PRINCIPLES OF COMPROMISE

Oh, hi there. Long lost me is posting a chapter! Here I am, about 5 weeks from graduation and five months pregnant, back in the college library trying to do something familiar in all the chaos I've been caught up in this past year, and I punch out the ending to a chapter I started writing months and months ago. As if that isn't nice enough, I have the rest of the story blocked out, so this should only be another 2-3 chapters long - something I am determined to finish before my pirate kid here comes into the world in late August. So yes, I am finishing this once an for all! Finally! Thank you for not finding me and hurting me in my absence. :)

- Dis/Claimer --

. Chapter Nineteen .

Elizabeth was still asleep when Norrington answered the door for Governor Swann. Thankfully Lord Beckett was not with him, off on some errand, according to the Governor; yet, in his absence, James was still uneasy and unable to keep a watchful eye on him. Wherever Beckett might be, he was sure his errand concerned the imminent demise of him, Elizabeth, and Sparrow.

It was Norrington who requested she stay another night. The Governor looked apprehensive to suggest it, insisting James deserved a rest from his vigil after one sleepless night. But overall, it was best for her sake. James would ultimately pull one of his armchairs into the bedroom and let his eyes shut for only moments at a time, occasionally resting his head against the side of it.

He passed the opportunity to sell out his knowing of Beckett's scheme to Governor Swann as well, slanting the truth when he said yes to her father's question as to whether or not Dr. Hawthorne's medicine had made a difference. He didn't feel like dealing with the upheaval of involving another person, let alone the only person considered to be Lord Beckett's equal in Port Royal. It wasn't worth endangering his life as well.

Near dawn, when slumber seemed to be heavier on his eyelids than an anchor pulling him to the bottom of the ocean, the most beautiful sound fell on his ear.

"James?"

He lifted his head from the side of the armchair not yet registering the raspy voice as hers, but it was unmistakable. Seeing her push herself up to sit, he sprang from the chair.

"N- here. Slow down," he said, completing her seemingly impossible task of putting a pillow behind her back as she shook from a cough. "How do you feel?"

"As if," -- a cough -- "there has been a brick placed on my chest."

"Lie back. I'll get some water."

x x x

As the morning progressed, a cold, slow-moving rain began to fall. Elizabeth sat in James's bed with a plate of breakfast on the nightstand he had prepared for her, listening as he recounted the previous day's events from Barbossa, Gibbs, and Margaret bringing the antidote for Beckett's poisoned wine to the fear she had brought down on them all in her state of unresponsiveness. After the retelling, she was silent for a time, her eyes transfixed somewhere unseen to Norrington.

He sat down his tea, leaning to try and catch her eye.

"Elizabeth? Is something wrong?"

"There is nothing we can do to help him."

James's head turned to the side, and he regarded her defeated comment with confusion. She continued, her gaze still far off. "There is no such thing as a trial for a pirate," she reiterated despondently, swallowing the emotion in her throat. "He will always be found guilty despite the circumstances. And with this, there will be no seeing him off. We can't rely on missing cufflinks and a jury of Beckett's devotees. We can't even postpone the wedding to speak on his behalf if he even had a chance. We're to wed tomorrow before the trial."

Norrington took in her disheartening words, knowing she was thinking despite sounding so bleak. He asked, "What exactly is stopping us from postponing it? You're weak, recovering."

"We're not going to postpone it. We're not going to have it at all. We're going to free Jack and leave."

"Beckett controls all the ships in this harbor."

"Not the Black Pearl. The judge has put a safe pardon on it for Jack until the trial tomorrow morning."

"It's not going to be that easy, Elizabeth. The ship is pardoned so long as it does not leave port. Lord Beckett is not going to let that ship out of his sight."

She shook her head. "He will if my father goes missing."

James shifted his eyes uncertainly. "I'm sorry?"

"This isn't about proving Jack's innocence and Beckett's responsibility. We know with whom the guilt lies, and that is all I have been after. Now I need only to get out of this corner we've been trapped into."

Norrington nodded slowly, his eyebrow arching as he leaned closer.

"Elaborate on the part where your father goes missing."

x x x

Margaret had given up on keeping the hem of her dress the same color as its length. The mud and rain were adamant in staining the long, olive skirt. Some blotches had even managed to get to her coral blouse under the shield of her cloak. Lord only knew when she would be able to sew herself a proper dress again. And, try as she might to ignore it, hunger had finally overcome her work. The longing for a bite of decent food was far too strong.

More townspeople were braving the rains at the produce market on High Street than she would have expected. Shoulders brushed as she weaved through the passersby in search of a bright, solid orange. The wooden crates and barrels were leaking tiny streams of rainwater around themselves, quiet voices of customers and merchants exchanging goods and a few shillings. Margaret ducked to the side and stepped up to the small box of oranges.

None were immaculate. Most were dull, dented, and acquiring small fuzzy patches near their tops. She wet her lips and stared at the soft, soggy fruits. It isn't stale bread or rum, she thought, reaching for the most perfect sphere in the upper right corner of the box.

A grizzled hand snatched her wrist an inch above her find. She twisted uncomfortably in the strong grasp, eyes widening when she looked up at Mercer.

He slid a short blade from his cloak along her hip, the pressure biting into the bone.

"Lord Beckett requests an audience, madam."

x x x

Gray rain washed over the harbor, tossing the smaller vessels about as their flags and ropes rippled in the gusts. Beckett inspected his translucent reflection in one of the large windows as the heavy rain streamed down its length. After years of service, his proper recognition lied in the outcome of the following two days. Sparrow was the primary concern, yes; but with the Governor pushing to postpone the wedding and fund it himself until Elizabeth was in better health, an alternative looked to be inconveniently marring his agenda.

"M'lord, the dressmaker."

And it was her fault.

"Give us a moment, Mr. Mercer."

The heavy door closed softly. Silence. The clock on the mantle even seemed to hush itself as Beckett followed the patterns in the wood grain of the windowsill with his eyes.

"Margaret Black." He turned, walking towards her soaked and soiled form. "You would take a commoner's name."

Margaret did not flinch, freeze, or scowl at him. Her demeanor was hardly even cautious despite his danger. Something different moved over him as his eyes grazed her flushed face.

"I expected no less," he said.

Margaret blinked, her breath inaudible as the tips of his shoes quietly met the bottom of her mud-caked skirts. Her eyes laced with his hard gaze, roping him in.

"It's not polite to steal," he said. "In fact, it's quite against the law. Now, you may ask what 'proof' I have. Miss Swann's recovery is proof enough. Not to mention your extensive knowledge in your father's field of study."

"Don't speak of him."

He growled, smiling briefly as the bite of her voice. As his face cooled in the shadows of her silhouette, he drew nearer to her, his hand smooth against her waist.

"I wonder how often you reminisce of the silk on your skin," he whispered slowly. His fingers grazed the wet hair clinging to her neck, breath warm on her ear. "The curls in your hair? The pearls around your neck?"

"I happily spend my reveries elsewhere," Margaret said, removing his hands from her with more kindness than she had wanted. He held on to hers in the space between them, boring into her eyes.

"Where? In your little shop? In the depths of the Black Pearl? I know the role you play in this, Margaret. I know the way you think and the way you lie, the things you find unbearable and the life you try to leave behind. I pardoned you once for your insolence-"

She shook her head, pursing her lips. "Pardoned? You divide us, and I am the one who is pardoned?"

Beckett inhaled unevenly. "Do not forget that it was my power that put you on a ship afterward."

"Yes. You snuffed out the last of your humility after that," she declared boldly, a smile coming to her lips. She slipped her hands from his but remained close.

"I know where you spend your reveries, Cutler. In the deep night and shallow days, you are here," she said, glancing between the two of them, "but I am not."

Her face softened as Beckett stood silent before her, swallowing hard. "You try to rid the world of 'evil' when you can't even fight your own demons."

She took a step back, but he reached for her elbow. Margaret stared at him, surprised at the plea she felt in his rough grasp. He loosened his hold, unable to bring his eyes from the floor.

"What became of the child?"

She paused, voice going soft.

"It died."

Beckett shut his eyes. Something trembled deep within him. Some unfamiliar, dark pain he would not succumb to. He would not bend again lest he wish to break.

"Mr. Mercer!"

Ever obedient, the clerk slid into the room. "Yes, sir?"

"Take Miss Black to gallows. She has," -- he looked down at her stiffly -- "traitorous potential."

A wry smile came to her as Mercer closed iron shackles around her wrists and led her away.

"It was good to see you again, Cutler."

x x x

Jack opened one of his eyes, watching as Margaret was escorted into the cell across from him. When Mercer and the other soldiers left, Margaret sat on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest wordlessly. Jack leaned away from the back wall and into the iron bars.

"Get into a fight with the husband?"

Her head whipped round only to find his smile.

"Apologies. Ex-husband." He pointed at her, slowly repositioning at the sting of his wounds. "I knew you looked familiar."

Margaret's mouth hung agape momentarily. Eventually she took a deep breath, fussed with the soiled hem of her skirt, and smiled over at him.

"He started it."

x x x

Governor Swann entered the carriage to find Lord Beckett pensively watching the cool, misty drizzle accumulate and slide down the small window. He watched him, sensing something wasn't quite right as the door closed and the carriage began to move. Beckett glanced over having felt the Governor's eyes on him.

"Is everything alright, Cutler?" he asked.

Beckett straightened in his seat. "Yes, fine. I suppose all of this mess is finally catching up to me."

Governor Swann gave a wry smile. 'Mess' was most certainly the word. Since Will's murder, no one had slept soundly in Port Royal. He was beginning to think that Cutler Beckett was the exception, but the man was very human before him now, distracted and worn. The Governor took a deep breath.

"At least Elizabeth is awake," he said. "I was so relieved at the news."

"Perhaps she had woken sooner if she had been at the manor," Beckett said. "Tending to the ill is not exactly something a naval officer of any rank is suited for. Then we wouldn't have to add rescheduling a wedding to our long list."

"I think, in light of the situation, Commodore Norrington was perfectly suited to care for Elizabeth. Rescheduling their wedding is far less important than her health. Besides, if she has had the excellent recovery I was told, we may only need to postpone a day or so."

Beckett lifted his head, eyebrows raised. "What bout tomorrow? I know it's moving it up instead of back, but that's Sparrow's trial."

"No, no I wouldn't have the two coincide, especially right now-"

"Why wouldn't you?" Beckett quickly asked.

"I'd imagine Elizabeth would want to be there."

"No, Weatherby. That poor girl has been through enough," Beckett said, leaning forward. "Having the ceremony during the trial would give her a happy memory of the day, not one in which she is still in mourning. Putting them on their ship is a crucial moment of rebirth, and you will be there as well.

"Trust me, Governor. Be there for your daughter. I will see to Mr. Sparrow's fate. In accordance to the judge's decision, of course."

Governor Swann sighed. "It's not that simple. She'll want some form of closure, and she deserves it."

"But," Beckett said, "she does not deserve its repercussions marring her wedding day."

"I would imagine regret would do the same-"

Suddenly, a series of heavy hits came to the top of the carriage. Governor Swann and Beckett looked at one another as a fierce jolt shifted them, nearly sending the carriage onto its side. It fell back to the muddy street roughly, its occupants readjusting themselves as it kept moving.

"What the devil?"

Beckett quickly threw the tiny curtain on the window aside, shocked to meet a filthy, upside down face with a wooden eye. Ragetti's eyebrows shot up into his mess of hair, and he disappeared onto the top of the carriage as Beckett screamed, "Stop! Stop the carriage!"

Another series of jolts came, Beckett grabbing the back of the seat to stay balanced. Then, poised on two wheels, the whole carriage began to tip over, the glass in the window smashing as it crashed to the ground.

Beckett groaned, pieces of glass cracking under his hands as he pushed himself up slowly. Governor Swann tried to right himself in the wreckage as well while fixing his askew wig. He grimaced in discomfort while Beckett's eyes lit with anger. Before Lord Beckett could reach of the carriage door, however, it opened, four of Jack Sparrow's crew members peering down at him through the rain.

"Grab him!" Barbossa shouted, pointing at Governor Swann with his sword.

Swann and Beckett immediately tried to press themselves back into the side of the carriage as much as possible, but the dirty, wet hands of the pirates pulled them both out into the disgusting streets.

Beckett was thrown to the hard ground in the retrieval of the Governor. Marty and Ragetti stood over him as the Governor's shouts emerged from the tangled wreck of their carriage.

"No! Unhand me!"

Barbossa laughed riotously as Pintel and Gibbs restrained Governor Swann, his yellow smile coming face to face with him.

"Please don't struggle, your highness," Barbossa leered. "You wouldn't want to give us reason to harm ye know, would you?"

Swann saw some strange, brief offering of trust in Barbossa's eye before the uncouth man directed the others to take him away. Beckett watched them carry him away as Barbossa came to tower over him, the rainwater running off the ends of his coat to Beckett's neck.

"Just keep digging yourselves deeper graves, don't you?" Beckett asked, blinking in the slanted rain.

Barbossa smiled. "Mind as well do something worth being condemned for first."

Then, a blunt force met the side of Beckett's head. His vision spotted, no memory of it turning black as his temple dropped to the mud and ears filled with the dark guffaws of the men above him.

x x x

Beckett came to on the edge of an alley a street down from where the carriage had been overturned. He got to his feet unsteadily, head still pounding from whatever those bastards had hit him with. The thickening rain had rinsed the majority of the mud from his skin and waistcoat, but still much remained in the creases from when he was lying on the ground.

It was not much darker out than it had been when the Governor was carried off, and a group of soldiers were up the street examining the wreckage. Walking out a painful cramp in his leg, Beckett pursed his lips and limped the remainder of the way up the street to Norrington's residence where a handful of officers greeted him in the foyer with terrified faces.

"Lord Beckett! Thank god!" Gillette said, trying not to dwell on his horrid appearance. "How did you get away?"

"I was left behind," he said, fury still present in his eyes. "They took the Governor. Why are you here?"

"When the carriage was attacked, we sent someone to notify Commodore Norrington, but he and Miss Swann were both missing. We fear they were taken as well."

Beckett looked into the doorway of the empty bedroom and around the foyer. There were no footprints, no traces of mud on the floors or signs of disturbance that would indicate they had been taken.

No, Elizabeth Swann and James Norrington were running. Running right to their deaths.

"Sir?"

Beckett turned to go. "Keep searching."

"What about you, sir? Are you alright to find your back on your own?"

He smiled inwardly. "I know what I'm doing Lieutenant."

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