As Governor of Port Royal, Weatherby Swann was expected to oversee many formal and informal events. He loved the pomp and circumstance of His Majesty's Navy when dress uniforms were worn, and gold braid and shining sword blades caught the sun's rays. He even quite enjoyed the balls he hosted for the city's cream of society. To watch the lovely ladies fluttering their fans and eyelashes at the handsome men in their uniforms made him feel rather paternal towards the younger citizens. In that same regard he was fond of his son-in-law and the young man's willingness to work hard and better himself for the sake of his family. It went without expressing that Elizabeth and the children were Weatherby's main reason for living.

And then there was James Norrington. The young Commodore was Weatherby's equal in status among the hierarchy of Port Royal, and had become a close friend. More than that, Swann had once dearly hoped James would marry Elizabeth and become a member of the family in fact as well as in affection. Since that was not to be, Weatherby had made sure he met with James on a regular basis so as to continue their friendship. Not, he was told in no uncertain terms by an amused, and, if he did say so himself, touched, James, that it was necessary to force the closeness. It seemed that his fondness was returned without reservations, and that pleased Weatherby greatly.

He also respected the other man's military acumen so, when James suggested that they offer a Letter of Marque to the pirate Jack Sparrow, they discussed the potential repercussions and the factors in favour of such an action. Then Weatherby signed the document. A few months later Sparrow was under their wing, so to speak, and a while after that James asked if he could invite the man to their breakfast meetings, to learn all he could about the remaining pirates in and around Jamaica. It was a sound idea, but more than that there was something different about James's demeanour when he brought up the subject. Intrigued as to the cause of this change, Weatherby agreed to the proposal.

The first time Sparrow joined them Weatherby settled into his role of affable host, making sure his new guest was comfortable and well-fed. From the way Sparrow attacked the plate of fruit and biscuits it might have been a while since he had eaten a decent meal. Once the hunger pangs had been eased, the man had begun agreeably answering the Commodore's questions. And that fairly set the tone of their first few meetings stretched out over a period of about five months, each subsequent one occurring just a bit earlier than planned and usually with less time between the last and the next.

Weatherby had been more fascinated by the way James took such pains to appear as if he was doing this merely for the information Sparrow provided. To someone who had known him for nearly a decade and a half, it was clear James was not just all about business and duty. Weatherby noticed the way his pupils dilated when outwardly he gazed sternly at the former pirate, how his skin flushed faintly at a chance brushing of hands while simultaneously reaching for a piece of fruit, or how his normally perfect posture became even more pronounced. It was as if he was controlling what reactions he could and was unaware of the ones he could not.

Weatherby found it quite hopeful that his young friend might find a cessation to the loneliness he suspected James held tightly under his command. If it happened with another man, he certainly was not about to condemn him to a life of sadness by invoking the articles of the Navy which strictly forbade such a bond. He did not think James would appreciate interference from anyone, and would most likely express vehement denial that such a connection existed between him and Sparrow. He would undoubtedly close off his feelings with a harshness that no amount of... flirting from Sparrow—for that was what the intriguing man was doing—would ever bring them forth again. And so, all Weatherby could do was provide a place for them to at least sit in one another's presence. It was woefully inadequate but would have to do for now.

And then one morning Sparrow asked ever so nicely for apple jelly and thickly sliced bread for his breakfast. Weatherby sensed the rules of the game—albeit one-sided—had changed. He took the chance that whatever Sparrow was up to would reach James on a level that he could accept without fighting it so hard. Mentally crossing his fingers that he had guessed correctly, he ordered his staff to bring a fresh jar of apple jelly to the table along with as many juicy fruits as they could find in the pantry. If not there, then they were to go pick them off the trees in the orchard. Weatherby had been young once, and recalled a few trysts involving willing lovers, sticky, gushing fruit and athletic tongues. He hid his smirk and joined James and Sparrow at the table.

Sparrow made his move early on. Perhaps he was tiring of James's stubborn determination to be a good officer. Weatherby would have clucked his tongue in consternation at his young friend. The man was not stupid, not in the least, but he adhered to the letter of the law like a barnacle to a brigantine. Admirable for his career, but it really wasn't healthy.

Weatherby sipped his tea and then started on a tale of baby Laura's sweet cooing. He knew he sounded like a doting old, unsophisticated grandfather, and he was partly that, but inwardly he hoped James would see the light and let Sparrow know he was interested.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Sparrow made love to that hunk of bread. He perspired under his wig more that usual as he viewed the spectacle, Weatherby silently swore that if James did not make a move soon, he would proposition the former pirate himself. Somehow he managed to continue prattling about his granddaughter, not sure if he was making sense. It was all right, though, because it looked like neither of the other two men was listening anyway.

Then it happened. It was all he could do not to stare as a droplet of jelly fell from the bread to land on Sparrow's chin. Wrenching his gaze away, he stole a look at James. The expression of naked lust on his face was unmistakable. Moving so swiftly that Weatherby was astonished, James pounced, bumping the table in his hurried passage and landing in Sparrow's lap. The chair rocked backwards and they crashed to the ground, arse over tea kettle.

"Finally!" Uh oh, he had said that aloud. Neither man noticed, but to be sure not to bring attention to their newfound closeness he studiously kept his gaze on the middle distance, and added, "... Elizabeth picked her up to stop her crying. My daughter is an excellent mother, but when she gets preoccupied... well, she does lean a bit too often on the nanny at times." He rambled on and was pleased to see that the would-be lovers were now completely enraptured of each other.

He stood up, and took his teacup with him into the house. He instructed the servants to stay away from the terrace and dismissed them from the parlour. Then he carefully drew closed the heavy drapes, ostensibly to keep out the hot sun. One last peek outside showed that much progress was being made in Navy-privateer negotiations out there. They had all the privacy they needed with the surrounding shrubbery concealing them from well, no one, since the estate did not have visitors at present and none of the staff were on the grounds.

He made a mental note to call on the Widow McAllister. She was always up for a bit of fun. Then Weatherby went in search of more tea, as he had neglected to bring the pot inside with him.

# end