A/N: Runs from angry villagers with torches and pitchforks I really didn't think anybody read this anymore. After this error was brought to my attention, I did my best to remedy it. I sincerely apologize and I'll try to update more, I promise!

Disclaimer: the genius that is Pirates sadly does not belong to me, I only play with the conveniently disassembled pieces.

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Insult and Injury

(Jack's P.O.V.)

Oh bugger. I looked Ana straight in th' eyes.

"Love, listen to me. Stay 'ere. If I'm not down in five minutes, lock yerself in the washroom." I felt for me pistol and readied it, then carefully handed it to 'er- but I made sure it was pointin' down. "Only shoot if someone comes after ye. Now, teh shoot, ye jest-"

Ana plucked me pistol out of me hands, spun it expertly around, unloaded, reloaded, and cocked the bloody thing at the door, just before someone knocked. I couldn't 'elp meself- a gawped like a bleeding fish. Wifout takin' 'er eyes off the door, she gave a cocky grin and whispered, "I used to hunt with my father back in England. I can use a bow, too." Shaking me head, I sauntered to the door, (out of Ana's line of fire- I'm not a bloody idiot).

Drawing my sword, I swung the cabin door open. Gibbs grabbed the doorframe, and Ana lowered the gun. My eyes were drawn to an open cut down 'is jaw. I spun around, and faced Ana. "Stay here. Lock the door, and only open it if ye hear my voice on the other side, savvy? And try not to do anything… stupid." If we'd been hit, there was no time to loose. I shut the door to me cabin and flew up th' stairs. I just hoped I'd be able to ask her to open that door again soon.

(Ana's P.O.V.)

Stupid? Try not to do anything stupid? I readjusted my legs under me and looked down at the pistol Jack gave me. It was a particularly beautiful piece. I began to trace the design lightly with my fingertip as I kept a half an eye on the antique clock on the dresser.

Five minutes.

And locking myself in the bathroom? What kind of a girl does he think I am? I glanced at myself in the mirror opposite Jack's bed, and realized being decent (and not in a dress) could be greatly to my advantage. Alright. I'll give the Captain his five minutes. I checked the gun- only five bullets. I suppose It's a good thing I'm a fairly good shot then. I began to pace.

Three minutes left.

The clatter above deck, the shouts, the clang of metal on metal was nearly too much to bear staying in an enclosed space with only muffled sounds to keep me company. Honestly, me, cowering next to a wash tub like a kicked puppy! After what seemed like an eternity, five minutes were up. Carefully I slipped out the door, into the narrow corridor outside the Captain's cabin. The shouts were remarkably louder now, and I boldly began to walk up the stairs to see what was going on for myself, and I made it to the end of the passageway without incident. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I spun around, working purely on instinct, and went to raise my pistol. I know I'm fast, but the cuts and sore muscles littering my body slowed my reaction time just enough for whoever was behind me to grab the gun and twist it out of my hands. I yelped as my finger was caught in the machinery. In one fluid movement, I was spun around and pinned against the wall by my attacker, and when I met his eyes it took my breath away.

I couldn't mistake this man for any of Jack's crew. He had shoulder-length greasy blonde hair, and he reeked of rum. He was the first man who came to my room at the Faithful Bride. I tried to scream, yell, struggle- but every chance of verbal communication was cut off by a slimy tongue being violently thrust down my throat. He pressed the barrel of my own gun sharply against my neck, just enough to impair my breathing. "I know you," he spat, leering and violently groping me through my borrowed clothes. "I suppose yer cap'n wanted ter keep ye fer 'is whore wif himoutat sea."

I managed to spit in his face.

"You little bitch!" he snarled, and shoved the gun deeper into the soft flesh of my throat. It's curious how your life flashes before your eyes in a predicament like that. All the things you could have done, regrets, missed opportunities… and the one that came to the forefront of my mind was Jack. He warned me to stay in the bloody cabin. And how do I repay his kindness? By getting myself killed, that's how. If it weren't so dangerous, I would have laughed. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I knew he was going to shoot me- why wouldn't he? He's a ruthless pirate!

Suddenly, a warm, sticky liquid sprayed over my face, nearly at the same moment I heard a 'bang.' This was it- I was dying. I thought of how I should have apologized to Elizabeth, how I should have spent more time with my father, and listened to what Jack had told me. I opened my eyes carefully, noting I was covered in blood. It was only after a suspended moment that I realized the dirty pirate lay crumpled and bloody at my feet. The blood was not my own… Looking in the direction of the shot, I saw my rescuer, gun still poised in midair, eyes hard. Those usually soft brown eyes were unusually dark, yet softened only slightly when they met mine.

"Get back in the cabin. Do not come out until I say it's safe." I didn't need to be told again. I grabbed the gun, slippery with blood, and ran back to Jack's quarters. I slammed the deadbolt across the door, and made sure the tumblers were securely in place. I then obediently locked myself in the bathroom, and after a moment to calm my nerves I decided to make myself useful. Taking off my shirt, I filled the wash basin with water, and began to scrub the vile red stain out of the pale cotton.

After I had the blouse, britches and gun washed, dried, and put back on, I heard a loud banging on Jack's door. I carefully crept out of the bathroom and gathered my courage. "Who is it?" I called through the thick wood.

"Gibbs, lass, Joshamee Gibbs! Open up quick, lives depend on it!" I franticly undid the barricade with numb fingers. As soon as I opened the door, a frightening sight met me. Gibbs, his clothes cut near to ribbons, showed the battle had not been an easy one. The blood spatter from Jack's rescue littered the wall.

"Did- did we win?" I asked in a voice far too timid to be my own.

"Yes lass, we won. Come now, grab the rum and the bottle." As we walked towards the stairs leading up to the deck, I asked the question that had been plaguing me since I ran back to the lavish cabin.

"Mr. Gibbs? Did everyone… Did everyone survive?" I looked expectantly at the tired pirate. His eyes flicked towards me, without actually turning to face me. He let out a soft sigh.

"Lass, I- no. Cookie,thePearl'scook, has left us." Gibbs was the physical manifestation of discomfort, but I couldn't help what I said next.

"…And Jack?"

Facing directly in front of him, he murmured, "Not yet." I ran. I fumbled up the deck with a rag between my teeth, and was stunned with what I saw. The deck was littered with pools of blood, and a few men looking a little worse for wear were tossing the bodies of what I assumed to be the enemy ship's dead crew members overboard. I searched frantically for the familiar leather hat, but I couldn't find it. I wandered carefully, stepping over the bodies of the wounded, praying I wasn't too late.

Finally, I saw a body slumped unceremoniously against the ship's wheel. Jack's hat was pulled over his eyes, covering most of his face, but he was still breathing. I knelt down carefully next to him, and placed my hand gently on his left shoulder. What could only be described as a moan escaped his lips as his head limply pulled away from me.

I reached to take off his hat, and no sooner had my fingers touched the brim that his right hand encircled my wrist. "Now listen son, I don't care what ye do to me now, but don't touch my hat, savvy?" I snatched his hat with my other hand.

"Don't care what I do to you, eh, Jack?" I asked, settling the leather tri-corn on my head.

"Ana?" Soft brown eyes looked up at me through thick lashes. I cupped his cheek in my hand for a moment, then began to help him out of his coat- an annoyingly difficult task when the recipient of my ministrations isn't cooperating. After I had Jack down to his blouse, I could see it was soaked with blood. Realizing I couldn't get Jack to sit up on his own if my life depended on it, I grabbed the slit down the front and pulled.

"Easy, Love. What are you doing?" Jack mumbled, and as a shiver ran through me I realized that Jack was woozy not from alcohol, but from blood loss. There wasn't much time. Pulling on the small tear I had created, I ripped the front of his shirt in two. I could feel the confused eyes watching me, although he didn't continue to voice his perplexity. Deftly I undid his belt, and began sliding it out from under him.

"Love. Ana. Wha-" at this Jack was interrupted by weak coughing.

"Shh," I purred. "Just stay still." I gently opened his mouth, and stuck the side of his belt between his teeth, and his eyes lightened with recognition. Pouring a little rum on the now clean rag, I pressed it gently to his chest. I knew Jack must have lost a lot of blood when he barely flinched at what looked like a nasty gunshot wound. Clearing away most of the blood, I leant in closer to examine the wound: there were two bullets lodged not too deep in the flesh above his right pectoral muscle. I looked around for something relatively cleanto fish the bullets out with, and finding nothing, I examined my fingernails.

I have unusually hard fingernails, and unusually long (for me at least). I could probably grab at least one of the bullets with my fingers…

Gently putting my thumb and forefinger into the wound, I heard a muffled sound of pain from Jack. Without looking up, I plucked the deeper bullet out fairly quickly, but the soft moaning continued from my patient. Swiftly dislodging the other offending bullet, I poured more rum on the already bloody rag. Jack gave a quiet whimper, muffled by the thick leather in his mouth.

Disinfecting Jack's wound was as painful for me as it was for him. Every whimper and moan he made pulled at my heartstrings, but I kept my mouth in a straight line and my mind on the task at hand. When I had finished I opened the bottle and looked for a clean corner of my rag to use for the cream andrealized there was none to be found, soI poured some onto my hands to warm it up. After half a moment of hesitation, I gently placed my hand on Jack's chest. I took a deep breath, and began rubbing the milky cream into his skin. My fingers tingled- from the ointment or the feel of Jack's skin, I'm not sure. I tried to block out all feelings, all emotions, all thoughts- and it was much more difficult than what I had imagined.

(Jack's P.O.V.)

That feels good. If it didn't hurt so bloody much I should get shot more often. Ana bent down close to me ear, an' whispered, "I'll be right back. Don't fall asleep!" She stood up and scurried away across the deck. I let me eyes close. Ana'll be back in a moment. She won't mind if I close me eyes for just a moment…

(Ana's P.O.V.)

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I pulled Gibbs along the deck as fast as I could. "Lass, Lass! What's the matter?"

"He's passed out, Gibbs! Jack!" As we reached his unconscious form, I fell to my knees next to him. "Help me carry him to the cabin- I can look after him better there. I-I'll do something. Just… help?" I finished weakly.

"Aye Lass, I'll carry the captain. You open the door, yes?" his gravely voice murmured.

I don't know how I made my way down the stairs, or how Gibbs and I managed to place him gently on the bed. As soon as we had him comfortable, Gibbs mumbled something about tending to the crew, and I was left alone with Jack. I propped as many extra pillows and blankets as I could find behind him, and ripped a sleeve off my blouse. Tearing it into strips, I evaluated exactly how much work I had ahead of me. Somehow Jack had lost his shirt and boots, and… oh. He was handsome. I ripped a larger portion of cloth from the bottom of my blouse, and noticing but not really caring that part of my stomach was now revealed.

Now for the tricky part: to make a bandage over the wound on his chest. I'd have to get under his back, and that's rather tricky when he's lying down. I sighed, and did the only thing I could think of.

Climbing carefully onto the bed, I gently straddled his waist and pulled his limp torso so it was resting against my own. I began winding the thin white fabric around his wound. Back and forth, back and forth, occasionally ripping a little more fabric from my remaining sleeve, I became comfortable with my current position of Jack's nursemaid. I set him back down against his pillows again in order to tie off the bandage properly. After admiring my work for a moment, I allowed myself to raise my eyes to his face.

Jack's eyes were open.

A lazy, contented grin spread across his tired face.

"'Ello, Love."

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A/N: Yes, I realize how utterly improbable that Jack would survive a double gunshot wound. HOWEVER- on the deleted scenes on the PotC DVD there's a bit where Jack says "Truth? No truth at all," and shows various wounds, including a rather nasty gunshot wound to his chest. so that's where it came from.

A/N 2: I updated! Yay me! I'm so terribly sorry I didn't do it earlier- I thought nobody was reading this, and then I got three reviews in a row and thought, gee- this doesn't make sense- Oh dear! I was writing a story! And the rest is history. I'm going on vacation on Sunday for three weeks, and if I can't post you can be sure I'll be writing. Writer's block is gone! happydance. Read and review, please!