Protector of Life

Part 11

He woke to a world that felt far less real than the half-remembered dream he had been in. The light seemed muted, neither the heated glow of torches and candles nor the steady touch of the sun. It appeared to come from a softly humming oblong tube set into the ceiling, and he studied that for a few minutes, content to merely lie and bask in the fact that he was apparently alive against all odds.

Again.

Lady Luck was certainly fickle when it came to his wellbeing.

The light eventually lost his interest, the mysteries of its workings apparently unsolvable from a reclining position. The simplest answer to that problem appeared to be to stand.

Movement brought the reality of the world crashing down upon him. His chest burned and his arm began to ache and throb, the sudden movement of muscles apparently reminding his body that a conscious mind is one that can process pain. For a moment he thought he was going to solve about half of that problem, the world fading to a washed-out grey, then slipping to a pitch black where the steady buzzing of the light and the beeping of the metal… things he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on seemed to come from far away. The dizziness finally cleared, though, and he breathed a (gentle) sigh of relief, taking care not to move his right arm or call too heavily on his lungs.

So, he was still hurt. Not dying, but if he tried to do too much he'd probably wish he was… though not too strenuously. He didn't want Billy getting any ideas.

Thinking of the balaam cleared the rest of the cobwebs from his thoughts. There was something, in the dream… something he needed to remember, but the cursed cat wasn't supposed to see…

Shaking off the uneasy feeling, the pirate captain turned to a more serious assessment of his condition. If he stayed still, the pain receded to a level that was not only endurable but almost comfortable. His chest hurt, yes, but the pain was localized, not traveling along with blood-soaked foam from his lungs to his mouth as it had been before. Fantastic. His shoulder and arm still ached, but it was a bright, sharp pain, so at least he'd likely not be losing the use of them. Even the pain from his leg, whose earlier cries of woe had been drowned out by the others, was a good pain… insofar as pain could be good. Above the joint, and without the deep throb that usually denoted injury to the bone.

Workable, then. Not good, but infinitely workable.

Satisfied that nothing was going to suddenly fail should he attempt such strenuous activity as stretching, Jack turned his attention to the room at large. His peripheral vision had shown him glimpses of the metallic, bleeping creatures that surrounded the bed. Looking at them full-on failed to make them any more comprehensible. Most displayed a host of numbers, all glowing a happy green; some showed wavery lines, tracing a similar pattern over and over again, blipping contentedly to themselves.

All seemed to be attached to him in one way or another. With growing concern, Jack Sparrow allowed his eyes to trace some of the lines. One was connected to a small, hard-rubber object that was slipped over the index finger of his right hand. A handful of others traced from a machine with a happily-bouncing line to somewhere beneath the poorly-tailored nightgown the owners of this strange place had placed him in. One, a simple bag of liquids, led to a needle which has been inserted into his arm.

He almost ripped the offending piece of metal free with a snarl. Almost, but not quite, because he felt infinitely better than he by rights should, since he was certain that by rights he was a dead man when he came to this strange place. If they'd wanted to kill him all they had to do was sit back and watch him bleed. No, better to watch and not try his potential benefactors' patience by breaking their strange tools until he had a better idea of what was going on.

In his temporary panic over the needle, he had moved his left hand halfway across his body. Settling back down, he became uncomfortably aware of one heavy weight dangling from his wrist and another, far too warm one, suddenly lying across his lap.

Looking down, he found himself staring at a mouthful of very pointy teeth, the tongue poking out between them a blood-red that would shame any normal beast. A small yip of dismay escaped, and he started back, earning a wave of red-hot agony from his right arm. His left hand reached unconsciously for the offending region, dragging the amulet, chain looped firmly around his wrist, across his chest.

The great cat's head moved along with it.

Hissing between his teeth, Jack Sparrow grunted as the weight of the jaguar added an extra burden to his breathing.

"If you really don't want to kill me, mate, I'd suggest movin' your great big carcass."

The cat didn't respond, and the pirate frowned in consternation, raising his head to look again at the godling. Its cream-colored throat was turned upward, pink nose touched to the pendant, and he could see the movement of its throat as it breathed, the motions shallow but steady. He moved to turn its face downward, tentatively extending his left hand, wary of the creature's bite.

There was no independent movement from the jaguar, though, and his fingers danced lightly across its fur, pressing down on its nose until he could see its eyes. Closed, not tightly but with the loose certainty of unconsciousness.

"Doubt this was what you had in mind when you pulled your stunt." His fingers stroked through the fur, noting that it has fallen from its usually-meticulous condition. The fibers were still smooth as silk, though, the texture a far cry from anything a mortal beast would sport. "You'd make a gorgeous coat, Billy old mate."

The cat's weight was still an uncomfortable burden across his healing chest, and he gently pushed at the head with his left hand, not wanting to wake the creature. The beast didn't respond to the pressure, remaining stubbornly in place… until the pendant fell to the side.

The movement was sudden but smooth, perfectly controlled. Pink nose following the movement of the amulet, the cat's body poured behind it, a tawny waterfall. Moving the amulet more to the side moved the cat's body off him entirely. Dangling it over the side of the bed caused the creature to sink through the seemingly solid surface, maintaining its posture in relation to the metal.

"Huh. Jaguar on a string. Interesting."

By twisting, dragging and flipping the amulet, he was able to maneuver the great cat so it was resting mostly on the bed, as little of it floating in midair as possible. It was just bloody disconcerting for something he could touch, which seemed to have mass and substance, to be completely defying all known laws of the universe.

Never mind that it was apparently a godling. Some things just shouldn't happen.

Still, it was kind of fun to have control of the cat. Until it woke, he could do just about… well… anything to it. A mischievous grin spread across Sparrow's face.

"How much d'you like spinnin' in circles, Billy?"

"Sir? Are you all right?" The question was spoken softly, the voice behind it sounding well-cultured.

It took the pirate captain a moment to realize that the speaker was addressing him. Settling his pendant-heavy arm on the side of the bed as surreptitiously as he could, Jack turned his grin on the lad in the doorway. "Been a while since I've been called sir, son."

The young man didn't comment, though he did smile, the expression a bit strained. "It's good to see you're awake and coherent."

"Good to be awake. Was a while there I was wondering if I might not have pushed my luck a bit too far." He watched from beneath the lad's arm as he checked the numbers on the various machines around the bed, making notes in a chart.

Wherever, whenever they were, fashion sense for servants certainly hadn't improved. The lad's clothing seemed to consist of a single layer, an undershirt and trousers that should probably have been returned to the dyers for another round of coloring. No one could possibly desire to clothe their servants in something that looked like a sack and had the same coloration as a pile of rotting grass.

Then again, thinking back on some of the noblemen he had known, maybe they could.

"You were lucky. Had a good ER team." Apparently satisfied with what the numbers were telling him, the young man turned his full attention on the pirate captain. "How much do you remember?"

"Depends on what you're asking me to remember." Jack grinned at the young man, sinking further down in the bed, making himself look as helpless as he possibly could. "Though I do remember a rather fetching young lady who allowed me to keep my amulet. Pass along my thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." Boredom colors the young man's voice, boredom and a determined stoicism to see a hard job through. "Now, I'm going to just look you over, then I'll fetch the doc, have her come in and explain your condition and what they did. After that, cops have a few questions they'd like answered, as well."

The last bit was said in a tone that mixed grudging respect with resentment. It was a voice he had heard many times before, and he had a sinking suspicion about who these 'cops' were. "Is that really necessary?"

"You came in with a GS—gunshot wound. Cops've already been all over you, you just weren't with it enough to notice. You're a bit old to be running with a gang, y'know."

"Gang?" The boy's lexicon again danced maddeningly on the verge of comprehension.

"Oh, come on. You come in all cut up and shot up, have other people's blood on you, too… had to be a gang fight. What happened, rest of the crew bale on you? Usually if there's a bad rumble we've got at least a half dozen, sometimes two dozen in the ER." The boy gesticulated as he spoke, but there was a slightly self-conscious air to both gestures and words.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." And neither did the boy, not really, not if his body language was anything to go by. Still, it was going to be difficult if whoever served as the harbingers of Law and Order in this strange land began speaking in riddles, as well.

"Yeah, well, best start coming up with some kind of story then." A faint blush rose to the young man's face, an embarrassed flush tinged with disgust and resentment. "Right, questions first. What's your name?"

He briefly considered the merits of lying versus telling the truth. Lying would mean they knew less about him, always a good thing. Unfortunately, given the strangeness of this world, it would be incredibly easy for him to talk himself into a corner without even knowing it. The likelihood that he would always respond to a pseudonym, given his current condition, was only about fair.

So, best of both worlds… a bit of truth and a bit of lie.

"Jack." He smiled, thinking of a certain lad and lass who would be either amused or exasperated or most likely a combination of both if they were to hear him. "Jack Turner."

"Uh-huh." The boy nodded, adding additional marks to the chart he still hadn't put down. "Address?"

"No address, mate. Or at least, no permanent one." He shrugged, careful to make it a small movement with only his left shoulder, at the boy's frustrated expression. "I've worked a few dozen ships in my time. Not sure where the last one is at the moment."

"Are you an American citizen?"

The pirate managed to keep his jaw from hitting his chest, but only just barely. An American citizen? What in the name of all the deities out there who didn't want him cursed or dead did that mean? "Could you clarify a bit, son? North or south?"

If the boy had rolled his eyes any further back in their sockets, they probably would have fallen out. "You're a damn Canadian, aren't you? Always going on about how both continents are America and not just the US should call themselves Americans and really, it's just ridiculous, I mean—"

"Spanish by birth, man of the sea by choice. I just work merchant vessels, no privateers or any such like, so no matter which side of whichever war you're on, I won't be worth too much." The words came out in a slightly desperate stream, the pirate captain willing to do anything to cut off the young man's political diatribe.

The young man who was now staring at him as though he had grown an extra head. "You're not one of those insane historical reproductionist people, are you?"

"I'm just an honest sailor, mate, who'd like to get out of this, quick as possible." The words were mostly truth, and Jack was dismayed to hear a hint of desperation in them. Just a hint, and the young man before him seemed too dense to pick up on it, but the fact that it was there to be heard at all was bad.

"Well, you seem to be doing well. Dr. Kele will be by shortly, like I said before. Last question, the one people always dread most. Do you have insurance?"

Jack Sparrow stared at the young man. The young man stared back at him. No further information or clarification seemed to be forthcoming.

"No?" This was a fair guess, considering he didn't even know what the lad was talking about.

"No, or no, you don't want to tell me?" A wry, disdainful smile twisted at the young man's mouth, and if he wasn't fairly certain it would hurt like hell Jack Sparrow would have been up and slapping it off the boy's face before two seconds had passed.

It had been ages since he had felt so lost. He almost wished the balaam would wake. Even if it was being smug, disdainful and patronizing, at least it did so in a completely comprehensible way.

That, and there was something about gods and godlings that made condescension a bit less personal. The balaam would undoubtedly have treated the King of England with the exact same regard it had treated Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate extraordinaire.

"No, I don't have insurance. That going to be a problem? Because really, if it is, all you've got to do is present me with me effects, point me in the right direction, and I'll be a-totterin' away from here faster'n you can say Captain Jack S—Turner."

"Minor problems with that being that the cops have your effects and I'd be amazed if you could totter to the john, let alone to a ship. So I'd suggest just cooling your heels." The ruddy annoying man sighed, digging up a sickly-sweet smile. "As for insurance, while it is preferred, of course, Boston—"

"Boston? The American Boston? The little hyper-religious—"

"Boston Medical Center's mission is to see to it that all citizens from all walks of life are provided with the utmost in care. A payment plan will undoubtedly be worked out upon your discharge."

The false smile fell away before a true grin, one that the pirate captain didn't much like the looks of.

"Until then, I'm sure you'll have a ball with the students."

It was some time later that a woman, dressed smartly in a white coat and trousers that certainly didn't seem to have been tailored to fit a man, slipped in the door. Her skin was darker than the boy's had been, the ruddy brown that he had always associated with the natives.

Coming hard on the heels of everything else, neither her dress nor the fact that she was apparently in a position with some authority came as a surprise.

"Mr. Turner, I presume?" She didn't bother to ask for admittance, but the smile she presented was friendly, as was the hand she extended. "You've been quite the talk of the town, you know."

"Really?" He smiled back at her, though he didn't take her hand, instead allowing his left hand to remain buried in Billy's silk-slick fur. He could almost have believed the cat shifted slightly; he didn't want to miss any other signs of returning consciousness. "I didn't think I'd done anything that memorable. Not yet. I usually remember when I do memorable things. It's usually when I'm on my way out of wherever I am, not on the way in."

There was the muffled sound of laughter from the hallway, followed by a sharp gasp of slightly pained repression. Someone was definitely listening to their conversation.

"Well, I don't know, something about a strange man in exotic getup suddenly appearing outside the doors to the ER—just as a strange surge makes all the cameras on that half of the building come up with static for thirty seconds—and sporting a half-dozen wounds from ancient weapons… In the last week I've heard that you're an alien, a time-traveler, and my personal favorite, part of a reality TV show gone horribly wrong." The smile she wore grew, as though her statement had been humorous.

Figuring that when in Rome do what the Romans do, even if it seemed incredibly stupid, the pirate captain returned the grin. There were humorous things about this place, all right, though they didn't quite include what she thought they did.

"Now, Mr. Turner—"

"Jack, if you please." Hearing himself called by Bill or Will's name was starting to grate. It would certainly get his attention, though, which was all a pseudonym had to do.

"All right, Jack. You may have heard that the Medical Center is a teaching hospital. Correct?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "Now, what this means is that we take students from the University—Boston University, that is—and we have them follow us on rounds. This gives them a more first-hand view of how the field works, and gives us a chance to tell if they really know gastritis from glossitis. Now, several of them got to oversee you in the ER, during surgery, and as part of the previous follow-ups. Would you mind if they tagged along for this one?"

"Not at all. Bring the little buggers in." The more he could see of this world, the better equipped he would be to survive in it until he could wake his transportation back up.

The 'little buggers' were actually full-grown men and women, people who would have long been doctors or nursemaids (or witch-women) in his own world. Then again, most doctors from his own time probably wouldn't have understood half of what was coming out of their mouths. He understood the Latin bases of about half their strange words, but that didn't make things all that much clearer. It was a bit comforting that the old nag of a language was still limping around even in this time and world, though.

And hell, Ana-Maria would be pleased to hear there was a place where women stood easily with men, in male clothes, and did the same work.

Would be pleased to hear if he ever got back to tell her, that was.

His hand clenched tight in the jaguar's fur, but the female doctor was urging him to sit up and lower his nightshirt, obviously in preparation for prying at the bandage on his right shoulder and chest, so she would likely think it a fist of pain. Still, he had best be cautious about letting his reactions show so plainly. It wouldn't do to raise more questions with these people, and it certainly wouldn't do to get into the habit when Billy might be waking up at any moment to see.

The adhesive substance they had used to attach the bandages to his skin came free relatively easily, though they pulled a bit at the small hairs. It intensified the ache from the injuries, though not by too much, a fact for which he was grateful. Craning his neck up and his head to the side, he got a decent look at the injuries. Most were healing nicely, already covered by thick scabs, no hint of the black rot that could eat a man from the inside out showing.

He could tell by the look on the doctor's face that she wasn't pleased with what she saw, though, and a second examination showed why.

A circle of puncture wounds wrapped around his shoulder, starting dangerously close to his neck, dipping below his collarbone, finally trailing back up around his bicep and disappearing onto his back. Where the other injuries were obviously healing nicely, these seemed fresh, as though they had just happened. One was already dribbling blood again, a thin stream trickling across his chest.

Gently settling the bandage back in place, the doctor gave him a smile which almost managed to hide her concern. "I'll have someone in to replace these ASAP. Everything looks fairly good, though. No sign of infection. You should be good as new before you know it."

Except for where the little godling had bitten him, but she didn't know that, and he certainly wasn't going to explain it. Damn the beast, it managed to hurt him even when it was saving his life.

She waited, obviously looking for him to nod in understanding and encouragement before she turned her attention back to the students. He did as expected, favoring her with a gold-laced smile as he unconsciously moved his left hand up, a unintentional move to protect the damaged tissue. The motion dragged the cat up onto his chest again, earning a startled gasp. Whirling about in concern, the female doctor moved to grab his hand, lips already forming what would either be a concerned question or a sharp reprimand. Possibly both.

He knew the moment her hand touched the great cat, and not just because the words died in her throat, her eyes taking on the glassy, fixated stare of the terrified and the dying.

It was the moment the great cat woke.