Dead Men Tell No Tales
Chapter 6
by
Full headers in Chapter 1
~*~
It would have went well. It really should have worked. Next to the window where I saw my James was set of French doors and a small rounded balcony with a marble balustrade. This I could easily tell led to the boudoir of one of the home's occupants. The room's proximity with the other suggested that they may have even adjoined.
So I pointed this out to the mates and told them that we needed to set down on that balcony right there. Fair enough, Mr. Marty agreed and we went about the garden from bush to bush until we were in a position to give our rope a throw. It would have to be quick for it was daylight. Not that I believed any of the poor villagers of Singapore gave a damn about pirates sneaking into the house of a fat English bastard. They certainly didn't give a damn about one sneaking out all those years ago.
Mr. Marty gave the grapple a wonderful toss and it landed as neat as can be on the stone façade above the balcony and caught on the carved granite work that boarded the roof. Mr. Marty gave a tug on the rope to make sure it was secure. I, for one, was feeling quite good about this.
Marty went first, Ragetti second and I last. In retrospect, I can see why it might have been in my best interest to have gone second.
~*~
The wind picked up as they made their climb, and at first it was just a little irritant, nothing to be concerned over. Mr. Marty made it to the balcony, over-shooting the railing and jumping down to the stone platform. He immediately went to the French doors to peer inside and see if he could work the locks. Now, it was not that Mr. Marty's weight was so considerable that the loss of his bulk on the rope made such a difference, but at that time the wind hit them with one good blast that swung the rope out of range of the balcony. Mr. Ragetti looked down at Jack. "Not to worry sir," he said. "I can right us." Jack, of course, did recall Mr. Ragetti's problem with depth perception. The fact that he had overshot the balcony a bit farther than necessary only illustrated this. Jack, on the other hand was about level with the balcony rail. If only he had been near it, he could have just grabbed it and pulled himself all the way onto the balcony. But he wasn't near it, and he was very concerned with what ideas Mr. Ragetti was currently contemplating. The rope began to swing, and Jack looked up to see Ragetti pulling himself hither and yon against it to get the rope in motion. It might have actually worked if Ragetti had understood something about old Isaac Newton's laws. First Jack swung back towards the balcony. At the apex of his swing he came so very close to reaching that his fingertips brushed the marble of the balustrade. Nevertheless, he swung back with a greater force that jarred him against the window sill of the room. His one hand still free from his reach was the only thing that saved him when he completely lost his grip. He grabbed for dear life and managed to swing a leg over too. The next thing he knew, he had hit the floor below the open wind and rolled up to his hands and knees. "So much for sneakin'," he muttered. Then there was an ear splitting scream that made almost everybody in the room cringe in pain. The woman who had issued the scream ran over to hide behind James. "Thieves and villains! Save me, Nigel!" James' frown looked as puzzled as it did vexed. "Who the hell is Nigel?" Jack said. Then Jack noticed Lord Richard Barwell who was running for the door. "Teeks! Grab the guards! Call the militia! We are under attack!" On the way to the door he was tackled by Groves in what was to look like an accidental collision. Both men hit the floor. Lord Barwell's considerable bulk caused the room to shake and the man lay on the floor winded and groaning. Groves went to the man, all apologies, as if he was going to help. Jack stood at this point, also noting that Groves had whipped off his coat and thrown it over what looked to be a six-brace of pistols. Bright lad! James, on the other hand, lifted what looked to be an ornamental scimitar and pulled the blade from its sheath. He trained the tip at Jack. "Oh, yes," Jack said in quick understanding and pulled his own blade. "Eeeeeeeeeek!" the lady behind James squealed again. "Oi! Luv, please stop with the screaming," Jack said with a cringe. "You'll make all the dogs in the area go deaf." "Back, you filthy cur!" James said authoritatively. "Now sir," Jack said with a flinty smile. "Don't go spoiling for a fight you may not be able t' finish." "Oh, I will finish it," James replied with a sparkle of mischievous challenge in his eyes. Jack quickly scanned the room, taking it all in within a split second and analyzing down to the minutia: statues, gems, rugs, tapestries, curiosities, weaponry, three men and one woman, a closed door and an open window. Jack lunged forward in attack, and James responded beautifully with a parry that moved him to one side so that Jack could get a closer view of a group of alabaster statuettes. He turned his head back to James in time to see him pull the insipid little wench with the piercing scream from behind him. "Lady, you will be safer out of the way," he said very kindly but he pushed her off with perhaps a spot too much force. She stumbled over to where Groves and Barwell still sprawled on the floor. James kept his eye and his sword on Jack. His face was immobile and sober, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. James was about to enjoy himself. Having gone against James once in sword-play before (but with Will as a disastrous distraction) Jack knew how ruthless the man could be. He was like a deadly dancer with the proper weapon in his hands. The slim scimitar was lovely; the hilt had gold filigree, much like James' old sword crafted by Will. This blade suited James well, and together, weapon and wielder were poetry. If Jack hadn't been so ready for the fight, he might have found himself aroused. James next move was like lightening striking and Jack barely countered it in time. His blade caught the quicksilver motion of the scimitar and brought the motion through to knock it to the side. James reacted quickly; bringing the bright blade back in a slice that would have taken Jack's head from his shoulders if he had not ducked. Jack smiled. His James was testing his skill and Jack was up to the deadly challenge.
~*~
Sweetling!
~*~
They paced each other and tested reflexes with each feint and lunge. James was light and graceful, moving as if he was born to swordplay in much the same way birds were born to fly. Jack knew that it was only his own athleticism and lack of fear that made him any sort of match for James. And the scimitar seemed to fit his hand. The blade sung as it sliced the air with precision. It rang like a bell every time it made contact with Jack's blade. The morning light through the open window caught the quicksilver beauty of the blade as it danced through the air under James' command. The glow was picked up in the jewel-like sparkle of James' eyes as he looked at Jack like a hawk sizing up its prey. Jack could not help but smile. He had never seen James shine so vibrantly. James was deadly beautiful, but Jack knew not to let his bedazzlement get the better of him or the fight would end in a manner that neither of them intended. Instead, Jack set himself the task to observe his James' form in comparison to his own. It was only then that Jack noticed something very important.
~*~
My sweetling has never handled a blade like this before. The curve on it makes some strokes quite different, and yet he moves it in cuts and strokes like one might move a straight double-edge or cutlass. This would be a big mistake if I were another sort of scallywag. Luckily I tend t' be in love with him.
In love or no, there are other ways to take the advantage.
~*~
Taking a scimitar to thrust is probably the biggest mistake of all that could be made. Jack had only to wait until his James' obvious move from his current position would be to take the thrust to make his opponent give space. It was easy to maneuver James into the spot. But when James made the jab, Jack didn't jump aside but spun into James along the inner curve of the blade. Jack made sure his own blade was down, but he took James by the wrist to wrestle the scimitar from his hand. There was no fight at all, much to Jack's sudden surprise as he found he held both swords and James sat on the ground after a mild push that wouldn't have toppled a flea let alone a grown man. Jack only puzzled for a split second. James was obviously pretending to let Jack get away.
~*~
And he calls me a depraved opportunist. I must not disappoint him then.
~*~
But first, Jack darted to the table that held the small alabaster statuettes and took the one of Poseidon on the Kraken. He then ran back to the window, looking briefly outside. He noted the rope still swing mildly in the breeze. Jack then looked at the long lace curtains of the window and wondered how much Lord Barwell was willing to spend on fine English lace. He stuffed his sword back into its sheath and the scimitar into his sash. Stepping up to the window sill, he gave a cocky bow. "And today will be remembered as the day that you almost had Captain Jack Sparrow. A little déjà vu for you, my lord," Jack added quickly. He swung out on the strength of the curtain. What he didn't count on was the weakness of the curtain's rod. It gave mid swing, dropping him lower. Nevertheless, he still managed to catch hold of the rope. Hooking his legs on it, he slid down hard and fast to the bushes in the front garden landing flat on his back. Only slightly winded, Jack watched as the rod fixture, made to look like a roman spear, came accelerating down towards his head. Jack didn't even have time to blink when it embedded itself into the ground alarmingly close to his left eye. As he rose from the ground, he felt some of his hair catch against it. Jack pulled away and stood, a little wobbly, but otherwise whole and fine. "Oi!" A shout came from above and then Mr. Marty and Mr. Ragetti slid down the rope as well, bungling, one into the other. They regained their feet quickly. "Gentlemen, it is time to quit the scene," Jack said. He then took to his heels in a sprint away from the town home. After only a second's hesitation, the two sailors followed.
***
The scene in the room was chaos. Lord Barwell was gasping for breath and trying to shout for militia. Grove sat at his lordship's side, trying in vain to lift his huge person with little help from his lordship or anyone else. The Lady Eva resumed her high pitched shrieks which finally attracted the attention of would-be rescuers... and every dog for a quarter mile. Murtogg and Mullroy entered the room along with four men of his lordship's employ. James stood, ignoring the melee behind him. He went to the window and looked out. He saw the remains of the curtain and fixture embedded in the ground. He also saw the rope. Most importantly, he saw three figures escaping into the distance, scrambling over the iron gated wall that separated this community from the rest of Singapore. No one in the confusion of the Lord Barwell's guest chamber that housed Lord Beckett's art collection saw the small sly smile that briefly graced James' lips.
***
~*~
I should take a belaying pin to his thick skull! That bungling, insane, ruddy reprobate! And yet once more he proves that luck follows babes and imbeciles.
I will beat on him with a stick. I swear it!
~*~
James and his men did not return to the docks until well after suppertime, having been delayed by Lord Barwell's paranoid hysteria and the Lady Eva's repeated bouts of the vapors whenever James suggested it was time that he and his associates take their leave. Upon hearing the name Captain Jack Sparrow, Barwell had become undeniably agitated, much to James' chagrin. He sent for a small contingent of marines to be sent down to the docks in search of the infamous Black Pearl. James, hiding his desperation well, tried once more to press his lordship in granting them leave. "Fine gentlemen leaving my home after fighting brigands to protect me and mine, without so much as a drink and hospitality? No sir! I'll not hear of it again! Now sit and drink your brandy." Of course, James knew that Barwell was only trying to be the gracious host who just had two strangers witness his home breached in broad daylight by a notorious pirate. It was utterly a matter of saving face. James therefore also knew that, for the moment, he and his men were trapped by the shallow gestures of good form. Nevertheless, when Barwell's men returned, telling him that no ship by the description of the Pearl was in-dock, James breathed a mental sigh of relief. He looked over to see Groves slowly close his eyes and then open them after some tension dropped away from his brow. It was obvious that Jack knew better than to hang about docked where all could see and anyone could find him after that little misadventure. It was also equally clear to James that the influence of Sao Linjing was at work as well. The men reported that all on the docks had told them no such ship had even been seen in recent days. At long last, James, Groves, Murtogg and Mullroy were able to take their leave of the town home. But dismissal came only after a four course dinner that left James more nauseous than full, especially after watching Barwell eat an impossible amount once again. Where the Pearl had been, sat a small junk, the size of a sloop. The crew was made up of locals, save one. At the junk's tiller stood Mr. Cotton. "Awk! Weigh anchor!" the parrot screamed as Cotton made a broad motion for them to board. The junk took them about the west side of the island, past the poorer fishing wharfs and docks. It passed beaches with rows of long fishing boats with nets drying on the rock and sand shore. They came to the inlet of a river and went on, heading inward for about a mile or more. It was sunset when they finally heaved-to alongside the Black Pearl.
***
"Sparrow!" James walked the deck of the Black Pearl like a swift moving thunderhead. Sailors stepped quickly out of his way, clearing a path to where their captain stood before the doors of the great cabin. Jack's eyes grew wide in dismay and he quickly turned. Fumbling in a panic with the door, he sipped inside before James could reach him. Doors were no barrier to an enraged James Norrington. And it seemed likely that both doors blew inward with a violent crash propelled on James' anger alone, but his hands dropped to his sides. He came in to find Jack cowering slightly behind the navigation table. "Now James, my dearest love, my own heart, my sweetling...." James walked to the other side of the table, glaring at Jack. "You have raised the standards on idiocy," he said calmly. "Be kind, my own, my sweetling!" Jack stood up straighter and dared to smile. He held up the white statuette in his hand. "We have what we came for." James looked at the statuette. "That cannot be the book," he stated. "And you are right," Jack replied, looking more at ease as he came from about the table. "T'is not the book, but t'is the very key to the book's locales." James looked Jack over carefully. Oh, he still wanted to beat him with a stick, but he thought he ought to give him a chance to explain first. It seemed only sporting. But perhaps that was a mistake as James watched Jack advance. His pirate lover knew he had the advantage as long as he held James' attention from his anger. Jack was extraordinarily cunning in knowing what would distract just enough. As he walked to James, Jack's hips took on that particular roll and sway that always stole James' concentration. "Now, luv," Jack said in a sultry purr. "Remember I was in Beckett's employ for quite some time, and I know these statues didn't exist before he had that book." "And why should that matter?" James said, looking down his nose at Jack, trying with all his remaining discipline to resist the seductive force of Captain Jack Sparrow. Jack hefted the statuette. "He didn't know what a kraken looked like. The book had pictures." James frowned as he thought about this small bit of reasoning. It still seemed like disjointed pieces to him. Jack let his hand drop, smashing the statue down on the edge of the navigation table. The alabaster shattered into stones, shards and dust, but Jack held something else. Jack shook the dust from his hand and from the cloth scroll he held, unfurling it in one move. Jack grinned at James as he lifted the cloth for him to see. "Just when I think you are wholly daft and completely dim-witted, you show me yet again that you are, instead, a sheer bloody genius," James said. "You'd do well to trust in your ol' Jack." James took the scrap from Jack's hand. The white cloth, still dusty from the remains of the statuette, was made of silk. On it were markings of some Oriental origin. "Jack, do you know this language?" James asked. Jack came to look at the scripted calligraphy with him. "T'is not Mandarin or Hunan," Jack declared. "Nor is it the tongue of the Johor, the Sanskrit." "Then what is it?" James asked. "T'is the next part in a riddle," Jack answered. "It will require Beckett, I'm sure," James said dourly. It was overdue that they should utilize the man's knowledge after all.
***
~*~
I did not beat on Jack as I had first planned. Instead, I found myself drawing strength from him as we stood as a united front against Beckett. I hadn't told Jack of the previous conversation I had with Beckett. I had hoped I would never need to.
There was a tension in the air as Jack drew the bottle from its resting place and put it on the table. The tension was not just from me but from Jack as well. Beckett was unnerving in life. He is almost intolerable in death.
~*~
::"Where are we now? Knowing Sparrow, hopelessly lost and surrounded by unsavory types.":: "Where we are is none of your affair," James said sternly. ::"May we have a cessation of hostilities, James?":: Beckett's tone seemed to soften for a moment. ::"Is it too much to ask from one English gentleman to another?":: "And what of Jack?" James said critically. Beckett gave a soft chuckle. ::"Jack Sparrow is nothing like us. He has no honor, no breeding. He is of the most common of the common stock. He is a thief and a liar by trade and by admission. He should hardly matter between men of quality, such as ourselves.":: "You elevate me to your level now? When did my blood grow so noble?" ::"The lineage of Norrington is not unknown to me,":: Beckett replied smoothly. ::"But that is not the issue, is it? Can you really trust Sparrow?":: "You speak as if the man is not in the room with us." James' voice held a firm edge of anger. ::"He is of little consequence now.":: "Now that I find amusing," Jack muttered as he went to the cupboard to grab a fresh bottle of rum. He sat in his chair at the navigation table and propped his booted feet up, next to the bottle. "If I can't be trusted, why would you say I don't matter? I find spilling secret alliances in front of blighters I can't trust to be highly unproductive and often calamitous." ::"You wouldn't know how to utilize the information I have to impart, Sparrow. You are too petty and self-interested. Real power would be lost on one such as yourself.":: "Power, eh?" Jack said. "Is that what we are talkin' about now?" "Power over the other company partners?" James laughed. "Don't you see it, Jack? He's trying to tell me that he has a secret to give me that will enable me to take a stake in the East India Company." "Aye, luv," Jack said. "Hear his price first." ::"No price. A gift, from one gentleman to another.":: "You are not renowned for your gift giving," James said in a flat tone. "There was always something you wanted in return." ::"How well I do remember every gift you gave me for that which I gave you.":: Beckett's voice took on a soft tone of innuendo that made James' skin crawl. James hands curled into tight fists and his jaw clenched, but he swore to himself that he would stand his ground. Jack's feet came off the table with a thump. "Bastard! You feculent, scurvy piece of slime," Jack growled, his hand reaching for the bottle. James grabbed it in time. "No Jack," James said softly. Jack looked up at him and James could see the anger that burned in his dark eyes. Rarely did Jack become so enraged. "Do not give him power over us." Jack's eyes cleared and he smiled. "Aye, luv." James took his hand from Jack's wrist, and with deliberate care, he placed the cork back into the bottle. He then sat the bottle back in the jewel box, closing the lid. He turned back to Jack. "Let me speak with him alone." The smile fled Jack's face. "Why's that now?" Jack stood to face James. James took a step towards him. "Please, Jack," he said softly. "Trust in me, my love." James looked Jack in the eyes and he knew that Jack was looking deeply into his own, reading him, judging what he knew against what he believed and what he wanted to believe. The dark storm within Jack's eyes grew turbulent, but only for a moment. Then James saw the mask, the devil-may-care façade, drop neatly into place on his love's face. It stung sometimes to know Jack so well. Now, James could see and understand when Jack's battered heart would throw up the walls to keep betrayal at bay. Jack was prepared to be doublecrossed. "Trust in me," James whispered once more. "Please." He reached out and touched Jack's face tenderly, his finger tips brushing lightly along the curve of Jack's lower lip. Jack took a single step back from James, breaking the contact. He then moved past him to walk out the doors of the great cabin. James closed his eyes briefly as he heard the door shut softly behind him, and he was aware of everything he risked at this moment. James sat in the chair Jack had vacated. With a calming breath, he opened the box once more. He withdrew the bottle and uncorked it. There was a brief moment of silence in the cabin. ::"You managed to send him away,":: Beckett said at last. His voice sounded only mildly surprised. ::"I knew that I did not give you credit enough in the past. Sparrow is not easily controlled, and yet you seem to have him on a short leash.":: "Jack does as he wills," James replied calmly. "I do not control him." ::"Do not discredit the power you have over him,":: Beckett replied smoothly. ::"Surely that is a mistake, much like underestimating his intelligence."::
~*~
Something you have done quite often!
~*~
"I do not pretend to understand all of Jack Sparrow's motives." ::"Wise of you. Nevertheless, he is not too difficult to understand. He fears death, like most men. He has a very good reason to.":: "Jack has seen death. We both have." ::"Jack saw the Locker. That was only one of many different hells that exist beyond. Now, I do not belittle it, you must understand. The madness it would have eventually produced would have driven him beyond all reason to return. Only days in its depths have driven the most rational to repeated suicide. It is hard to kill oneself when one is already dead.":: "My peanut..." James whispered in sudden understanding to something Jack confessed to him not too long ago. ::"But there are deeper hells still,":: Beckett declared. ::"If Jack is smart, which we both know that he is, he would fear them all.":: "That would be wise of any man." ::"Not so,":: Beckett replied cheerfully. ::"If you truly believed this, you would have heeded your vicar and not dallied with a man.":: "My judgment is not at issue here," James said defensively. ::"But it is,":: Beckett challenged. ::"For here we are alone. Obviously, you have taken my offer as feasible to some degree, or you would not have sent Sparrow away.":: James held still for a moment, pulling his anger in. He then placed the silk cloth square on the table next to the bottle. "This," James said in a stern, soft voice. ::"Why not just ask me where the book is?":: Beckett asked. "I know better," James answered flatly. "You have a very shrewd and keen sense of product versus price." ::"That I have. And you have learned never to ask for more than you can reasonably pay for,":: Beckett replied in a lightly amused voice. ::"But you are still so very naive, James.":: "Be that as it may, I still require an answer to this," James said pointing to the cloth. ::"I will give you this much free of charge," Beckett replied. "It's actually in a language Jack understands. Did he lie to you and say he didn't recognize it?" James did not answer. His lips shut tightly. ::"It doesn't matter, all in all,":: Beckett added. ::"It is coded. He couldn't have deciphered the code too quickly.":: "You are a liar." ::"Am I?":: Beckett laughed, making the bottle vibrate once more. ::"Dear James Norrington, we are all three of us liars. You have lied to Jack. I have lied to you and Jack has lied to everyone he meets. Where does the truth hide? Why should I care? I'm dead.":: "But there is something you want," James said in a low voice that was almost a growl. ::"Of course. I want Jack Sparrow... dead. I have for some time now. He knows this. So, if you see fit to send him along to me in hell, I shall give you the key to this riddle and then you shall have the book... for what good it will do you. Oh yes, you must save the sea from us nasty entrepreneurs."::
***
Jack's ear pressed to the key hole of the door, he sat on his haunches, still and quiet, as he listened.
~*~
Aye, luv, he is a liar, and do not give him power over you; over us!
~*~
Jack moved after he heard what sounded like James closing the box. Jack stood and moved away from the door. He looked out on deck at the sailors that stared at him expectantly. Jack turned away, heading below, but he paused briefly on the steps as he heard Ragetti address Pintel: "What does it mean then?" "It means that the Captain and Mr. James are either very smart or very desperate," Pintel replied. Jack continued on down the stairs. He knew that James would know where to find him.
***
~*~
We lie to each other. We lie to ourselves. I must trust in Jack. He has to trust in me or else Beckett will win! It stands on a razor's edge now.
~*~
James went swiftly down to the hold. He rounded boxes and crates stacked high and dusty, waiting to be shifted. He passed the way downward towards the bilges and the brig. James went to where the four great cask of rum sat, roped into place and secure. Jack was there, sitting with his back to one of the large barrels. James stopped before him. There were so many things he could have said to start this conversation. Any number of those things could have been angry and cutting, and he would have been justified. Nevertheless, James Norrington took the chance that there was something more between himself and Jack than blind lust. "I love you," he said firmly. Jack looked up at him, his eyes sad, expressing some inner regret. "I love you, my James," he replied. "Love must mean trust!" James said emphatically. Jack shook his head. "Nay, love. It never has. It never will. T'is some romantic notion that leads fools to believe that trust follows love." James sank to his knees next to Jack. "How can I trust you then?" "You can't." Jack replied. "William and Elizabeth learned this lesson the hard way." "I must trust you!" James said forcefully. "You must trust me!" Jack touched his face tenderly. "The letters are Tamil, but I don't know what the note means, and I swear this to you on the Pearl." "And I believe you, my love," James whisper. He turned his face into Jack's touch, kissing the palm of his hand. He then stood once more. "Perhaps love cannot lead to trust," James said. "But it does not mean that I cannot choose to trust you all the same. Call me a fool. I will trust you, Jack Sparrow." "As many times I have asked you to trust me and you have, you don't need to tell me. I'm a fool, my own sweetling." "No, you are the victim of conditioning, as am I." "Beckett is a filthy liar, but he is right in this one thing: You are a man of quality," Jack said. "But you are as well," James replied softly. "You are a good man, Jack Sparrow." James turned away and left Jack to his thinking.
***
~*~
My sweetling forgives so easily and so wondrously that I am lost in him. How could I doubt him? How could I believe that he would sell me to Beckett? How?
Well, there is that small bit I heard before James put Beckett back in his box.
~*~
::"...Oh yes, you must save the sea from us nasty entrepreneurs.":: "You are a villain." ::"My offer stands. My price is reasonable. Actually, I'm doing you a service. How long before either one or the other of you decides the sea and all its spoils are not to be shared?":: "That is only because you cannot understand what it means to think of another before yourself." ::"And you think Jack Sparrow can? You are indeed naïve, my dear James. How long were you a captain in the navy, hunting pirates? Have you forgotten the very nature of your one-time foe? If you think for a second that Jack will always consider you, then you are a larger fool than I ever expected. He wants you for his immediate pleasure, yes, but once you have moved beyond your usefulness, you will be abandoned. I assure you.:: ::"Think on it, James Norrington. Then consider my offer. It will continued to stand."::
~*~
James said nothing else after this. He did not defend me. He did not call Beckett a depraved, fiendish liar, nor did he reject Beckett's oh-so-generous offer. He simply put that bottle of excrement back in his box.
What am I to believe?
On the other hand, what is James to believe after I followed him to Barwell's home and wasn't square with him on the note in the statuette?
He believes in me.
~*~
Jack left the hold with a filled bottle of rum, coming up to the grand cabin to find his James already with a bottle for himself. James was drinking deeply.
~*~
I will not give Beckett power over us! I came for my James to have him with me forever! I will never turn him away. Beckett lies to him and I must prove this.
I will prove this. I will give him more than just my love. I will give him my trust.
~*~
"I am a fool," Jack said as he knelt before James. "I am a ruddy, stupid, blind, pig-headed, sun-struck, addle-brained fool. I ask you time and again to trust in your Jack, and you do. Why then can't I learn to trust in my James?" James smiled at Jack sadly. "But you do. So many things you have shared with me... so many things you have told me and no other.... 'My peanut?'" Jack looked into James' eyes with dawning realization. There were things buried deep within him, things he never wanted to face ever again that surfaced while he had been imprisoned in the Locker. He had told James of every single one. He had trusted the man with his open soul, and James had known it. He had relied on it. James had always known. Jack just needed to realize and to understand. He already trusted his James, deeply and dearly. "He can't come between us," Jack declared, a smile growing on his face. "He never shall," James replied, as a wicked twinkle sparked to life into his eyes.
***
~*~
Every time Jack drove his tortured existence to suicide in the Locker, every little regret, fault, and failing he felt pushed ten-fold back in his face by his own guilt-ridden sense of failure, every little piece of his beleaguered psyche he had shared with me. As I told Elizabeth, Jack has let me see things of himself that I doubt any have seen. Yes, it does count for something.
~*~
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