Chapter VIII
Jones' Lullaby

The Flying Dutchman had surfaced, leagues away from the Pearl. Jones stood in front of Bree, looking at the girl, sopping wet, blood mixed with water dripping into her eyes. He felt several things at once. Exhilaration that he had caught her. Confusion as to why the Pearl was repaired. Anxiety…what if Jack was alive? Did he…did he have his heart?
But Jones dismissed this from his mind as he looked at Bree. The girl was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, hiding her face. Her shoulders were shaking. When Jones called her name harshly, she obediently lifted her face. Jones felt pity stab through him. She was weeping. True terror and despair showed in her eyes. Jones had to shake himself to remember that he had to punish her.
Jones signaled to the bosun, who stepped forward and hauled Bree up by the hair. But just as Bree steadied herself, she collapsed. Jones, confused, motioned for Jimmylegs to inspect her.
The bosun ripped Bree's jerkin off, revealing her shirt, soaked with blood. He tore the shirt at the waist, revealing a long, deep gash in Bree's side. Jones' blood went cold. That was from his broadsword.
Jimmylegs looked up at his captain, "She's been away from the Dutchman too long, sir. She'll die from this."
"No!"
The crew looked at their captain, puzzled and a bit startled. He looked…concerned. Jones looked flustered, and then said in a harsher voice, "She can't escape punishment!"
The crew relaxed. This was the Davy Jones they all knew. But Jones surprised them all again. He stepped forward, taking Bree in his arms. He almost dropped her once, for he was shaking. He didn't know why, but he couldn't hold steady. She felt like she was a coal, burning his skin. She must have a fever, he reasoned.
Davy Jones carried Bree towards his cabin, and then turned, calling, "Bootstrap, come with me."
Bootstrap Bill hurried forward, concerned for his young friend. He reached out as if to take Bree from Jones' arms, but Jones pulled Bree closer, almost possessively, his eyes fierce. Bootstrap backed off, confused but not wishing to anger Jones.
Jones carried Bree into his cabin with Bootstrap following behind. Jones spoke to Bootstrap, "Go get somethin' she can lie down on, an' a few blankets."
Bootstrap, too worried about Bree to wonder why his captain was even bothering to care for her, hurried off to do his bidding.
Jones, meanwhile, sat down, Bree partly sitting partly lying across his lap, her head supported by his elbow. Jones looked at her. Her face was smeared with blood and grime. But somehow she looked…peaceful.
Jones almost wished that Bootstrap had taken longer to find what he needed, though he didn't admit this to himself. He rose, standing to the side as Bootstrap arranged a makeshift cot for Bree in the corner of the room, near the great organ. After making it as secure and comfortable as possible, Bootstrap stepped back. Jones went forward and laid Bree down, wadding a blanket up and placing it under her head.
Bootstrap then covered Bree with two blankets, the best he could find, and stepped back, awaiting his captain's orders. Jones didn't take his eyes from Bree. He simply said, "Leave."
Bootstrap nodded and left, saying a silent prayer for his friend.
Jones sat beside the makeshift cot, looking at Bree. But he couldn't waste time just looking at her. If he planned to save her, he had to work.
Reaching out slowly, almost timidly, Jones tore more of Bree's shirt at the side. He bared her torso, tearing a strip from an old blanket and wiping the dirt and blood from the wound. It was a deep wound. Jones felt his soul aching. He had caused this wound. Bree was probably in pain, even if she was unconscious.
After Jones had finished cleaning the wound, he began making a type of poultice. Jones had stored away some old remedies. Before he became undead, he had needed things like this. He began to thank fortune that he had them now, before he remembered that he was only healing Bree so he could punish her later.
Jones tore a strip from another blanket and began binding Bree's wound. He tried to avoid touching Bree's bare skin while doing this, but once, his hand brushed her back as he pulled the bandage around her torso. Her skin felt…warm. Jones gritted his teeth, tying off the bandage. Done.
Jones stood, looking down at his hand. Why was it still warm? The warmth was spreading, up his arm, across his chest and down until it was in his whole body. He bit his lip. No, he was just tired.
Stepping back, Jones looked at Bree. She wouldn't wake for at least another day. She had lost so much blood. And by the time she woke, she would be back in her own hammock. And the crew would swear on pain of a horrible punishment to hold their tongues.

Bree felt like she was on fire.

One can't always escape in dreams. Not in fevered dreams.

Bree looked down at her side. There was a brand, a flaming brand, fused to her. She tried to pull it loose, but it wouldn't budge. She tried to say something, but in the dream realm you can't talk.

Bree's pain intensified. She felt something wrapping around her waist. And then, another searing flame touching her back only for an instant. But this flame didn't hurt. It was…wonderful.

Jones had been in an out of his cabin that day, mostly attending to his duties as captain but also caring for Bree. He would either simply glance in at her or maybe spend an hour watching her.

That night Jones retired to his cabin, sitting with his back to Bree. Suddenly, there was a solid knock at the door. Jones was confused. No one ever came to his cabin without being ordered! But he called out roughly, "Enter."

The door opened and Bootstrap Bill entered the room. His gaze went to Bree, and without properly addressing his captain, he asked, "Is she all right?"

Without permission, Bootstrap went to Bree's side, his concern evident. Jones felt annoyed. Part of his annoyance was the fact that Bootstrap had practically barged in but the other part was…he was somehow disappointed that he wasn't the only one who cared for Bree. No! He didn't care for Bree! He had to mentally remind himself this often.

Bootstrap looked down at Bree with all the love of a father. She had become like a daughter to him. He reached out and tenderly stroked the hairs from her damp brow. Bree made a slight sound, and Jones could see a faint smile curl the corners of her lips. Bootstrap smiled as well, stroking Bree's cheek, an affectionate, fatherly caress.

Jones felt envy stab him. Somehow, seeing Bree and Bootstrap's relationship…made him jealous. The closeness, the tenderness…

Jones cleared his throat, literally pulling Bootstrap away. He felt suddenly very territorial. Territorial of Bree. Bootstrap kept looking back at Bree, "Shouldn't I stay and take care of her?"

Jones snarled, "No! Get back below!"

Bootstrap took one last glance at Bree, and then left. Jones slammed the door angrily, Bootstrap's visit fanning the flame of anger in him. He walked over to Bree's side. Bootstrap had stroked her forehead. Why did he have a sudden desire to do that as well? Jones swallowed. Maybe he could…just to see if she had a fever…just to see…

Jones bent down slightly, reaching out timidly, haltingly. Bree made a small movement with her head, and Jones' hand snapped back. He snarled in anger. What was wrong with him?

Jones didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. Not with Bree sleeping so close.

Jones dusted off the keys to his organ, shooing away the sea creatures crawling across.

Bree suddenly began to moan. Jones froze. No, she couldn't wake! He rose, going to her side. Her hand was going to her wound. Jones gently took her hand by the wrist, forcing it to the opposite side. Bree's face was tensed with pain. Jones went back to his organ. Maybe his song would soothe her. He knew she liked it. He had heard her singing to it.

The music was softer this time. Jones played it like a lullaby. A lullaby for her. For Bree.

Bree's face relaxed, and she lay still, a faint light falling across her cheek. Jones angled his head around to watch her. She was breathing peacefully. Jones was touched that his song would soothe her so.

After Jones had finished his song, he turned to watch Bree. She was in a deep sleep, he could tell. Good. He went to her, untying her bandage. Gently removing it, he tore another clean strip from the blanket and began binding Bree's torso. Why was he taking care of her? So I can punish her, he remembered.