Norrington sat glumly upon the edge of the cot, wondering why life was sometimes so irritatingly horrible as to dole out indigestion amongst its other treats.

Jack sidled up to him and sat down by his side, causing the cot to move irritatingly beneath Norrington. With a hand on Norrington's shoulder, Jack shook his head. "Don't blame the cook, Jamie lad. T'weren't his fault."

Norrington gave him a sardonic glance. His belly hurt too much to even bother getting involved in some Irritating Conversation about the cook, the salted pork, the cramps currently roiling in his abdomen, or the fact that Jack was causing the bed to shift horribly beneath them with his movements. "I need to sleep. Just... leave me alone for a while."

Jack peered forward a little to search his face. A knowing expression came over him. "I know just the thing, love," he said firmly, and got down, going over to one of the cabinets.

Norrington grimaced, underwhelmed by curiosity. He muttered, bitterly, "I just want to sleep, Jack. Rum is hardly going to help, and I don't fancy a binge, for the headache afterward."

Jack came back to him tutting. "What do you take me for?" he asked in a slightly wounded tone. "This is special. Obtained from a swarthy, mysterious, nomadic Arab when I was in Istanbul. He had a cedar box, in which—"

Norrington gave him a humorless smile. "He wasn't a Turk?"

Jack shook his head quickly. "Don't interrupt." Jack sighed at Norrington's unrelenting frown. "As I was saying, this remedy is guaranteed to fix what ails you. Sometimes, the only way to cure a sour stomach is to cool it down. Now, open wide."

Norrington frowned in suspicion. "Not until you tell me what it is."

Jack sighed. "A little trust wouldn't go amiss, James."

Norrington grabbed the bottle from him and scrutinized it. He gave Jack a dry smile. "Mint drops? Where did you steal it, Jack?"

Jack grinned at him. "It was in the captain's cabin aboard the Interceptor."

"So why bother spinning me some tale about an Arab in Istanbul?"

"Because you expected it, James me lad, and I didn't want to disappoint. Now take some of that mint, because your bellyaching is growing tiresome." Jack gave him a look that left Norrington with the impression that if he didn't take it at once, Jack would forcefeed it to him.

With a shrug, Norrington uncorked the bottle and drank some.

Jack stood there, watching him. Norrington frowned as the hot drops burned. "What is it? I've drunk your little cure. What more do you want?"

Jack moved closer and put both hands on Norrington's knees. Leaning in, he said, "I've never kissed someone minty before."

Despite his achy stomach, Norrington blinked at the gentle note in Jack's voice. He met Jack's lips partway, and allowed Jack's tongue to slip between them, not realizing he'd closed his eyes and lost himself to the kiss until Jack pulled back—far too soon.

Licking his lips with a twinkle in his eyes, Jack murmured, "Sweet. And now, love, I'm going to leave the mint to do its work while you get some rest." He was about to step away when Norrington reached up, stopping him.

Norrington firmly replied, "The only way it's going to be most effective is if you apply it yourself."

Jack grinned at him, and took the bottle of mint, sipping a bit of the strong oil himself, and then leaned in again to meet Norrington's mouth, letting Norrington sample the mint directly.

Norrington felt the fire creep onto his cheeks even as the fire from the mint slipped down his throat, burning, even as Jack's tongue melted against his. Seizing Jack's face with both hands on either side of his head, Norrington kept him there for a deeper kiss, a proper kiss, letting himself drown in it.

Somehow, the cramps didn't seem so bad, now.

Jack's breathy whispered and muffled moan against him made it all the cozier, and Norrington suddenly realized he didn't want to be alone at all.