Drabble: 'Surrender' (J/E, Gibbs - PG)
A triple drabble, really, for the 'Handkerchief' prompt, with thanks to hereswith for editing.
~ Surrender ~
Though it had been raining drearily for days, Elizabeth thought Jack would wait upon her shortly after the Pearl docked. But it was Gibbs who came, instead.
"Jack guided the Pearl through the Devil's Throat, then took to his bed while the rest of us brought her in. He's been struck down by a cold. Says it's worse than the bloody Kraken."
Elizabeth gaped. "Are you sure it's only a cold?"
"Likely turn to an inflammation of the lungs soon. He's bad, and not the best patient, neither."
*
The cabin door creaked, making Elizabeth wince. She closed it behind her and approached. Jack lay shivering under the covers, his hastily discarded clothing in a sodden pile on the floor beside it.
One eye barely opened. "'Lizbeth. Go 'way."
Her lips twitched. "I will not." She gestured toward the corner of the cabin, where dozens of white handkerchiefs, freshly laundered by Ragetti, were strung on lines to dry. "You appear to have surrendered."
He groaned.
She sat down beside him on the bed, put a gentle hand to his forehead - hot! - then drew from her coat pocket the small, ornate flask she'd brought him and removed the stopper. "Here's a gift for you. Drink some."
He pouted, suspicious, but the gleam of jewels and shining silver were irresistible, of course. He struggled onto one elbow and accepted the offering. Sniffed the contents. Took a sip. "It's good. What's in it?"
"That's a secret. It's a cordial, a recipe of my mother's."
"You made it?" He drank another sip. And another. Then his rheumy eyes peered from beneath those absurdly long lashes. "Not just another pretty face."
She smiled. "Me or the flask?"
"Both." He sipped again, then sighed happily and said to her, "Seems I'm not ready to surrender, just yet."
~.~
~ Surrender ~
Though it had been raining drearily for days, Elizabeth thought Jack would wait upon her shortly after the Pearl docked. But it was Gibbs who came, instead.
"Jack guided the Pearl through the Devil's Throat, then took to his bed while the rest of us brought her in. He's been struck down by a cold. Says it's worse than the bloody Kraken."
Elizabeth gaped. "Are you sure it's only a cold?"
"Likely turn to an inflammation of the lungs soon. He's bad, and not the best patient, neither."
*
The cabin door creaked, making Elizabeth wince. She closed it behind her and approached. Jack lay shivering under the covers, his hastily discarded clothing in a sodden pile on the floor beside it.
One eye barely opened. "'Lizbeth. Go 'way."
Her lips twitched. "I will not." She gestured toward the corner of the cabin, where dozens of white handkerchiefs, freshly laundered by Ragetti, were strung on lines to dry. "You appear to have surrendered."
He groaned.
She sat down beside him on the bed, put a gentle hand to his forehead - hot! - then drew from her coat pocket the small, ornate flask she'd brought him and removed the stopper. "Here's a gift for you. Drink some."
He pouted, suspicious, but the gleam of jewels and shining silver were irresistible, of course. He struggled onto one elbow and accepted the offering. Sniffed the contents. Took a sip. "It's good. What's in it?"
"That's a secret. It's a cordial, a recipe of my mother's."
"You made it?" He drank another sip. And another. Then his rheumy eyes peered from beneath those absurdly long lashes. "Not just another pretty face."
She smiled. "Me or the flask?"
"Both." He sipped again, then sighed happily and said to her, "Seems I'm not ready to surrender, just yet."
~.~