They'd been at sea aboard the Dutchman for only a few days. Isabelle and James Norrington were sharing the surgeon's quarters. It was actually a wonderful arrangement for the two of them. Just before dawn, the Admiral emerged from the room and Isabelle would leave the post she'd assumed on deck and catch her own rest. She would rise around the noon bell and he would be able to do any reports that might need his attention between the noon bell and sundown. They would dine together and then the Admiral would retire for the evening, leaving Isabelle to wander the decks in the darkness and the pattern would start all over again.
"How is it you sleep during the day?" Norrington asked her one afternoon.
"I'm tired by then. I just can't sleep at night…not amongst all of them…" She glanced to the crewmen who were lounging around the decks, repairing nets or grunting and groaning while moving guns.
"I don't understand. At night they're all asleep. They can do you no harm then..."
"You wouldn't understand." She whispered. He stared at her, begging with his eyes for her to confide in him, but she shook her head. "I'm not sure I could tell you…not ever." She walked away from him and eluded him the rest of the afternoon.
She stared to the east this night, waiting for the sun to color the horizon a soft gray. She was nervous about something but was unsure of what it might be. The sun was just beginning to lighten the far eastern sky when James Norrington came on deck.
"I assume it was an easy night?"
"Yes. Calm and uneventful." Isabelle said with a sigh. "I suppose I should try to get some sleep." She staggered slightly as she left the rail and pitched into Admiral Norrington. "I'm sorry…I'm not a seaman, I can't manage these dips and rolls as you can."
"The ship hardly moved. Are you sure you're alright?" Isabelle grasped her head as her equilibrium tossed slightly, she felt as if the ship were in a violent sea, tossing back and forth.
"Yes. I'm just tired; I must be more tired than I thought…" She went to her cabin and began the process of getting prepared for bed. She disrobed and put on her lightweight dressing gown. The chills that had wracked her earlier in the week had disappeared and she was back to normal. She attributed it to the dank feeling of the Dutchman and that she had grown accustomed to it, even though the chills had started aboard the Endeavor. She pushed from her mind the images of frozen rigging and sailor's skin tinged blue with the cold and ice in their hair. It must have been my imagination. She took her hair down and brushed out the knots and kinks until it glistened in the lamplight like summer wheat. The open front of her dressing gown showed where her skin was taking on a golden glow from the afternoon sun. She would have to be more careful, or she might get sun poisoning again, like she had last summer. Isabelle thought back to the days of the previous summer. She had sought out Jack Sparrow then and had found him. Though they had not seen one another for more than a decade, he had not changed over much. Finding Jack had started a chain reaction of events which had led her to this spot, sitting in the damp bowels of a ship with a captain who had tentacles for a beard. James had found the heart of Captain Jones and had brought it to Cutler in return for a pardon. They'd had to spend days in the hot Caribbean sun waiting for rescue. Isabelle shuddered as she remembered the painful burns, the peeling of her skin, and the terror of dying in a small open boat. She was still remembering that long ago day when she set the brush absently on the table before the mirror. She had just released the heavy silver brush when she quickly slammed her hand back onto it. She looked curiously at the item, and at other items in the room.
The lantern was steady on its hook in the wall, the chair was steady upon the floor and the brush did not slide across the table as Isabelle had expected it to. The rocking that she was so sure was happening to the Dutchman was happening in her head, the sensation greatly at odds with the steady orientation of the room. She stared into the mirror and watched as her eyes went from green to the faintest tinge of silver, as if her eyes were coloring with the first rays of light that now lightened the sky. She saw the silver mirror shimmer before her and her image, silver eyed and golden haired, disappeared. In its place she saw a clear blue sky unlike anything she'd seen before. The sea into which the white hot sun sank was as calm and smooth as a sheet of glass. Upon the endless blue expanse was a ship that rocked softly back and forth, the large masts streaking across the sky like a metronome. First the port rail would dip close to the water's edge and then the ship would slowly right itself, drawing even upon its keel, before rocking over so the starboard rail had a chance to dip low to the waterline. The motion of the ship seemed odd in such still waters until she saw the reason for it. The crew of the ship clamored over the decks back and forth, rocking the ship ever closer to a full roll. As she continued to stare she saw the outstretched arm of the figurehead and caught sight of a scarlet sash in the flurry of activity on deck. Was it possible? Was this vision ship the Pearl? NO! It was impossible she quickly decided. The Black Pearl had been destroyed; she'd seen the splintered remains of the great ship in a vision and had felt Jack's loss as his presence was torn from her. That had been less than a year before and the open wound of his passing had healed. But had she not also seen the Pearl in another vision, intact and well maintained? Hadn't Jack also been present in that vision? And now here was this third vision, the Pearl rocking dangerously back and forth and Jack amongst a full crew's compliment.
IMPOSSIBLE!!!!
She reeled away from the mirror and staggered into the corridor, fighting the pitch and roll in her head, fearing she might be ill. Air…she needed air and lots of it. She also had a pressing need to see the eastern sky. She hadn't the foggiest idea of why, but that was where her feet wanted her to go. She hauled herself up to the quarterdeck and passed by the helm, the elevated deck afforded her a better view of the eastern horizon and she grasped the rail, believing it was the only thing that would save her from being tossed over the side. The sea below churned slightly in the lightening sky and Isabelle's silver eyes struggled to make sense of what she saw. She felt as if someone were showing her a painted piece of glass, able to see the image portrayed on the sheet, but also the image beyond it. She saw the churning sea beneath the Dutchman's keel, but also saw the Black Pearl in the doldrums beyond, both images fighting for supremacy. Suddenly the Pearl keeled over hard, its masts slicing through the water with tremendous force. Isabelle feared that the tall structures might fracture, sheering away from the deck, but the calm seas allowed them to pass through easily, masts, rigging and sails slid intact through the water and the ship settled upside down; keel bobbing towards the darkening sky, masts pointed into the inky blackness below. As the ship had slipped sideways she had found it impossible to breathe. She could not inhale, nor could she exhale. Her grip on the rail tightened and she continued to keep her eyes locked on the distant horizon which was quickly turning a dusty rose. Isabelle watched as the sun above the doldrums sank ever lower in the calm sea as the sun on the distant horizon inched closer to free itself from the depths. She stared, entranced by the two suns sitting one atop the other creating a glowing orange figure eight before her eyes.
"Admiral sir…what's Miss Beckett doing up and about?" A young marine asked seeing the young woman at the rail above. The Admiral turned from where he'd been watching the morning rations dolled out and looked at where the man had indicated. The marine paid little more attention as the quartermaster handed him a plate with two hard biscuits and a slab of salt pork. Breakfast was far more interesting than the half dressed sister of an English Lord, attractive though she might be.
Isabelle stood at the rail, her robe blowing softly in the morning breeze. James sensed something was wrong, Isabelle should be lying in her bunk sound asleep, not waiting for the sun to rise from the depths of the sea. He climbed the steps to the quarterdeck slowly, his boots drumming softly against the worn decking. He held his breath for a moment and watched Isabelle for a moment, realizing that her chest did not rise or fall with her breathing. Now he was sure something was not right; Isabelle stood, still as a statue, neither breathing nor taking her eyes from the horizon.
Isabelle was transfixed as the twin suns melded into one. The vision sun sinking beneath the flat sea, only to join with the real sun as it burst from her own horizon. As it crested the distant swell of the earth, a flash of green light raced across the water, brushing over the Dutchman and all its occupants.
James caught sight of the green flash from the corner of his eye. He'd seen it a few times before in his long career as a Navy man, but never had he seen anything like this. The green light raced before the extending fingers of dawn's early rays and swept over the ship, the leading edge knocking Isabelle violently backward. Her feet left the decking she was hurled back so hard, her body curved unnaturally with the impact.
He'd seen men thrown that way in the heat of battle, usually when they'd been shot.
"ISABELLE!!!" She lay on the flat of her back, eyes staring eerily upward into the rigging of the Flying Dutchman, neither moving nor breathing. James knelt quickly at her side and stared down into her pale face, touching her cool cheek trying to bring her eyes to his. Her eyes were wide open and the same eerie silver color he'd seen them when he'd first met her on the Pearl. There was one difference; her eyes radiated a shade of green akin to the one that had just flashed from the rising sun, holding the light and shining it as a lantern through colored glass. The shine slowly diminished; the lantern flickering dead from behind the glass leaving only the eerie silver-china eyes.
Please, you can not be dead.
No sooner had the thought passed through his brain than Isabelle gasped for breath, the sound loud in the early morning. Her eyes closed momentarily and when she opened them again they had returned to their natural shade of hazel. Her right hand flew to her chest, just beneath her collar bone, and her back arched from the deck, a look of absolute pain twisting her features horribly. She sucked air through her teeth and exhaled slowly, as if the very act of air entering or leaving her lungs was a painful experience. James saw her fingers claw at her shoulder and remembered the way she'd been flung from the rail. He had not heard a shot, but that meant nothing. There were silent projectiles; it didn't necessarily have to be lead thrown from a pistol.
"Isabelle? Isabelle, let me see…" He grasped her hand and moved it from the place she was covering, prepared to see a gaping hole and a good deal of blood, wondering from whence the shot that had flung her from the rail had come. But there was no blood; no gaping wound and he stared in wonderment as she continued to take labored breaths. Her hand shook in his and she tossed slightly, as if her body was convulsing. Soon she was laughing slightly, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to roll across her face and into her hair.
"He's back…" She whispered. Now he was unsure if she was laughing or sobbing. It sounded like a combination of both. "My God, he's back…"
"Who's back? What on earth are you talking about?"
She had seen it as clear as she had seen anything. The Black Pearl had risen from the depths as a cork would rise to the surface of a barrel after having been held down. Upon the decks stood Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner and Captain Barbossa at his side. She had seen others she recognized: Jack's first mate, his helmsman, the dwarf and also the dark skinned woman who had haunted her dreams frequently since the boy had sung his song upon the gallows. But the others were only fleeting images skimming across her field of vision. They were lost to her as Jack Sparrow's kohl darkened eyes burrowed into her soul, his consciousness piercing into her like a needle through sail cloth.
"Jack Sparrow. Jack Sparrow is…" She winced again, clenching her hand where he still held it, the grip almost painful. Where had she gotten such strength?
"Admiral?" James looked over his shoulder to see his marines mixed with Jones' monstrous sailors and all were staring at Isabelle. "Admiral what's going on?"
He didn't even know what was going on, how could he answer his crew? James looked down as Isabelle burst into tears and cried out again.
"Oh—God it hurts!" Making a command decision Admiral Norrington quickly swept Isabelle into his arms and moved across the deck. Isabelle sobbed softly into the gold braid of his epaulets, clinging to him as if he were the only piece of wreckage left in an empty sea. He felt her fingers dig into the thick wool of his coat occasionally as wave after wave of pain wracked her slender body and he carried her quickly down the dark corridor and into their cabin. He felt her shudder in his arms and could hear her teeth rattle together as she shuddered in agony, trying not to cry out as he lay her upon her small bunk. James grasped Isabelle's hands in one of his own and felt them trembling violently, icy cold to the touch. Strands of hair had crossed her face and obscured her jewel toned eyes. He swept the hair from her face with more gentleness than anyone in his profession had a right to.
"What the devil is going on?" Captain Jones asked, having stomped into the room just as James had lain Isabelle upon her thin bunk. The piercing blue eyes of the tentacle faced captain glared at Isabelle who shut her eyes tightly and clenched her fingers into open claws. "Women!" He spat with contempt. "What sort of fit has gripped her?"
"I don't know. I thought she'd been shot…"
"Shot by whom, Admiral?" Jones sneered. "There's no one for miles, or hadn't you noticed."
"I had noticed that Captain." James snapped over his shoulder, choosing not to elaborate. Over and over he turned the scenario in his mind. She'd been standing at the rail as still as a statue when quick as you like she'd been flung off her feet. He had seen her fly through the air, there was no other way to put it. How could he explain what had happened to another when he himself didn't even fully understand what had just occurred? When the Captain realized the Admiral was not going to say anything more he harrumphed softly, his tentacles moving angrily upon his face and he stalked from the room; his peg leg sounding for all the world like a slow heart beat. James Norrington turned his attention from the place where Captain Jones had stood and looked back at Isabelle who now locked her eyes on his.
"Please…go away!" She moaned. Her face was pinched and contorted in agony. The tension in her fingers eased and she tried to free her wrists from the Admirals' strong hand. She turned her face from his touch and tried to take deep even breaths. Her jaw clenched tightly as another tide of pain crashed over her, curling her fingers back into the tense claws they'd been moments before. He felt the tendons in her wrists rise beneath his own fingertips, and he wondered that the cramps had not shattered her fingers they were so tightly and unnaturally curled. When her body relaxed again she brought her eyes to meet his. "I beg you…leave…"
"Not until I'm sure you're alright." James said staring down at her. "Let me help you Isabelle. For once, let me help you…"
Isabelle felt the tears in her eyes; they pooled at her lashes and made the Admiral a blur of color with no substance. He wanted to help her, and she wanted to let him help her, but there was nothing he could do. Would he kill me if I asked him? That would at least stop the pain…and put an end to these visions! She shook her head to dislodge the black thought. Self pity, loathing and thoughts of death were not going to help her in this. She had to be strong, she had to fight what was happening to her. His concern and his desire to help swept over her but did little to comfort her. Her body tingled as it grew re-accustomed to feeling Jack Sparrow. The bombardment of another's feelings assaulted her already overwhelmed senses and she fought to keep her back from arching again in agony. No, James Norrington could not help her by staying. He had to leave.
"If you truly wish to help me, you must leave." She whispered. Her eyes, red and filled with unshed tears, penetrated his and he slowly released his grip on her wrists. Isabelle clenched her jaw tightly and looked away. It would not take someone like her to understand the look of hurt that swept over James Norrington's face. "You must leave…." She repeated, the words agony to her though she kenw it was the only thing that was going to help her.
James watched as she released a shuddering breath and crossed one arm protectively over her stomach and the other clutched at the place on her shoulder where she'd first reached for it on the quarterdeck. James pulled the woolen blanket from his own bunk and spread it across her, tucking it up beneath her chin and sweeping one last lock of hair from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed but he saw her wince at his touch. He was an Admiral, a life long seaman. He'd been shot down by a woman before and had his heart broken. He hadn't realized until this moment that he'd grown fond of Isabelle as more than a friend. Though he hadn't thrown his heart at her, as he had done with Elizabeth Swann, the rebuke he had just received was enough to shatter the barely healed wounds. He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched as tears escaped from her eyes. With one last deep shuddering breath she turned into the wood of her bunk and sobbed herself to sleep. He only hoped that she would not succumb to this fit as she had weeks earlier during the hangings. She would surely die if she were to fall so ill on the ship and he had promised Lord Beckett that he would do everything in his power to protect her. Even if she turned him away from her in what he thought was an hour of need, he would do all he could to make it easier on her. If she believed that turning him out was what she needed, then he'd give her as wide a berth as possible, while sitll remaining appraised of her condition.
Isabelle heard the door click shut behind her as James walked silently away from the room. Every step he took was like a balm for her soul, but broke her heart at the same time. When she had started thinking of him as more than a friend was un-clear to her, but now when she needed comfort most she could not have it.
"Why was I so cursed? Why should I be so deprived of what is natural in this world? I am a sin upon the earth, an abomination in God's eyes and I am being punished for it." She thought darkly. The thoughts came to her unbidden, they were thoughts she often had when she succumbed to the self pity of being alone. They were doubled by being aboard the vile craft that was the Flying Dutchman. Such thoughts that were not going to help her get any stronger or help in healing. She pushed them from her mind and welcomed the black abyss of a dreamless sleep.
Isabelle slept throughout the day and deep into the night. Admiral Norrington stalked the decks as late as he could until he could no longer stand on his feet. Having no where else to go, he returned to the cabin he shared with Isabelle. He lit the lamps slowly and chanced a glance at Isabelle's bunk. She had turned during the day and now lay on her side facing the room. One hand was cured beneath her ear, the other hung part way over the edge of the bunk. Even in sleep, she had a look of intense concentration on her face. Does she never rest? Is she always thinking or worrying over something? He wondered. He removed his heavy overcoat, waistcoat and wig and scratched his scalp free of the itch of the coarse false hair. It felt good to relax after such a trying day. Jones' crew had been on edge, his men had been on edge and it was all compounded with what had happened to Isabelle earlier in the morning, putting him on edge. To say that it had not been a good day for him was a vast understatement. And now he was exhausted. He perched on the side of her bed, as he had when he'd first brought her in, and brushed his hand over her pale cheek. He gently pulled her arm away from the edge and tucked her securely into the bunk. James stared at her face and watched, mesmerized as her features smoothed slightly only to be replaced with the pained look as she turned farther away from him. He sighed and went to the chair by the table and propped his feet up. Sleep was not far off, but he had work he ought to do. He had ignored the reports this day in deference to Isabelle's wishes that he leave her alone. Now seemed as good a time as any to go over the documents; if he was lucky, they might even put him to sleep.
Isabelle sat up and gasped. Something had pulled her from a deep sleep. She knew she had been dreaming, and that the dream had been pleasant to a point. But she could not grasp whole sections of the dream. She struggled to remember it, to maintain the wonderful feeling that had overcome her, but found it to be like trying to hold water in her hands. She had been in a room, comfortably appointed, she was sure, but she could remember no details. She remembered that someone else had been in the room with her, but she didn't know who that person was. She ran her hand over the place on her neck where her skin tingled, as if someone had been breathing against her ear. But no one had been, no one was near her. She looked across the room and saw James just stirring from a deep sleep himself. He opened his eyes and blinked before he groaned and ran his hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He glanced over to her.
With every blink of her eyes, every breath she took, the dream slipped further and further away. Where had she been? What had happened? Why had she awoken so suddenly and why did her skin burn so? It was not an unpleasant sensation at all. Slowly, even the fire ebbed away and she forgot the entirety of her dream, being left in the cold damp of the surgeon's cabin.
"How are you feeling?" James asked groggily. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I didn't mean to doze off…"
"How long have I been asleep?" She asked, ignoring the question that seemed to plague her entire life. How do you feel? After strong episodes she felt tired. There was pain in her head, and often physically in her joints. People could see the effect the visions had on her, why did they insist on asking her how she felt. Didn't they know? But Isabelle knew they didn't. That was a talent that belonged singly to her. She never had to ask how someone felt; she knew instinctively. Often she was compelled to ask the dreaded question because she felt it wasn't polite to read them as she wished they could read her.
How do I feel? She thought, going over what had happened. She still felt tired as she knew she would. She remembered the vision of Jack returning. She remembered the pain she'd felt in her chest, as if something were trying to wedge itself into a space too small. She then remembered the empty feeling she had felt when Jack had died. Now that he was back and alive, he was worming his way back into her life. It was as if the wound of his loss had scabbed over and his return had meant tearing the wound open anew that he might crawl back in and take up a place that had once belonged to him, but had since been occupied. James was speaking to her though and she forced herself to concentrate less on herself and what had happened and more on the other person in the room.
"You've slept for the better part of the day…my goodness, it's close to daybreak now…" James rose quickly and splashed water on his face. He donned his wig, checking in the mirror to see that it was on straight, and then put his coats back on and stood to his full height. "I must be up on deck to see to the crew. Rest for now and I'll have someone bring you some breakfast. We will have to talk later."
Who was Isabelle to argue? She lay back in her bed and turned again into the wall, as she had more than 24 hours before. A feeling of disappointment washed over her. Her eyelids felt as if someone had tied ballast stones to them and they closed against her will. Her mind raced frantically to recover the events of the day before, centering mostly on many chaotic thoughts of Jack's. But inspite of the intrusion sleep was quickly coming to claim her. It didn't seem fair…Jack could come back to her life in a flash of light, sleep could claim her in the pre-dawn hours as easily as a child claimed a toy, but she could not reclaim the dream that had put her at rest--she could nto remember the slightest detail of it.
It was so unfair...
A/N: Well, there you have it. The moment many of you have all been waiting for. I don't usually do dedications, but this chapter is dedicated to Nelle07, MiniKate, Olivegreeneyes and Wild Horses. Not only are they somewhat regular reviewers (and we all know how much I like reviews hint hint hint) but I know this is what they've been asking about since way way back in Chapter 10. Remember, I love reviews so PLEASE tell me what you think of this...my mailbox is unhappy and lonely and needs your lovin'!