A/N: Ehm. . . this chapter is just an eensy bit gory. Not violent, just kinda yucky. So if you have a really, really weak stomach just skip over the parts that make you sick. It's not really bad or anything, I'm just warning you guys so no one gets mad at me. :)

-

Chapter: Injuries and Unexpected Tasks

-

Jack's cabin was pandemonium. Nearly half the crew was squeezed into the small space and most of them were loudly voicing their opinion on what should be done about Jack's condition.

Sophia stood at the doorway, her eyes sweeping around the room. Jack now lay on his bed, blood still flowing freely from his shoulder, and looked as if he'd like to painfully murder everyone in the room for not paying more attention to his injury. Sophia cleared her throat, hoping to gain at least some of the crew's attention. Nothing.

"Will everyone please SHUT UP?!?"

She hadn't known her voice could reach that volume.

The crew froze.

"Thank you." Her voice returned to its normal decibel. "Now, don't you all think that we should do something about that bullet hole in Jack's shoulder?" Sophia heard an affirmative grunt from Jack as he lay on the bed, and the crew moved from her path as she walked towards the bedside, inspecting Jack's state. "Where's the ship's surgeon?"

Gibbs spoke up somewhat meekly. "You're lookin' at 'im, lass."

Sophia glanced at him, surprise evident on her face. "You're the surgeon?"

"No, Jack is."

"Well bloody lot of good that does us," she whispered to herself, before crossing her arms over her chest and studying Jack more closely.

Master Cuthburt, having gained some knowledge of healing in his time at sea, had taught Sophia the basic skills needed to dress a wound and care for it if it became inflamed and pussy, but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to care for something this serious. Jack's wound was not terribly deep, but looked rough and prone to infection.

Jack's voice, gravelly and strained from pain, awoke her from her thoughts. "You'll need t' take th' bullet out, love. It's still in there, I can feel it." Sophia averted her gaze to his face. Jack was grinning faintly at her in what she supposed was an encouraging way, his features still deathly pale. Sophia nodded her thanks and turned to address the crew.

"Right then. Um, I'll need some clean linen strips and. . ." Sophia searched her mind for some sort of object that could fulfill its purpose. ". . .a pair of long-handled whisker trimmers, please." 

Someone scurried from the room only to return several moments later with her requests. Setting the bandages and scissors down next to Jack's feet on the bed, Sophia carefully, as not to cause him more pain, unbuttoned Jack's shirt and parted it to expose most of his chest. Jack remained silent throughout this, his eyes glassy with pain and it seemed to Sophia that he was not even aware of what was happening around him, but had escaped into a muted place in his mind to escape the majority of the agony. She stifled a grimace at the sight of the bullet hole.

The copper tone of his skin contrasted sharply with the steadily darkening red of his blood as it flowed across his chest. Sophia inspected the placement of the wound. The bullet had missed his shoulder blade by a mere centimeter, and therefore had not shattered the bone. Nor had it hit any vital organs, or at least any that Sophia could see. Sophia had not the knowledge to know this, but if the bullet had entered Jack's body on the left side instead of the right, it would have ripped open the major artery that led from the heart to the brain, and Jack would have bled to death by now.

She pressed a wadded up bit of cloth to the wound and applied firm pressure, ignoring Jack's jerk as a fresh jolt of pain shot through his limbs. She wanted to slow the blood flow before she removed the bullet, a task she was not particularly jumping to do. After that cloth had been soaked crimson, she discarded it and replaced it with another, until the linen remained relatively free of blood. She broke the silence within the room like a knife through flesh. "Captain, can you move your right arm?"

Jack's dark eyes focused on hers for a moment, fore he turned his head slightly to the right to stare at his arm, as if his eyes could will it to move. Sophia shifted her gaze to his arm. The calloused fingers curled into a loose fist, and with quiet moan of pain from Jack, the entire right arm moved about an inch so that it was closer to his torso. Sophia allowed a nervous smile to present itself upon her lips. Jack was once more gazing vacantly at the ceiling, and his voice surprised her. "I should be able t' use me arm once it's 'ealed." Pausing for a moment, he turned his head to glance at Gibbs, casting him a weak grin. "I'd love for a swig o' rum about now, mate." His request was quickly answered, and, despite the situation, Sophia had to smile as Jack uncorked the bottle with his teeth and took a substantial slug of the alcohol, much as he did her first morning on the ship those four years ago.

Returning her train of thought to the matter at hand, Sophia inhaled somewhat shakily, grasped the scissors and dropping to her knees beside the bed. "Can someone get him something to bite down on, please? I'm going to take the bullet out now," she said, her voice faintly unsteady.

Thandor produced a thick strip of leather, and Jack grasped it with his good arm and placed it roughly between his teeth. Sophia noticed the captain's body tense as if bracing himself for an onslaught of cold water to be thrown his way.   

Sophia placed her two index fingers on either side of the wound and parted the gaping gash to peer inside of it, ignoring both the churning of her stomach and Jack's quick intake of breath through his nose as she broke open the thin crust of scab that had already begun to form. A swell of fresh blood ran down his chest. Blotting away some of the red liquid, Sophia searched inside the wound with her eyes for the bullet. Ah, there it was, its underlying gray tone barely noticeable beneath a coating of scarlet, nestled within the gory muscles and leaking its poison into Jack's system. Sophia glanced briefly at Jack. His eyes were squeezed shut, face pale. "Jack?" she murmured, unsure.  

Jack muttered something that sounded to be something to the effect of "get on with it, then" over his strip of leather, and, without warning save for a deep exhale, Sophia eased the scissors into the bullet wound. Jack wrenched in his horizontal position, but he made no sound. She tried to stop the shaking of her hand lest it cause him even more pain. Without more ado, Sophia began attempting to seize the projectile between the two metal shears of the scissors.

It seemed to Sophia that her mind had gone blank except for the task of removing the bullet. She didn't think of the gruesome properties of this mission, nor of the pain of the patient. Her world existed of the wound, the scissors, and this lump of lead.

After several tries, as the bullet was very slippery and the scissors were not the best tool to be using for this purpose, Sophia extracted the bullet from the hole in Jack's chest, bringing it up with a nauseating squelch and letting it and the scissors fall with a muted clatter against the wood of the floor.

She simply sat there, poised on her heels, for several moments, her own face nearly as pale as Jack's, sweat gleaming on her brow, before jumping into action and, once again, pressing the linens to the wound to quell the new blood that streamed from it. After she had stopped most of the bleeding, Sophia wrapped a bandage from under Jack's arm to nearly the base of his neck, tying the knots of the cloth neatly and trying to ignore the fact that, because of the blood that stained her hands, her red fingerprints were spotted across the whiteness of the dressing.

Sophia looked up for the first time in several minutes at Jack. He'd passed out.

Not that she blamed him.

Sophia sat on the floor for a long time, staring blankly at the wooden planks of the wall until someone tapped her shoulder and said that there was a spare cabin that she could sleep in.

It was dusty and smelled slightly of rotting wood, but there was a bed, and that was all that Sophia needed. She fell upon the old blankets and was asleep within seconds.

Before slumber took her, however, she wondered faintly why Jack hadn't mentioned this cabin last time she'd been here.

Bloody scoundrel.

-

It took Sophia quite a few minutes of lying motionless on the musty bedclothes to remember where she was, but the gentle lull of the ship brought her to her senses. She hadn't been on a ship since the last time she was on the Pearl, simply because she didn't want to be that close to the ocean and the pain that it caused when it came in contact with her skin. She still carried that burden.

Yes, it was a burden.

With a faint sigh, Sophia rose from her resting place and walked silently, not wanting to disturb the crew in their task, onto the sunlit decks. She stood for a long while, elbows planted firmly on the rail and just staring vacantly out to sea, her eyes shifting from one swell to the next. She started slightly when Anamaria came to stand next to her. "Alrigh', Sophia?"

Sophia nodded slightly, gazing for some time more into the blue water, before turning to face the woman. "Where are we next going to make berth, Anamaria?"

Anamaria was silent for several moments, trying to decipher the unfamiliar emotion in Sophia's eyes before speaking. "Calcutta. Captain Sparrow picked up a rumor o' a very wealthy British tea plantation owner there wi' a house ripe for plunderin'. 'e says –"

"India! We're going to bloody India?" Sophia interrupted, placing her head in her hands and muttering faintly to herself. "Damn. How bloody wonderful."

Anamaria patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Don' worry, Sophia. The captain'll get ye home."

As if just remembering Jack's state, Sophia jerked upwards from her bent position, her eyes searching for the familiar wooden door that led to his cabin. "How is he?"

"Don't rightly know. Ye may want t' go check on 'im, though."

"Alright. Thank you, Anamaria. It's good to see you again," Sophia said, a distracted smile playing across her lips as she turned and began walking towards the main body of the ship.   

Just as Sophia was about to enter Jack's cabin, she met a young cabin boy carrying what she could only assume was the captain's breakfast. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder just as he was about to open the door. "I'll take that. I was just going to check in on him."

The boy handed the tray over to her eagerly and scuttled off to do whatever other duties had been assigned to him. Balancing the food on one arm and drawing in a deep, collecting breath, Sophia swung the door open with her free hand.

Jack was not asleep, as she had expected, but instead sat propped against the headboard and wearing an expression of annoyance at having to remain in bed when work was to be done, she was sure. At the sound of her soft footsteps, he swiveled his head and fixed her with a menacing glare. Sophia sat down in a chair that had been positioned across from him and set the tray of food in her lap, her eyes focused intently upon the bowl of what seemed to be a gruel of some sort.

"Will you tell them tha' I don' need t' be treated like a bloody invalid? Gibbs has even taken their side! Bloody crew. . . should of thrown all o' them overboard while I had the bloody chance." Jack's voice transformed into an incomprehensible mutter as he complained heatedly about his treatment. Sophia struggled to hide a smile.

"No, I won't tell them. You, Mr. Sparrow. . ." her smile widened as Jack's expression became even more infuriated as she used the title he hated most of all. ". . .have got to have some rest. I've brought you some food and I won't be leaving until you've eaten as much as you can hold."

Jack stared disgustedly down at the gruel as she handed it to him before glancing once more at her, and, seeing the determined expression upon her features, resigned silently. Sophia opted not to help him as he struggled clumsily with his left hand lest she enrage him yet more. After he had eaten most of the helping, she once more compensated the bowl and, placing the tray on the floor, knelt down beside him and began unwrapping the dressing that she had swathed around his chest the night before. As he flinched away, she issued him a sound swat against his bare bicep. "Stop moving. We've got to change the dressing anyways. Might as well check on it." Despite himself, Jack winced as the linen peeled from his skin with the crackle of dried blood.

The night had been very difficult for Jack, for he was jolted awake whenever he shifted even a miniscule amount to the right. He now felt somewhat better, but his hope sank somewhat as he had a chance to view the wound. The skin around it was slowly turning red, and a proper scab had yet to form. Judging by the look on Sophia's face, she was not happy either.

Jack had been surprised by Sophia the night before, and had not expected her to remain so calm and unlike the spoiled ladies that Port Royal usually produced. Jack knew she had been scared, for her face had been drained of all color and her hands had shook, but she performed her task well. Now, as she bent over his bare chest, the ends of her hair slightly brushing across his motionless right arm and her lips open slightly in concentration, he thought her rather ethereal-looking. Ethereal? You're goin' bloody soft, mate.

Well, she had saved his life, after all.

Sophia frowned as she studied Jack's injury. It didn't look to be healing correctly, and she guessed that there would be puss and fever within several days. Of course, she blamed herself for this, guessing that she had not done everything right. She'd skipped an important step. Glancing up at Jack, she tapped him on the sound part of his shoulder, for he seemed to be staring off into nothingness.

"What would you suggest, Captain? After all, you are the surgeon here," she asked, and Jack turned towards her, his eyes immobile upon hers for several moments before flicking down to gaze at his wound.

"A wash with warm water would be my advice, love. 'Course, you could always jus' give me a wee rub on th' back and I'm sure that'd work jus' as well." Jack grinned wryly when Sophia shot him an ominous glare as she rose to make her way into the lavatory, searching for a cloth of some sort.

"Always the same, that man. Insufferable. . ." she muttered distractedly, finally locating a wash rag and dousing it with warm water. Once again, she stooped to Jack's level and passed the cloth gently over the wound, squeezing slightly to allow the water to seep into it. Once that was finished, she found fresh linens piled at the foot of the bed for her to use and wrapped a new dressing. Jack poked gingerly at the firmly tied knots, nodding his approval.

"Who taught you t' do this?"

"My father did, a bit, although I'm afraid he didn't teach me very well. I always feel as if I'm doing something dreadfully wrong," Sophia admitted sheepishly, her fingers playing idly across a strip of the left over linens.

"You're doin' wonderfully, love. Why, a man would gladly pay for this kind o' treatment!" Leaning back on his perch at the headboard, Jack grinned cheekily at her, his eyes holding a suggestive spark.

"Yes, well don't expect anything more, Captain." Sophia's voice was dry as she discarded the used washcloth in the bathroom and picked up the tray to leave, shutting the door behind her with a resounding clap.

-

In the next six days as the Black Pearl sped swiftly into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean and further away from any sort of civilization, Jack's condition steadily worsened.

With the mutual agreement of the crew (seeing that no one else had the faintest idea what to do about him), the captain was left to Sophia's care. And so she calmed him in his half-delirious and fever induced surges of violence, in which he would spring unsteadily from the bed, semi-conscious, sweat streaming down the sides of his face, and scream curses and threats to whoever happened to be in the room, physically acting out the nightmares and past foes that he encountered in his fever dreams, only to collapse minutes later. Sophia soothed the pain of infection with cold compresses and gentle recitations of songs and poems that she didn't ever recall learning, although she must have picked them up someplace. She lent an encouraging hand when Jack reached blindly for something to grasp in the mists of his illness.

But she was scared. Sophia hadn't the faintest idea what she could do, except for a procedure that her father had explained to her many years ago. Her stomach heaved just at the thought.

She had taken to rising several times within the night only to assure herself that Jack had not stopped breathing in the hours of her absence.

-

Sophia padded quietly across the empty deck of the Pearl. She guessed it was close to midnight, and the stillness that encompassed the night was so eerie that she actually hurried to the desolate atmosphere of her destination.

She closed the door to Jack's cabin quietly behind her. The small room was warm and smelled of sickness.

Sophia had never really known that sickness had a smell, but she had discovered in the past several days that it was a hot, stifling scent laced with hints of human excrement and sweat that caused all those who detected it to nearly become sick themselves.   

The straw-stuffed mattress beneath Jack's motionless body was absolutely soaked with sweat. His face was so pale that Sophia's breath actually hitched and she fled to the bedside, her skirts fanning out around her as she knelt to listen to Jack's breathing, a shallow, pained sound that caused her heart to contract. Jack's eyes were closed, although she could see the movement of his eyeballs beneath the purple-tinged lids. She passed a hand over his forehead and drew back suddenly. He was like fire.

No, he was dying.

Sophia removed the sticky dressing and struggled to control the expression upon her face as the aroma of festering flesh wafted from the wound. Armed with her warm water and cloth, she set out to do her daily cleansing.

-

Jack's fever had begun with a faint flush, a slight dizziness, but later transformed into a menace that was as hot and smooth as metal in the sun. Soon, however, he didn't notice the fever. Jack was trapped in dreams, nightmares that his body was too weak to escape from. He existed in a hazy world of memories and concoctions of his own diseased brain.

First, he relived his childhood, distant recollections of a time when his emotions were not so strictly checked, when a simple day at the beach meant a thousand adventures and explorations. He dreamed of days when his father was missing and his mother secluded, and he would play endless hours, sitting precariously astride a log and shouting orders to his "crewmates," growing tan and healthy in the sun.

Then the dreams became rougher, more violent. Shadows would come to life, blood would leap from the pavements on which it had been previously shed. Shed by his hand. A flick of the knife, a cocking of the gun, and blood would seep from wounds he inflicted.

The worst was when he dreamed of her, the woman who'd broken him. Betrayed him and left him to bleed. It had been many years ago, when he was young and very naïve of the ways of her kind. He'd fallen hard for her, and, believing that she was trustworthy, confessed all of it, all the secrets, all the plans for everything.

All throughout these dreams Jack was trying to break free, trying to break past the fuzzy white barrier that he knew kept reality, sanity, and liberation from his fingers.

He was so tired.

-

Sophia was nearly finished when Jack stirred, incomprehensible and slurred mutterings escaping from his cracked lips. She paused the soft (and painful, she was sure) probing of the sodden rag momentarily, her eyes easing from the wound to his face. She remained motionless for some time, listening to Jack's sporadic words and trying desperately to decipher their meaning. Then, hesitantly, she reached upwards to pass her fingertips across the hot dampness of his forehead. "Jack?"

Without so much as a sound, Jack exploded into a series of surprisingly agile movements, leaping from the cot in which he had previously lain on and pinioning Sophia beneath him in a sprawling tangle of limbs. Sophia let out a startled squeak of surprise as her back collided sharply with the wooden planks of the floor and the large span of Jack's hand closed firmly around the column of her neck. His chest was bare, and Sophia could see the shifting of the muscles in his left arm and shoulder as he used them to support his weight. Jack had one knee pressed rigidly against her belly as to keep her from moving. Sweat was coursing down his face and chest, and his eyes were wide and his lips set in a firm line. She felt the familiar contraction of her stomach as her fear set in and instinctively thrashed her legs about in their limited space.

Jack's hand tightened around her throat in punishment, and Sophia could see his body tremble with the effort of holding himself from collapsing on the ground. Before she could let out a glass-shattering scream, Jack spoke in a voice so low and full of unexpected hatred that it caused the muscles down her spine to quiver.

"I'm going t' cut your bloody throat for wha' you did t' me, you whoring bitch."

Sophia stopped moving. Why is he saying this? As if searching for answers that no one could give, she peered through the shadows into Jack's eyes. They were clouded, vacant, and seemed to look past her and at something or someone that only he could see. It was only then that she realized that Jack didn't know who he was speaking to. Sophia breathed in strangled gasps, her head becoming dangerously light due to the obstruction of her windpipe. "Jack. . . stop. Wake up. . ." Sophia's voice was a smothered whisper, but she was sure the pirate had heard her, for his eyes cleared and he tilted his head minutely to the left.

"Sophia? What. . .?" He began, his lips struggling to form the words he so searched for.

Sophia watched silently as Jack's strength finally gave out, and he collapsed with a heavy thump against her. She was trapped beneath this hot, moist, and somewhat bloody body that was Jack.

-

After rolling the now unconscious Jack over and sliding out from under him, Sophia somehow managed to drag him back on the bed and tend to the wound once more, for it had broken open in his movement and was now profusely swollen. She'd had enough of this ridiculous nonsense. They had to get Jack some real help, for she was certain that he would die without a doctor.

Once out of Jack's cabin, she allowed herself to lean heavily against the outside wall, her gaze rising to the veiled stars in the dark sky, willing her breathing to return to its normal rate. When it did, more or less, she set out to Gibbs' cabin.

In response to her persistent rapping against his door, the old pirate swung it open, appearing very groggy and overall like he would thoroughly enjoy shooting anyone who disturbed him at this time of night. Ignoring these obvious omens, Sophia jammed her hands upon her hips and glowered at him in what she hoped was an exceedingly determined way. "You have got to turn this ship around right now."

Gibbs looked at her like she'd gone completely mad. "An' why would ye say tha', missy?"

"Jack is dying, Mr. Gibbs," she declared. Gibbs stepped back a bit, a bit taken aback that this woman, usually so optimistic, had all but given up.

"Wha'? But ye said tha' ye could take care o' 'im!"

"Yes, I know what I said! But I can't. . . I can't do this. There's only so much I know how to do, and I don't have the skill necessary save a man from certain death, Gibbs! Have you seen him? He needs a bloody doctor, not someone who's just picked up a couple of skills over time!" Sophia's eyes were flashing with a rarely seen desperation.

Gibbs' eyes lowered, and he heaved a great sigh, his shoulders collapsing gratefully against the doorframe. "Aye. I know," he said, defeated, and paused for several moments more before speaking. "We're near seven days from a friendly port."

"By seven days it. . .  it will have been to late."

The pirate nodded slowly, unwilling to meet her anxious gaze. Sophia sighed, glancing upwards to quell the burning at the back of her eyes. You're going to have to do it, Sophia.

"There is something I could do. . .  It may just make things worse than they already are, but there is a chance. . ." she said, her voice a wavering note amidst the crashing of the waves.

Gibbs' eyes brightened slightly, his posture regaining its strength. "Well, why didn' you say so, lassie?"

-

Sophia sent Gibbs to wake Anamaria, for she would need a firm base of support to complete this procedure. She met them outside Jack's door.

Her voice was very quiet when she spoke. "I'm going to need a long knife, a needle and strong thread, and hot water." Sophia swallowed, her gaze faltering. "Boiling. Yes, it should be boiling."

Anamaria and Gibbs glanced, perplexed, at one another, before dashing off to fetch Sophia's requests. With them gone, she slowly creaked open Jack's door, stepping silently inside and making her way to his bedside. She sat down shakily upon a free space on the mattress. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. The tears were coming, burning trails of salt over her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she whispered.

Gibbs burst through the door, armed with various supplies, followed closely by Anamaria. Sophia rose, brushing off her dress with trembling fingers. Mutely, she took the knife, needle and thread, and pail of steaming water from the pair, setting them on the bed. She stood stationary for a long while, gazing with empty eyes at the floor. She couldn't help but remember what her father had said about what she was preparing to do.

"Don't perform this procedure, Sophia, unless the person will die anyway. It's very dangerous and should not be taken lightly, therefore nearly no one does it anymore. If something should go wrong, the results can be terrible. Now, the first step is to. . ."

Sophia visibly shuddered, so much so that Anamaria turned to Gibbs and was about to suggest that they not do this, but Sophia's movement stopped her. The trembling woman grasped the handle of the knife in a surprisingly firm grip, before spinning on her heel and addressing the two. "Will you two please hold his arms down? He will try to thrash a bit." Anamaria and Gibbs readily obeyed.

Sophia leaned over Jack's sweating form, placing a finger upon the inflamed side of his injury, studying its depth. Without further ado, she quickly eased the knife into Jack's flesh and right down past the base of the bullet wound. Anamaria let out a cry of surprise, and Jack released a heart-wrenching groan, his brow furrowing in his dreams and his legs jerking wildly. She could see the muscles in his arms strain as he tried to break free of the hold Gibbs and Anamaria so firmly had on him.

Sophia withdrew the knife, now smeared in yellow puss, and let it drop to the floor, before picking up the pail of water and allowing the steaming liquid to drip in a steady stream into the now enlarged opening of Jack's wound until it nearly overflowed onto the surface of his skin. The muscles in Jack's jaw were clenched, and Sophia could see that his body was rigid with pain. Anamaria reached out to stop her. "Sophia, wha' th' bloody 'ell are you –"

Sophia flinched away from her hand, setting the water on the floor. "The hot water destroys whatever is making him this way, Anamaria. I had to use the knife to open the wound," she explained, her voice monotone.

Anamaria grew silent, and Sophia set to work sewing up the laceration, her face carefully expressionless. Once she had finally finished, she wrapped a new dressing around the wound, ran out of the cabin, and promptly vomited numerous times over the side of the ship.

In the morning, Jack's fever had all but disappeared.

-

A/N: Oh, that was gross, but if you think about it, that little trick Sophia pulled would actually work. I promise this will be the yuckiest of the chapters.

Anyway, muchos gracias for my reviewers! I absolutely lurve you all.

The "as hot and smooth as metal in the sun" sentence was taken from a poem called "My Mother Remembers the Spanish Influenza" by Ratti, just to let you know :)

Next chapter, you ask? Our lovely little crew is on the way to Calcutta!

Ouuuuch! I just ripped about half my nail off trying to break off a piece of chocolate from a positively massive bar of the stuff. Ooooo it hurts like a bitch. Must go find a band-aid.