AUTHOR'S NOTE: WARNING! CHARACTER DEATH.
He didn't have much time to think it over.
Her meeting with the gallows was tomorrow.
If he was to do it, it would have to be done tonight.
How would he even do it?
A pistol wouldn't work… it would make too much noise. He wasn't sure if he could stomach stabbing her with a sword either. Strangling was out of the question and he already knew that he wouldn't do that.
He pondered his options through dinner. Groves kept trying to include him in conversation, but he couldn't do it. How could he talk casually when he was plotting his friend's death? especially when he was cutting his piece of meat with a silver knife.
Wait…
That was it.
All he had to do was use the knife. It was sharp enough to slice through flesh without any issue. Not only that, but it would be easy to conceal.
Mind made up, he merely waited for an appropriate time to dismiss himself. When it came, he seized it by the throat. Groves sent him an odd look at his abrupt leaving, but he ignored it. He had get out and think… pluck up the courage to actually do it.
Was it courage…? Or cowardice…?
He was plotting the death of someone never mind the fact that she asked him to. Was that considered murder? She was going to be dead by this time tomorrow whether he did anything or not.
She wasn't a pirate, though she had been forced to associate with them.
James's head hurt. He was getting nowhere with this arguing with himself. Did it even matter if was murder? Hundreds of people had already been murdered. Some of them truly did deserve to be hanged, but the vast majority were just people trying to make a living; they weren't going to turn away business just because someone looked like a pirate. He'd looked like a pirate and wasn't one. Victoria had been kidnapped and forced into being a whore, forced to mix with pirates.
Was it murder?
He finally decided that it wasn't. She was dead anyway; she was simply asking to go about it in her way. He wouldn't want to hang so why should she? She wasn't guilty of anything. If he did as she asked, it was a mercy killing. It was him granting her last wish.
Could he do it?
Could he kill her?
He had to. He couldn't leave her alone. She needed to know that someone still cared.
Even if that meant stabbing her in the heart instead of leaving her to hang by the neck.
His mind made up, James checked his pocket for the knife he'd pilfered from the dinner table. Finding it still there, he pulled it out and used his sleeve to shine it. He knew he was stalling for time, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
The night was half gone by the time he left his rooms. He made his way down the stairs to the cells. The snores were deafening. They covered his footsteps even when he made a slight misstep and slipped half a step down before he was able to brace himself against the wall to stop from falling down the stairs altogether.
Victoria was curled up in the front corner of her cell. He couldn't tell if she was sleeping or if she was merely pretending to. If she was, he was loath to wake her.
"James?"
Her voice echoed slightly. He knelt opposite her, the bars separating them. She smiled a little.
"I wasn't sure you were coming."
"I was… not sure if I was either," he admitted.
"What changed your mind?"
He met her eyes, "You do not deserve to die… but as it seems unavoidable, you should be able to decide the manner in which you do."
"All I said was that I did not want to hang from the gallows," she smirked, "That left everything else for you to choose from."
James swallowed and produced the knife. She stared at it, head tilted. The knife glinted in the light from the torch on the wall.
"Creative," was all she said and reached her arm through the bars. James swallowed again and gripped her arm, fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist. He stared into her eyes. She stared back unflinchingly. There was no hint of fear.
"Are you certain you want this?" he asked.
"Yes, James. I'm sure. I have never been so sure of anything in my life," she replied.
He swallowed hard for a third time and placed the small bit of steel on her skin, "I'm sorry."
Her other hand reached through the bars, touching his face gently, "Don't be. I'm sorry that I have to ask you to do this. I can tell that you don't want to."
"Hey!"
James turned toward the noise to see a guard. The man had a musket aimed at him. James handed the knife to Victoria, giving her a significant look before standing. She nodded.
If he couldn't deal with the soldier, use the knife herself.
James raised his hands in surrender. The guard stepped closer. James reacted, grabbing the end of the musket and shoving the butt of it into the man's face. The guard sunk to the floor unconscious.
James bent to check the man's pulse. Upon finding it, he went back to Victoria who had moved away from the bars. She shimmied forward again and handed him the silver. He stared at it for a moment.
A hand laid atop his. He looked up to find her smiling slightly in encouragement. Her other arm slid through the bars in silent askance. He took her wrist.
There was no point in asking her again.
He met her eyes and slid the knife across her arm. The corners of her eyes flinched in pain, but otherwise there was nothing. She smiled at him again. It was small, but it was real like the blood that was now flowing across her arm and his hand, soaking his sleeve. She pulled her arm back until her hand met his. Their fingers laced together. She laid her head against the bars as her eyes fluttered. The smile remained.
James swallowed back the tears. She wanted this, chose this. Her eyes never left his, though the lids became more persistent about closing as blood continued to drip into the stone floor.
"Thank you."
Her voice was soft, airy, like she was out of breath. He almost missed it, but didn't and nodded in acknowledgement. He didn't trust his voice nor could he guarantee the ability to not cry should he try. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she let her eyes close. Her fingers gave his a minute squeeze.
She exhaled.
He waited for her to breathe again.
She never did.
Her fingers went slack in his hand. He felt what was left of his heart shrivel up and die. She was dead.
She was dead and he had been the cause of it.
He'd killed her.
James tucked her arm back inside her cell and retreated back up the stairs, leaving the guard on the floor. He fought to keep his legs under him and working. No one intercepted him on the way back to his chambers. Once there, he allowed himself to let go. He sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face. The sobs he had to contain, stifle. Someone might hear him. It was only when he pressed his hands to his mouth to stop the screams threatening to break free that he noticed the blood.
Her blood.
Her blood was on literally on his hands.
He tore the top layer on his bed off and tried scrubbing the red off. Some of it was dried and wouldn't come off. He threw the cover away in frustration. It didn't matter. Her face was seared into his mind's eye.
Her serene face…
She'd wanted to die.
So why was he so devastated?
She was gone now. Her pain, her suffering was over. He should be happy about that. With that thought, the tears were able to be stemmed. The pain remained; he suspected that it always would, but he could rest knowing that he'd done what she wanted.
She'd ended her life on her own terms when death was inevitable.
The following days passed as they had.
Beckett would stare at him knowingly.
He didn't care.
He'd done what he could to correct a crime done against an innocent.
He'd righted a wrong.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:I can write another chapter to include all the At World's End stuff, but I'm only going to write it if you guys want me to so I need to hear for you! Thanks so much to all of you who read this story and hope you all enjoyed it.