None are Necessary, but All are Useful

After a week at sea the captain called Jo into his cabin. She'd been spending the time changing Mason's bandages, helping him walk, and mending sails. As she made her way to the cabin that evening she couldn't imagine what she'd done wrong enough to merit a meeting. Still—perhaps it was her marriage lurking in her memory—she found her hands shaking as she lifted her fist to knock on his door.

Instead of a scolding she found herself in for a conversation with a very, very drunk Captain Jack Sparrow. "Y'know luv, I wouldn't be Captain Jack Sparrow without me secrets, me doings, as it were, in the world." He started to puff himself up, then deflated. "These doings keep me Pearl and me crew running, I'll have ye know." He lurched her direction and stretched an arm around her shoulders. "And now you, me little Jo, have a place in me doings."

"What is this…place?" Jo leaned forward out of his grasp. He followed and clutched at her shoulder again.

"Why I'm glad ye asked." He put a finger to his chin, just beneath his lower lip. Jo found herself staring at it a moment longer than she was comfortable admitting she had. "You see, me little Jo, I have a map."

"A map? This is your doings?" Jo's forehead wrinkled with the effort of deciphering Jack's ramblings. Meanwhile Jack had retrieved a folded parchment, which he laid out with a flourish. Jo peered at it a moment. "Ah! It is in French. That is why?"

"Yes," he tossed an arm around her again and bent with her over the map. "You see here," he stretched a jeweled finger toward a tiny landmass, "is where you joined me Pearl." He stroked the finger down a seam of the map; again, Jo found her mind thoroughly distracted by the motion of his hands, the timbre of his voice, and the slight sound of the beads in his hair clicking so near her ear. "Here," he turned toward her and smiled to show his gold teeth, "is where you'll help us go." He leaned even closer. She felt herself blush. "Savvy?"

"Ah…I will…I will try." Jo looked down at the map and as deep a breath as she thought he wouldn't notice. She brought her focus to the language on the map, and noticed a problem. "Captain?" He nodded slightly. "Some of the words, I do not know the English ones for them."

"Then you'll just describe them as best you can to ol' Jack, won't you luv?" Jo chanced another look at him. If anything he'd swayed closer. She swallowed.

"Oui, yes, I will do that."

"Good girl." He gave her shoulder a forceful pat. "Then we have an accord?" He extended a hand to her and flashed his gold-toothed grin again. She took his hand in silence, sure her voice would shake if she spoke. When he kissed her knuckles she thought her heart would fly out her throat.


The next day Jack did not make an appearance until some hours after Jo had come to expect to see him at the wheel. She had stationed herself where Gibbs said she'd be least in the way—though, admittedly, he had insisted she would be in the way until the moment she left the ship—and had not moved much all morning. The breeze was light enough not to toss her hair in her eyes, she had a pile of mended clothes on her left and another pile yet to do on her right. She looked to the horizon a moment before closing her eyes, face to the breeze, and thinking lightly that she was glad to be useful. Yes, that seemed to be what she could do. She could not be a wife, could not still be a healer, but she could be useful. When she opened her eyes she was smiling.

Then it was there. A ship? Something white that had not been there before, that was certain. The call from the crow's nest cleared her confusion. It was a ship. There was a burst of purposeful movement on the deck and Jo was reminded of the sisters near vespers. She had only a moment to think before Mason hobbled over to her.

"Captain says ye're to go to his cabin for the action, Miss." His bulk cast a shadow on her sewing; she looked up at him while she translated the words to herself.

"Action?" Jo had the feeling she was being dense, but she couldn't make heads or tails of the word.

"Aye. That's a sail the captain's after." Mason stretched a hand to her; she took it and stood. "That'll be a fight fer us, that will."

Jo's mouth reset itself in a nervous line. She resisted the silly urge to grab Mason by the arm. "You will fight with this?" She waved her hand toward the crutch. The large man wheeled around, tugging her with him. Jo pulled back. He looked at her seriously, and she considered his bulk a moment before deciding he could mind himself well enough. She looked back to her piles of mending. "Perhaps I could take them?" He nodded, now keeping his eyes trained on the approaching ship.

Jo had entered the cabin determined to continue making herself useful, as she had concluded she was meant to do that morning on the deck. But faced with the dark wood of the room, her inability to see out the windows, and the pervasive male scent of everywhere she found to sit, she seemed unable to carry out the plan. She paced from chair to window-ledge, alighting and popping up again at every noise. Finally she came to a stop in the middle of the room and scolded herself. Unfortunately it was that moment the real noise started. At the first yell she started so thoroughly she even felt a shiver run over her scalp. As the shouts came more frequently she clasped her hands together hard, her mind blank.

Finally a yell from Anamaria started her into action. Jo pressed her face to the boards of the door where a small crack let in light from the deck. She could see little, but she knew instantly what she saw. Blood. Enough to run into the grain of the wood. She turned decisively toward the bed. Her underskirt would serve for some bandages, but not enough. She found two nearly shredded shirts in the mending pile and set to tearing the fabric.


It seemed hours later when Mason came to the door. The creases in his hands were reddened with dried blood, but he appeared to be mostly whole. To Jo's great surprise he stopped her from leaving the cabin, and instead moved to allow the captain to enter. The captain was uncharacteristically quiet, and his swagger even restrained. Anamaria and Gibbs followed, and the three sat heavily in the wooden chairs around the table. Jo again made to leave as Mason did, but was prevented by a lazily thrown arm that caught her across the waist. She backed away immediately and followed the line of the arm to the Captain's face, though she could only see the side.

He was issuing orders about dividing up the treasure from the ship, and the two crew members were nodding now and again. Jo found she couldn't catch all of the words they used, though she tried. At length the two left and the Captain turned to her. She looked at him a moment and found she had no idea how to greet him, though she thought she should. She was pleased he took the burden from her.

"Help us with this coat, would ye love?" He stood and turned his back to her. She had to rise to her toes to catch the collar at the sides of his neck. As she pulled she felt a resistance near the shoulder blades. The Captain hissed lightly. "Jes' do it, luv." She winced a little and pulled. She'd barely seen the slice in the coat from the back, and the blood dried in the dark fabric had been camouflaged by the low light. Now, with nothing but the sliced pale shirt in the way, she could see a flap of skin peel back as she pulled the coat away. The wound wasn't deep, but it bared a terrible amount of blood and nerve. Without thinking she pressed her hands against it to stop the fresh flow of blood. The Captain hissed again.

She knew what to do: clean, stitch, bind. "I will need water. But if you have rum?"

"Pirate, luv." She could tell he was gritting his teeth. "In the case." He gestured toward the table and a small case beyond, but that movement caused even more blood to flow. She swatted at his shoulder.

"Stop. It will be worse." She darted to the case, grabbed a bottle, and retrieved the bandages and sewing kit before he had a chance to shift again. He immediately snagged the bottle from her and ripped the cork out with his teeth.

"Cheers." She stared at him as he lifted the bottle to her and took three large swallows of the rum. She grabbed it before he went back for the fourth. Her hands hesitated a moment at the collar of his shirt. Come, Jocelyne, you have seen wounded men before! She set her jaw and pulled the shirt from his shoulders, waiting for the lecherous remark that usually came from male patients. None came. His hands gripped the edge of the table. She kicked a chair around to him and pushed him into it, then set to cleaning up the dried blood around the wound with a rum-soaked bandage. You must. He knows you must.

"I am sorry," she said, and tipped the bottle over the slightly open wound. The rum ran a deep red out the base of the gash. The Captain groaned. Jocelyne returned her hands to the wound to press it shut. After a moment's thought, she passed the remaining rum to the Captain before moving to thread her sewing needle. The Captain hardly moved during the stitching; Jo was grateful. He would have a scar, but she could see from his back that he was no stranger to them. She cleaned the bloodied skin once more, then thought about the problem of binding it.

This would require passing the bandage around his torso, which would require putting her arms around him. For reasons she didn't care to think about, Jo really, truly did not want her arms around the shirtless Captain. Not even the drunk and wounded Captain. Once again she scolded herself, straightened, and set to work. To her mild surprise he merely sat through the bandaging as he had through the stitching. She knew he was awake, but he sat with his eyes closed and his hands clutched to the table. Setting the final knot in the binding required leaning over his shoulder; she blushed as her hair fell forward over his chest to brush his lap. He chose that moment to open his eyes.

He reached a hand up to her hairline and brushed her fallen hair back, his fingertips lingering on her scalp. Jocelyne's eyes fell closed and her hands stilled. When she opened them again the Captain was meeting her eyes. She stood sharply, gathered the bandages, and fled the cabin. She could barely hear him say, almost to himself, "That's interesting."