Which is why one William Turner was so shocked when he rescued Jack after a month’s confinement in and Spanish prison. Jack’s bronze tan had faded to a sickly grayish white and the already slender man had become nearly skeletal. The sparkle that seemed to tell the world of secrets had vanished from Jack’s chocolate brown eyes, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. Bruises of every shade decorated his body and Will was regretting granting the guards a swift death.
As Will helped Jack off of the moldering straw and out the rusted over cell door, he noticed how quickly Jack’s breathing became labored. By the time they had made it across the room to the stairs, Jack’s legs were trembling and it was obvious that he could not make it further. Will paused for a half-second contemplation before leaning down and gently lifting Jack, bridal style, into his arms and continuing up the stairs.
Jack, panting with exertion, wished he had enough breath to protest this treatment, while at the same time relishing in it. After a month without and friendly contact, this was heavenly, and Jack had no real desire for it to ever end. When he snuggled more deeply into his lover’s arms, Will looked down with a soft smile that he reserved solely for Jack.
As Jack drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Will would never allow him to be recaptured, he murmured sleepily to his love. When Will heard the words, he smiled gently and stepped, with Jack in his arms, into the sunlight, quietly repeating the line.
“Now, bring me that horizon.”