Rose did not lose any time. Jack had drowned and it was her fault; she had insisted they save the sailors, but she would not let him die. The Captain of the Dutchman must not take him. There were ways to deal with drowned persons; she could do this!

First she must turn him belly down. While fighting to roll over the heavy body, Rose tried to recall more in detail the pamphlet she had received from the beach patrol in Atlantic City last year, when she and her mother had visited relatives there. There had been pictures of the lungs and heart, with descriptions of how it all worked and how breathing could be restored with the Prone-Pressure Method of Artificial Breathing. Always curious and interested to learn new things, Rose had memorized the simple steps.

"Move back!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Give me space!"

But to her surprise all the sailors had gone; she was not even in the small dinghy anymore. This was another boat, with a larger deck and a different color. Here there were only Jack and her – and Captain Turner and his crew, who had lined up behind him, respectfully holding their hats in their hands.

"You can't take him." She moved to straddle Jack's thighs. "He's not dead yet."

"His heart has almost stopped," said Turner.

But Rose did not listen. She placed her hands flat on Jack's back under his shirt, her thumbs meeting at his spine and her fingers spread out like eagle wings over his lower ribs. Then she moved her body forward and pressed down, using her own weight to give momentum to the action. A gush of water flowed out of his mouth, and she leaned back, relaxing the pressure to allow air to be sucked back into the now empty lung. Then she repeated it; press down – relax – press down – relax.

Soon she had a steady rhythm going. This was easy! No more water came out, but still she saw no sign of breathing.

"Miss Dawson... This is pointless." The captain spoke in a sensible voice.

"Shush. You're distracting me. Go to the Barnacle – your wife wishes to see you about sword forging."

Press down – relax – press down – relax.

"Forging?" He sounded surprised, but thankfully he did what she asked and left.

Good. She hated having an audience when she was busy.

Press down – relax. Why would Jack not move? He had not been down for many minutes. How could he be so far gone in such a short time? She wanted to shake him, tell him to stop pretending.

Press down – relax. Press down – relax. Just when she was beginning to like him, too. Even though he was dead (but he wasn't! Not yet!), he looked beautiful. He had such a finely chiseled face, almost aristocratic with that straight nose and jawline. Press down – relax. Press down – relax. The thick bump on his forehead disfigured it slightly though, where the falling mast must have struck him. Was that why he had drowned? Was he unconscious because of the hit? She wished there was a doctor around to tell.

Press down – relax. Press down – relax.

Her arms felt like jelly. How long was one supposed to do this? The pamphlet had just said to keep it up until the person breathed on their own again. As if it were that simple.

Press down – relax. Press down – relax. Press down – relax.

What had he used on his eyelids to make them look so black? Whatever it was, apparently did not smudge in water. Press down – relax. Maybe she could ask him for makeup advice when he woke up. Press down – relax. Press down – relax. For he would wake up.

"Shall I take over for a while?"

Rose nearly lost her rhythm before she recognized the voice. "Bill! I'm glad you're here." She pressed down and relaxed. "Yes, please do. I'm exhausted."

As Bill bent over the body and took over, Rose tiredly slumped down beside Jack's head. There was rose-tinted foam around his lips and she wiped it off with her sleeve.

"Wake up," she said. "You can do it." She stroked his wet hair behind his ear, noticing how hot his skin felt. "He's warm. He wouldn't be if he was dead, would he?"

"Don't ask me, I ain't the captain," panted Bill.

Rose put her palm on Jack's forehead to check for a fever, and nearly jumped when he gasped, drawing a short breath.

"He's breathing! Stop pressing." She waved to Bill, her gaze intent on Jack's face.

No movement. "Resume! He's stopped again." She bit her lip in concentration as she tried to find a pulse.

Under her fingertip she suddenly felt his jugular. It was throbbing quickly, like the heart of a small animal. "His heart beats! No, don't stop. Don't stop – he's still not breathing, but his heart is working. He's not dead!"

Remembering the last part of the life-saving instruction, Rose began to rub Jack's limbs, trying to massage his blood back towards the heart. He drew in air again, and new pink bubbles appeared on his blue lips. She wiped those off too, while Bill stilled his motion.

Jack's eyes popped open and he drew more breaths, short, panicked gasps, and his hand came up to clasp Rose's arm painfully.

"It's okay, you are safe now," she soothed, trying to loosen his fingers. A bruise was already forming.

Still gasping for air, Jack scrambled onto his feet, his eyes wide and frightened. Then he leaned over the railing and threw up, more pink froth and yellow bile. Slowly his breathing calmed, but he kept dry heaving a long while.

Rising from the railing, he unsteadily turned to Rose. "Horribl'," he croaked accusingly. "Dun' make me drown ag'n."

Her eyes filled with happy tears. "Ungrateful bastard." She threw her arms around him but at his groan of pain she quickly backed off. "Oh, sorry. You may have broken a few ribs... it's a side effect of artificial breathing."

"Violent woman." His voice was still not more than a hoarse whisper, but his lips had quirked up slightly and he actually did look grateful.

"Well, seeing as he's not dead anymore, I'd better take you two back to that fishing boat," decided Bill.

Just like that, they found themselves aboard a much smaller vessel crowded with foreign sailors, and against its mast, Captain Turner and Elizabeth were clinging on one another like grapevines.

They reluctantly came apart upon noticing the new arrivals, and Turner raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Jack? But... Your heart had stopped."

"I started it again," said Rose proudly. "With modern science."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm really glad to see you, Jack," said Elizabeth and moved to hug him.

"Don't!" Rose held her back. "His ribs are cracked. I think he needs to rest below deck."

"Stop fussing," croaked Jack with a scowl at her, and beckoned impatiently to the crate where they kept the silver. "Forging. Tell'im."

"Oh. Right." Elizabeth quickly explained to her husband how they had struggled to find a silver sword, and how they now needed his help to make one.

"One can't forge swords aboard a ship, and as you know, I can't go ashore." He threw out his hands.

"I know, but we planned to forge it on the shore. You could stand in the water and do it."

"Complicated, but I guess it might work..." He sounded hesitant. "But do you have blacksmith tools? A hammer, an anvil, tongs, chisels? And a forge oven?"

"Well, we didn't know exactly what you needed... we thought we could buy it."

"I don't have time for that." He looked pained. "You know I can't linger."

"I know..." Her shoulders slumped.

"Why don't we get all the tools, and then we meet up somewhere?" Gibbs suggested. He was standing behind the wheel, keeping the Barnacle still. The wind had calmed but the waves were still high. "Let's say, in two weeks time, on a suitable island."

Will Turner nodded. "Works for me."

"Great!" Elizabeth pulled him in for an enthusiastic kiss just to show how pleased she was.

When she finally released him, he described in detail what he needed for the forging, and then they decided on an island they all knew of. Apparently Elizabeth and Jack had been marooned there on a previous occasion.

"Of course it must be that one," Jack rasped. He was busily drinking his fill from a dark bottle. How come he always found rum, no matter how grave the situation?

The two unlucky lovers said their farewells, a little less drawn out than last time since they would meet again relatively soon, and then Captain Turner disappeared along with his bleak ship.

"What shall we do with them?" Gibbs indicated the bedraggled sailors who huddled together in the stern.

"Let's drop them off at the nearest port," Elizabeth decided. "They probably have families looking for them."

Rose meanwhile turned her focus back to Jack. He was slumping, supporting himself heavily against the railing, and his forehead had become moist with sweat.

"You really must lie down," she insisted, and this time he did not protest. She led him below deck and helped him stretch out in his rope hammock, still clutching his bottle protectively.

His face was flushed and when she felt his cheek it was burning hot. Her worry returned. She had thought he would be safe once he started breathing, but now she was not so sure anymore.

"I will try to cool you off. If it's alright I'm fussing."

"By all means, fuss," he murmured, closing his eyes. His voice sounded less hoarse now; that at least was an improvement.

Rose fetched a bucket of sea water and soaked a cloth, placing it over his forehead. "I thought you said not to fuss," she said, unbuttoning his shirt and folding it up. Talking nonsense made her think less about how concerned she was.

"There was no time then – there is now." His lips twitched. "I'm not the kind of noble fellow who would rather die than be coddled with."

"You like being coddled? Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all." She soaked another two cloths and placed one in each of his armpits. "Feeling cooler?"

"A little."

"After I've gone through all this trouble to save you, you'd better survive."

"I will." He sounded so certain she almost got convinced. Perhaps he would. Was he not the famous Captain Jack Sparrow?

A/N:

The method Rose uses – the Prone-pressure method – is not to be recommended. It was what they did in her time (early 1900), but today the most effective way to save a person with no heartbeat is rescue breaths combined with chest compressions (30 compressions - 2 rescue breaths - repeat).

The Prone-pressure method probably did save lives though, as it forced water out of the lung and air into it, and the heart was compressed slightly, helping the blood circulate the oxygen and increasing the chance it started beating again. But since this method is not nearly as effective as the modern one, survival was low back then (and even now, survival rates of drowned victims are only around 7% if the heart has stopped, and complications such as pneumonia are common).

However, as we all know, Jack Sparrow is one very lucky bastard. I'm sure he'll be one the few percent who would survive such an ordeal! ;)

As usual, votes and comments make my day. Thank you all! ♡

Image Credits:

Screenshot from the Titanic.