But From Thine Eyes

or, Between Love and Hate

Chapter 6

by

Teardrop69

Though he hadn't managed to get any sleep, Jack had done quite a bit of thinking. At first Jack had thought that this was just some poorly thought out plan for James to keep Jack nearby. But the more he thought about it, he discarded this idea. There was no real way for James to keep Jack in prison for any great length of time and not see him hang, and James was smart enough to realize this.

Jack tried to think of any other reason James would have done this, but came up blank. He wasn't ready to believe that James had betrayed him so thoroughly. He'd spent a great deal of time with the man in the past days, and he knew that James was a man of honor. James was indebted to Jack and the rest of the Pearl's crew, and he wouldn't repay that favor by taking advantage of Jack's presence to take him into custody. Jack conveniently overlooked the fact that James had done so on any number of other occasions. He hadn't forgotten, no. Jack didn't forget; but he did overlook. So Jack decided to wait until the good commodore came down to the prison to explain things to him before he did anything rash.

Three days later, Jack was starting to get concerned. James hadn't been down to see him, nor had he sent any sort of message. The only person Jack saw was the prison guard, who introduced himself as Thom Cullen. The guard made Jack uncomfortable; Cullen would often stop and stare at Jack when Cullen would come by to check up on him. Jack hadn't seen this man before; the last time he'd been in this prison he'd been guarded by a soldier from the fort. The previous guard had been killed in Barbossa's raid, and when Jack had been brought back after saving Elizabeth and Will, there hadn't been a replacement. By the looks of things, Cullen had no soft feelings for his prisoners, and Jack eyed the guard warily when the man brought Jack his meals.

Jack spent a great deal of time pacing. Sometimes he'd sing the pirate song Elizabeth taught him; he was very fond of that song. Finally, he was ready to pull his hair out due to his enforced inactivity. He started fiddling with the beads and baubles in his hair, and he remembered the shell he had picked up back at the island. He reached into the pouch he still carried. Though the soldiers had removed his effects when they'd locked him up, they'd left the pouch, probably thinking it was empty. They'd been nearly right; the only thing left in that pouch had been this shell.

Jack dug around in the detritus near the edges of the walls, and finally came up with a fairly pointed rock. Rubbing it against his finger, he tested the strength of that point. Satisfied, he sat with his back against the wall, facing away from the barred door. He began to work the shell with the rock. While he worked, he told himself that James was merely extremely busy; after being away for months, and the loss of a navy ship, there were certainly details that needed to be attended to. Besides, if James had meant for him to hang, he'd be decorating the harbor gibbet by now.

Off and on for another day, Jack worked at the shell. Finally, he'd worked a small hole through the top part; once he'd smoothed the edges, he attached it to one of the long locks of hair that contained other memories. He made sure that the shell was tightly bound to him with bits of thread he pulled from the sash at his waist. Satisfied, he was just about to move to the window for a look at the harbor, when he heard a noise at the door of the cell. Turning, he saw Cullen standing there with his food. The man gave Jack an odd look, but shoved the bowl of food through the bars.

"Don' suppose ye 'ave anything of a fermented nature to wash this down with, mate?" Jack asked, as he had a time or two before. He gave the guard a half smile, and moved to sit down when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The guard stood there smirking, but he also had a nearly full bottle dangling from his hand. Jack's eyes lit up, but he was also a bit wary. The guard didn't say anything, but his smirk widened. He took the stopper from the bottle, and took a healthy swig.

"If you don't want it, I'll drink it. I'll thank Commodore Norrington in the morning, as well." The guard shrugged as he put the stopper back in the bottle.

"Now, don't be hasty, mate. Jus' pass that right on over 'ere." Jack returned to the cell door and accepted the bottle. He ignored the food; instead he pulled the stopper back out of the bottle, and took a long pull. The guard gave Jack an unreadable look, and then walked back up the steps. Jack walked to the window uninterrupted, and took another long drink from the bottle. No ship out there; no sign of James, either. Jack was starting to get discouraged. But a bottle of rum... from James? So it would seem. Another drink and Jack began thinking about how company had made the rum much more appealing the last few times. Soon, Jack was brooding, but after a while, the rum had eliminated even those melancholy thoughts.

Jack awoke to a sharp crack across his cheek. He opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the rum haze and the white sparks that zipped in front of his eyes. He managed to focus just as a fist came at his face again, but when he tried to duck the blow, he realized that it wasn't going to happen. His hands were shackled, and pulled tightly above his head; his shirt was torn down the front, and hanging in tatters from his belt. Jack shuffled his feet, trying to get them under his body. Once he had his balance, he also dimly noted that he had hardly more slack than he'd had before. He was strung up, no doubt about it. And the fist came again, this time to his ribs.

When he'd caught his breath, he tried again to focus; this time, the guard's face slowly swam into view. "Wha's this all about, mate?" Jack slurred. But the man just drew back a fist again, another blow catching Jack across the face. "A'right, we won' be talkin' then, aye?" The one clear thought Jack could pull from deep in the rum was that perhaps he should have offered to let this fellow share the bottle.

The guard's eyes narrowed; from a sheath at his waist, he pulled a dagger. As he stepped closer, Jack tried to kick the blade from his hand, but the guard merely stepped back, and delivered a fist to Jack's stomach. As Jack gasped for air, he felt the sting as the blade slid down his chest. The guard laughed as the shallow cut bled; with a look Jack recognized, the other man raised the blade and made another shallow cut down Jack's chest. Jack knew hatred when he saw it; he could feel the other man's fury with every new, shorter slice. A smile played about the guard's lips, and he swung his empty hand in a back-handed arc.

Jack's vision rolled sickeningly; he tried to find something to pull into focus, but everything just slid out of view. Then he heard the sound of the door to the prison open, and his heart leapt. He only hoped that the person who came down those stairs would care enough to get this madman away from him; he was out of rum, and this man was going for his knife again.

*****

"Cullen! What in the name of heaven are you doing?" Groves was dumbfounded. He couldn't tell if the pirate was conscious or not, but the slow rise and fall of his chest at least proved Sparrow still alive.

Cullen turned and faced Groves, his face wearing a twisted grin. "Just following orders, Lieutenant. Doing the Commodore a favor, as it were." His eyes were feverishly bright; Groves shuddered inwardly at the insanity that stared out of that gaze.

Groves noticed the pirate's head lift for a brief moment, but then his chin fell back to his chest. Lieutenant Groves knew that Commodore Norrington would have never ordered the torture of this man, or any other. But the madness on Cullen's face made him suspect that he'd never get him away from the pirate without very careful manipulation. "I see. I will just go assure the commodore that you're following his orders. I'm sure he'll want to thank you personally; would you care to join me?"

Cullen considered, for a moment then turned back to Sparrow. Groves tensed, knowing he'd never get through the door in time to stop Cullen. Another heavy-handed blow to the pirate's abdomen; then Cullen casually reached up and pulled the shackles from the hook where they were pinned. Jack Sparrow fell to the ground in a heap and lay there unmoving. With a vicious kick to the pirate's ribs, Cullen turned and calmly walked out of the cell.

With a sickened glance back at the man lying in the cell, Groves didn't even bother to close the cell door; instead Groves hurriedly ushered Cullen up the stairs and out of the prison. Groves quickly led the guard across the square to the commodore's office, and knocked on the door. When permission to enter was received, he opened the door, and motioned Cullen to enter first. Groves nearly sagged with relief when he saw that there were already two other soldiers present in Commodore Norrington's office.

James gave his lieutenant a mildly curious glance, which turned to an openly questioning look when he took in the presence of Thom Cullen. However, when Groves paused to talk quietly to the two men that James had been meeting with, and they proceeded to each grab one of Cullen's arms, James frowned.

"See here, Lieutenant. What is the meaning of this?" James stood and came around his desk. He had a sinking feeling that it had to do with Jack Sparrow. As if the entirety of his spare time hadn't been pondering that very subject; a sexy, duplicitous pirate captain languishing in his prison, and not a bloody clue as to what to do with him. Well, maybe one idea. Already there were questions as to why Sparrow hadn't been hanged straight away.

"Sir, there's a problem with the prisoner. You're going to want to come right away." Groves was already on his way back out the door. Behind them, he heard Cullen swearing and struggling, but James also heard the urgency in the lieutenant's voice, and his stomach clenched. What has Sparrow done this time? But that little voice in his head asked James why he hadn't been down to the prison before now, to make sure that all was well.

James pushed past Groves as they reached the prison, and took the stairs with more speed than grace. When James reached the open cell, his first thought was that Jack had somehow convinced Cullen to help him escape, and he stopped.

Then he saw Jack.

James stood frozen there long enough for Groves to catch up to him and brush by him into the cell. The lieutenant had dropped to one knee next to the pirate, when James finally managed to make his feet move. James's stomach had twisted when Groves had told him there was trouble, but now it was roiling horridly; numbly he moved into the cell. Groves put a hand on Jack's shoulder, and rolled him onto his back. Groves was mostly prepared for what they saw, but James's blood chilled when he got a good look at Jack. The lieutenant began to assess the pirate's injuries.

"NO!" James shouted. "No. Go get the surgeon. Now."

Groves nodded and got to his feet; to James it seemed like forever before he heard the door at the top of the stair open and close. James was already on his knees next to Jack, and he quickly removed his coat and propped Jack's head upon it. Jack groaned, and the one eye that wasn't already swollen shut opened to stare up at James. James felt a flicker of panic.

"Com... Commodore," Jack slurred.

James tried to read what was in that cinnamon brown eye, and he saw a spark of something he'd come to think of as purely Jack flicker, then fade. What he saw there instead just terrified him more. No, it's not what's there... it's what's missing. He lost track of that thought when Jack winced. There were so many bruises; one eye was swollen shut, his lower lip was split, and a large purple swelling on the left side of Jack's chest told James that there were ribs that were at the very least cracked. Jack was bleeding from at least two long slashes and maybe a half dozen shorter cuts.

"Christ, Jack, what did he do to you?" James had no idea where to even start to make sense of this. He pulled his cravat from his neck and began to clean the blood away from the deeper cuts, then applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.

Jack was still looking up at James, but the one brown eye that stared up at him was hazy with pain. "The rum... rum's gone, Commodore..."

"What rum... Jack?" James glanced around, and saw the empty bottle. None of this made any sense, but James was damned sure he was going to get to the bottom of this. If only that damned surgeon would hurry! James continued to work at the cuts, relieved that at least Jack was conscious.

James brushed a tangled lock of hair from Jack's face; as he did, his fingers ran across the familiar beads there. He stopped when they brushed across a shell he didn't remember there before. He turned it over in his fingers a few times, before he realized that the action felt familiar. James looked closely at the shell; it looked familiar, so perhaps he had seen it before. Jack had probably told him about this shell.

"Why did he do this?" James tried to remember what he knew of Thom Cullen. It had been months; he couldn't think of any details at the moment.

Jack had let his eye drift shut, but at the feel of James's fingers in his hair, he opened that eye again, and licked his split lower lip. "'E followed... your orders, mate," Jack's gaze skittered away from James's. "Ye win... ye win, Commodore." Jack closed his eye again, missing the stricken look of shock that seized James.

The door to the prison opened, and Groves practically dragged the surgeon down the stairs. James stood and moved out of the way; he knew there was very little he could do to help the surgeon. The man hurriedly set his bag next to the pirate, and kneeled, quickly beginning to work. James pulled Groves out of the cell.

"What the bloody hell happened in here?" James's stomach was still jumping wildly, but his voice was calm, nearly cold.

"Cullen, sir. I came in and he had Sparrow strung up, and this is how I found him." Lieutenant Groves was distressed, James knew. He'd admired Jack Sparrow, not above telling anyone who would listen about the pirate's legendary exploits. Groves was a good military man, and as such would follow any orders that his superiors would give to him; but he also had a yearning for adventure. He wasn't above satiating that craving with stories of pirates, and so Jack Sparrow was something of a celebrity in Groves's eyes.

James sighed, wishing he had the luxury of removing his wig. The weight was annoying, after several weeks without. "What can you tell me of Cullen?"

"He's been in charge of the prison since shortly after we left for England, sir. There'd been a bit of a brawl at the Goose and Goblet, and Governor Swann had the two lads tossed in a cell for a few days. He appointed Cullen as guard, since the soldiers were needed for other duties. He's a widower, if I remember correctly." Groves was watching the surgeon out of the corner of his eyes.

"Alright. When we're through here, I want to talk to Cullen. I want some answers." James turned to watch as well, clenching his fists helplessly.

Groves cleared his throat. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

James spared the lieutenant a glance. "Granted."

"If you're just going to hang Sparrow, why bother patching him up?" Groves sounded hesitant.

James's stomach flipped again at the question. How can I possibly answer that question? The answer is too complex, and the only answer that matters would have us both in the noose. "Because no one deserves to be treated with this kind of torment, Lieutenant. I won't allow a person to be mistreated, just because he's a condemned man." Oh God.

Lieutenant Groves nodded, greatly satisfied with the answer. He hadn't believed that Cullen had been following Commodore Norrington's orders, but breathed easier to hear his beliefs confirmed.

Just then, the surgeon stood and approached both men. "I believe he can be moved. It would be best if he were brought to the infirmary, Commodore." The surgeon had bandaged the cuts, but James suspected that he wanted to get Jack to the infirmary and clean them before any stitching would be done.

James nodded, and sent Groves to bring several soldiers and a litter. It wasn't long before he returned with soldiers and litter in tow, and shortly after that, Jack was safely settled in the infirmary. James didn't want to leave without knowing that Jack would be alright, but he still had to deal with Cullen, so he and Groves returned to his office.

Cullen sat in a chair next to James's desk, his sullen eyes flicking angrily at the two soldiers still guarding him. When he saw James, however, his face broke into a smile.

"Commodore Norrington, please tell these two lackwits that I can go about my business." Cullen sounded so very sure that he would be released, that James was a bit chilled. The man didn't even seem to consider that he'd done something wrong.

"Perhaps we can talk a bit first, Mister Cullen. Why don't you tell me what happened?" James tried to keep his voice level and calm.

"Of course, Commodore. I was just following orders. I figured that you would consider it a favor anyway, since they took your lady too."

James furrowed his brow. "Mister Cullen, whose orders were you following? I'm fairly certain that no orders came from this office."

"Not your orders, Commodore. Hers. Amelie's orders." Cullen began to fidget uneasily. "The pirates deserve to be punished."

"Undoubtedly they do. What do you mean, they took my lady?" James exchanged a glance with the lieutenant who had yet to say a word.

"Miss Swann. They took her, didn't they? When they took Amelie." Cullen was clearly becoming agitated at this point.

"It's alright, Mister Cullen. I'm going to have these two gentlemen take you home. There isn't anyone in the prison at the moment. You should go home." James pulled one of the soldiers aside and gave him instructions, which consisted of not letting the man leave his house until James gave them leave.

James waited until his men had ushered Cullen from his office, then turned to Groves. "You said he was a widower. Amelie was his wife, I assume? I don't remember anything about this man at all."

"Yes, sir. His wife was injured in Barbossa's raid on the town. I believe she passed away from her injuries a few months after. I don't have to tell you how many people were lost that night," Groves said, his face somber.

James ran his left hand over his face; his arm was healing very well, but still splinted. "Very well, Lieutenant. Please inform Governor Swann of what's happened. I'm going to check up on the prisoner, and then I'll be here for the evening, should anything else need my attention."

Groves saluted. "Yes, sir." He left, heading towards the Governor's house.

James waited until the lieutenant was well on his way and then still had to keep himself from bolting out the door in the direction of the infirmary. When he reached it, he took several deep breaths before opening the door and going inside. Once inside, he found the surgeon still working on bandaging the last of the cuts on Jack's chest. Crossing the room, he stood beside the table near Jack's head.

"Has he awakened?" James asked quietly. He didn't want to look at the bruises on that face, so looked at the other man instead.

"No. I'm concerned about the head injuries, but he's probably better off sleeping at this point. Giving him any rum for the pain would only make things worse." The physician finished up with the last bandage, and turned his attention to James. "You want me to take a look at that arm while you're here? I am surprised I haven't seen you before this."

"Perhaps later. What are the chances for his recovery?" Only by keeping a professional demeanor, could James keep from putting his hands on the pirate, checking each and every bruise and cut for himself.

"I can't give you anything definite. The head injuries alone could provide complications. If the ribs don't cause breathing problems... if the cuts don't fester... I don't have a good answer, Commodore. Ask me again tomorrow." The physician lowered the flame in one lamp, and blew out two others before grabbing the last and motioning towards the small room off the main office.

"I'll be there in a moment." James nodded.

The surgeon nodded in acknowledgement, and stepped into his office, closing the door. James looked down at the unconscious pirate; he tentatively reached out and ran his fingers through a lock of hair, his fingers again finding the shell he'd noticed earlier. It still tugged at his memory; he tried to place the story that Jack must have told him about it. He turned the shell in his fingers once more. And then he remembered.

This is the shell I was playing with on the beach. That first day. I KNOW this is that shell. He took it? James fingers shook a little as he set the shell back down. Out of all the stories Jack had told him, all had been stories of Jack's feelings. James couldn't remember any of Jack's stories having to do with anything else. Jack's feelings... James felt the beginnings of a horrid suspicion growing. He ran his thumb gently over the cut on that lower lip, and then went to talk with the physician.

It was dark when James finally reached his house. He removed his hat and wig and tossed them on the credenza near the door. His topcoat was still in the prison; he'd have to remember to retrieve it in the morning. He crossed to the sideboard, where a brandy decanter and glasses sat. He poured himself a generous dose, and taking the decanter with him, he then retired to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. There was no fire; the heat of the day hadn't cooled so much that it was necessary. I miss that about London. There's something about a fire in the evening that's comforting.

James ran his hand through his curling, sweaty hair. I think I made a horrible mistake. That shell...I know I made a mistake. That look in his eyes, I think it's gone... I think it's dead. How could I have misjudged him so very badly? It seems my pride is about to be my downfall again. James took a long swallow from his glass, but his stomach still churned; he'd been so angry at the conversation between Jack and Elizabeth he'd overheard. And when Jack had tried to tell him that he'd like to stay close by, his pride had forced him to try and salvage something from the disaster he'd assumed had been his lot since losing the Myrmidon. I'm doomed. Assuming that he lives, I can't just let him go. For God's sake, I can't hang him. The sailor's eternal dread... stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. I may as well have died on that island, because this decision will be the end of me. James downed the rest of the brandy in his glass, and after refilling it and downing that as well, his stomach had finally began to settle. James brooded deep into the night, unable to find a solution that wouldn't have him lose his life, humanity and heart.

James spent every minute he could risk at the infirmary for the next two days. Jack awoke; but he had developed a fever that the surgeon struggled to keep down. The surgeon had placed Jack in a room by himself, and whether it was on purpose or by accident, Jack was never awake when James came by to check on his condition. James was starting to get frantic that he'd not get to talk to Jack, but he could hardly call the physician a liar when he claimed that his patient was sleeping, and that the fever had yet to break.

It was the middle of the afternoon on the third day, and James was again in the infirmary. He was receiving the news that Jack's fever had gone down somewhat but was still a concern, when Groves entered the infirmary office, his face concerned.

"Commodore, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we've got a situation."

James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. "Lieutenant Groves, I'm starting to dread the sight of you, especially when you show up with news of 'trouble' or 'a situation'." He looked at Groves. "What is it?"

"You're going to want to come outside and see this." Groves gave his commanding officer a sympathetic look, and held the door for James.

When they were both outside, Groves pointed first towards the figure of a man standing near the commodore's office. James squinted, and then his eyes widened. Will Turner was waiting patiently with a large hat in his hands, apparently for a meeting with James. Then Groves cleared his throat, and pointed at the harbor. James had no doubt that Mister Turner wanted to talk to him then. Farther out in the harbor sat three ships and all three were unmistakable to James. The Sparrow's Song and the Black Pearl floated proudly in the fore; further out to sea was a ship he'd given up seeing in Port Royal. The Myrmidon floated there, proudly displaying Jack Sparrow's colors.

James swallowed hard. He was afraid that things were about to get worse for him, a state he'd have sworn was impossible a mere few minutes earlier. He nodded at Groves, and began to walk toward his office. When he reached the young man standing there, he offered a hand. He could see by the look on Turner's face that he absolutely longed to ignore the gesture; but between the innate courtesy the man possessed and the undoubted refinement that Elizabeth had instilled in him, he was unable to be so rude.

"Commodore Norrington. Good of you to spare me a few minutes." Will's voice was cool, but not unfriendly.

James was certain that he'd be able to change that. "Mister Turner. I assume that you are here on behalf of Jack Sparrow. Shall we go inside and discuss this?"

Will gave him a small bow, and waited for the door to be opened. Once they were inside, James moved to stand behind his desk, and offered Will a seat before taking his chair. James considered offering Will some brandy, but he had a feeling this meeting wasn't likely to be that cordial.

"Where's Jack?" Will asked bluntly, placing his hat upon James's desk.

James shifted in his chair. "He's in the infirmary."

Will's gaze grew chilly. "Why?"

"There was... an incident. He's currently getting the best care available in Port Royal. Now, may I ask your intentions regarding the small fleet anchored out in my harbor?" James tensed slightly. He knew that only the Dauntless and another smaller ship, the Cygnet, were in port. If they decided to attack, Port Royal would be in dire straits. He didn't believe that either Elizabeth or Will Turner would attack their home, but he also knew that they had, at very best, tenuous influence over the Pearl's crew, or over whatever crew was currently aboard the Myrmidon.

"We've come with an offer. You have something we want. Someone we want. If you'll return Jack Sparrow to us, we'll return the Myrmidon to you." Will stared levelly at James.

James's temper rose; his first instinct was to declare that the Myrmidon was property of His Majesty's Navy, and therefore not theirs to bargain with. And then he stopped, realizing that his pride was about to bring him down beyond redemption. Will Turner isn't a lad anymore; he's not even truly a blacksmith any longer. He's become a good man, in truth, though one who is willing to be ruthless when the need arises. They do own that ship at this point. Currently there is no way we could take it from them, even if we fought. James took a deep breath, but still he was silent. If I agree to this, it gets Jack to safety, without putting myself or anyone else in danger. The Navy gets the Myrmidon back. Everyone wins. Except you, without Jack, the little voice inside him piped in. And this time he knew the voice was right, though he couldn't afford to listen to it.

"Very well. You'll have Jack Sparrow. But I won't agree to the trade until the physician declares that he's well enough to travel." James prayed that there came a time that Jack would be well enough.

"That's not good enough. You haven't really told me what's wrong with him." Will's voice was still cool, but a hint of steel had slipped into his tone.

"He's been injured. Gravely injured." James proceeded to tell Will the story; his heart sank as the look in Will's eyes became bleak.

"I remember Thom Cullen." Will said no more for a few minutes. Then he said, "You realize that I'm not going to be able to keep this quiet. It's been nearly impossible to keep Elizabeth and AnaMaria from charging up here and demanding your ... er... head... on a silver platter. Elizabeth in particular is convinced that her father will let her have you as fish bait." James couldn't decide if Will looked more uncomfortable or embarrassed with that statement.

"I understand. Please try to make them realize that this was not my intention." James gave Will a direct look.

Will returned the look blandly. "Whatever your intentions were when you captured Jack, I would say that it hasn't turned out as either of you expected. I wouldn't count on 'intentions' being able to make up for this. If you want a bit of advice, Commodore, if you 'intend' for there to be a future for you, and perhaps someone who could be considered involved in this debacle, you should find a way to say 'I'm sorry' rather than denying your culpability."

With that, Will stood and retrieved his hat, and departed. James walked to the door, and watched as Will walked back down toward the docks.

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