Chapter: Salvage
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Watch your step. Keep your wits about you; you will need them. This city I am bringing you to is vast and intricate, and you have not been here before. You may imagine, from other stories you've read, that you know it well, but those stories flattered you, welcoming you as a friend, treating you as if you belonged.
-- The Crimson Petal and the White, Michael Faber
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"What has he done to deserve this?"
Sophia stared through the gloom at the formless huddle in the prison cell that was Jack. After a seemingly infinite length of time, she turned around to face Will and the nameless guard, her eyes glazed over, irises indistinct against a black pupil. With the assistance of a deep breath, she asked, "Will he not wake? Will he not speak to us?"
Her question remained unanswered. Intently, she stared at Will over the guard's shoulder. How could they possibly break Jack out of jail, now that the guard had decided chaperone their visit? Sophia saw Will thinking, his eyes sweeping around the room for what must have been the twentieth time, searching for a solution. Sophia let out an exasperated sigh. They needed to distract the guard for long enough to render him helpless to prevent them.
Biting her lower lip, Sophia shot Will a meaningful glance. Come on, Will. Play along with me, she thought, hoping that he would get the idea once she acted. And act she did.
"You. . ." Sophia began, her voice breathy and seductive as she spoke to the guard, "must be very brave to keep all of these terrible prisoners in check." The guard's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair as Sophia continued, improvising completely by her instincts what she thought might appeal to this man's idea of a perfect, willing woman. "I think I should like. . ." Halting mid-word, Sophia threw herself towards him, wrapping her arms around the guard's neck and kissing him hard on the mouth. He didn't move for a moment while her lips mashed messily into his, but it didn't take him long to respond and squeeze her tightly corseted torso to his. Sophia had to quell a groan of revulsion as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Never mind. Get down to business, she lectured to herself.
With a sly sidestep she positioned their bodies so that they were perpendicular to the bars of Jack's cell. It would be so easy for Will to give the guard's head a little shove into the metal bars. So easy.
Come on, Will.
It didn't take him long to figure it out. Sophia only had to endure several more seconds of the guard's disgusting tongue in her mouth before she felt the his body jerk and his lips leave hers as Will elbowed the side of his head into the bars. The guard fell in a limp heap to the stone ground, and Sophia stepped daintily away from his unconscious body.
Will stared at her, his eyes wide. Sophia spit with a repulsed "ugh" onto the ground. "I will never do that again," she remarked, her forehead wrinkled as she spit again to rid her mouth of the guard's sour, alcohol soaked taste.
Will was speechless. He had never before seen a woman act as brashly as Sophia had just moments before. "Y-You. . . you. . . what. . ."
Sophia ignored him and bent down to retrieve the ring of keys that hung, defeated, from the guard's belt. Her breath shallow, she tried each one on Jack's door until, finally, the largest iron key slid into the latch. With a flick of her wrist, she turned it and the door swung open while an eerie creak echoed throughout the prison. They were very lucky that it was late and most of the other prisoners were asleep, otherwise Sophia assumed that most of them would have made a fuss.
With Will following, Sophia stepped into the cell. Her hands were trembling but she buried them in the folds of her skirts to mask her blatant fear. She felt like simply dropping to the ground, curling up, and crying out of desperation and terror. But she had to be strong now. Here there was no reason for useless histrionics.
As the duo approached Jack, Sophia could finally see his face, cloaked by darkness though it was. She drew in a breath so sharp that Will glanced at her, alarmed.
He was very thin, but the bruises and swelling on his face made his cheeks seem puffy. His left eye was swollen shut, black and shiny. His lips were split in several places and blood coated the majority of his lower face. One sliver-thin slice across his left cheekbone had crusted over with puss and blood, and Sophia was sure his nose was broken.
The only other part of his body that was not veiled by the rags his captors had given him for some meager warmth was his hand. The little finger looked as if it had been dislocated for some time now, the tendons and ligaments stretched beyond repair. His index and middle finger were broken. The nail of his thumb was hanging from his skin by a thread of flesh. Sophia covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from keening like a mourning widow, and Will just stood beside her, his mouth open and anger sparking in his eyes. After several minutes of shocked horror, Sophia finally stepped forward, her heeled shoes scraping against the grainy stone floor and grasped her skirts in one hand to kneel down.
Jack's right eye snapped open.
Sophia reeled backwards, nearly landing on her rump on the dirty ground. She had fully expected him to be either dead or entirely unconscious, incapable of waking without serious physical pain.
Jack just watched them, silent, as if in a mental stand off with his rescuers. Sophia could see he was alert by the focused quality of his pupils, and yet he did nothing. "Jack?" She breathed, her voice ringing quiet in the darkness, like something soft and clear amidst this hell. Why didn't he do anything? Did he recognize them?
Jack stared at these ghosts of his past life. Couldn't his battered mind spare him the pain of remembering Sophia's face just this once? Remembering took energy, and he had none to spare. He would have moved and swatted at Sophia and Will's images if he didn't know how much it would hurt, just to see them dissipate into mist.
"Go 'way. . . bloody. . . figments," he groaned, his voice so gravelly with thirst that it was almost impossible to understand his words. With a thin moan he rolled over, wincing as his cracked ribs protested violently and rendered him breathless. Thankfully, the images did not follow him. He was left to a dark peace.
Sophia's heart squeezed in her chest when she saw the pain it caused Jack just to move. Figments? He doesn't think we're real. Was he mad? Had these months of solitude destroyed his sanity? She could hear Will breathing in sharp gasps behind her. Ignoring the filth on the floor, Sophia shifted her weight to her hip and sat. She reached out, her fingers trembling as her hand hesitated over Jack's shoulder. She felt her sinuses burning with the effort not to cry as she spoke again. "Jack, can you hear me? We're not an illusion."
Once again, Jack remained silent. With a heartbroken sound deep in her throat, Sophia finally touched him, grasping his arm with the gentle span of her palm.
The effect was instantaneous. Jack let out a hoarse cry of surprise and struggled to his feet with the kind of hidden strength in times of extreme pain Sophia had seen only once before, many years ago in the captain's quarters of The Black Pearl when all the world smelt of sickness and this man was dying of a delusional fever. He'd leapt up then, too, sweat running in rivers down his chest and his balance so effected by his fever that he swayed on his feet as if drunk, and Sophia had underestimated his strength. She would not make that same mistake again. She got to her feet as quickly as Jack had and stepped back towards Will, who's body was so tense that Sophia could see the muscles beneath his shirt.
Jack stumbled, cursing in that same gravelly voice that shocked Sophia because she couldn't recognize it, his knees threatening to buckle beneath his weight, but he finally found the support of the back wall, his broken hands splaying out behind him on the cool stone. His muscles screamed in protest to his rapid movement. He looked at them wildly, his hair hanging in mats around his face. His visions never touched him. Never. Everything was confusing him: the way the room spun, the two people standing before him, the fact that his own legs would not support him. If Sophia and Will were not hallucinations, then they had to be real.
But that was impossible, wasn't it?
Sophia took a cautious step towards him, her ears buzzing with fear and excitement. Jack just stared at her with the eye that was not swollen shut, his pupil following her movements with surprising accuracy for someone in his state. He was still muttering curses.
"Jack, we've come to rescue you from this place. Don't do anything. . . rash," she cautioned. Jack didn't respond, and Sophia kept moving at a gradual pace until she was standing right next to him. He still looked at her warily. She couldn't be real.
He needs to be touched. Sophia slipped off her glove and slowly reached up to Jack's face. She ran her fingertips over his cheek, over the cut that was so badly infected, over his split lip. Jack closed his eyes.
"Oh God. . ." He whispered, and Sophia was relieved to hear his voice sounding like his own. Tears pricked at her eyes as she cupped his face in her hand. "You're real," Jack gasped, his sunken chest heaving with the realization.
Sophia nodded, smiling faintly through her tears. Then, finally spent, Jack collapsed to the floor. Sophia caught him around the middle, despairing at how much it would hurt him and how light he was. Her back arched to support his meager weight. "Will!" She shouted, breaking the man out of his horrified trance. "Help me!" Will rushed to her side and lifted Jack's emaciated form bodily from her arms and set him on his feet. Jack slumped against his rescuers, his chin resting heavily on his chest. "Can you walk?" Sophia asked him.
Jack's shrug was so slight that Sophia could barely see it. "Why not?" He panted quietly as he started to place more of his weight on his feet, but he did it. Despite his pain, he did it.
"Managing alright?" Will questioned, his brow furrowed in concern for his friend as he held him around the waist.
"I always do, Mr. Turner," Jack grunted, offering a pained smile, a mere thinning of the lips. Sophia stiffened slightly as Jack enfolded his arm around her shoulders. Physical contact with this man, however ill he was, still brought back memories.
And so they made their way.
As they passed the unconscious guard Jack glared at him with such vehemence and hatred that Sophia had to actively restrain herself from asking him if this was the man who had tortured him, broken his fingers and beaten him until bruises bloomed like a parody of flowers on his face. Of course it was. Jack's expression answered her questions.
Sophia almost retched, just to rid her mouth of the remains of the guard's filthy taste. Will stared down at him as he lay helpless on the ground and the muscles in his jaw jumped with tension and anger. The trio was silent. Sophia swallowed, and an acute fear that she would suddenly be sick all over herself washed over her. Now was not the time.
As her gaze fell on Jack once more she almost recoiled in surprise. The disgust and fury in his eyes was as sharp as the sword that he usually carried. She'd never seen him look so angry. His pupils burned black with it. An unnerving sense of déjà vu made her vision swim as she remembered Jack at another infuriated moment, one of much more consequence to her.
"No one. . . no one deserves that."
"You bastard."
And then Will took a pistol from beneath his jacket. Sophia didn't know he even owned a gun and started in surprise when she saw his finger tighten around the trigger. "Where did you get that? Will. . . stop. . ."
A shot rang out.
Will turned to them: Sophia with her wide eyes and a broken Jack Sparrow who looked as if his thirst for revenge was only beginning to lie stagnant. For now.
"This is the last time that anyone is going to harm any friend of mine," Will deadpanned, and both Sophia and Jack knew he meant it.
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"Set him down here, Will," Sophia whispered, "and try not to wake him. What he needs now is a peaceful sleep."
Will obeyed silently and laid Jack carefully on Sophia's narrow cot. Jack let out a low groan as his damaged body relaxed for the first time in months.
Jack's legs had finally given out halfway back to The Enchantments. The walk through the busy streets of London had taken a lot out of him and, frankly, she was surprised he made it as far as he did. So Will had picked him up and carried him the remainder of the way, remarking dryly how, in this instance, it was rather a good thing Jack was so thin. Sophia hadn't answered him.
Now, Sophia sent Will to the galley for some hot water to clean Jack's wounds. It was best to do it while he slept and spare him at least a fraction of the pain. Once Will was gone, Sophia began to remove Jack's clothing.
She was surprised to find him still in possession of the familiar garb he always wore, the strange muddle of cloth, jackets, and jewelry. They were ripped and foul, and right away Sophia decided that Jack needed a new wardrobe. His hair was matted terribly but the trinkets that were so endearing to her remained. Not wanting to move him and risk him waking, Sophia simply cut the ruined clothes off of his body with a large pair of sewing shears. Good God, why were her memories playing tricks on her again?
"You'll need t' take th' bullet out, love. It's still in there, I can feel it."
"A wash with warm water would be my advice, love. 'Course, you could always jus' give me a wee rub on th' back and I'm sure that'd work jus' as well."
"Who taught you t' do this?"
"I'm going t' cut your bloody throat for wha' you did t' me, you whoring bitch."
Sophia shook her head clear of memories that had gone hazy with the passing of time. She could hardly place these sudden snippets of conversation in their proper order, much less pinpoint the exact context. With a sigh she finally removed the last of Jack's upper clothing from his feverish body. Another bloody fever.
Sophia's hands froze, and the shears dropped from her fingers.
Jesus.
Jack's chest was horrendously discolored with countless bruises, the majority of which were centered around his ribs, which were entirely too pronounced for Sophia's comfort. He was extraordinarily thin. Various cuts and scraps peppered his skin, most of which were minor but still looked disturbing.
She did not recognize this body as the one that she had known so intimately in times past. It was only when she recognized the jagged scar on his right shoulder, the one that she had helped create with her foolhardy healing tactics, that she assured herself that, yes, this was Jack.
Tearing her bleary eyes away from the destruction of Jack's chest, she focused on removing his breeches. She had no reason to fear Jack's nakedness—God knows she had seen him sans clothes many times before—and when Will arrived he would just have to deal with it.
As she slipped his pants off of his legs her hands brushed over a sizable scab on his thigh. Sizable enough to merit an investigation, at least. Sophia gasped as her fingers traced gently over what she assumed was a recent gunshot wound. She let out a croaky whimper and, defeated, rested her weary head on Jack's injured leg.
"Oh, God. . ."
She didn't have much to cry about, actually. The wound had been taken care of, that much was obvious. It was not infected and healing nicely, although it still must have hurt Jack when he walked. From his inability to walk earlier she had expected a gross, hemorrhaging wound hidden somewhere, rendering him weak and feverish, but there was nothing that serious. She could tell from the bruises that he was bleeding somewhere inside and at least one of his ribs was probably cracked, but it seemed he was in no immediate danger. The fever that made the skin beneath her cheek hot and clammy was likely just a reaction to the starvation, thirst, and exhaustion that he had endured.
And yet she cried.
She had not been there to help him.
After what seemed like hours of desolation, she sat up and wiped her face clean of tears, although she was sure her face was red and puffy, not that it mattered. Having composed herself once more, noticed Jack had begun to shiver in his unconsciousness, and she pulled the sheets up to his waist.
With flawless timing Will chose this time to enter Sophia's cabin, bearing a massive tub of steaming water. He stopped cold at the sight of Jack's battered chest, but Sophia reassured him, "It's not as bad as it looks, thankfully."
"Really?" Will asked with a deceptively light tone that made Sophia think he didn't quite believe her. It was understandable considering how Jack looked. He set the basin on the floor beside the bed.
"Yes. He's been beaten and they broke his hand quite badly, but that's the worst of it," Sophia said quietly as she picked up one of the rags soaked in the water and began to dab carefully at Jack's lip and cheek. After she had cleaned all the blood from his face he looked much better, despite the bruises that could not be cured with a simple cleansing. While she washed him, Sophia took note of Jack's breathing: it was regular but slightly shallow and pained. His ribs were injured, then.
Sophia finally cleaned all of the crusted blood on his chest from the small lacerations and pulled the sheet down to start on his legs. Will gave a cry of surprise. "He's naked! Christ, Sophia! A woman should not have to. . ."
Sophia interrupted him. Her patience for the night had finally run out. "See a man uncovered? Honestly, Will, how do you suppose I could tend to his wounds with his clothes on?" Will was silent in response to this, his mouth gaping at her in shock. "Try not to be a complete dolt, will you?" She added this purely on principle. Men were such idiots sometimes.
Will didn't question her after that except about where the gunshot in Jack's leg came from. "I don't know. I would guess it was the reason he was caught. Not much else would slow Jack Sparrow down, wouldn't you agree?" Sophia offered with a distracted smile.
"That I would," Will answered.
Working in silence, Sophia felt along Jack's ribs until she felt one give more than it should have. "I'm sorry, Jack," she whispered to him as he jerked in his unconsciousness. Thankfully, that was the only one that did, and with the help of Will she wrapped a tight bandage around Jack's chest to assist in its healing.
Then she turned to his hand.
Hands were very tricky, she had discovered over the years. One had to be extremely careful otherwise it was quite likely that the poor patient would never use his fingers again. She searched through her brain for anything she had acquired in the books she had read over the years that could help her, but there was nothing. With a deep breath, she more closely examined his hand. Thankfully they had left the other one alone; it was only his right that was damaged. And damaged it was, extensively.
By touch she determined that every finger besides his thumb and little finger was broken. Most in more than one place. The thumbnail was torn off, but that was not as serious. A sweat broke out over Jack's body, and Sophia was rather shocked that he hadn't woken. Obviously she was causing him intense pain by simply touching his injury.
If he hadn't woken yet, she was sure that he would when she did what she was about to.
Jack's little finger hung at a strange angle from his hand and Sophia guessed that it had been dislocated for at least several days. This was very unfortunate. Sophia knew from careful research—thankfully after her experience on a pirate ship she had read more books about healing—that whatever tendons and ligaments held the finger to the hand could stretch, and once they did they didn't regain their old shape after the finger had been reset. Sophia was quite sure that Jack would never move this finger again.
And when she reset it it was going to hurt like hell.
If she could reset it.
A shoulder was easy; you just gave it a quick shove and it was back in place. But a hand was delicate. She could very easily break his already dislocated finger.
"Sophia?" Will's voice broke her from her haze of thought.
"Hmm? Oh, right," she mumbled, taking a deep breath and carefully gripping Jack's little finger. She budged it slightly, a mere touch, and despaired to see that it didn't move at all. It was going to take force.
"I don't know if I can do this, Will," she confessed, her voice trembling with fear.
Will's eyes softened with sympathy. "I know it's difficult, Sophia, but you've got to try. Jack will thank you for it when he wakes," he encouraged, his large hand fastening down comfortingly on her shoulder.
With a quick nod, Sophia rallied her courage and grasped Jack's motionless finger. And jerked.
Pop.
Sophia opened her eyes, not realizing that she had closed them. She got one look at Jack's hand, his little finger back where it was supposed to be, before Jack let out an animalistic holler and sat up in a rush, his eyes wide and frightened as he tried to understand what had caused him so much sudden pain.
"BLOODY HELL, THAT HURTS."
Sophia just sat there, the feeling finally coming back to her limbs as relief washed through her. She did it. She barely heard Will explaining to the shocked Jack, who was cradling his injured hand to his chest, what had happened. Finally sparing a glance at her patient, Sophia saw the glazed look to his eyes and deduced that he was only just lucid.
Will helped Jack lie back down on the cot. His eyes were drooping and his forehead was burning with fever, but the pain in his hand kept him awake.
"Oh Jack. . . I'm sorry. I'm not finished. The bones in your hand have to be set," she explained, her voice very small. She hated causing him so much pain.
Jack's eyes opened wider as he heard her voice. "Sophie?" A pause. "You're here?"
Sophia rose to sit on the bed so that he could see her face and grabbed hold of his good hand, tears now streaming down her face once again. "Yes." She didn't know what to say.
He was slurring now with exhaustion and pain, sweat collecting in beads at his hairline. "'Was so sure I'd never. . . see you again. . ."
Sophia managed a small smile. "I'm here now. I won't leave for a while yet." Her voice cracked with emotion. "Now, go to sleep for a bit, m'love."
And he did.
Brushing tears from her cheeks yet again, she rose after several minutes of motionless silence. "Will, would you mind bringing me several straight bits of wood for splints?" She asked in whispered tones, her energy spent from that brief conversation.
Will brandished three pieces of wood, perfect for their desired use. Sophia thanked him and set to work.
It was actually easier than she had thought it would be, despite the churning in her stomach that she knew would catch up with her eventually. Setting bones was nasty work, but the breaks were clean and no bones had been shattered. She set them by touch and wrapped all three fingers together with a splint each.
Sophia stepped back and sighed. It was over with, for now. She had done her duty. Now she needed sleep.
"You're welcome to my cot, Sophia. I'll sleep on the floor here and look after him in case he wakes during the night," Will offered sweetly, but Sophia shook her head.
"I'd actually prefer to remain here tonight, I think. Thank you, though," she said wearily. Will left with a shrug.
Sophia did not sleep on the floor. Grimacing as her joints creaked with fatigue, she climbed into bed beside Jack, not even bothering to undress. Careful not to cause him pain, she sighed and curled her body up against his, resting her head on his right shoulder. She could feel the unevenness of his old scar against her cheek before she fell asleep.
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You ask what laws rule "failure" or "success"—
Songs of fishermen float to the still shore.
-- "To the Assistant Prefect Chang", Wang Wei
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Author's Note: Hoorah! A long chapter, finally. Hoorah! They rescued Jack, finally. Lots of things to say "hoorah" about. Plus, it's just fun to say.
Anyway, I hope the speediness of this update sort of makes up for the terribleness of the last.
Have fun, as always, at let me know what you think.
