Beckett's office, Elizabeth thought, dragged to a chair and forced into it by Mercer. In spite of his recent surge of power, the office remained the same as it did the night she broke into it and ridiculously tried to warn him about the curse of the Aztec gold. The only difference was the map painted on the wall, the whole known world represented with carefully inked lines. It seemed debauched in some way, the entire world reduced to black squiggles that fit so neatly right behind his desk. That's where he was right now, she said to herself with narrowed eyes, lighting a pipe like he probably did every day.

"Where's the chest?" he asked.

"What chest?"

Mercer slapped her across the face, her cheek stinging from the blow. It was only the beginning. She would brace herself for the next one and make sure her cheeks were slack.

"Miss Swann…."

Pirate King Sparrow to you, she wished she could say, pursing her lips into an arrogant pout.

"Don't toy with me. This doesn't need to be nearly so violent."

"You killed my father!" she spat, the image of his motionless body on the deck of the Pearl, his corpse in her home, splattered over her closed eyelids.

"He chose his own fate."

"And you have chosen yours." She liked the sound of it, enough to loosen her pout into a smirk. Everything that would happen to him would be his own doing, whether it was her slitting his throat, or her pushing him off a cliff, or tying a rope around his waist and have the Pearl drag him out to sea, the sharks all too willing to chase down such a meal.

Beckett strolled over to her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, his weight bearing down on them. She ought to spit in his face at this proximity, she thought, but he and Mercer both so close told her to wait.

"You have no one left, Miss Swann. Your father has died, your fiancé is the captain of the Flying Dutchman, and your crew is now Barbossa's crew. I don't think he'll be very merciful with them. He has a long history with Jack Sparrow, you see, and there is someone just dying to reunite with James Norrington." She lifted an eyebrow at that. Who would…

"If I have nothing left, there's really no way to threaten me, is there?"

"Believe me, Miss Swann, I've had plenty of people in your same predicament with far less and each and every one of them begged me to stop, and each and every one of them gave me what I wanted…all except our mutual friend Captain Sparrow. I had tried to make every deal possible with Barbossa in the past, but he is a pirate through and through. But death, you see, has a way of reordering one's priorities, and it wasn't long before he contacted me. Where is the chest?"

"What makes you think I know?"

"Come come, you were going to be married to Mr. Turner."

"Captain Turner."

"Captain Turner. You were about to be married. You stormed in here and pointed a pistol right under my chin and sought vengeance for robbing you of your wedding night, all in your soiled, rain-streaked wedding gown. You know where that chest is. Just because Davy Jones is no longer the captain of the Dutchman is no matter to me."

It turned Elizabeth's stomach to picture Will forced to obey the orders of this monster in front of her. The amount of death and wreckage he had probably already seen would be a terrible cross to bear, but to be a part of it—such a thing would kill him if he were mortal.

"This is the only place it will be safe, Captain Teague," she said. His eyes squinted, suspiciously eyeing the chest in her arms. "You know as well as anyone how hard it is to penetrate Shipwreck Cove."

"Honor amongst thieves, eh?" He stroked his chin.

"More than most people think." Elizabeth watched him tuck the chest under his arm and retreat to his quarters, muttering something like, "more like guidelines."

"So I will ask again. Where is the chest?"

Only an impenetrable glare answered back.

"Very well. Since you asked for it…Mr. Mercer?"

Mercer gave the chair a sharp push, sending her toppling out of it. He cornered her and pinned her arms against the wall, his leg across both of hers to keep her from kicking.

"Such a fair little arm, miss," he said, his soulless eyes inches from the delicate skin just below her wrist. "I 'spect this'll hurt it."

Her eyes caught the red-orange fire of a branding iron coming her way. Another guard entered from the door and held her head still, his large thick hands encroaching on both her temples. Beckett let the fiery letter "P" dance just over her skin, the heat from it making the rest of her body shudder. This is what Jack went through, was all she could think, fighting the urge to retch. This had happened to him.

"Where is the chest?" Beckett whispered one more time.

"It's in a place where monsters like you will never be able to reach it."

Elizabeth knew no more but the scent of her own flesh burning, the brand singeing into her. Tears gushed down her cheeks, watering down her vision as a dizzying feeling began overcoming her. Hardly able to hear her own screams, she gnashed her teeth together to keep from biting her tongue off, but even that dulled as she began to shake within her captors' grasps.

"She's going to faint, sir, best let up," the soldier said.

"Very well." They all released her at the same time and she threw herself against the wall to prevent from collapsing onto the floor. She positioned her arm down and away from her body, unable to look at it. For the first time in a long while, she wished she was wearing a dress. How easily she could rip off a part of it and wrap it around her arm, if for no other reason than to avoid seeing her scorched skin.

"We can make this last however long it needs to," Beckett said. "It doesn't stop at the branding iron, but it can if you give us what we want. We'll return soon. I suppose you could smash the locked windows if you feel strong enough to make an escape attempt, but I wouldn't try it. The guards outside develop a queasy feeling when they have to shoot a woman."

The three men exited, locking the door behind them. Falling to her knees, Elizabeth bent over and pressed her arm against the cool soft carpet, its tiny bristles cushioning her burn. It trembled at the contact, but that only meant her arm was alive and not just a dead limb. She let out a disbelieving laugh and lifted it up off the carpet. He had done this to Jack. He had done this to countless others, her loyal subjects. Well, not necessarily loyal, but it did bond the King to her people, she thought, standing. There had to be a way. Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage, she reminded herself. And Sparrows don't do well in cages.

James shuffled around the deck, glancing back at Barbossa at the helm every second. There had to be something he could do before they were too far out to sea. If he found that vial in the cabin, there would be no hope for any of them, a once-again immortal Captain Barbossa blasting away everything he deemed wasn't worth pillaging.

"Barbossa? The lying bastard. He'd seemed so protective of Elizabeth," Turner had said after attending to Governor Swann.

"Probably just trying to determine if you would still entrust the chest to her," James answered. "Remember Calypso had always intended you to be the one to take Davy Jones' place."

"I'll kill him. I'll manifest myself behind him and stab him right through and then you can take the ship back to Port Royal."

"No, Will," his father had said. James had been pleasantly shocked to discover Bootstrap Bill coherent. "Davy Jones corrupted his purpose interferin' with life and death. The captain of this ship can't go around taking lives, no matter how loathsome."

He remembered the stories, Barbossa sending Bootstrap Bill Turner to the depths, unable to die but unable to breathe, eternally drowning. Anyone in his position would have taken Jones up on such an offer. Anything to escape that un-death.

"Norrington! Go and fetch me some rum."

Stomping below decks, James stopped in to see Jack conscious now, but his face paler than he'd ever seen it.

"I'm to bring the coxcomb some rum, Sparrow. Shall I grab extra for you?"

He balked when Jack didn't answer him.

"Sparrow."

"Hush! Thinking." For a fraction of a second, Jack smiled, but then it gave way to a solemn look of leadership. "Mary, go bring us the vial."

"Jack, that stuff ain't to be messed with," she warned.

"Not for drinking. Just bring it down here. Don't be seen!" He waited for her to go. "Jamie-lad, it's time for you to at last be useful."

"Ye were a long time gone with that, Captain Norrington." Barbossa sneered, yanking the rum bottle away from James. They all bit down on the word "captain," James noticed. Well, it wouldn't be much longer. Once all this mess was sorted he would find some new life, one that he could make himself worthy of.

"There's been a bit of a twist in all your plans, Captain Barbossa," he said, managing to address the title with the same disdain.

"And what be that?"

"Your prisoners have killed themselves."

"What's that now?" he asked, giving an incredulous laugh.

"Normally I wouldn't say Sparrow and Socrates had anything in common, but both of them drank a poison and their followers, well, followed. The Flying Dutchman is still nearby if you would like me to clean up the mess. I'd congratulate you on finally ridding the world of Jack Sparrow, but I was hoping you would die first."

"Ye sure?"

"That I want you dead? With utter certainty."

"No, no, they're dead? All of 'em?" James blinked at the bit of remorse twinkling in the man's eye. "A surprise."

"Come off it, man, you don't expect me to believe you feel sorry for Jack Sparrow." It couldn't be remorse, couldn't be, and yet, he did seem truly saddened.

"Just that…he meant something to the young miss was all."

Ah. Elizabeth had a talent for worming her way into everyone's hearts. Well, no time like the present to pour salt into an open wound.

"Oh, he meant something to her, all right. They married at Shipwreck Cove."

Barbossa gave him a confused look, his mouth still. Other than a slight chest heave, he gave no other signs of movement.

"Jack ain't the marrying kind," he scoffed, hand-waving James, the confused expression still dominating his face, though.

"Anyone can be the marrying kind when the love is strong enough," James sang. "Well, no matter. I'd gladly run you through to defend the widow's honor, but even I can't steer the Black Pearl by myself. Enjoy that rum, sir."

"Wait! Take the helm. I need to see it."

James took the helm and grinned to himself. That had been a generous amount of salt indeed.

"Here he comes," Gibbs said. Ragetti snuggled into him and dropped his head onto his lap. "Are ye sure this is the only way, Jack?"

"It's the only way, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, positioning his back to cover the poured-out liquid behind him. He didn't want to think about what might happen if he sat on it. "I saved a drop for ye, Mary. Don't ye worry 'bout that."

"Sh!" She motioned at them from behind the stairs, Jack's sword in her hands. "He's coming."

Jack leaned back in the cell and closed his eyes. Taking in a gulp of air, he held his breath and stilled his body, the vial in plain sight, on the floor propping up his limp fingers. And if he shoots ye, mate, just to double check? Or just for fun? Please, he told himself. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow and Mary Read herself will be pointing a sword right at him before he can even reach for his pistol.

"So it's true," he heard Barbossa say, sensing his presence right in front of his cell. "Aw, Jack, ye piteous fool. Never was cut out to be a pirate, was ye? Nor a captain of such a ship. Least ye had a fine bride."

"Get away from him," Mary snarled, making herself and the sword visible. Jack opened one eye and grinned.

"'Tis not possible," Barbossa breathed.

"Not probable."

"Calypso!" James yelled into the sea, the waves beginning to thrash, a storm drawing ever nearer. "It's me, James Norrington! I freed you. I've come to make a humble request. Calypso, if you can hear me, at least answer me!"

"Been waiting for you," he heard the sea rumble.

"I, I have a favor to ask—hold off the tempest until we dock at Port Royal." He paused. Nothing. "Calypso?"

"Captain of the Pearl now, James?"

"No! No." He leaned over and waved his hands. "Sparrow is alive! I didn't kill him. Your pirate lords are all alive. Just, please help us back to Port Royal as fast as you can. Please. I freed you."

"How can I forget?" Even as the sea, she, it, was still coquettish as ever. "Ye heard the sea call ye, James, and I answered."

"Yes. Yes, I've heard you many times," he admitted. "But then it was the strongest. Please, Calypso. I'll never ask anything of you again." He waited, peering down into the still sea, storm clouds still gathering above him. "I know I don't deserve your favor. I've become the very thing I've hunted, betrayed those who didn't deserve it—if you could only do this for me, I'll find another way to honor you, keep the sea a part of my life. Please." He blinked the stinging tears out of his eyes, his hands clasped together. "Please."

A/N: The chapter title comes from Richard Lovelace's poem To Althea, From Prison. Thank you so much, everyone who has left a review. Please leave more to tell me how I'm doing!