I Pass All My Hours
Sparrow was asleep when James arrived at the gaol. Rather, he was feigning sleep, eyes closed, chest rising and falling steadily, but one hand clenched too tightly for slumber.
James pressed his hands against the steel bars and watched Sparrow, certain that he was aware of his presence. Without preamble, James said, "I can do nothing for you."
Sparrow's eyes snapped open, bright and mocking in the lantern light.
"Pardons are at the Governor's discretion, and Swann's mercy has been exhausted on Will Turner. You will hang in the morning."
James had not come to ask Sparrow's forgiveness (a ridiculous notion, when the man, no matter what good he'd done, was certainly guilty enough to hang many times over), but under the circumstances, he felt that he ought to face Sparrow. And say. . .what? Now that James was here, he hadn't the least idea. He stood there stiffly, until Sparrow rose with nonchalant grace and leaned up against the bars. Their faces were mere inches apart. Some part of James recoiled, but he refused to let Sparrow see that he'd gotten a reaction.
Sparrow's voice was low and intimate. "Don't worry yourself overmuch, Commdore. It was worth it."
"Your vengeance was worth your life?"
"I'd like to have my Pearl back, it's true." A trace of bitterness there, that Sparrow couldn't quite hide. "But we all die eventually, and at least I sent Barbossa to hell first."
James nodded bleakly, wondering at the satisfaction and peace in Sparrow's voice. The pirate would die in a few hours, and he seemed perfectly content; James had everything he'd ever wanted, and it tasted like ashes in his mouth.
"Cheer up, mate. You defeated the dastardly pirates, and won the fair maiden's hand. What more could you ask for?"
What more, indeed?