When the King Enjoys His Own Again

In the cramped brig, Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating off Jack's body. The fever was getting higher, although she'd stripped him to his breeches and sponged his face and chest with the rum from his flask. He'd assured her he had a plan, but damned if he'd told her what it was, and his reticence might well cost them both their lives. At least their captors had not yet realized she wasn't the boy she'd disguised herself to be.

Overhead, they reveled drunkenly. The noise roused Jack from his slumber and he sat up, blinking fever-bright eyes.

"How's your arm?"

"Hurts." He made a warding gesture with his hands. "Don't think you're going digging in there again. Whatever's left in the wound is stayin' in." With that he took the flask from her and upended it into his mouth.

Neither of them spoke for a while, then Jack said, conversationally, "Smells like snakes in here."

"I don't want to know how you know that."

He ignored her and continued, in a sing-song voice, "Medusa, Medusa, let down your hair." He stood, pushing her away. "You'll not catch me that easy."

There was no reasoning with him when he got like this. "Shhh Jack, sit down."

His legs collapsed beneath him and he slid gracelessly to the decking. He peered at her through the gloom. "You're not a woman -- you're but a lad!" He leered. "Serve the same purpose though, if you've a mind. . ."

This was horrible. In desperation, she dumped the meager water supply on his head. He shook his head like a dog, and some of the delirium receded from his face. "Thanks, love." Curtly, he added, "Rest - it's gettin' late."

She didn't ask how he could tell, but stretched out next to him, at war with herself. She'd fought not to care for anyone after Will's death, and not to care for this man in particular, who was heartache if she'd ever seen it. Especially now, when he looked to be closer to the grave with every hour. She held herself rigid in the narrow space, not touching him, listening to the rhythm of his breath. Almost against her will, she reached out and took his hand, lightly rubbing her thumb over his rings. Sleep overtook her.

The next thing she knew, there was a thundering sound, and Jack was shaking her awake. "What'd I tell you! Hear that? It's the Pearl!"

Was this more confusion or could he be trusted? She daren't hope. The cannon fire stopped, and then, through the screams and cacophony of battle, she heard Anamaria's voice, grim and satisfied, saying, "Strike the colors!"

In her excitement, Elizabeth grabbed Jack and kissed him full on the mouth, tasting rum and heat and danger. He returned the kiss, gently. His tongue darting teasingly, he nipped at her bottom lip, and then he pulled back and smacked her bottom. "More of that later," he promised, with a very sane gleam in his eye.