A/N: Every time someone says "Fuck you, Jack" in Black Sails, it doubles how compelled I feel to include it in this story once again. Don't know how I'll cope once this story is done and I'll be unable to follow that urge. (Don't know how I'll cope once this story is done in general, but hey ho). This one is slightly shorter, but it's just how things shook out. It was also even more bloody difficult than the Brethren Court, so please validate me x
It took some work, primarily because of how gentle he endeavoured to be, but James eventually managed to slip one arm beneath the underside of her thighs, and the other under her shoulders. He lifted her slowly after that, doing his utmost not to jostle her - and judging by the pained cry that sprang forth from the back of her throat, he did not fully succeed. Theodora's bloodied right hand remained cradled to her chest, but with great physical effort (and yet more pain, he feared, with how every muscle he could feel beneath his hands tensed into steel as she did so) she managed to hook her uninjured hand around his neck.
The eyes of all those gathered followed his movements as he carried her across to the other side, to stand in line with Sparrow, Elizabeth, and Turner.
"You look how I feel, love," Jack murmured.
James winced at the reference - one to times gone by, during which he'd been certain things could not possibly grow more complicated, nor more dire. Now he found himself thinking that if they both - he and Theodora - came out of this alive and well, with any semblance of who they'd once been yet remaining, it would be a miracle indeed.
Theodora wheezed a laugh, and then stifled another whimper of pain as a result, her head lolling against James' chest "F-fuck you, Jack."
"I happen to feel fantastic, darlin', so shame on you for not accepting the compliment," Sparrow's teeth glinted gold as he grinned.
On the other side of the line, Hattie hesitated where she stood, fidgeting for a moment. And then she took a deep breath in, hung her head down, and strode across to join them, drawing to a halt in the empty space by Theodora's legs.
"Loyal," Beckett commented, unfazed "But foolish. Sorely so. You'll soon learn how much."
Hattie offered no response, but it seemed nobody was waiting for one, and it was Barbossa who addressed Beckett directly next.
"The lass blabbed and told you all, then, did she?" Barbossa enquired grimly.
James bristled at the implicated - as though she'd relented and given information of her own free will, and not because it had so clearly been tortured out of her.
"Oh, Mrs Norrington cannot take all of the credit. She's been of some use this last eve, certainly more than she'd been before it, but she was merely a pawn. If you wish to greet my true co-conspirator, look to your right."
James frowned, turning his head to Sparrow, who in turn did so to regard Barbossa, then to Elizabeth…and finally to Turner. Turner himself offered no reaction, staring straight ahead.
"Will?" Elizabeth breathed disbelievingly.
"Miss Byrne said nothing to me of fighting," he confessed stonily "To let it come to a siege would be suicide. But none of you would hear it unless I pretended it had come from her."
The gazes of those gathered turned to James quickly - for he had corroborated Turner's story - but he ignored them, not even to correct Turner in that her name was no longer Miss Byrne. He had no right to the pride and the claim that such an assertion would exert. Not when she still bled in his arms.
Beckett's words had not fallen on deaf ears, either. The ones about a child and its not having survived. Words that put ice in James' veins, even though he refused to show it, knowing they had been designed to do so. His eyes flickered down to the blood-stained torso of her shirt. No babe could have survived that, had she been carrying one. But she had not been. Had she?
His mind raced to conjure everything she'd told him of this so-called birth control. There were several methods, she'd mentioned that, some more fallible than others - and she'd also mentioned that the one she'd chosen was amongst the most reliable. Most prominent of all in his mind was that she'd said it would not last forever. But she'd cited a year - perhaps even two - before it stopped, and that had been mere months ago. So was Beckett incorrect? Was this some story conjured by Theodora in an attempt to avoid torture? It sounded like the sort of thing to be expected of her as of late. But what if it was not? What if this strange futuristic 'medicine' had proven fallible indeed?
He would not dwell on it. He would not allow his mind to stray there. Not until he had answers. And he would wait before he sought them, refusing to add to Theodora's woes now. It took concerted, physical effort not to allow his hold to tighten on her, lest he aggravate her wounds further. She was here. She was alive. She was in his arms. That was worlds more than he thought he'd ever have but hours ago.
"Indeed, but your goal was not so noble, was it, Mr Turner?" Beckett smirked, pressing on despite the turmoil rolling around in James' mind.
Whatever pleasure that had seeped in Jones' general demeanour at Theodora's sorry condition and James' responding distress drained from it entirely as Beckett spoke, the ends of his 'beard' curling and writhing, betraying his anger.
"You made a deal with me, Mr Turner, to deliver the pirates. And here they are. Don't be bashful, step up. Claim your reward," Beckett said "I am, after all, a man of my word."
The prize was not a metaphorical one. That much was proven when he nodded in Jones' direction, and the Dutchman's captain - with a growl of fury - shoved the senior of the Turners forward with his beastly claw. The man staggered, and then he stumbled, glancing vacantly back to his captain as though unsure as to what it was he was supposed to do. That, however, did not last long.
At the next step he took, a few of the barnacles clinging to his face fell away. Any doubts there may have been among those watching in line as to whether that was coincidental or not were quashed when he took another, and more yet fell. By the time the starfish followed, leaving no trace behind on the flesh it had been fused to, he was looking less creature and more man still. The unhealthy grey left his skin, and he straightened as he walked - truly walking now, no longer lumbering stiffly like a corpse on marionette strings - and even he appeared to begin noting the difference, his back straightening and one hand coming up to feel the newly bared skin around of his face. By the time he was mere feet from them, the haze had lifted from his eyes and he regarded them in wonder.
Down the line, James stiffened as he heard a few exclamations of wonder down the line - and even a breathed laugh from Elizabeth. When he turned his head, he found she and Turner visibly delighted, Sparrow having that same perplexed expression on his face that he got whenever anything not concerning rum or prostitutes unfolded, and Barbossa rolling his eyes at the whole display, entirely unmoved. James never thought he'd find himself in agreement with the once-undead captain. In fact, his mind was solely on the fact that, would it not require setting Theodora down into the sand, Bill Turner's first experience as a free man would involve being run through with a blade, much as he had done to her just this past night.
Perhaps his loathing emanated physically from his person, too, for Bill's eyes met his but a moment after he'd been entrenched in his fantasies of bloodshed. James' jaw clenched as he glared at the man, who faltered under the weight of the loathing levelled his way…until his gaze drifted downwards and he appeared to notice Theodora for the first time. The dismay, and then the guilt that struck his face when he comprehended what he was seeing did nothing to ease James' temper. In fact, it stoked it. It was too late. Regret would not fix this. Theodora herself appeared perilously close to slipping from consciousness, barely aware of what was going on around them. Could she feel how his hands shook with rage? He hoped not.
"I…" the senior of the Tuners took one hesitant step towards James.
"Stay back," he ordered in no uncertain terms, snarling the words.
"Father," Turner seized his attention.
Bootstrap Bill followed his son's urging and moved to stand by his side after a final, regretful look in Theodora's direction.
"You did it for your father," Elizabeth murmured her understanding.
"He did it because he's a traitor," Barbossa snapped.
"And he would not have been forced to had you not betrayed me," Bootstrap defended his son.
"Which came from you all betraying me, really, so we're truly learning the power of cause and effect, eh?" Sparrow offered with a level of cheer that suited these proceedings ill.
"There's a debt to me still to be satisfied," Jones snarled, not content to let a moment begin to blossom - much to James' relief "One hundred years in servitude aboard the Dutchman. As a start."
And then Sparrow's cheer was gone. The captain of the Dutchman's fury at losing a crewman had only stoked his pre-existing rage at being tricked by Sparrow. Or was a great deal of that anger fuelled by the fact that Beckett did not appear to have informed him of Sparrow's survival before now? James did not particularly care as to the politics between the two, nor even for Sparrow's fate. Jones' anger could hardly match his own.
"Might I argue, mate, that I was dead to the world. For all intents and purposes. Don't they say that none are dead so long as there are those that yet keep them alive in their hearts? Well, I was dead as a doornail in all of those hearts. So-"
They were mercifully spared from any of Sparrow's aimless rambling - and James had to note his surprise that even Sparrow had not turned to point the finger at Theodora for her aiding him in their trick - when Elizabeth interrupted him.
"You invited us here, Lord Beckett, you must have terms you wish to set. Unless it was solely to deliver Mrs Norrington and Mr Turner into our care. I somehow doubt you're that benevolent."
"No, I confess I am not," Beckett said pleasantly "We've just given you two of your own. Three, if we're to count the maid…although nobody would blame us if we did not."
"My father was recompense for our deal," the younger of the Turners said, voice steely.
"Mm, true, but that still leaves the matter of Mrs Norrington. A measure of equality is in order, or else I may see fit to reclaim her."
If there was any doubt as to whether Theodora was listening, it was vanquished in how her one-armed grip on him tightened, clinging on as though in preparation to fight against anybody who tried to drag her away. He tightened his grip in turn, hoping it might offer some reassurance.
"And which of you here proposes to take her from me?" James asked, forcing a modicum of calm into his voice, the hand at her back itching to grab his sword.
Beckett smiled at him "So long as equity is established, you and your wife are welcome to die together on this day, Mr Norrington. Unless you'd prefer to perish with Miss Swann. Reports on that are conflicting, as of late."
"You can have Jack," Elizabeth said.
"What?" Jack blinked.
"What?" Barbossa demanded at the same time.
"Agreed," Jones said.
"Not agreed," Beckett called over the proceedings sharply "Once I may have taken you up on that offer, but no longer. No, I desire Master Turner."
"No," the older of the Turners and Elizabeth said at once.
"Hear that? He desires you," Jack leaned across Barbossa and Elizabeth to mutter to Turner, and earned a glare from all three for his efforts.
"You cannot have Will," Elizabeth said.
"He can. Done," Will interrupted Elizabeth's argument.
"What? No! Undone," Elizabeth snapped.
"We cannot give Theodora back to him, Elizabeth. If we do, she will die. Look at her. I will be fine with them, she will not. I used her name to my own ends, and I doubted her loyalty. It seems a small effort to make amends," Will argued "Take my father back to the Pearl. Find out what she has told them. See that we win this fight. I will make my way back to you."
"We can come to some other agreement," Elizabeth shook her head fiercely.
"I'm afraid we cannot," Beckett said.
"Young Master Turner be right," Barbossa interjected "How long d'ye think the Brethren will fight alongside a man who betrayed them, under a King who won't concede a small personal sacrifice for the cause?"
"He'll be safer in the brig of the Dutchman, love," Sparrow joined in solemnly "If we return with him, he's just as likely to meet a pirate blade than he is one of theirs."
Elizabeth stared at her so-called advisors in disbelief, making a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat before uttering a "Very well."
James did not suppress the urge to roll his eyes as they exchanged drawn out farewells and promises of reunions. This was taking too long. Far too long. It was not the burn in his arms that had him thinking so, nor the fact that the cold sweat that Theodora was embroiled in had long seeped through her clothing, making it just slightly more difficult to keep a firm hold on her, but that she needed to be treated. The longer this bickering drew on, the more her condition would worsen. In the midst of their squabbling alone, Theodora's grip on him waned, and she grew more and more limp in his arms as time pressed on.
Turner eventually managed to disentangle himself from his fiancée, walking to the other side.
"This is not enough," Jones snarled, turning to Beckett but unable to bear down on him thanks to the limitations placed by the bucket in which he stood "We cannot suffer a witch to live, I have been cheated out of a deal made in good faith, and now robbed of a crew member!"
"The witch will not live for long, nor will Sparrow come to think of it, so your locker will receive what it is due, and the crew member you lost has just been replaced by one younger and likely much more able to serve the Dutchman. By all means, remove him from the brig and employ him once his kin are dead," Beckett answered.
"It is not enough!" Jones reiterated at a shout.
"I disagree, I think it is enough. From you."
Would it not guarantee his own death, James was certain Jones would have beheaded Beckett with his claw there and then. James might have enjoyed the sight, though he'd have mourned his lack of a hand in the man's death. Nobody was more aware than Beckett was, though, in just how stuck Jones was, and he turned to regard Elizabeth as she strode towards him.
"Advise your Brethren, you can fight, and all of you will die. Or you can not fight, in which case only most of you will die. Ask your dear Theo for her thoughts on the matter, should she manage to regain lucidity. You'll find what she has to say of great import. I know I did."
"You tortured my friend, and you would have murdered my father if given the chance. You likely still will if you win. If you think this ends with us running, Lord Beckett, you're sorely mistaken," Elizabeth replied, her tone glacial.
James had tired of it. He'd long tired of it. Turning, he began to carry his wife towards the dinghy, wanting her settled within before the others joined them, barely listening to the exchange continue in his wake. Hattie hurried after him, and he paid her little mind too.
"And perhaps once such a stance may have proven fruitful for you, but that version of events no longer exists."
"Perhaps, but neither does one in which you win. We will fight. And you will die."
Elizabeth's footfalls in the sand followed after that. As did Beckett's response.
"So be it."
A/N: Another one that could have been combined with the next one, but this was just neater. Friendly reminder that I'm still doing flufftober over on Tumblr with a handful of James/Theo prompts already up, pinned to the top of my blog. They range from taking place in the first arc of this story pre-TCOTBP, during their little Tortugan era, and in Port Royal when they were newlyweds. More to come! It's a nice break from all of this when I'm not in the mood to write angst and politicking.
Super excited for the next chapter, in which they finally get to talk. Are we ready to suffer?
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