Eep! My apppologies, all. I'm sure they're starting to get old, but with college apps and such it's hard to find time to write what I want to write (that and my laptop died). However, here is a sadly short chapter, but just enough to let y'all know I'm alive and well, and am still dedicated to this story. Thanks to all who reviewed!
Disclaimer: still, sadly, not mine.
----Distress and Dismay---
Ello, Love.
Jack's P.O.V.
I think I might've startled the lass. Judging by the way she dropped me against the headboard, o'course.
I'd woken up 'bout half way through her ministrations, and watched her. T'was easy to see she'd done this before, looking after someone and suchlike. I didn' want to interrupt, so I let her move me where she wanted- the pain was already starting to subside enough for me ter think properly.
Ana's P.O.V.
I was painfully aware of what Jack was wearing.
A pair of pants.
Only. Only a pair of pants.
Recovering from the shock of seeing Jack was awake, I began to prattle on like an idiot. "Jack! Oh, Jack, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, here, here, let me, terribly sorry! No, no, don't move, just… wait, I'll get it, Jack, are you alright? How are you feeling? Are you lightheaded? Are you seeing double? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Is it too bright in here? Why the hell did you close your eyes when I asked you explicitly not to? Can you hear me? Damnit, Jack, ANSWER ME!" I seethed.
A bewildered pirate looked up at me, opening and closing his mouth, without having the decency to actually say anything. Does he have any idea how worried I'd been? Does he realize he could have died? I found it best to inform him of the latter.
"Jack Sparrow," I said, in what I hoped was a startlingly calm voice, "are you aware how close you actually came to being deceased?" I was answered with more idiotic fish-gawping.
Men.
"Because, you see Jack, when you closed your eyes back on deck, you had lost a large quantity of blood. And it is quite easy to loose consciousness when you've lost a lot of blood. However, if you would have stayed a-bloody-wake for the few seconds it took me to get Gibbs, you wouldn't have PASSED OUT!" I was livid.
"Ana, I-"
"AND, Jack, let yourself get fucking shot! Tell me, please, how you managed that. Twice, in fact. You were shot twice in the chest," here he looked down as if noticing for the first time the gaping wounds in his flesh, "Yes, Jack, you were shot. What, you thought I'd be joking? I'm miles away from joking, you slack-jawed idiot. When I-"
"Leagues."
"…Pardon?"
"Leagues, love. The ocean's not measured in miles."
I resisted the urge to throttle him. The bloody idiot. He's half dead, and he's correcting my nautical lingo? The bloody sodding idiot.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Jack."
"Oh," he said. He actually looked puzzled. "Ana, Love, you're not makin' any sense."
I stopped pacing. "I'm what?" I couldn't believe my ears.
"Love, you're not-" I cut him off with a cry of disgust and stomped (gracefully) out of the cabin, slamming the door.
I couldn't believe it. He got shot, passed out, nearly died, and he doesn't bloody understand me? The nerve of that man. I stamped up the stairs to find Mr. Gibbs, and tell him what an ass his captain is. I opened my mouth as I reached the top of the stairs, and when I saw what lay across the deck I promptly closed it again. Although the pile of dead crewmen had definitely dwindled, it was still quite obviously there. The corpse of what could only be Cookie lay slightly apart from the rest, with a white sail draped lightly over his body. A deep red stain was beginning to bleed through the creamy fabric presumably where his mouth and gut were.
I looked away.
Two crew members from the Pearl looking a little worse for wear were grabbing each of the corpses in turn, one by the hands, one by the feet, and heaved the body overboard. Sweat shined on their brows, and they continued to shuffle stiffly from the pile of dead to the rail and back. I looked around for Gibbs- I didn't want to deal with this by myself. I looked down the deck and carefully followed the path made between the wounded crew. I found Gibbs crouched down next to an unconscious man who had just lost his leg.
"Mr. Gibbs?" My voice sounded small next to the groans of the wounded.
The tired man froze for a moment, then lifted his eyes to mine. "How's Jack?" he asked bluntly.
"He's… fine," I murmured. "Lost a lot of blood, but if he stays lying down he should be fine."
"Conscious?"
"Yessir."
"An' what are ye up here fer? Need anythin', lass?" His voice was soft, like asking if I was the one who was all right.
"I… Is there anything I can do to help?" I gestured to the deck littered with writhing bodies. Gibbs looked at me critically, as if sizing me up. I stood a little straighter. "I'd like to help," I said a little more confidently.
Gibbs squinted his eyes for another moment, as the man in front of him gave a soft moan. "Aye," he said finally, sounding defeated and exhausted. "Aye, lass, ye can help. Here's a bottle o' rum. If any of the men are still conscious, try te get 'em to drink- if it fogs their head they won' feel th' pain's much."
I took the bottle, willing my hands not to shake. This was different, surely, than the Faithful Bride. The point of them drinking was to dull the senses, not to sharpen them. Besides- all these men are weak with blood loss. Even if they wanted to they couldn't assault me.
Assault.
Jack.
Jack had saved me. Twice. And I just verbally berated him to a pulp- well, more of a pulp than he was as he lay bloodied on his bed, anyway. I am a bloody, sodding, good for nothing-
I looked at the bottle in my hands. This was my chance! I could try to show Jack I was good for something. I could get over this. Show him I was worth saving.
I walked with leaden feet to the nearest of the fallen men. Kneeling next to his head, I placed my hand on his fevered brow. His eyes opened wide, and with pain-hazed eyes he looked through me. Propping him up gently, I tilted the cool glass of the bottle to his lips. After a moment or two of sputtering, he took several desperate gulps before promptly passing out. That wasn't so bad.
Jack's P.O.V.
Perhaps I was dreaming. I mean, me mind is susceptible ter rum (more than the crew thinks. I have me own flask- a gift from Gibbs- bound in leather. Thus opaque. I keep water in it.)
I did upset Ana though. That I remember.
I looked down at my chest. It was wrapped up in strips of white linen. With a mild ache in me chest, I sat up and placed me feet (bare- hmm…) on the cool wood of the floor. Carefully standin' up, I moved slowly to me door. I'm not sure what happened, but I remember Ana pinned with that scurvy bastard stickin' his tongue down 'er throat, then 'er yellin' at me somethin' about someone almost dying.
I stopped moving.
What had I done?
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so there it is. next chapter will be up as soon as i can, but i'm making no promises that i'll just have to break later. please, read and review!
