A New Life part 3 by Kazren/Bainpeth
The Characters are owned by Disney - just playing.
Rated: PG for language and situations
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With the rain pouring down from above and the sea lashing the Resolute form beneath and all sides, it was difficult drying anything out. Sergeant Quist had been given the task of drying out all of Jack's effects. In secret. He stood in the smaller kitchen pantry, which was usual kept locked because the sailor's rum was stored there, eyeing Jack's jacket with a frown. Why they hadn't burned everything or tossed it overboard was beyond him, he thought, fingering the cloth. It was almost twenty-four hours now, and they were still damp.
Picking up his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder, he exited the room and relocked the door.
"What's you doin' in there, mate?" the cook's assistant asked.
"None of your business," Quist snapped back with the authority of rank and arms. "This is the Captain's business. That is all you need t'know."
The man turned away at that. No one would willingly cross Captain Theodore Groves. The crew of the Resolute knew they were fortunate in their Captain. Some ships were plagued by captains who were tyrants. Quist knew first hand. The last ship he'd been on, the captain had been over fond of flogging any offense.
The scent of stew drew Quist's attention back to the present. Sniffing, he climbed back up the stairs to the main deck. Opening the hatch, he was hit by a blast of rain and winds that tore at his hat, despite his hand holding it down.
A few more steps, and Quist stood before the Captain's door and knocked. He couldn't hear if there was an answer, so stood, getting thoroughly soaked, until Jamie opened the door.
"Come in, Sergeant." He shut the door behind Quist. "Quite the gale."
"Gale, nothin'. It be a hurricane right and proper," Quist said. He removed his hat and looked towards the chart room. "How's the guest?"
"Mr. Wells has a fever." Jamie lowered his voice. "He is not talkin' much anymore. Sleepin' mostly. I'm a bit worried."
Quist started to move forward, but stopped at the sight of his Captain's carpet. "Maybe Dr. Holmes should see him."
"Maybe."
Sighing, Quist turned and stuck his sodden hat upon his head. "I'll let him know."
"How kind of you," Jamie smiled and moved to open the door. "Good evening, Sergeant."
The Marine nodded and headed back into the howling storm.
Below decks, Captain Groves concluded a meeting with his officers in the ward room. Maps of the area were spread over the table, but without a clear view of the sky, they could only guess at their location.
"Thank you gentleman," Groves straightened and reached for his oilskins. The younger men didn't move. Sensing their attention still upon himself, Groves turned around. They knew. He knew they knew and they knew he knew they knew. But how much did they know?
"Gentleman," he said, facing the situation head on, "as some of you may be aware, we took a passenger aboard last night. This gentleman is not to be discussed. No one is to enter my cabin, unless I personally give you permission." His gaze passed over their upturned faces. "He tells me his name is Wells, but until I have proof of his other claims, I will not bore you with them. And if what he says is true, then I'm afraid it would be considered confidential information."
"Sir, he works for the government in some confidential capacity?" MagGregor asked.
"So he says," Groves repeated carefully. "No more questions now, please. And if you see him on deck, he is to be given every courtesy, but do not engage him in speech. No questions."
"Aye, sir," came the officers' replies.
"That will be all, gentlemen." Groves slipped his oilskins on over his uniform, plunked his hat on his head and went up the stairs to the hatch.
Bracing himself against the blast he knew would come, he had to fight to get the hatch open. He forced himself to walk to his cabin's door when every human instinct told him to run. Captains didn't run. He paused at the door and cast a glance at the blackness above. The Resolute was taking damage, but this time the enemy was Mother Nature.
Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped into the warmth and light of his cabin. He expected to see Jamie hovering over Jack, but was surprised to see Dr. Holmes back at the bedside.
Jamie rushed to his captain's side and helped him doff his outer gear.
"Good evening, Doctor," Theodore said. "How is Thomas?"
Dr. Holmes stood and walked across the cabin to him. "Not well, I'm afraid. Jamie got me earlier. His fever is worsened. I'm afraid he's delirious. Cursing Barbossa. Something about a damned monkey."
Groves knew who Barbossa was, but the monkey mystified him. He walked over to the bed and glanced down at Jack. The pirate's breathing was labored, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe. The coarse sound of it echoed in the confines of the chart room.
"Is it contagious do you think?" Groves had to think of his crew first and foremost.
"No. Most likely pneumonia, or it could be an infection from the wound." Holmes came around to stand facing Groves. "Either way, he's dry and hot. Once his fever brakes we'll know."
"Know?"
"If he'll live or not." The older man shook his head. "There's nothing more I can do here. Don't put more blankets on him, they'll just cause the fever to rise."
It struck Theodore that Holmes was planning on leaving him alone with the sick man. He blinked, trying to form a question. "But, what do I do?"
"Nothing. If he wakes, make him drink something. He needs fluids." Dr. Holmes smiled kindly and headed for the cabin door. "Good evening, Captain."
Exhaling, Theodore looked at Jack. "Don't you dare die on me," he said firmly. Jack didn't respond. Groves rolled his eyes as he realized he was stupid talking to a man with delirium.
Well, he would carry on as if there was nothing unusual going on, he decided. He took off his uniform jacket and pulled on his dressing gown, belting it at the waist. His gaze kept returning to Jack.
There was a brief knock at the door and Jamie returned carrying his dinner on a tray. Theodore took his usual seat at the table, then realized he couldn't see the chart room with his back to it. Sighing, he moved to another chair. Jamie didn't miss a beat, but laid out the dinner and stood. "Will Mr. Wells be requiring anything, sir?"
"Why don't you bring in some tea leaves and a pot of water. I'll keep it warm, just in case he wakens," Theodore requested.
"Aye, sir."
The hours moved by, the ship tossing in the cruel waves. Theodore sat in a chair beside Jack's sick bed, listening to the pirate mumble. There were countless women in Jack's one-sided dialogue, many a scabrous dog and scallywag, too. Then Jack grew more quiet and Theodore found himself fighting sleep. His gaze returned to the surprisingly handsome face they'd discovered beneath the beard of a pirate. If Jack was dying, Groves didn't want him to die alone. No one should die alone.
"Jack," he said in a whisper. "Fight this Jack." He reached over and touched Jack's hand reassuringly. It felt cool.
Standing, Groves went to the black tea Jamie had left. He put two spoonfuls into his tea pot. Lifting the kettle, he added hot water to the tea pot. He settled it back on the brazier and picked a small strainer. Placing it over his mug, he lifted the tea pot and poured the dark liquid. He took care to stir in a little sugar, then settled back in the chair to keep watch.
Theodore woke to the sound of his mug hitting the floor. His first thought was of Jack. He looked over and saw that Jack was wet with sweat. That, if he understood the doctor, was a favorable sign.
"Jack?" he reached to touch Jack's hand again.
Jack's eyes opened enough for Groves to see the glimmer of their shine.
"Jack, I have tea. You need to drink, Doctor's orders and all." Groves had never nursed another person before. When he was six he'd had a sick dog, but he'd never had occasion to nurse a human.
Standing, he took the kettle from the flame and poured the rest of the water into the tea pot. He placed the strainer over a clean mug and poured the tea, then added several spoonfuls of sugar. "Come on now, Jack, drink up."
With Groves holding his head up, Jack took a sip of the tea. "Good," he said in a hoarse whisper. Jack drank half the cup, then raised a hand. "'nough."
"Dr. Holmes was worried about you," Groves told him, sitting back down.
Jack shook his head, but his eyes closed and a small smile danced across his lips.
Satisfied that Jack wouldn't die this night, Theodore stood and went to his own bed to get some sleep before it was time to get up again. The ship still rode the rough seas, but he could sense a change in the weather. The wind born rain didn't beat quite so hard against the panes of glass. Perhaps the storm was winding down.
The next morning, the sun shone fitfully through ragged clouds. Theodore rose at his usual time and breakfasted alone, instructing Jamie to cook something sweet for Jack.
He didn't have much time for his guest that morning. The wind had played havoc with some of the top sails and masts. Three men had been injured during the night, two were still in sick bay keeping Dr. Holmes busy.
Groves strolled down to the main deck. He went to the rail and looked along the side of the ship. Some time during the storm they'd hit something beneath the waves and the Resolute was taking on water in the lower decks. The hole had been patched, but she needed to get to harbor for better repairs.
Work crews organized themselves and set about making the ship as safe as possible. The Midshipmen assembled on the deck just before noon to work on their navigation skills with watch and sextant. Then came the cry, "Sail, ho!"
Groves looked up at the eagle's nest. The man pointed to the south-east. Going to the cabinet behind the wheel, Captain Groves pulled out his spy glass and looked astern. It was a large ship, still very far away. As damaged as they were, it would be wise to avoid a strange ship. Usually the Resolute would lead a merry chase, but with broken cross beams and yards of rope to be repaired, he hesitated. He continued to study the approaching ship.
"She's British," the man from the eagle's nest called. From his vantage point, he could see much better than those on the deck.
A warm relief flooded Groves. "Heave to," he ordered. "We'll let her catch up to us. Perhaps she can escort us to port. We need repairs."
"Aye, aye, sir," snapped Lieutenant Williams. He turned to relay the order to the crew.
Seeing that everything was in hand, Groves went down to his cabin. Jack was sitting up eating lunch. Jamie looked on approvingly.
"Now, you seem better," Theodore said, a smile on his face.
"Yes." Jack flashed a quick smile, then resumed spooning the broth into his mouth. "Can't I get something' more substantial?"
"Dr. Holmes ordered liquids," Jamie said patiently. "Not rum."
"That I remember only too sadly," Jack told him. "But, a little brandy in the broth would make it much better."
"Give up," Groves called over as he sat to eat his own lunch.
"Never," Jack said softly. "Thank you, my friend, but I can't drink no more." He handed the bowl to Jamie. "I just need a little sleep." His right hand went to cradle his left arm.
Jamie brought the bowl over to the tray on the side table. "Sir, is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you, Jamie." Groves dug into his lunch, wondering who was on the other ship and how she'd faired in the hurricane. A thought entered his head and he turned to look at Jack. "You remember your name?" he asked.
Jack nodded, pulled up the sheet, and turned onto his side facing the cabin. "I remember." He closed his eyes.
"Sir?" Sergeant Quist's voice came from the other side of the cabin door.
"Quist?" Groves turned to look at the door. "Enter."
"Sir." Quist entered, shut the door, then came to attention.
"What is it, Quist?" Groves asked.
"The other ship has the commodore's flag on it sir. It's the Dauntless," the Marine reported.
Theodore Groves felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Of all the ships in the entire Caribbean, the Dauntless was the one ship he didn't want to see, not with Jack Sparrow sleeping in his chart room. How would he get through this?
To Be Continued.
With the rain pouring down from above and the sea lashing the Resolute form beneath and all sides, it was difficult drying anything out. Sergeant Quist had been given the task of drying out all of Jack's effects. In secret. He stood in the smaller kitchen pantry, which was usual kept locked because the sailor's rum was stored there, eyeing Jack's jacket with a frown. Why they hadn't burned everything or tossed it overboard was beyond him, he thought, fingering the cloth. It was almost twenty-four hours now, and they were still damp.
Picking up his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder, he exited the room and relocked the door.
"What's you doin' in there, mate?" the cook's assistant asked.
"None of your business," Quist snapped back with the authority of rank and arms. "This is the Captain's business. That is all you need t'know."
The man turned away at that. No one would willingly cross Captain Theodore Groves. The crew of the Resolute knew they were fortunate in their Captain. Some ships were plagued by captains who were tyrants. Quist knew first hand. The last ship he'd been on, the captain had been over fond of flogging any offense.
The scent of stew drew Quist's attention back to the present. Sniffing, he climbed back up the stairs to the main deck. Opening the hatch, he was hit by a blast of rain and winds that tore at his hat, despite his hand holding it down.
A few more steps, and Quist stood before the Captain's door and knocked. He couldn't hear if there was an answer, so stood, getting thoroughly soaked, until Jamie opened the door.
"Come in, Sergeant." He shut the door behind Quist. "Quite the gale."
"Gale, nothin'. It be a hurricane right and proper," Quist said. He removed his hat and looked towards the chart room. "How's the guest?"
"Mr. Wells has a fever." Jamie lowered his voice. "He is not talkin' much anymore. Sleepin' mostly. I'm a bit worried."
Quist started to move forward, but stopped at the sight of his Captain's carpet. "Maybe Dr. Holmes should see him."
"Maybe."
Sighing, Quist turned and stuck his sodden hat upon his head. "I'll let him know."
"How kind of you," Jamie smiled and moved to open the door. "Good evening, Sergeant."
The Marine nodded and headed back into the howling storm.
Below decks, Captain Groves concluded a meeting with his officers in the ward room. Maps of the area were spread over the table, but without a clear view of the sky, they could only guess at their location.
"Thank you gentleman," Groves straightened and reached for his oilskins. The younger men didn't move. Sensing their attention still upon himself, Groves turned around. They knew. He knew they knew and they knew he knew they knew. But how much did they know?
"Gentleman," he said, facing the situation head on, "as some of you may be aware, we took a passenger aboard last night. This gentleman is not to be discussed. No one is to enter my cabin, unless I personally give you permission." His gaze passed over their upturned faces. "He tells me his name is Wells, but until I have proof of his other claims, I will not bore you with them. And if what he says is true, then I'm afraid it would be considered confidential information."
"Sir, he works for the government in some confidential capacity?" MagGregor asked.
"So he says," Groves repeated carefully. "No more questions now, please. And if you see him on deck, he is to be given every courtesy, but do not engage him in speech. No questions."
"Aye, sir," came the officers' replies.
"That will be all, gentlemen." Groves slipped his oilskins on over his uniform, plunked his hat on his head and went up the stairs to the hatch.
Bracing himself against the blast he knew would come, he had to fight to get the hatch open. He forced himself to walk to his cabin's door when every human instinct told him to run. Captains didn't run. He paused at the door and cast a glance at the blackness above. The Resolute was taking damage, but this time the enemy was Mother Nature.
Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped into the warmth and light of his cabin. He expected to see Jamie hovering over Jack, but was surprised to see Dr. Holmes back at the bedside.
Jamie rushed to his captain's side and helped him doff his outer gear.
"Good evening, Doctor," Theodore said. "How is Thomas?"
Dr. Holmes stood and walked across the cabin to him. "Not well, I'm afraid. Jamie got me earlier. His fever is worsened. I'm afraid he's delirious. Cursing Barbossa. Something about a damned monkey."
Groves knew who Barbossa was, but the monkey mystified him. He walked over to the bed and glanced down at Jack. The pirate's breathing was labored, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe. The coarse sound of it echoed in the confines of the chart room.
"Is it contagious do you think?" Groves had to think of his crew first and foremost.
"No. Most likely pneumonia, or it could be an infection from the wound." Holmes came around to stand facing Groves. "Either way, he's dry and hot. Once his fever brakes we'll know."
"Know?"
"If he'll live or not." The older man shook his head. "There's nothing more I can do here. Don't put more blankets on him, they'll just cause the fever to rise."
It struck Theodore that Holmes was planning on leaving him alone with the sick man. He blinked, trying to form a question. "But, what do I do?"
"Nothing. If he wakes, make him drink something. He needs fluids." Dr. Holmes smiled kindly and headed for the cabin door. "Good evening, Captain."
Exhaling, Theodore looked at Jack. "Don't you dare die on me," he said firmly. Jack didn't respond. Groves rolled his eyes as he realized he was stupid talking to a man with delirium.
Well, he would carry on as if there was nothing unusual going on, he decided. He took off his uniform jacket and pulled on his dressing gown, belting it at the waist. His gaze kept returning to Jack.
There was a brief knock at the door and Jamie returned carrying his dinner on a tray. Theodore took his usual seat at the table, then realized he couldn't see the chart room with his back to it. Sighing, he moved to another chair. Jamie didn't miss a beat, but laid out the dinner and stood. "Will Mr. Wells be requiring anything, sir?"
"Why don't you bring in some tea leaves and a pot of water. I'll keep it warm, just in case he wakens," Theodore requested.
"Aye, sir."
The hours moved by, the ship tossing in the cruel waves. Theodore sat in a chair beside Jack's sick bed, listening to the pirate mumble. There were countless women in Jack's one-sided dialogue, many a scabrous dog and scallywag, too. Then Jack grew more quiet and Theodore found himself fighting sleep. His gaze returned to the surprisingly handsome face they'd discovered beneath the beard of a pirate. If Jack was dying, Groves didn't want him to die alone. No one should die alone.
"Jack," he said in a whisper. "Fight this Jack." He reached over and touched Jack's hand reassuringly. It felt cool.
Standing, Groves went to the black tea Jamie had left. He put two spoonfuls into his tea pot. Lifting the kettle, he added hot water to the tea pot. He settled it back on the brazier and picked a small strainer. Placing it over his mug, he lifted the tea pot and poured the dark liquid. He took care to stir in a little sugar, then settled back in the chair to keep watch.
Theodore woke to the sound of his mug hitting the floor. His first thought was of Jack. He looked over and saw that Jack was wet with sweat. That, if he understood the doctor, was a favorable sign.
"Jack?" he reached to touch Jack's hand again.
Jack's eyes opened enough for Groves to see the glimmer of their shine.
"Jack, I have tea. You need to drink, Doctor's orders and all." Groves had never nursed another person before. When he was six he'd had a sick dog, but he'd never had occasion to nurse a human.
Standing, he took the kettle from the flame and poured the rest of the water into the tea pot. He placed the strainer over a clean mug and poured the tea, then added several spoonfuls of sugar. "Come on now, Jack, drink up."
With Groves holding his head up, Jack took a sip of the tea. "Good," he said in a hoarse whisper. Jack drank half the cup, then raised a hand. "'nough."
"Dr. Holmes was worried about you," Groves told him, sitting back down.
Jack shook his head, but his eyes closed and a small smile danced across his lips.
Satisfied that Jack wouldn't die this night, Theodore stood and went to his own bed to get some sleep before it was time to get up again. The ship still rode the rough seas, but he could sense a change in the weather. The wind born rain didn't beat quite so hard against the panes of glass. Perhaps the storm was winding down.
The next morning, the sun shone fitfully through ragged clouds. Theodore rose at his usual time and breakfasted alone, instructing Jamie to cook something sweet for Jack.
He didn't have much time for his guest that morning. The wind had played havoc with some of the top sails and masts. Three men had been injured during the night, two were still in sick bay keeping Dr. Holmes busy.
Groves strolled down to the main deck. He went to the rail and looked along the side of the ship. Some time during the storm they'd hit something beneath the waves and the Resolute was taking on water in the lower decks. The hole had been patched, but she needed to get to harbor for better repairs.
Work crews organized themselves and set about making the ship as safe as possible. The Midshipmen assembled on the deck just before noon to work on their navigation skills with watch and sextant. Then came the cry, "Sail, ho!"
Groves looked up at the eagle's nest. The man pointed to the south-east. Going to the cabinet behind the wheel, Captain Groves pulled out his spy glass and looked astern. It was a large ship, still very far away. As damaged as they were, it would be wise to avoid a strange ship. Usually the Resolute would lead a merry chase, but with broken cross beams and yards of rope to be repaired, he hesitated. He continued to study the approaching ship.
"She's British," the man from the eagle's nest called. From his vantage point, he could see much better than those on the deck.
A warm relief flooded Groves. "Heave to," he ordered. "We'll let her catch up to us. Perhaps she can escort us to port. We need repairs."
"Aye, aye, sir," snapped Lieutenant Williams. He turned to relay the order to the crew.
Seeing that everything was in hand, Groves went down to his cabin. Jack was sitting up eating lunch. Jamie looked on approvingly.
"Now, you seem better," Theodore said, a smile on his face.
"Yes." Jack flashed a quick smile, then resumed spooning the broth into his mouth. "Can't I get something' more substantial?"
"Dr. Holmes ordered liquids," Jamie said patiently. "Not rum."
"That I remember only too sadly," Jack told him. "But, a little brandy in the broth would make it much better."
"Give up," Groves called over as he sat to eat his own lunch.
"Never," Jack said softly. "Thank you, my friend, but I can't drink no more." He handed the bowl to Jamie. "I just need a little sleep." His right hand went to cradle his left arm.
Jamie brought the bowl over to the tray on the side table. "Sir, is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you, Jamie." Groves dug into his lunch, wondering who was on the other ship and how she'd faired in the hurricane. A thought entered his head and he turned to look at Jack. "You remember your name?" he asked.
Jack nodded, pulled up the sheet, and turned onto his side facing the cabin. "I remember." He closed his eyes.
"Sir?" Sergeant Quist's voice came from the other side of the cabin door.
"Quist?" Groves turned to look at the door. "Enter."
"Sir." Quist entered, shut the door, then came to attention.
"What is it, Quist?" Groves asked.
"The other ship has the commodore's flag on it sir. It's the Dauntless," the Marine reported.
Theodore Groves felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Of all the ships in the entire Caribbean, the Dauntless was the one ship he didn't want to see, not with Jack Sparrow sleeping in his chart room. How would he get through this?
To Be Continued.