Joshamee Gibbs stood nervously outside Jack Sparrow's quarters, trying to gather the nerve to knock on the door. It wasn't that he was afraid of the captain per say… More that the man was bloody unpredictable. Who was to say how he was reacting to the afternoon's events? Somehow Gibbs assumed that being fallen on by a small girl (whom the captain disliked anyhow) from a drastic height and then crashing into the deck with said child on top of him might be reason enough for Captain Jack to be a bit… vexed, to say the least.

The good news was that Kelsea, the girl who had done the falling, was now safe in the crew's quarters. She had sustained the standard bruising that could only be expected from plummeting to the deck from twenty feet above, but other than that and obviously having been rattled, the girl seemed alright.

Gibbs raised a fist tentatively, this time resolved to knock--

"BLOODYHELLMOTHERUV--!" Came a sudden violent string of curses from within that made the first mate jump. Pushed into acting, he opened the door and quickly sidled inside.

The sight that met his eyes would have been comical under any other circumstances, but as things were, the crewman decided it wiser not to laugh. The source of the cursing was the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, who was at present looking rather ridiculous-- he appeared to have gotten tangled in his coat. Breathing raggedly, the pirate captain looked up at his first mate with a scowl.

"A knock woulda been nice, Gibbs…" he grated, his face glistening with sweat and screwed up with pain. The first mate scurried across the room to his captain's side.

"Apologies, Cap'n… Heard ye cursin' an' thought it best t'come sharpish." He peered over into Jack's pained features and cocked his head in question. "What is it that be ailin' ye?"

"Well, Mr. Gibbs, lessee here… Seems t'me that moments ago as I stood upon the deck o' me ship one small whelp decided t'come flyin' down from aloft an' land on top o' me. Could be th'problem, eh?" the pirate captain all but snarled, sarcasm fairly dripping from his taut voice.

Gibbs bit his lip in agitation and reached over, readjusting the other man's coat so that he was no longer tangled up. "… Don' be angry wit th'lass, Cap'n… T'was an accident, after all…" He tried, earning only an exasperated glance.

"I don' care a lick 'bout th'girl righ' now, Gibbs! Jus' help me wiv this bloody coat, will ye?" Jack writhed and twisted, his injured arm only getting wrenched around into more agonizing positions. "It's… S'me arm…"

Cursing himself for not noticing the injury earlier, the first mate stepped to his captain's aid. "How bad hurt, Cap'n?" he asked, getting ahold of the troublesome fabic and placing one hand on Jack's shoulder to help guide him out of the coat.

By now breathing heavily, Jack Sparrow gritted his teeth as he came free. "Broken," he mumbled dully, reaching with his good hand for a bottle of rum lying on the desk. "Can't move me fingers properly. Savvy?" he added after catching the questioning look on his crewman's features.

Gibbs swallowed hard before leading the captain towards a chair and pushing him into it. "Er, well if'n that's th'case… We'll have t'put it righ' before ye catch fever," He pulled out a small knife and cut a slit in Jack's sleeve, tearing the fabric to the elbow. The sight that met him made his stomach heave: near the middle the arm was bent around funny and worse… two white slivers of bone were poking through the tan skin. "Mother o' god…" he murmured uneasily.

Jack, who had been averting his eyes, chanced a glance around at his left arm. Catching sight of the injury, he quickly squinched his eyes shut and tried to quiet the butterflies of irrational panic in his gut. "F'yer plannin' on fixin' that… safe t'say that ol' Jack's goin' t'be needin' more rum," he managed finally, gauging that the bottle in his hand was only about half full.

Gibbs laughed nervously and nodded, steeling his own nerves. He busied himself with finding a basin for water and clean white cloth. "Aye, Jack, I'll send Cotton after another keg 'er so."

2 HOURS LATER…

"There y'go Cap'n… Just don' be wavin' that arm about now, hear?" Gibbs grunted as he tied off the last strip of sailcloth around the pirate captain's left arm.

Captain Jack Sparrow merely hiccupped, his head falling forward. Empty bottles that had once been full of amber rum now rolled to and fro across the cabin floor. Yes, it would be safe to say that the dreadlocked pirate was drunk out of his skull. "Mmm… That'll be… -hic- attlebee all… Gibbs…" he slurred, beginning to tip out of his chair.

The first mate lunged over just in the nick of time and caught the other man around the shoulders before he toppled to the floor. "Avast! Oof—up ye come, Jack Sparrow," he mumbled, hauling his friend and captain to a nearly standing position and lugging him over towards the disheveled bed. "Mother's love—yer a lot heavier than y'look..!"

Jack slumped unceremoniously into the bunk with another hiccup and docilely allowed the other man to pull off his boots and arrange his limbs so that he wasn't about to roll onto his injured arm. "Mmm… Easy on th'goods, darling…" he murmured and Gibbs rolled his eyes, backing away from the bed.

"Sleep now, Cap… While ye can."

SOMETIME AFTER THAT…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Roused roughly from his fitful rum-induced slumber, Jack Sparrow bolted upright at the abrupt sound… and immediately collapsed back on the sheets.

"Ughh--!" He groaned loudly. His head was foggy and dully aching from his previous drinking binge, but that was nothing compared to the terrible pains that shot up his left arm with every heartbeat. "Fer th'love of—"

He was cut off as the knocking came again, this time a bit softer. Captain Jack groaned again and, despite his hangover, began casting about for more rum—anything to dull the pain in his arm. More knocking.

"Stop that bloody knocking an' jus' c'min ye—" He didn't finish his cursing because at that point the door swung tentatively inwards. "Which of ye slack-jawed seadogs is it?" He demanded, shielding his eyes against the light that came in.

"'Tis only me, Cap'n Sparrow… I brought back yer hat…" Nine-year-old Kelsea stayed where she was in the door, holding out the tri-cornered hat as a peace offering.

"What? Jus'get in here an' stop lettin' in all the bloody daylight!"

The girl sidled in quickly and shut the door, staying where she was while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. After a few moments, she was able to make out the shape of the desk, the rum bottles littering the floor, and finally the form of Captain Jack Sparrow sprawled across the bed against the wall. Seemingly an eternity later, he seemed to remember that she was there and half sat up.

"…S'that you, whelp?" He finally asked, and she moved a few steps closer, wringing the hat in her hands.

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Come t'fall on me again, then?"

"N-no Captain Sparrow…"

"Well? What're ye disturbin' me for?"

"I… I jus' came t'bring back yer hat…" She held out the somewhat battered tri-corne and swallowed hard. "And… An' t'say thank you fer savin' me life..."

Jack only grunted and sat up straighter, and since his eyes were already well-adjusted to the lighting, he began truly looking at the girl for what seemed like the first time. At nine-years-old, Kelsea (Sparrow, his mind added) was slightly built with lithe muscles. Her skin was tanned golden brown from constant exposure to the bright Caribbean sunlight and her hair was raven dark, tied back with a strip of sail. She wore a pair of stiff canvas pants and a faded blue shirt that was crudely hemmed so that it fit her… and although her body language was humble and subservient, her chocolate eyes stared proudly back at him.

Defiant liddle lass, he thought briefly before clearing his throat and holding out a hand for the hat. "I only did it fer th'Pearl's sake, girl…" he returned, and though she nodded, Kelsea had a look on her face that bespoke of the fact that she didn't believe his words any more than he himself did.

She slowly walked over to where he sat and handed over the captain's prized belonging. He took it but didn't immediately put it back on, instead scrutinizing her further. After a few eternal moments, he spoke again with a wince.

"Ye wouldn' happen t'have any more rum..?" He asked hopefully, and she was already holding out a half-full bottle before he had finished his sentence. "Oh. Er—Thanks," He mumbled and she nodded wordlessly again.

Jack Sparrow sighed, looking away. Brave girl indeed, havin' the guts t'come an' confront me like this… Maybe I shouldn' be so hard on her. Not th'whelp's fault she ended up here, after all…However, just as he was about to say something more, there was a deafening bang and the Black Pearl shuddered mightily, throwing the pair of them back onto the bed. Then came the sound of Gibbs's voice, high and panicked.

"ON DECK ALL HANDS—WE'RE UNDER ATTAAAACK!"