Chapter Eight - Under Attack

To put it bluntly: that next morning, I had a killer hangover. It's pretty safe to say I looked like hell and could barely stand without getting severely dizzy. Jack was asleep in the chair. His upper body was folded halfway over the left side of the chair, resting on his arm. He'd kicked off his boots during the night and his legs were stretched comfortably. My stomach twisted to watch him. I could barely understand this man. Perhaps I'd been trying too hard, I wondered. Was I looking for something that wasn't there? Maybe I was expecting something that Jack simply wasn't?

I decided to leave it at that. Jack just wasn't this compliant, understanding person I'd been so easy to assume he was. Sure, he was a caring guy that would do pretty much anything for somebody he cared about – he certainly looked for the good in people, but something just wasn't there I'd initially thought I'd seen.

My mind was dotted with these empty moments that I couldn't seem to recollect, but one stood out very clearly. I found myself blushing even at the thought of what Jack and I had almost done. I was embarrassed and disappointed. . .but at the same time, I was incredibly grateful for Jack's decision. Still, I would never admit that to him.

". . .And I love you." Oh, God. . .the crazy, drunk girl must learn to keep her mouth shut.

I sat up in the bed and leaned my shoulder against the pillows, watching him. He was sleeping a bit more quietly than he was that first night I'd been forced to lay awake next to him. His brow was slightly creased as if he were dreaming. I was startled when his expression slowly changed and a smirk began to form on his lips. His eyes remained closed as I heard him say, "You're watchin' me." Jack's eyebrows rose and his eyes slowly opened, fixed straight on me.

I wanted to smile and even blush, but instead I slid back down beneath the sheets and turned my back to him. I could hear him shift in the chair behind me and sigh heavily.

"Carrie. . ." he whispered.

"I'm not talking to you."

"Okay, then – let me. I like you. . .ye listen, ye understand – 'least ye try. Not that it all matters, really. It's just my opinion. Don't get me wrong, love, it's a valuable one at that. Ye jest 'bout appeared from nowhere. S'all a mystery, still to me, love, but things have pretty much spun 'round 'ere since then. Pirates – we don't 'ave relationships. Not with each other, no friendships, nothin' usually. Lonely business, piracy is. An' it's my life. We don't get each other, so that's what this prob'em is here – with us." Jack sighed and I could practically hear the anxiety in it. "Cap'n Jack isn't one for sharin', love – truth is, this is easier with you 'avin yer 'ead buried in that pillow there, but I need for ye to look at me now, Carrie."

I quickly debated in my head if I should comply, and was very pleased with myself when I made it evident that I was hesitating as I turned slowly around the face him. Jack was leaning forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at me – actually looking deeply – with those naturally intense eyes.

"Do ye understand, love? Where I'm comin' from?"

It was my defensive wall that I felt slowly lift to protect me from this turn down. I tried to mentally drop it back down, but I'd had enough vulnerability on this little adventure to last me a lifetime. Instead, I just nodded.

He stared dully at me.

"What?" I asked. "Did you expect me to cry or something? Because you turned me down? I don't know what you want from me, Jack. First you coddle me, act like Mr. Daddy-Overprotective, then you try to kiss me and tell me I'm some sort of tiny, delicate, naive child after getting me drunk. I mean – what is this? Am I some sort of game for you, Jack? Is that it?"

"No. 'Course not, Carrie! Wha' do ye think I am?" Jack's eyes flared for a moment, but settled quickly. "Look. . ."

I got to my feet before him.

"No – I don't get you, Jack. I just don't. And I'm starting to really not want to." I shook my head, helpless for words. "You just. . .you can't play with people's emotions like this. You have to choose here. These games. . .I mean just tell me what you feel!"

"I thought I jus' did. . ."

I mustered everything I could. "Well, I don't accept that. You wanted to know if I understand everything? Well, I don't. So, try again." He stayed silent. Momentarily desperate, I moved closer to him. "I have nothing left, Jack. In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty much alone here, and. . .!"

"Cap'n!"

Mr. Gibbs slammed open the door, his eyes blazing with urgency. "There's a ship roundin' up on our stern. Doesn't look good."

"What? What are you talking about? Jack?" I panicked.

"An attack." Jack was on his feet and fleeing out the door with Gibbs before I could even reply.

"Wait, Jack –"

He spun and gripped my shoulders. "No. Do not move." Jack let go and began to walk again. "You hear me, love? Don't move."

I hugged my shoulders and closed the door swiftly, panic rising through my stomach and throat. Canon fire wracked the ship, and for a long moment, it was all I could hear. I dove beneath Jack's desk and put my head in my hands. Gruesome shouts and men's savage screams intensified every bone in my body. I knew I was beneath murder and bloodshed – like a war was unfolding above my head.

The chaos must've lasted for nearly a half of an hour. When it was over, there was dead silence above. Erie silence – it was so still, even so far below, I could hear my heart beating faster with every dead beat of the quiet.

"Somebody move. . .somebody do something. . . please." I got to my feet in a hurry, desperate and concerned, and wasted no time running for the door. As I threw it open, I came face to face with Jack. My eyes widened, my heart nearly stopped. His shirt was torn almost completely from his body. There was blood soaking slowly but surely through the white shirt. His dark eyes sighed in relief.

"Oh, God. . .Jack."

He took a step closer, but nearly fell atop my shoulders in his attempt. I reached out for him and placed myself against him, beneath his arms to hold him up.

". . .Terribly sorry, love. Seems there were a bit more than we could. . . leisurely handle." Jack's eyes drifted closed as I walked him back into his cabin, leading him to the bed.

He's talking, I thought. That's a good sign.

"Jack. . .Jack. Stay awake." I guided him against the pillows and looked around frantically for something to slow the bleeding. "Calm down — it's all you here, Carrie," I told myself. Deciding to make quick, unwavering decisions in this moment of pure anxiety, I moved to the closet and pulled out one of Jack's many simple, white shirts.

"Okay, Jack." I kneeled next to him. "You good? Where are you hurt? Talk to me."

Jack's hand drifted up to his chest where he began to unbutton what was left of his shirt. "Here," he croaked. He pushed away the bloody white shirt from his chest.

The blood was unbearable. "Jack. . ."

"S'okay, love. Doesn't hurt."

I knew he was lying. It wasn't even this unsaid thing – because we both knew it, but the cold comfort offered neither of us security. It hadn't been a cut after all – it was a stab wound just a few inches above his bellybutton. Quickly, I gathered myself and gently placed the shirt on it. He hissed beneath his breath and I had to look away.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Not anywhere that won't be healed in a few days. Not to worry, Carrie."

Until this day, I will never understand how, at that very moment, Jack Sparrow was able to actually stare straight into my eyes and grin.

"What about everyone else?"

"They're all right – most of them, anyway."

"Most?"

Jack looked at me and I knew something wasn't right. "Don't worry."

"What about Mr. Gibbs?"

"He's all right. . . bit scratched up s'all."

"Okay, well, how did this happen?" I asked, pressing just a little harder on his wound.

"Just a mistake. Thought I had things under control. . .let my guard down."

"And the person that did this to you. . .?"

". . .An' you also don't have to worry 'bout him. He's –"

"Swimming with the fishies?" I piped.

"Guess ye could say that."

I sighed, collected and calm. My eyes drifted across his chest, and for the first time, I noticed two healed, but incredibly vicious, bullet holes in his chest. He noticed, because he said, "Not the first battle-wound for ol' Jack. An' certainly not the last."

When I looked up toward his face, I saw a grim, almost sad expression on his face. I sighed and shook my head. "Jack – about earlier. . .I shouldn't have attacked you like that. I understand everything, I mean. . .this can never be anything. I know that."

Jack smiled slightly and reached a gently trembling hand to my cheek. "Yer. . . incredibly remarkable. . . Carrie. An' I do wish things were diff'rent."

I nodded, letting tears fill the corners of my eyes. "Me, too."

It was a silent moment of closure. At that very strikingly painful moment, I felt my heart break and sink to the shallowest pit of my soul. Quietly, as I stared into his faraway eyes, I felt like I was saying goodbye to the one thing I've ever felt close to.