PRINCIPLES OF COMPROMISE

Yay, next chapter! You know, I went back looking at all my old stats, relizing that next week this story is two years old and that I have fifty-five people on alert for this story. Fifty-five! And I've only received a handful of reviews from that (which I don't blame you guys - I was a douche bag and didn't update forever). I just miss the feedback and suggestions. So if you read, drop me a line and I will gladly reply - I never get tired of it. :) Enjoy the below segment, written for your pirate-filled reading entertainment.

- Dis/Claimer --

. Chapter Eighteen .

The water hit Jack's body with powerful punch to his stomach and smack on his skin. He sat up immediately, coughing, sputtering, and gasping as the pressure of his face intensified instantly. He groaned, easing back against the frigid stone as the water rolled off him and created pools of runny dirt beneath him. A throbbing ambushed the underside of his jaw; if it wasn't broken, it might as well be a miracle.

He sensed someone kneel beside him as he swallowed the bitter taste of his own blood. His throat protested strongly against his attempt at a deep breath and caused him to cough again.

Bugger.

"Jack?"

A cloth dabbed at his face, but he made a face of pure agony to ward it off. Blinking the water from his eyes on his own, Jack squirmed up the wall a little more with Gibbs and Barbossa standing at his feet. Margaret was at his side examining him, and judging by her expression, it was a matter other than his sustained injuries that called for the urgency behind her composure. He narrowed his eyes at the bucket in Gibbs's hands, and his first mate quickly smiled and threw it out of sight.

"Morning, Captain."

Jack sighed, and the pain in his lungs made his back arch from the wall slightly. "What a pleasantry, waking in the company of others. I wonder why, though, you all have been pardoned the privilege of being chained to this most glorious fort."

"Must ye wonder too hard?" Barbossa quipped.

Margaret couldn't help but to smile at Jack's glare to his once-first-mate. "We weren't captured, Jack."

"Then what merits the morning visit?"

"Beckett has poisoned Miss Swann," Barbossa informed him, sending Jack's blood-caked eyebrows to the edge of his rumpled bandana. He titled his head to the side.

"Did he?"

"Yes," Margaret said. "I overheard him speaking with the doctor about it. Dr. Hawthorne was on his way back from seeing her at the Commodore's home when Beckett inquired after her, and he suggested that you poisoned her drink last night."

"Of course he did," Jack said blatantly. He grimaced as Margaret touched the cloth to his busted jaw but permitted her, tipping his aching head back into the wall. He glanced over at her. "Did said doctor go into details of her condition?"

"He was unable to treat her because he did not know what to treat her for. He fears that her ailment will eventually take her, but once I figured out the poison, I got the antidote from his shop."

"Miss Black," Gibbs said slowly, "beggin' your pardon, but how did you know which antidote to get? You'd have to know the poison Beckett used."

Margaret flinched, still occupying herself with Jack. "Lord Beckett is not familiar with poisons. He would have most likely acquired a common one." Off their looks she added, "Not that there is a wide assortment available for him to acquire."

Barbossa eyed her, and she felt it. However, Jack suddenly swatted her hand from his face, sitting up away from the wall.

"Might I ask what you're still doing dabbing my chin for then?" he asked impatiently. "There is a most prominent social figure, beloved fiance, and Governor's daughter dying."

He paused at the odd expressions on his personal seamstress and crewmen's faces. Reanalyzing his tone, his words, and how they sounded together, his subconscious also gave him an atypical look.

Jack ignored them, smiling widely. "You are seeing to her soon then?"

Barbossa suddenly broke into a knowing grin as Gibbs looked between the two men, confused.

"Yes... We're waiting for Marty to tell us when we can go."

"What stopping you now?" Jack asked.

Barbossa looked again to Margaret. "Beckett's there."

x x x

"Well, I do hope the poor girl pulls through," Beckett said apologetically, standing at the foot of the bed with Governor Swann. "She's always had a strong will, Weatherby."

"Yes," Governor Swann conceded, his thoughts detached from one another as he looked at his resting daughter worriedly.

Beckett refrained from appearing bothered by his upset and the fact the Elizabeth Swann was just lying there on a precipice as if unable to decide when to take her last breath. He took her current state as a mock, but he was self-assured that he would be the last to laugh.

He looked to Norrington in the bedside chair; the man hadn't made so much as eye contact with him since his arrival, let alone spoken much more than several words to him.

"My sympathies, Commodore."

James stared at the dirt under Elizabeth's fingernails and how it was worked into the lines of her knuckles. Paying attention to the details of Elizabeth provided distraction from all the anger simmering within him toward their unwelcomed visitor. If he looked at Beckett, he was certain he might lose all self-control and promptly drive him into the wall.

At his silence, Beckett looked to the Governor. "Shall we?"

"Yes, but first: Commodore, I am relieving you of your official duties for the day." Norrington looked over his shoulder ready to intercede, but Governor Swann gave him a fatherly smile. "Your duty lies with the care of my daughter until my return."

James nodded once, trying not to cast Beckett such a dark glare as he exited the room. He wasn't sure he had succeeded. He looked back at the Governor.

"Yes, sir. It would be my honor."

Governor Swann held his breath as he took leave wordlessly, following Lord Beckett out the house. James was beginning to worry after the Governor as well. Not just because of his constant propinquity to Beckett (a name better spat that said anymore), but because of his anguish for Elizabeth. It would be the death of him to see his daughter's untimely passing, and James believed it may very well be the same in his case.

A few tinks came at the window. Rain.

James thought of her defiance to help Sparrow, how it only masked her desire to see Turner's death justified, and how he had promised to do all he could. He stared at the creases in the blanket tucked around her waist. She seemed to be doing more than he-

Suddenly, more loud, clattering tinks attacked his window simultaneously, and Norrington crossed the room, his temper short. Opening the window, he saw no rain. He looked down at the sill and paused, however; pinching a small rock between his fingers, he brought it to his face.

"Wh-"

Another ambush of the tiny stones pelted him unexpectedly, some flying beyond him into the bedroom. Shocked, he leaned out the window ready to bellow when Margaret suddenly rose from the bushes right in front of him. His eyebrows twisted themselves in an awkward fashion as she took a step back to grant them appropriate breathing space.

"Miss Black?"

"Oh, sorry," she said sheepishly, looking around him into the room. "We didn't wake her, did we?"

Norrington scanned the collection of vegetation. "We?"

Barbossa and Gibbs rose from either side of her, one working a twig out of his tangled hair and the other dusting his hands on his trousers. Margaret sighed, turning to Norrington in a businesslike manner.

"May we enter? I have the antidote for Miss Swann."

For a moment, the Commodore didn't care how or when they had learned of Elizabeth's illness or that his personal suspicions we the same of another, just that there was a way to treat her standing before him, waiting patiently to be administered.

"By all means," he insisted, hope finding a place in his eyes.

However, puzzling him further, the three of them stepped towards the window, waiting expectantly before it. His eyes widened. Were they mad?

"Perhaps you might feel more obliged to use the front door?"

x x x

"My, my, we are not looking so roguishly dashing now, are we?" Beckett barked loudly as Murtogg shut the door to Jack's cell. He gave him a particularly nasty glare. Oh, he longed to kick him when he was down for blindsiding retribution.

"Mr. Mullroy, Mr. Murtogg, I'd like a minute with Captain Sparrow."

The two guards nodded, heading up the stairs.

"He's in here so much he deserves his own cell by now," Beckett heard Mullroy's whisper echo off the stone. He leveled his eyes, exhaling his irritation through his nose.

Complete and irrefutable idiots.

"He's got a point."

Some urge within Beckett to unlock the door and beat him to his death then just to be spared his remarks was pacified by his self-discipline; waning though it was, he clenched to his reason, stepping up to the cross-iron bars disturbingly calm.

"The day after tomorrow." A snarl curled his lips as he punctuated each word with the utmost hatred and disgust from the depths of his soul. "In less than two measly days all of your sins and wickedness will finally be atoned for. And what with the lovely Miss Swann lying on her death bed with your poison in her veins, I'm afraid she will be unable to attend the trial and save you yet again from an unfortunate, deserving fate."

Jack walked up to the cell door, draping his arms through the holes casually. His face was marred with passive fury. "My poison? She likes rum. Oddly enough, it brings her to life instead of stealing it away."

"The judge needn't know of that," Beckett said, unable to resist the urge to smile. "I have to say, Jack, you walked into that blacksmith shop at the most opportune moment. Right over his body, walked in on by a child, all the right people seeing you there in chains next to him..." Beckett laughed, his entire face lighting up as he said lowly, "I was ecstatic."

Jack watched Beckett read his frown and mock him with a pout.

"Don't think of her anymore, Jack. Even if she miraculously recovers, she's to wed at sea immediately. It won't be as painful to lose her as you think; I've ensured that the happy couple's ceremony is one that is short-lived."

"Excuse me, m'lord."

Beckett turned to Mercer with an uncharacteristically buoyant smile spread across his face. The clerk cast him an unsure look as Beckett motioned to him. "Ah, Mr. Mercer! See here what he's brought, Jack?" he asked, lifting Jack's coat up in plain view. "Remarkable."

"Sir, there is a problem."

Beckett paused. "Why is there a problem?"

The clerk leaned into Beckett's ear, returning his outlandish show of exuberance to one ominous and befitting of him once more. Jack stuck out his ear to listen just as Mercer's whisperings subsided, earning him a glare.

"No matter," Beckett said aloud. "Come, Mr. Mercer."

x x x

Beckett stepped out of the carriage before the dressmaker's shop, narrowing his eyes. As expected, he saw the office of Dr. Hawthorne to its right. Mercer joined him at the window as he peered inside the dark shop.

"It's been closed for days, sir. No one seems to know what has happened to the owner."

Beckett leaned away from the window, temporarily encased by his thoughts.

"I was here just this morning. I saw a woman leave this very building," he said, looking into the street at his memory. "She was carrying supplies, but not belongings."

"There are no others in town to do this."

Beckett continued to stare at the street blankly, his heart quickening. Mercer went up to his side. He looked to be working something out that made the most fleeting look of wonder pass over his face.

"Sir?"

Beckett shut his eyes momentarily, transitioning out of his psyche. They fluttered open, staying on the ground. "Mr. Mercer, this town is filled with homemakers and wives. Do you mean to tell me not one of them can sufficiently sew a handful of buttons and cufflinks onto a coat? Have one of the maids do it, for God's sake."

Mercer frowned. "Yes, sir."

"Have it to me by morning. I will be going to see the judge."

"It will be done."

Beckett's eyes glazed over again, calling back to the clerk, "Oh, and Mr. Mercer? If you happen upon the dressmaker," -- he turned to him slowly, still mildly preoccupied -- "bring her to me."

x x x

"Miss Black?"

Margaret stood from the bedside into the pale yellow glow of the late day sun cast on the wall, setting the stolen antidote on the stand.

"Yes, Commodore?"

From behind her where he stood in company with Gibbs and Barbossa, he asked stiffly, "May I have a word?"

She looked up from Elizabeth, and, sensing his urgency, hurried to the door.

"Of course, sir." She nodded to Gibbs and Barbossa. "Excuse me."

Barbossa inclined his head, finding her manners oddly courteous for a commonplace seamstress. He conveyed this that he thought strange to Norrington with a glance as the Commodore shut the door, thinking her no less than entirely proper. Overtaken with worry, however, James turned to Margaret immediately.

"Miss Black, how certain are you that this remedy will work?" he asked, careful of his own words. Margaret straightened, speaking gently to his rattled nerves.

"Put faith in Dr. Hawthorne if not me, Commodore, "she said firmly. "His medicine has cured me of my ailments as well as households of others. Miss Swann should wake soon."

Though she was not practiced in medicine, James found that he was eager to accept that promise from anyone, including her. He nodded, not entirely at ease but mollified. Margaret smiled reassuringly.

"She is very blessed to have you care for her so."

Norrington forced a smile briefly. Such an understatement.

"My feelings for her run deep," he said quietly, causing her to fall silent as well. "I have known her nearly half her life."

At Margaret's prolonged, respectful silence, Norrington suddenly had a feeling he had said more than he intended to convey to her. He felt flustered then, trying to salvage the conversation from the crushing quiet. His wordlessness made her grin, bringing back her amused smile he recalled vividly from the night previous.

He looked up quizzically. "What could possibly be funny?"

Margaret stifled her laughter, biting back her smile as she dared to reach out and touch the faded wine stain on his shirt still creating a humorous eyesore on his pristine image.

"I still retain guilt for this," she said, removing her hand lest it seem more improper than it already did. "I do wish I could repay you for my lack of attentiveness."

Seeing the stain for the first time in hours, James laughed himself at the bit of unexpected relief. He had changed all but his shirt earlier; so consumed with worry, it didn't surprise him.

"Oh!" he chuckled with her. "Oh, it's not too bad off."

"I know, but I feel so terribly-""

"Don't" Norrington interrupted cordially. "I recall myself being the inattentive imbecile what ruined your gown, that lovely blue gown-"

"You needn't apologize again," she said, and he bit his tongue at the request. "I was not even supposed to be there. But after more than several days cooped up in a ship sewing for a lot of scallywags, I decided on a much desired outing."

"I am glad that you did. Your company was pleasant, brief though it had been."

Margaret met his eye, smiling warmly. "And yours."

"Ahem."

James and Margaret looked up. Norrington gave Barbossa and Gibbs a questioning look at the skeptical glances they was alternating between the two of them until Barbossa came out of the doorway.

"Governor's carriage is outside. We need to go."

"Oh. Alright." She looked up at James kindly, his head swiveling to her. "Well, good luck and good evening. Um, might we use your window?"

Norrington huffed at the absolute absurdity of someone asking so politely and sincerely to use a window as a means of escape. He showed them all back into the bedroom, issuing to the open window through which Gibbs was already starting to climb out. Elizabeth remained still, the redness of her cheeks having subsided fractionally. Whether it was from the antidote or the vacating sunlight he could not be sure.

He looked up just in time to see Margaret easing herself over the window's sill and said, "I believe Jack Sparrow to be innocent."

She stopped. Norrington breathed deeply, his ribcage delighting in the stretch after being stationary for the majority of the day. It hadn't been so hard to say out loud, though the corner of Margaret's mouth tugged itself upward at the displeasure he had in doing it.

"If you happen to visit him again, let him know I said that."

She smirked, jumping from the window.

"He'll want it in writing."

x x x

Hey, Turner -- Elizabeth's apparently dying. Seeing as you're currently out of commission, I would do something, but she's still got the bloody key you left to me. And there's no half-pin barrel hinges to lever anymore. I've already asked your father to open the door, but he didn't.

Would you kindly open the door? No? Well then, her death is on you because I think you've been lollygagging and not practicing you afterlife skills three hours a day. Death has taken away your discipline. Think of what it did to me.

"It put me on the Pearl in the middle of a desert with a hundred me's," Jack grumbled aloud dismally. "And rock crabs."

Crab rocks?

At least give someone an epiphany to come get me. Why not one of many fine crewmen sitting on my ship doing nothing?

Although, if you send Barbossa, I might stay in here.

He wouldn't come anyway. He's all about ‘the Code.'"Fall behind, left behind, Jack." Yeah, I know, you git. Go choke on an apple.

You know, maybe you do know if she's all right? If you do, do you mind sharing that information with me? It'd be giving a pirate in the gallows some peace of mind. What if I told you how utterly frightening it was to see Cutler Beckett smiling the way he was? Did you see that? It was just short of maniacal. Perhaps it was. I prefer the morbid glare.

Actually, I prefer not to look at him at all.

He's got it out for us as I'm... sure you're well aware. I don't mind so much myself and I'm sure under normal circumstances, she can handle herself. But I have a feeling this trial won't happen, Turner. He'll just break the judge's neck and hang us all.

I'd really wish you'd tell me how she is.

If the Commodore is being a brute, I want to know about it. Which he isn't. Yes, I know, bugger off.

Jack sighed, having never felt more useless in his life.

For once I hope you and her are never reunited.

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