Norrington looming over him, a dagger in his hand while Jack's blood was soaking his shirt, was decidedly not good. Nevermind the fact that it hadn't been Norrington who put that hole into him, that he probably would be dead without the man; Jack was still rather certain the whole mess was his fault. Perhaps Gibbs had been right for once, and working together with his Majesty's Navy really was bad luck.

And really, he held a fair amount of dislike for Navy officers with sharp objects looming over him. They usually were detrimental to his health.

Weakly, he tried to push the hand holding the dagger away from his shoulder, quite difficult with his sword arm hurting like hell and the world blurring in front of his eyes with every movement. Besides, Norrington was being bloody persistent, cutting off his shirt's sleeve.

"That's me only shirt!"

"Long past time that you got yourself a new one, then."

"I liked it."

"Yes, I can smell that." The way Norrington wrinkled his nose seemed quite exaggerated for a man who spent his life shipboard, but then, perhaps the powder of his wig usually filled his nose so he couldn't smell anything while wearing it.

"Navy officers. Don't usually let them at me with sharp objects if I can help it. Don't usually let them near me at all, all things considered."

"It's called dressing your wounds, Sparrow." Bloody hell, Norrington wasn't amused by this, was he?

"It's called survival instinct."

"It would seem yours is not very well developed then, else you would let me stem the bleeding." That Navy bastard really was amused. No way that superior smirk said anything else.

To give him credit, Norrington's voice did turn serious at his next words, a frown creasing his brow. "The cut is deeper than I thought. It will require stitches." He firmly tied the cut sleeve in place to stem the bleeding. Jack really must have lost more blood than he had thought, because he imagined seeing a hint of sympathy in the pale green of Norrington's eyes as the man rose.

"Stay here," Norrington admonished, as if Jack were a child.

"What if I run off?"

An exaggerated shrug. "Then I will have one problem less to handle, and you will have the trouble of finding a surgeon."

Without awaiting a retort, he closed the door and Jack could hear the steps creaking as Norrington walked them down.

Jack groaned and resettled himself on the pillows, leaning back a little further and allowing his eyes to fall closed. Even if they were supposedly on the same side for this venture, he wouldn't allow Norrington to see in how much pain he truly was. His face fell again as he thought about the stitching, because he just knew that would hurt like hell, although he was fairly certain that at least Norrington knew his business. Wasn't much the man wasn't good at, coming to think of it, because Jack surely hadn't expected him to be near as good with a sword as he had proven. Very impressive. But still, the stitches would hurt even worse than the cut already did, and he really didn't fancy screaming his soul out in front of his nemesis-become-ally. But the point was that screaming actually helped. Gave something other than the pain to focus on.

Rhythmical footsteps announced Norrington's return even before the door cracked open. Jack quickly schooled his expression into his most charming—the Commodore would probably call it infuriating—grin.

"Still here, then?" Norrington carried a clean bandage, in which several other items were wrapped up.

"Observant as always. You really have to decide. One time, you want to capture me and don't want me to disappear, say, out of your little brig, and all of a sudden, you do. Not very consistent."

A short pause, those aristocratic features set firmly, but a strange gentleness entering them. "While I want nothing more than to finally find some rest, I am not going to let you bleed to death here. Just sit back." Perhaps Norrington was exaggerating a little, but the blood was soaking through the makeshift bandage already, and Jack was admittedly feeling a little more light-headed than usual, probably even more than he thought, because again there was that flash of sympathy in Norrington's face.

Norrington settled his burden on the nightstand, pulled a bottle out of it and pressed it into Jack's good hand.

"Here. I thought you might appreciate that before I start with the stitches."

It was rum. And whatever Norrington's part in this miserable situation, Jack forgave the man at once as he stared at the bottle in his hand, uncorking it with his teeth and taking a greedy gulp. Not only was it just a thoughtful gesture to provide him with some inebriation for the impending stitching, but it was downright wonderful to give him rum. Jack thought he might just kiss Norrington.

As if the rum had set off that train of thought, Jack had to notice that Norrington actually looked good without that dead rat atop his head, eyes averted as he sat there for a while, wordless, waiting for the drink to set in, then as he unwound the bandage around Jack's shoulder again and cleaned the cut with a towel.

Jack took another gulp, then yet another, deeper one, as he watched Norrington thread the needle. Norrington looked up, questioningly, and after another swallow, Jack set the bottle aside and nodded.

With another of those seemingly sympathetic looks, Norrington handed him the towel, waiting until Jack had lodged it into his mouth, before poking the needle through the skin.

It wasn't the worst pain Jack had ever been in, really just a nuisance compared to the slow agony that had earned him the long, ragged scars on his arm; he'd shrug it off if he had to. Still, it hurt and he bit down savagely on the towel in his mouth, tears stinging in his eyes, but no sound escaping.

Norrington worked quickly and efficiently, and though the cut was long and required sixteen stitches—at least Jack had counted sixteen—he didn't take long, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. He cut the thread with a dagger, the same one he'd used on the shirt before, Jack noticed, and then tied the bandage in place.

A quick surge of panic when Norrington picked up the rum bottle, but he only took a short pull, tipping back the bottle and allowing Jack to notice a really lovely expanse of white skin on his throat as he swallowed, before he gave the rum back to Jack, where it belonged, as far as Jack was concerned, even if Norrington had bought it. He drank from it greedily, relieved as the pain slowly receded.

Norrington just sat there, regarding him thoughtfully, and with more rum in his less blood, Jack could only affirm what he had noticed before, that beneath all that brocade and horsehair, a fine figure of a man lay hidden.

That deep, velvety voice interrupted his thoughts. "You are a braver man than I had thought."

Realising that probably was as much of a compliment as he'd ever get from the Commodore, Jack grinned at him, "And you a more compassionate one."

Norrington looked at him for a moment, as if unsure how to take that, and then smiled ever so slightly. Jack offered the rum again. This was more of an understanding than he'd honestly ever expected them to reach, even with working together, and he'd be damned if they didn't drink on it.

Norrington smiled again, a bit more than before, then took a deep drink. Good man. Could obviously hold his rum without going into a fiery frenzy of a hangover come the next morning.

Admittedly, Jack liked it even better when he returned the bottle again, their hands brushing and eyes locking with the same fire that had driven them in the swordfight earlier. After a moment, Norrington looked away, and Jack decided to let him ignore it, although he only took a small sip before setting the rum aside and slumping back completely into the pillows.

"Are you fit to sail in the morning?" Norrington asked, and Jack'd be damned if that wasn't true concern in his voice.

He considered proclaiming himself just fine, but then had a better idea. A plan where pretty brown hair and prettier green eyes played a great role. "'m fine, mate, though still feeling a bit weak."

Norrington seemed to accept that and nodded. "I'll stay here and watch over you tonight, then."

Excellent.