Against Impossible Odds part 3
Title: Against Impossible Odds
Author: artemismuse
Status: wip
Rating: R
Era: WWII
Warnings: Spoilers for all movies
Summary: Jack and James have a much-needed talk, and James has a proposition for Lizzie.
"You rang?" Jack lounged in the doorway. Riotous colors from his Hawaiian shirt almost blinded Jameson as the Sergeant swayed gently from side to side of the doorframe, as if in a breeze. Or drunk, which was also a strong possibility.
"Yes, and I hope you brought a wheelchair with you, because I'm dying to get out of this bed, and they won't let me do it for fear I'm going to strain something. Which is perfectly ridiculous, because my legs are fine and all they need is a good stretch, but you'll have to wheel me past all the doctors first."
"Not to worry, I come prepared." He waggled his eyebrows at Jameson. "Climb aboard." Jameson played the part of invalid well while Jack struggled to look innocent as he wheeled by the nurses and flirted with each one. "Just popping out for a bit of fresh air, luvs, we'll be back before you know it. And did I ever mention you've got lovely eyes, the most beautiful-" he peered closely at the nurse, "brown I've ever seen." Well, a good defense is a good offense, or something like that, Jameson thought once they'd made it outside, and plunged right in.
"Sergeant Jack Spirrell? Isn't that a bit obvious?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," the other man said, but he looked shifty as he said it, confirming Jameson's suspicions. Though he probably always looked shifty, Jameson reflected. This was Jack, after all.
"Oh, I think you do," he said, getting up from the chair. "Captain Jack Sparrow." Jack looked utterly delighted.
"Say that again."
"Jack Sparrow," Jameson repeated.
"Once more, with the 'Captain' thrown in this time." Jameson rolled his eyes.
"Captain Jack Sparrow-" Jack shivered and let out a sigh, plopping himself down into Jameson's recently-vacated wheelchair without waiting for permission.
"Lordluvaduck, you don't know how long I've been waiting for someone to call me by my proper name. I knew you'd put two and two together when I told Lizzie to give you that compass. I said to myself, this is just what I said, I said, 'self, James is a bright lad, he'll know what's what.' Lizzie's still a bit clueless, mind, but she never was the brightest star in the bunch, so we'll give her time. Lovely girl, though. Don't know what you were thinking, going off and almost getting yourself killed before you could even meet her this time round."
"Jack? You are a dimwitted, rotten scoundrel of a pirate if I recall you right, and-"
"Yes?" Jack looked at him anxiously. "You aren't going to shoot at me, are you? I really hate it when people shoot at me."
"No, I'm not going to shoot you. As much as my former self recoils at the thought of saying this- I am so glad to see you." Jameson clasped Jack's hand tightly. "I thought I was going mad. But you're here, and- were you brought back to life, too?"
"No," the officer said with a smile. "The Jack you see before you now is the same Jack who you so vehemently pursued in your former life."
"How is that possible?"
"I went looking for the fountain o' youth, mate. And I found it."
"So you're immortal?" Jack inclined his head.
"Categorically, impeccably, indisputably, inherently, undeniably, positively, emphatically. That's what one drink'll do to you. And I stay as pretty as I am now, just so long as I go back every century or so and refill this." He tapped a flask at his hip. "Not so good as rum, mind, but what can you do? You can only ask so much of the Aqua de Vida. Though, you know, if you splash just a drop or two on your bashed-in bits, I imagine it'll have interesting healing properties. Speed you to a miraculous recovery and all that."
"Can't hurt," Jameson said, and took the offered capful to flick on his stitches and his head. "Hang on a minute. You were a pirate in my last life, weren't you?"
"Still am, Jamie me boy, just a different kind. Change with the times and all that. So I take it you remember most things from your previous stint as James Norrington, Commodore of the British Navy, Scourge of the Caribbean?" Jameson nodded.
"It pretty much all came back to me when the plane went down, and anything that was missing has been rapidly filled in by being around Lizzie- and her 'dreams'. But you seem to know more than you're saying, too."
"An astute observation."
"Why did I come back? Why did Lizzie?" Jack winked at him.
"Had something to do with Will- nice lad, captained the Flying Dutchman a couple centuries back. You remember Will: long hair, nice hat with a feather, kinda girly. Pirate. Stole your girlfriend. Anyway," he continued hurriedly at a dark look from Jameson, "part of his duty as Captain of said Dutchman was to ferry souls lost at sea to the other side. Savvy? But his dad sort of made a mistake runnin' you through wiv' a piece o' wood like that, and your soul wasn't exactly what we like to call 'at rest'. So Will and Calypso- sea-goddess, lovely girl, wee bit mental, took me on some fascinating jaunts to the future-"
"Jack-"
"They talked it over, and she wanted to give you another shot at the happiness you were originally meant to have with the lovely Lizzie, it being sort of her fault Will washed up ashore in the first place. Funny story, that."
"Could you please get on with it?" Jameson sighed impatiently. "Need I remind you that the man I was would not have hesitated to run you through? I'm beginning to understand why."
"Right, right. So they struck a deal- he'd be released from ferrying the dead and such in ten years' time and be able to live a lifetime with Lizzie, if he agreed to forfeit his right to be reincarnated. Now, normally the Dutchman gets two shots at life: one for his duty and one to replace the life he gave up, savvy?" There was a glint in Jack's eye, as if challenging James to say anything about the anachronistic word. He didn't. "But there weren't any guarantees Lizzie would turn up in that life, her not being cut in on that deal, so anyway, he gave it to you instead. And now you've got your second shot. And so does she, thanks to Calypso. Happy endings all 'round. Provided you shag-" he saw James's glare and launched into a prolific coughing fit, "-snag her this time, anyway. Now, we best be getting you back to your bed before the lovely Lizzie has me head off." Jameson sighed and climbed back into the chair. He had a lot to think about, not the least of which being Jack's crudely phrased yet admittedly appealing suggestion.
"I heard about your miraculous recovery from Jack, and I just had to come down and see it myself. No one else seemed to know a thing about it." Lizzie folded her arms skeptically. "Have you two concocted some sort of scheme to get you out of here ahead of schedule?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Jameson said with a twitch of his lips. "He just poured some water on me from the fountain of eternal youth, and bam!" He snapped his fingers. "Cured."
"Sure he did," she muttered. "Now, seriously, Jameson, how are you feeling?"
"Miraculously recovered," he replied. "Take a look for yourself." He unbuttoned his shirt and pushed the covers down on the bed. "Inspect away." Lizzie gulped. With any of her other patients, this would not have been a problem; most of those marriage proposals were facetious, anyway. But this one- well, between the strange and erotic dreams she'd been having lately and her strong physical attraction to the fighter pilot, this situation could turn dangerous very fast if she didn't get a grip on her hormones. Professional nurse, she reminded herself, and stepped toward him. Her eyes widened in surprise. His incredibly fit, trim body was also now incredibly healed. All the places where his stitches should be were thin lines of scar tissue that looked like they'd been there forever- like they were old wounds, not new. She touched one with a tentative finger, bewildered. She traced a line down his chest to his navel, admiring the dark trail that lured the gaze to where it disappeared beneath his low-slung pajama bottoms. She found herself wondering how far down it continued and just how thin those pants actually were. When she looked up at him, he was staring at her with those disconcertingly intense green eyes. She suddenly couldn't breathe, and she had a curious sense of déjà vu.
"Why is it whenever I'm around you, you always knock the air out of me?" She remembers that, too, James thought.
"Does it feel like falling off a pier in a corset?"
"Very much like- did I tell you about that part of my dream?"
"No," he said, smiling. "But that's what happened to the woman in that past life I told you about. She fell off a pier because she couldn't breathe, just as I'd proposed to her. That's where things went all wrong, actually." It sounded as though James was the man from her dream, and she was the woman from his recollections. But of course, that was impossible. He must be toying with her. Lizzie stiffened, busying herself with checking his head wound. Which was also no longer there. She ran her fingers through James's soft hair and watched him close his eyes and lean into her touch. Her heart had long since given up racing and was currently applying for a job as a tap dancer.
"Well. Ah. Strangely enough, Jack was actually right for once," she said, drawing away from him and straightening her skirt. She adopted a brusque, professional manner. "You have indeed miraculously recovered, for no reason that I can explain. I should be able to get you a full discharge and send you back to your duties as early as tomorrow, provided there are no relapses. It's most strange. I've never seen anything like it. I don't suppose I'll be seeing you any longer, Commander Weatherby, so I wish you all the best, and do try not to get yourself blown up." He heard the quaver in her voice- she was going to miss him, but it wasn't productive to get too attached to anyone in wartime, especially someone in his precarious position. He could see the thoughts going through her head.
"Now, wait just a minute," he said before she could leave. "I'm not letting you slip through my fingers again that easily. From what I understand, you helped save my life, so I'm in your debt. That requires, at the very least, an evening of dinner and dancing." His gaze was hypnotic, and Lizzie found herself lured back toward him.
"Oh," she said faintly, weak in the knees. "Does it?"
"Indeed. Come back here, Lizzie," he said, patting the bed beside him. "Do you like me?"
She was unsure of how to respond.
"Certainly. I make it a point to like all my patients."
"That's not what I meant. I'll ask again: do you like me?" The response she'd planned to sound elusive and coy flew right out of her head, and she ended up telling him the truth in a breathy whisper.
"More than anyone I've ever met." This pleased him, she could tell. She clapped a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.
"I'm glad to hear that. So you'll have dinner with me." It wasn't really a question, so she just nodded, hand still over her mouth. "Good," he said, leaned in and kissed the spot on her hand where her mouth would be. "Now, much as I hate to suggest it, perhaps you should check on your patients who are actually sick. Until tonight, then."
Author: artemismuse
Status: wip
Rating: R
Era: WWII
Warnings: Spoilers for all movies
Summary: Jack and James have a much-needed talk, and James has a proposition for Lizzie.
"You rang?" Jack lounged in the doorway. Riotous colors from his Hawaiian shirt almost blinded Jameson as the Sergeant swayed gently from side to side of the doorframe, as if in a breeze. Or drunk, which was also a strong possibility.
"Yes, and I hope you brought a wheelchair with you, because I'm dying to get out of this bed, and they won't let me do it for fear I'm going to strain something. Which is perfectly ridiculous, because my legs are fine and all they need is a good stretch, but you'll have to wheel me past all the doctors first."
"Not to worry, I come prepared." He waggled his eyebrows at Jameson. "Climb aboard." Jameson played the part of invalid well while Jack struggled to look innocent as he wheeled by the nurses and flirted with each one. "Just popping out for a bit of fresh air, luvs, we'll be back before you know it. And did I ever mention you've got lovely eyes, the most beautiful-" he peered closely at the nurse, "brown I've ever seen." Well, a good defense is a good offense, or something like that, Jameson thought once they'd made it outside, and plunged right in.
"Sergeant Jack Spirrell? Isn't that a bit obvious?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," the other man said, but he looked shifty as he said it, confirming Jameson's suspicions. Though he probably always looked shifty, Jameson reflected. This was Jack, after all.
"Oh, I think you do," he said, getting up from the chair. "Captain Jack Sparrow." Jack looked utterly delighted.
"Say that again."
"Jack Sparrow," Jameson repeated.
"Once more, with the 'Captain' thrown in this time." Jameson rolled his eyes.
"Captain Jack Sparrow-" Jack shivered and let out a sigh, plopping himself down into Jameson's recently-vacated wheelchair without waiting for permission.
"Lordluvaduck, you don't know how long I've been waiting for someone to call me by my proper name. I knew you'd put two and two together when I told Lizzie to give you that compass. I said to myself, this is just what I said, I said, 'self, James is a bright lad, he'll know what's what.' Lizzie's still a bit clueless, mind, but she never was the brightest star in the bunch, so we'll give her time. Lovely girl, though. Don't know what you were thinking, going off and almost getting yourself killed before you could even meet her this time round."
"Jack? You are a dimwitted, rotten scoundrel of a pirate if I recall you right, and-"
"Yes?" Jack looked at him anxiously. "You aren't going to shoot at me, are you? I really hate it when people shoot at me."
"No, I'm not going to shoot you. As much as my former self recoils at the thought of saying this- I am so glad to see you." Jameson clasped Jack's hand tightly. "I thought I was going mad. But you're here, and- were you brought back to life, too?"
"No," the officer said with a smile. "The Jack you see before you now is the same Jack who you so vehemently pursued in your former life."
"How is that possible?"
"I went looking for the fountain o' youth, mate. And I found it."
"So you're immortal?" Jack inclined his head.
"Categorically, impeccably, indisputably, inherently, undeniably, positively, emphatically. That's what one drink'll do to you. And I stay as pretty as I am now, just so long as I go back every century or so and refill this." He tapped a flask at his hip. "Not so good as rum, mind, but what can you do? You can only ask so much of the Aqua de Vida. Though, you know, if you splash just a drop or two on your bashed-in bits, I imagine it'll have interesting healing properties. Speed you to a miraculous recovery and all that."
"Can't hurt," Jameson said, and took the offered capful to flick on his stitches and his head. "Hang on a minute. You were a pirate in my last life, weren't you?"
"Still am, Jamie me boy, just a different kind. Change with the times and all that. So I take it you remember most things from your previous stint as James Norrington, Commodore of the British Navy, Scourge of the Caribbean?" Jameson nodded.
"It pretty much all came back to me when the plane went down, and anything that was missing has been rapidly filled in by being around Lizzie- and her 'dreams'. But you seem to know more than you're saying, too."
"An astute observation."
"Why did I come back? Why did Lizzie?" Jack winked at him.
"Had something to do with Will- nice lad, captained the Flying Dutchman a couple centuries back. You remember Will: long hair, nice hat with a feather, kinda girly. Pirate. Stole your girlfriend. Anyway," he continued hurriedly at a dark look from Jameson, "part of his duty as Captain of said Dutchman was to ferry souls lost at sea to the other side. Savvy? But his dad sort of made a mistake runnin' you through wiv' a piece o' wood like that, and your soul wasn't exactly what we like to call 'at rest'. So Will and Calypso- sea-goddess, lovely girl, wee bit mental, took me on some fascinating jaunts to the future-"
"Jack-"
"They talked it over, and she wanted to give you another shot at the happiness you were originally meant to have with the lovely Lizzie, it being sort of her fault Will washed up ashore in the first place. Funny story, that."
"Could you please get on with it?" Jameson sighed impatiently. "Need I remind you that the man I was would not have hesitated to run you through? I'm beginning to understand why."
"Right, right. So they struck a deal- he'd be released from ferrying the dead and such in ten years' time and be able to live a lifetime with Lizzie, if he agreed to forfeit his right to be reincarnated. Now, normally the Dutchman gets two shots at life: one for his duty and one to replace the life he gave up, savvy?" There was a glint in Jack's eye, as if challenging James to say anything about the anachronistic word. He didn't. "But there weren't any guarantees Lizzie would turn up in that life, her not being cut in on that deal, so anyway, he gave it to you instead. And now you've got your second shot. And so does she, thanks to Calypso. Happy endings all 'round. Provided you shag-" he saw James's glare and launched into a prolific coughing fit, "-snag her this time, anyway. Now, we best be getting you back to your bed before the lovely Lizzie has me head off." Jameson sighed and climbed back into the chair. He had a lot to think about, not the least of which being Jack's crudely phrased yet admittedly appealing suggestion.
"I heard about your miraculous recovery from Jack, and I just had to come down and see it myself. No one else seemed to know a thing about it." Lizzie folded her arms skeptically. "Have you two concocted some sort of scheme to get you out of here ahead of schedule?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Jameson said with a twitch of his lips. "He just poured some water on me from the fountain of eternal youth, and bam!" He snapped his fingers. "Cured."
"Sure he did," she muttered. "Now, seriously, Jameson, how are you feeling?"
"Miraculously recovered," he replied. "Take a look for yourself." He unbuttoned his shirt and pushed the covers down on the bed. "Inspect away." Lizzie gulped. With any of her other patients, this would not have been a problem; most of those marriage proposals were facetious, anyway. But this one- well, between the strange and erotic dreams she'd been having lately and her strong physical attraction to the fighter pilot, this situation could turn dangerous very fast if she didn't get a grip on her hormones. Professional nurse, she reminded herself, and stepped toward him. Her eyes widened in surprise. His incredibly fit, trim body was also now incredibly healed. All the places where his stitches should be were thin lines of scar tissue that looked like they'd been there forever- like they were old wounds, not new. She touched one with a tentative finger, bewildered. She traced a line down his chest to his navel, admiring the dark trail that lured the gaze to where it disappeared beneath his low-slung pajama bottoms. She found herself wondering how far down it continued and just how thin those pants actually were. When she looked up at him, he was staring at her with those disconcertingly intense green eyes. She suddenly couldn't breathe, and she had a curious sense of déjà vu.
"Why is it whenever I'm around you, you always knock the air out of me?" She remembers that, too, James thought.
"Does it feel like falling off a pier in a corset?"
"Very much like- did I tell you about that part of my dream?"
"No," he said, smiling. "But that's what happened to the woman in that past life I told you about. She fell off a pier because she couldn't breathe, just as I'd proposed to her. That's where things went all wrong, actually." It sounded as though James was the man from her dream, and she was the woman from his recollections. But of course, that was impossible. He must be toying with her. Lizzie stiffened, busying herself with checking his head wound. Which was also no longer there. She ran her fingers through James's soft hair and watched him close his eyes and lean into her touch. Her heart had long since given up racing and was currently applying for a job as a tap dancer.
"Well. Ah. Strangely enough, Jack was actually right for once," she said, drawing away from him and straightening her skirt. She adopted a brusque, professional manner. "You have indeed miraculously recovered, for no reason that I can explain. I should be able to get you a full discharge and send you back to your duties as early as tomorrow, provided there are no relapses. It's most strange. I've never seen anything like it. I don't suppose I'll be seeing you any longer, Commander Weatherby, so I wish you all the best, and do try not to get yourself blown up." He heard the quaver in her voice- she was going to miss him, but it wasn't productive to get too attached to anyone in wartime, especially someone in his precarious position. He could see the thoughts going through her head.
"Now, wait just a minute," he said before she could leave. "I'm not letting you slip through my fingers again that easily. From what I understand, you helped save my life, so I'm in your debt. That requires, at the very least, an evening of dinner and dancing." His gaze was hypnotic, and Lizzie found herself lured back toward him.
"Oh," she said faintly, weak in the knees. "Does it?"
"Indeed. Come back here, Lizzie," he said, patting the bed beside him. "Do you like me?"
She was unsure of how to respond.
"Certainly. I make it a point to like all my patients."
"That's not what I meant. I'll ask again: do you like me?" The response she'd planned to sound elusive and coy flew right out of her head, and she ended up telling him the truth in a breathy whisper.
"More than anyone I've ever met." This pleased him, she could tell. She clapped a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.
"I'm glad to hear that. So you'll have dinner with me." It wasn't really a question, so she just nodded, hand still over her mouth. "Good," he said, leaned in and kissed the spot on her hand where her mouth would be. "Now, much as I hate to suggest it, perhaps you should check on your patients who are actually sick. Until tonight, then."