Chapter V – You're Sober?
Monkey stared up at Anamaria and began chittering. She backed away from him slowly, holding the cool, damp washcloth close to her chest. That animal bothered her. It was how he came running at Michael's command, knew how and what to steal, how he could use a pistol. A pistol! And how he tried to speak when people were speaking, as if he wanted to join the conversation and actually understood what they were saying.
All that made her edgy around Monkey. But this was the final straw.
Monkey hadn't moved in two weeks, keeping a strict bedside vigil – or really headboard vigil – in the captain's room, waiting for his master to get better.
"Git that bleedin' monkey outa 'ere!"
Jack looked over at her and shook his head. "Monkey always does that."
She stared at the captain in surprise. "'Ow would ye know?"
Studying her he just had his mouth partially open, trying to think. "Bloody God woman, ye think I can think when I'm sober!?"
"Fair enough," she grumbled, edging her way to the bed. She put the cold compress onto Michael's head.
The captain gazed at his first mate. "The bugger took all me rum, ye do realise that."
"Other than the fact, cap'n, that 'e was passed out cold and drooling?"
He grumbled, "He's usually like that." Then he jumped up, grinning. "Well, ye have everything under control 'ere, I'll check on deck."
"Yes cap'n," she mumbled, pulling the covers of Jack's bed up over the young man. "'E's gotta 'orrible fever runnin'."
"See to it that it stops," Jack growled, storming out of the room. "All my rum!" she heard him shout from the corridor.
"Yes, yes cap'n, all yer rum," she said, staring down at the first mate, who seemed remarkably innocent when asleep. Or passed out. She didn't know which one he was at the moment. "'Ell Cutthroat, I dunno why, but the cap'n has a mighty good side whicha. 'E gave up 'is whole private stash to knock ye out so we could take them nasty splinters outa yer hands." She took the cloth away and put it back into the basin, soaking it, then wringing it out. Walking back over, she continued to talk. "The whole stash we had, boy, was destroyed in the storm, see. And the cap'n, usually impossible to part 'im with 'is rum it is, readily gave it up when we needed to knock ye out. All of it." She shook her head and applied the compress once again. "And ye still haven't come round, boy. The cap'n's in a right state. 'E needs ye on deck." She looked up and realised Monkey was staring straight at her, head slightly cocked as he played with his tail, picking at it, acting as if he casually understood every word she had just spoken.
He made a few noises as if to reply, grinning fiendishly.
"And that monkey o' yers, Monkey – some bloody name – won't leave yer bedside. Cap'n says that's normal, but I ask what does the cap'n know? He's sober after all." With a shrug she took the cloth away yet again. Every time she applied it to the first mate's head, it didn't take it long to become dirty. "Lord knows, boy, ye need to git cleaned up."
He groaned in his sleep.
"Ye wakin' up now? Well, jus' tell me when yer ready to git up," she chuckled, wringing the cloth out in the basin again. Dirty water plinked down into it, the water already a light shade of brown, with a few black flecks. "Jus' tell Anamaria whatcha need boy, I'm 'ere to help."
Michael's groaning increased and he began rolling about in the bed.
"Now now boy, don't move. Yer arms are bound down. We didn't bother untying ye after pickin' out all yer slivers. God that was an awful sight. Took us hours, it did, Thomas and me. We were 'alf afraid you'd rouse out of your stupor when we were jus' 'alf done, we did." Lifting up the rather heavy basin, she carried it to the door and put it down so she would remember to take it.
"Jack . . ." Michael groaned.
"Ye want the cap'n do ye? Well, I should tell 'im yer up anyway. 'E'll be right pleased." She glared at Monkey who began speaking in his own way at the sound of his master's voice then swept out of the room, to the deck to grab Jack.
A moment later the captain walked into his room, shutting the door behind him, closing Anamaria out. She stared at the worn wood, frowning, but acknowledged the captain's silent request to leave. Now.
She acknowledged the fact that he wanted her to leave, but she was the only woman aboard, and so was the only one with medical knowledge. Well, first mate Michael had the knowledge as well: the curse of being the youngest son in an all male family – all the girl chores were up to him to learn – but he wasn't able to take care of himself now was he?
Opening the door defiantly, ready to take any shouting Jack had to offer, any anger he wanted to dish out, she took a step inside and shut the door behind her.
"I am the only one 'ere, cap'n who can 'eal this boy."
Jack glowered at her, the black kohl making him look quite fierce. But then he smirked. "Of course, Anamaria. Of course." He studied his first mate, but didn't untie the restraints. "Don't want you to hurt yerself while you thrash, lo . . . lad," he stated, the smirk still playing on his lips. Monkey chattered and leaped onto the captain's shoulder. "Well hello there, Monkey." Reaching around, he scratched the animal on the head. Monkey spoke in the captain's ear, wanting to keep this conversation private.
Jack nodded solemnly. "Don't ye worry, Monkey, yer master'll be fine."
Anamaria just stared, not able to decide whether the captain was indulging the monkey, or seriously thought he could understand him. She didn't really care to find out either way.
"Well, matie, ye drank all me rum," he said, looking to Michael with almost a tender gaze. Anamaria could understand that though. The captain and his first mate had been working together for twelve years. A bond had definitely developed between the men. It was quite obvious even on deck. Michael had a lot of control over the Pearl, and was almost on par with the captain. And Jack seemed to have absolutely no qualms with this. Also, the young man was fiercely loyal to his captain, having even left the ship during the mutiny, to search his captain out. He would never swear loyalty to Barbossa and had spent a lot of time as such a young child, braving the world to find the only man he would call captain.
Now that was loyalty. Loyalty only an idealistic child could have, and it was for the best. The captain truly trusted his first mate, which was needed to run a ship properly. Because of the mutiny sprung on him eleven years previous, he was trusting of no one.
Except Monkey, to whom he was feeding chunks of fruit to at the moment, and Michael.
"Well, lo . . . lad," he said in a rather chipper voice, only hints of a roguish undertone as Michael's eyes fluttered open, body going stiff, "welcome back to the wakin' world."
"Jack," he whispered, muscles relaxing, "you're sober."
He chuckled, Monkey skittering about his shoulders. Then he took the captain's hat and, trying it on, (it completely covering his head and shoulders) he began modeling for the three. Swiping it back and putting it on, Jack grumbled, "Give that here."
Laughing weakly, Michael then took a few desperate and painful sounding gasps of air. His eyes went wide and he gurgled, the agony too much.
"Oh aye, ye broke yer ribs lad," Jack said calmly, glancing over at Anamaria. "But ye had a good nurse 'ere."
She looked proud at the captain's compliment, but didn't really need it. She was as important a member of the crew as anyone else – and Jack Sparrow had better remember that.
"What about," he coughed and struggled to speak, "my hands?"
"Ye drank all me rum, boy, so Anamaria and Thomas could take care o' those." Here he gave an impish smile, "Lo . . . lad."
"That's why . . . you're sober."
With a serious tilt of his head, he said, "Aye lo . . . lad. Ye needed it all to pass out."
Michael stared up at the captain who seemed perfectly at ease with Monkey on his shoulder. Monkey grinned at his master then ran across the edge of the bed, back to his spot on the headboard.
"'E's been standin' there for two weeks," Anamaria supplied.
"T-two weeks?"
"Ye wouldn't wake after ye took all me rum." He made a face and glanced sidelong at Anamaria then returned his eyes to Michael. "And I took yer bed, lo . . . lad."
He smirked. "Jack Sparrow, being compassionate?"
Straightening his hat he quipped in jest, "That's Captain Jack Sparrow, and don't you forget it."
Michael smirked. "Sorry, cap'n."
The captain grinned, showing off gold teeth and Monkey grinned back, showing off his pointy, yellow teeth.
There was a stomp of footsteps hurrying outside the door. Then it burst open, slamming against the wall. "Cap'n?"
Jack turned to look at the door where one of the crew was standing, panting.
"We need ye on deck."
With a dramatic sigh, the captain stood, straightened his hat then strolled out of the room, Anamaria following behind with instructions for Michael "to rest."
"What else am I gonna do, Monkey?" he mumbled, tugging at the ropes holding his arms in place. "I canna git up anyway."
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Well, Mika can't be on the pooter for awhile, so that means pretty much no more writing of the sequel for now, and no notes from her. Hmm . . . Ummm . . . poor Michael? Oh, and I had one of my friends read this (he read the first 100 pgs or so) and he was totally shocked by certain turns of events and was barking up the wrong tree. So my previous warning definitely stands.
Oh, um, I still dunno if I got anyone in character. Yeah. I saw the movie once, wrote the whole story, started the sequel, saw the movie again the next day then did some editing . . . But I still need to see it a few more times to be able to get the characters right. Mika says I did fine, that she thinks everyone is great, but I dunno. I just don't want anyone to say it's wrong.
I'm going back to bed.
Please review!
Sukkumbus