Sparrow."
"You'll have to watch your speech, too."
"Hows about we say I'm a spy. I like that. Has a sense of adventure, like. One of His Majesty's spies sent to investigate ole Henrich. That's how I fell off the Muratania. No, I didn't fall, I jumped off, seein' as how they was about to shoot me and we'd gotten into a battle with the Black Pearl. I was about to jump off." Jack's voice trailed off. "Got blasted. Hit with a splinter. Aye, I like bein' a spy."
Theodore watched Jack's lids flutter shut. He reached a hand to feel the other man's forehead. Jack finally felt warm to the touch. Actually, he felt hot. Too hot.
Well, there wasn't much he could do about it tonight. Theodore reached to pull the heavy black blanket they'd put over Jack down a little. With a yawn, he sat back down on his own bed, pulled off his breeches, and reached to once again lower the lantern's flame.
Lying down, covered in his heaviest blankets, Groves still felt the chill. The Resolute continued to sing her storm song, it's eerie groans lulling him back to sleep.
"Sir." Jamie Trustwall's voice interrupted Theodore's dream. He was at school again and he'd forgotten to study for an exam. Waking was a relief. The scent of hot coffee filled the cabin, chasing a little of the salt water smell away.
Theodore could tell from the way the ship moved that she was in no trouble. Rain continued to lash the cabin's windows, but there was the hint of daylight beyond.
A tray sat on the captain's table. "Sir, would you like your coffee now while I shave you?" Jamie asked as he did every morning.
"Yes." Theodore stood, drew on his breeches and reached for his heavy dressing gown. He sat in his chair, his mug of steaming coffee a warm relief in his hands. "Jamie, I want Mr. Wells shaved every morning, too. He will understand it's for his own good." Theodore cast a glance at Jack, who slept in the chart room, his right arm across the covers.
As Jamie ran his razor across the leather strap, there was a polite knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Theodore called, a little annoyed that his morning ritual was being disturbed.
"Holmes, sir." The voice of Mr. Holmes was muffled.
"Enter."
The door opened briefly, then was shut against the wind and rain. "'Mornin', sir. Jamie." The Doctor threw back the hood of his oilskin and took the cloak off. "No let up," he commented, hanging his cloak on a peg.
"Good morning, Doctor. Come to see our patient?" Theodore asked. "He felt a little warm when I checked him last."
A slight frown tugged at Holmes' lips. He lit a three-stemmed candelabra, then moved directly to his patient. On the other side of the cabin, Theodore could hear Jamie whipping up the shaving soap and water.
"I tried to explain to him who he was," Theodore's gaze followed Holmes. "He embellished the story already. Said he was a spy tracking von der Kirchoff and he was about to jump from the Muratania when a splinter got him."
The Captain watched as Holmes set the candelabra down on the edged shelf in the chart room and felt Jack's forehead. Next he checked the wound. "He probably played many roles in life," he said. "I heard he passed himself off as a clergy man once."
Theodore had heard that one, too. At Jack's hanging. Luckily, it had been foiled or neither he, nor Jack would be alive today.
Jamie, who had been going about his duty and paying little heed to Jack, turned around to put the soapy mixture on his Captain's face, and the steward's mouth dropped open.
"Is that him, sir?" Jamie asked, obviously amazed by Jack's overnight transformation.
"Yes, Jamie, that's him. Thomas Wells," he stressed the name.
"Sir, I would never in a hundred years have thought that face lay hidden under that beard." Jamie was openly staring.
"My thoughts, exactly," Groves admitted.
"No wonder he grew the beard." Jamie began to apply the foam.
"No wonder," Groves echoed.
"You can't command the respect of a load of blood thirsty pirates with a face like that," James added.
"Not that Mr. Wells would ever have need of such command," Theodore added. "Seeing as how he's a agent for His Majesty's government and all."
"Oh, I see." The steward finished applying the lather and picked up his blade. "Well, that business is over my head, sir. I would know nothing about agents."
Groves snorted. Jamie, he was confident, knew everything that occurred in the Captain's cabin. He discreetly served his captains, whoever that might be over the years, overhearing every dinner conversation, knowing who snuck in and out, and whether one or two people had occupied the Captain's bed at night.
"Thomas," the Doctor said, gently shaking his patient.
Groves held his head still, so as not to get nicked, but his eyes moved toward Jack.
"How about a little something to eat this morning?" Dr. Holmes continued. "Are you awake yet?"
Jack swam up from somewhere dark and deep that weighed heavily upon him. He forced his eyes open, regretting consciousness the moment it settled upon him. With consciousness came the pain. It burned in his shoulder and ached in his lungs, clawing its way up his throat.
His vision came into focus and he saw a friendly round face touched by age and topped with gray hair trying to escape its que.
"Thomas, do you want some breakfast?" the man asked. For the life of him, Jack couldn't place the man. Then he remembered the pain in the night.
"You me surgeon?" he asked groggily.
"Yes, I'm Doctor Holmes."
"A real doctor?"
"Yes."
"That's odd." Jack tried not to breath too deeply, afraid it would cause him to cough and he knew beyond a doubt that would not feel good.
"You're right, of course. Not enough real doctors to go around. How do you feel?"
Attempting to focus on the Doctor's face, Jack blinked several times. "Like the cannon ball hit me."
"Luckily only a splinter hit you," Dr. Holmes told him. "I'm going to help you sit up a bit. It will not feel good, but you need to sit up. Your lungs need it."
Yes, my lungs, Jack thought. Hadn't he been breathing water?
Rolling up the heavy blanket, Holmes helped Jack, who felt as weak as a kitten. He edged the blanket in beneath the pillow, so Jack's head was up a little better. Unfortunately, the movement sent shafts of searing pain running from his shoulder down his chest and arm and up his neck, causing the breath to catch in his throat.
"That was fun," Jack said, his voice sounding weak even in his own ears.
"Here's a little coffee," Holmes said holding up a mug. "Take a sip."
He put the mug carefully to Jack's lips and he took a tentative sip.
"Gar, it's got no sugar," Jack turned his face away.
Holmes looked to his left. "Jamie, do we have sugar?"
A short man came into Jack's view, a razor in one hand, a towel over one shoulder. "In here." He handed Holmes a small pot with a spoon sticking out from beneath the lid. The man's eyes studied Jack's face.
"Do I know you?" Jack asked.
"Jamie Trustwall," the man told him. "I helped with your rescue."
"Trustwall. I'm waiting, if you please." Grove's voice held the hint of irritation. Jack looked further over and saw Theodore sitting in a chair, his face awash in lather. Seeing him, reminded Jack of their conversation from earlier that morning. Or had it been a dream?
"Try this." Holmes had the mug back under his chin and Jack looked down and gasped.
"What is it?" Holmes sounded just a bit alarmed, but his alarm was nothing compared to the horror creeping into Jack's mind.
"Me beard! Me hair! What have you done to me?" Jack's voice rose with the question. "Why?"
"You are Thomas Wells," Holmes reminded him.
"Trusted servant of His Majesty's government and all that," Groves added. "Remember?"
"But my beard!"
Jack felt totally defeated. He hadn't had a proper shave in over fifteen years. Then he realized his head felt different. He reached with his good arm up and felt the shorn locks.
"A spy," Groves added.
A smile slowly crept over Jack's face. Now he remembered. He was going to play the spy. Lots of quiet staring. Answering few if any questions. He could always grow his beard and hair again.
"I'll take that coffee now, if you please, Dr. Holmes." Jack reached to help hold the cup. The sweet dark liquid filled his mouth and made its way down his sore throat.
"That's good," Holmes encourage him.
"It would be more than a wee bit better with rum in it," Jack said suggestively.
"No rum," Groves said firmly.
"You have a fever," Dr. Holmes told him. "So you will convalesce in here under the watchful eye of our Captain, Mr. Trustwall, myself and two other men who are in on our little secret.
"Oh, lovely," Jack looked around and realized he was in the chart room of a small ship. "Sloop of War?"
"Yes," Groves answered.
"How many guns?"
"Eighteen and a bowchaser. Really, Thomas, you need not concern yourself about the running of my ship." Groves emphasized the word 'my.'
"Your sole job is to recover," Holmes said, looking him in the eye. "You must have a remarkable constitution to survive all you've survived already."
"It's not the first time I've almost drowned," Jack told him.
"There was no almost about it. You had drowned. I had one of the marine sergeants use a technique on you I'd read about in a French medical article. It worked."
"Or I wouldn't be here," Jack said softly. He would have liked to go back to sleep, but Holmes went over to the Captain's table and came back with a bowel of gruel.
"Have some." He put a spoon to Jack's lips.
Jack took a nibble. "Needs sugar. And salt."
"Do you put sugar on everything?" Holmes asked him, adding the requested ingredients.
"It's not like it isn't plentiful out 'ere," Jack rebuffed.
"It is not the condiment of choice back home," the Doctor told him. "How did you get a taste for it?"
"This has been my home for a very long time," Jack said taking the spoon from Holmes and feeding himself.
"You don't look much older than twenty-five. How long could it be?"
"I'm long past me twenties," Jack said. He had eaten only a few bites, but he felt exhausted already, too tired to eat more. He let his head lay back against the pillow and let the spoon fall back into the bowl.
"All done, Captain," Trustwall's voice brought Jack's attention back to Groves. The steward held a mirror up for Groves to inspect his face.
Standing, Groves took the mirror and walked over to Jack. "Mr. Wells, I think I should show you evidence of what Dr. Holmes said." He held the mirror for Jack to see his own reflection.
Wearily, Jack looked at his face. Except for the dark circles under his eyes, he looked almost the same as he had fifteen years ago when he'd last had a cleanly shaved face. "Yeah, I know him. That's Thomas Wells," Jack said in a tired voice. "Got to watch 'im. Sneaky bastard."
Groves looked from Jack to Holmes, who stood now with the almost full bowl of gruel in his hand. "I think my patient needs rest. Mr. Trustwall, I will give you the task of giving him something to drink every hour."
"Rum would be nice," Jack mumbled.
"Lime juice and water with some sugar in it would be better," Dr. Holmes told him.
"Lots o'sugar," Jack added softly.
Groves watched Jack's eyes shut. "What about the fever?"
"It will have to run its course. He needs sleep and drink and food, in that order right now. Tomorrow we start his rehabilitation."
Groves saw a frown tug down the corners of Jack's mouth. Sparrow was still listening to them, even if he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
"Hear that, Thomas?" Groves leaned over Jack. "You're going to be rehabilitated.
Half asleep, Jack managed to whisper back, "Fat chance."