This is the beginning of an epic; second part.
It was going to be a longer chapter, but I got tired.
I still don't own anything.
Hell. He was hallucinating. But, no! His head was quite solidly on her knee. On. Elizabeth's. Knee. His eyes roved about wildly, trying to take in everything at once, which was quite imposible. He drank her in as if she were a pool of water in the desert; his eyes couldn't see enough of her at once. Oh god! His breathing was quick and shallow, not from his long treck across the beach or his fall, but from her. His heart was racing at an incredible rate, threatening to tear through his chest. And he hated her for it. He hated that she could make him feel like that. Hated that he was so bloody thrilled just to see her, just to be near her again. And he loved her for it.
She was right there. Righty bloody there. That wench. She was safe! She was right there.
There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to bloody tell her. But he coudn't speak. His mind felt like it was exploding; he was talking in circles to himself, babbling in his mind. Every time he tried to speak the words were lost. He groaned loudly, a pathetic noise that quickly transformed into loud sputtering as he coughed up the uninvited gulp of ocean he'd swallowed in his fall. He was flailing wildly at this point, insane hand gestures trying to make up for his lack of word use.
"Elizabeth! I kraken swam wench! you stole for so long you're safe! I lost need rum! my compass you're safe my hat rum!" Well, at least he could speak again. Unfortunately it was completely unintelligable. The sun and ocean had clearly done more damage than he'd imagined, even when he'd thought himself hearing things and hallucinating. He groaned again, this time thankfully without the coughing fit.
When the heaving started she grew worried; he spat up a good amount of salty water, thankfully not on her, though it wouldn't have mattered much. Her clothes were no longer the expensive delicate creations she'd once worn. She watched him flail about, ducking smartly once or twice to avoid being whacked in the face. Then he found his voice. She felt her heart race forwards as he said her name, but her happiness quickly faded to quiet confusion; he was rambling, completely insane. She sighed loudly, but she couldn't help herself: she grinned, laughing very softly. It was obvious what he needed, and luckily for him she was prepared to provide it. Thanks to Tia, of course, and her own dislike for the beverage. Rum. She lifted the near-full tankard to his lips, careful not to spill; she had a feeling he would need every drop.
Jack drank eagerly from the heavy mug, downing half of the rough, golden liquid in one gulp. Almost instantly he felt it inside him, as if it were coursing through his entire body. He felt his mind relax and his senses sharpen to normalcy, the familiarly comforting buzzing in his head slowly returning. He could breath again. He could think again. Thank god for small favors. He struggled to a sitting position, feeling the rough material of her pants on his cheek as he thrashed around slightly in his effort.
"You killed me," he said, meeting her eyes calmly for the first time since he'd realized that she was in fact not a figment of his imagination. He grinned toothily, leaning back and digging his fingers into the cool sand. He knew it wasn't true. He was clearly alive -to the best of his knowledge, at least- but it sounded dramatic. And Jack Sparrow had a true fondness for the dramatic.
She knew it. She'd just known that a stiff drink would bring Jack back. Or at least calm him down a bit, enough so he could form a coherent sentence.