"...and you are convinced, Commodore," Governor Longfield said, rolling up the sea charts on his desk and replacing them with two crystal glasses, which he proceeded to fill with port, "that these precautions will suffice?"

Norrington accepted the glass offered him with a polite nod and leaned back in his chair.

"Certainly," he said. "My ships will rendez-vous with the Orion at the coordinates we've agreed upon, well before she reaches Caribbean waters. Even if word should have got out about the gold shipment, there are no pirates who would stand a chance against such odds."

"What about this man... Sparrow?"

A flash of memory in Norrington's mind: charcoal eyes, inches from his own, fluttering hands settling briefly on his uniformed chest—"I want you to know I was rooting for you, mate. Know that."

He washed the image away with a sip of his port.

"Sparrow has been successful at avoiding capture, I'll give him that. But his Black Pearl is no match against the two most heavily armed ships in the Caribbean. There is no cause for concern on that front."

"I hope not," the governor said. "That money is badly needed here to finance the completion of the fort, and a harbour as strategically important as this one should not be left with less than adequate defences."

"I agree with you completely, Governor. It's a relief that our government back in England have finally seen fit to send the necessary funds, and I give you my word that they will arrive safely."

"In that case," Longfield said, giving him a warm smile, "I cannot but rest easy. Now, I'm afraid you will have to excuse me—there are still preparations left to be made for the ball tonight."

"Of course." Norrington rose when the governor did, putting his glass down on the desk and picking up his three-cornered hat. "I should change for the occasion myself."

The look on Longfield's face turned somewhat apologetic.

"I do hope you don't mind that it's a masquerade. I don't much hold with these affairs myself, but my dear wife has a fondness for them. I tried to tell her that Port McCrawley isn't London and that the people here may not appreciate it, but you know how it is with the ladies—they will have their way."

Norrington twisted his lips slightly in a sympathetic smile.

"It will be a pleasant change to get out of this uniform for once," he said. "I don't know who designed it, but I can guarantee you the man had no experience with the Caribbean sun."

The governor's laughter was rather more jovial than he found appealing.


~~~~~~~~~~


It had been a long time, Norrington realized an hour later, alone in one of the guestrooms in the governor's villa, since he had looked in a mirror and seen anything other than an officer. He was of course not "dressing up" for this affair, but a masked ball did require that he at least played at anonymity, and attending in military garb was out of the question. He had replaced his uniform with a green velvet suit and put the wig aside in favour of his own brown hair, tied neatly back in a ponytail. The person now facing him in the looking-glass seemed to him at once more naked and more clothed than his usual self, the absence of his naval attire exposing the man underneath in a manner he wasn't accustomed to, while the civilian clothes disguised aspects of him that he usually wore on his sleeve—the sailor, the soldier, the commander of men. Vaguely, he wondered how many times in his life he had ever been all that he was in the same moment, and remembered the day of a failed hanging, standing with his sword sharp against a man's throat and his heart breaking in his chest.

Irony turned the corner of his mouth up, then, a self-mocking smile flickering across his features as he picked up the black eye-mask lying on the dressing-table.

"Ask a stupid question..." he mumbled, fastening the ribbons of the mask behind his head.


~~~~~~~~~~


It seemed that despite the governor's concerns, the social elite of Port McCrawley had no objections to a masquerade. The ballroom was overflowing with people, their voices and laughter weaving in and out of the music played by a string quartet at the far end of the room. Only a few of the guests had chosen to dress in a manner out of the ordinary—the colours of their clothes more daring, their accessories more striking than what you would normally see—but they all wore masks. Some, like the commodore's own, were tied on with ribbons, others were held on sticks; some were simple and understated, some painted in bright patterns, yet others adorned with feathers or glittering stones. The scene was spectacular, full of movement and life, and it made Norrington long for the quiet of an evening at sea.

Perhaps, he reflected, lifting a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, the social duties that came with his rank would have felt less intimidating if there had been a Mrs Norrington on his arm. But Elizabeth was back in Port Royal, awaiting the birth of her first child with Will Turner, and though he had stopped dreaming of a life with her, there was no other woman he could imagine by his side, no one who piqued his interest in the slightest. On the whole, since the day of that hanging, he allowed few things to move him at all. There was the sea—never faithful, always true—and there was his hunt for an illusive bird whose presence just out of reach had become a constant, an ever on-going challenge. He was aware that the thing with Sparrow had become more personal than professional, but the man had managed to slip beneath his skin at a moment in his life when he had been unusually vulnerable, and now it seemed he could not be excised. Besides, he made an interesting adversary, the game they played too enjoyable to abandon.

Norrington couldn't help but look forward to the following afternoon, when the Dauntless would pick him up on her way back to Port Royal on one of her regular patrols. Much as he trusted Lieutenant Gillette to be in command for a few days, he missed being where the action was.


~~~~~~~~~~


He did his duty as an officer and a gentleman, dancing a few dances with young ladies of the sort he was supposed to pay attention to, but when there was a pause in the music, he made his escape towards the buffet table. He wasn't without a measure of natural grace, he knew that, but it was a grace suited to climbing the rig of a frigate or out-manoeuvring an opponent in a swordfight, and the twists and turns of a minuet always made him feel out of place. Not, he supposed, because his knowledge was insufficient, but because his heart wasn't in it.

He got himself another glass of wine from the table and was looking over the selection of food when a nearby conversation caught his attention.

"...and then, of course, there is the matter of pirates," a small, round-faced man in a white mask was saying, evidently directing himself at a gentleman standing with his back to Norrington. "In London, everyone warned me that the Caribbean was crawling with them, but ever since I arrived, all I'm hearing is that the Navy has very nearly wiped them out."

Norrington smiled into his wine glass. It was good to know that the public had faith in her protectors.

"Oh, I don't know about that," the other man said. "I'd still keep an eye open if I were you. Can't be too careful when it comes to pirates."

A dark, melodious voice, cultured, but with an undercurrent of what sounded like Cockney. Norrington looked up again, but from this angle he couldn't see the man's face, only the back of a three-cornered hat and a thick braid of dark hair disappearing into the collar of a black coat.

"And what, pray tell," the commodore said, "is it the good man here should keep an eye open for?"

There was a brief stiffening of the stranger's back, so minute he might have imagined it, before the man turned in a smooth, liquid motion to answer Norrington's question.

"Might be anything, really," he said, a peculiar mockery in his tone that matched the commodore's sarcasm. "Those dirty scoundrels are a devious lot, always up to something."

As they came face to face, Norrington saw that the stranger was dressed entirely in black, his suit made of finest silk, with an elegant cut that would not have been out of place at the royal court. The thin, deep red plaster mask that hid his features was decorated with a painted gold border, an arabesque pattern running along its edge, lending it an air of the exotic. Below it, only sharp jawbones and a mouth surrounded by a short, well-trimmed beard and moustache were visible. A small, challenging smile played on the man's lips, but what drew Norrington's gaze was his eyes, dark and clear, set like black, flawless jewels within the holes of the mask. For a second, the commodore forgot how to breathe.

"I can believe that," said the round-faced man. "And I intend to be very careful on my journey home."

"Caution is always advisable, sir," Norrington said. "Nevertheless, the pirates in these waters are hardly the threat they used to be."

"Well, be that as it may, I... Oh, excuse me, gentlemen, I think my company is wanted elsewhere."

Following the little man's gaze, Norrington saw a woman waving at him from across the room. It was with some relief he watched him go to join her, as though his presence had been an unwanted intrusion.

"Not a threat, eh?" The red-masked stranger said, the natural melody in his speech suddenly more pronounced. "A good pirate is always a threat, mate, 'specially when you think you know where you've got him."

Norrington fixed the man with a level stare, one of the kind that tended to make junior officers quiver in their boots.

"A good pirate, perhaps. But when was the last time you heard of one of those?"

An amused glitter in those onyx eyes, touched with something that might have been appreciation.

"True enough, true enough. But then there's not much call for pirates to exert themselves when those Navy lads can barely put their wigs on straight without falling overboard, is there?"

It was an insult he should have resented, but, instead, Norrington's lips curved in an ironic smile.

"Indeed. It's a pity there aren't more qualified men on either side."

"Right you are." The stranger looked at him speculatively, as though taking his measure, then nodded his head in the manner of a man who finds he is in agreement with himself. "It's a bit crowded in here," he said. "What do you say we take a stroll on the terrace?"

Norrington felt a moment's hesitation, but it was a moment too brief by far.

"By all means," he said. "Lead the way."

The stranger put his palms together in front of his chest and inclined his head in a slight bow before turning on his heel and moving away towards the French doors. The gesture sent a fierce shudder up the length of Norrington's spine, and when he followed, it was with the sharp taste of excitement on his tongue.

Though the warm Caribbean night offered little respite from the heat in the ballroom, the terrace was far from deserted, but already at first glance it was obvious that most of the people out here were courting couples, seeking to avoid the prying eyes of chaperones. For some reason, that realization made a lump form in Norrington's throat, and he swallowed it down with a drink of wine from the glass he still held in his hand. Looking around for the stranger, he found him at the edge of the terrace, leaning his forearms on the balustrade and gazing out into the blackness beyond the circle of light from the house. When Norrington joined him, setting his glass down on the stone ledge, he didn't stir.

From somewhere below, the fragrance of night-blooming flowers drifted up to them, mingled with the ever-present scent of seaweed and salt. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Norrington could distinguish where land ended, and the deeper, softer darkness of the sea began.

"She smells lovely tonight, don't she?"

The stranger's voice was so low that Norrington barely caught the words.

"Pardon?"

"The sea. Warm and waiting, ready for a change. There will be rain before morning."

Norrington nodded, his fingers playing with the stem of his glass.

"Rain, and then wind. Tomorrow will be a good day for sailing."

"Aye." The stranger straightened his body and turned to face the commodore once more. As he shifted, the light from the ballroom caught in the gold of his mask, making it glow like burning embers. "Aye," he said. "But tonight there is a calm."

It was a statement of fact and a challenge, full of wreckless, demanding intent, but also, somehow, a question, a hesitant offer of retreat.

"Yes," Norrington said. "Tonight there is a calm."

For a space of time that might have been endless, might have been only a sliver of a second, the world did indeed appear to stop. Then a slow, predatory smile spread across the stranger's lips, and he took a step forward, a swaying, serpentine move which brought their bodies so close together that velvet whispered against silk.

"Good," he said, placing his hand on top of Norrington's where it rested on the balustrade, his thumb slipping under the cuff of the commodore's shirt to rub across his wrist, "'cause I wouldn't mind drifting right here for a bit."

A sudden wave of near panic washed over Norrington, his eyes darting over the terrace, half expecting to see a crowd of people staring at them. But the music had started up again and the dancing had resumed; there was no one looking in their direction. Nothing that would end this for him if he didn't do it himself.

"Don't," he said. "We shouldn't." But the stranger's caresses were sending tendrils of fire through his veins, and his voice, though steeled with the habit of command, lacked conviction.

An amused breath of laughter, too close to his lips, and the stranger's free hand lifted to cup his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, thumb brushing along the lower edge of his mask, not quite touching skin.

"Haven't you ever been to the Spanish Main in carnival time, love? There's no such thing as 'don't' or 'shouldn't' while the masks are on. No laws, no consequences. Only what your heart desires."

Laws. He had bent laws for the people he loved, but this law, the article that applied here, was the only one he had ever wilfully broken, and broken for the sake of his own pleasure. So long ago, now—What had he been? A midshipman?—and he'd never thought he would want to break it again. But he did want this. Had wanted, he realized with a sharp pang of understanding, something... something very much like this for a long time. And if tonight there were no consequences...

With a quick motion, he raised his hand and gripped the other man's wrist, pulled it harshly away from his neck. Held on to it as he leaned closer, so close that the stranger had to tilt his head back to see his face. Black eyes growing impossibly wider, not—Lord.—not with fear, but with pure, unadulterated lust, and he felt the air curve with the heat of their bodies.

"Whatever my heart desires?" Norrington said, and beneath the measured cool of the words, he could hear the ragged promise in his own voice, naked and raw.

The stranger's lips parted in a wide, lascivious grin, alive with a glitter of gold.

"Let's have it, mate," he said, and Norrington had to fight back the urge to kiss him, right then and there.

"Come on," he said, releasing the man and turning away, walking briskly across the terrace without looking back, knowing that he would be followed. Somewhere inside him, there was still a voice of reason, but as he passed through the vibrant crowd of masked faces in the ballroom, it seemed irrelevant, replaced by a wild abandon surging in his blood. His steps held no hesitation.


~~~~~~~~~~


The moment Norrington had turned the key, the stranger was on him, pushing him up against the door, strong hands tilting his head down into a kiss. Cool, hard surface of the mask against his skin, rasp of beard on his cheek, and then warm lips found his, an insistent tongue demanding entrance. He opened up hungrily, moaning into the other man's mouth, and when the stranger's hat pushed against his forehead, he pulled it off, dropping it to the ground. The hair beneath it was rough under his fingers, uncombed tangles belying the neatness of the braid. The feel of it made his pulse throb with desire, and he let his hands slide lower, slipping inside that extravagant silk coat. Gripping slim, tantalizing hips, grinding their bodies together, and the stranger gasped aloud as their erections rubbed against each other, Norrington convulsing with the sudden flash of pleasure.

He lost it, then, lost control of what was happening as the stranger slid from his grasp and fell to his knees, one hand searching for the fastenings of Norrington's breeches, the other stroking the hard length of his cock through the fabric. The guestroom was dark, but in the faint glimmer of moonlight from the window, the stranger's eyes were arrestingly bright as he paused to look up, a devilish grin on his lips.

"Looks like I'm getting more than my money's worth here, mate," he said, voice mischievous but thick with something that might have been need. "But then, come to think of it, so are you."

Whatever retort the commodore may have had to that, it was lost forever when his breeches were lowered and the stranger's lips closed around his cock. All he could think as that beautiful mouth engulfed him was that any monetary value put on this, no matter how high, would fall helplessly short. And then there were no thoughts at all, only blinding, excruciating ecstasy and the knowledge, somewhere deep in his bones, that this was where the cat-and-mouse games of the past year had inevitably led him, where he had been heading since the day of that hanging that never was.

As the wave of pleasure built inside him, rising with every sweep of that talented tongue, he buried his hands in the matted web of the other man's hair and held on, held fast, closed his eyes and clung to the reality beneath the illusion like a drowning man to a severed mast. And when the climax crashed through him, stealing his breath away, he remained what he had always been.

There was a moment of stillness after the stranger let him go, a lull in which he could hear his own laboured breathing and the music drifting up from the ball below. Then he opened his eyes and looked down, and his fingers moved through dark hair to the knot that held the red mask tied in place. Black eyes flew wide, and the stranger's hand touched his arm, staying him.

"Once you do that," he said, "there will be no more pretending."

Norrington pulled on the bow, red silk unfolding under his touch.

"What makes you think I was pretending before... Jack Sparrow?"

He could feel the world hitching again, holding its breath, and then Sparrow rose with a breathtaking, effortless lightness, catching the mask in his hand and spreading his arms in an ornate, dizzying bow.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please. Commodore."

Norrington inclined his head in a show of exaggerated courtesy.

"Captain Sparrow, of course. How could I forget?"

The sarcasm in his voice was flawless, but his arm around Sparrow's waist, bringing him close, said something else entirely. The man's face was even more indecently lovely than he remembered, and his hand rose of its own accord to brush an errant strand of hair from the curve of a cheekbone. That small, deceptively feminine mouth twisted again, mocking him.

"And here I was, thinking an up-standing gentleman such as yourself might find it difficult to... socialize... with a gentleman such as myself without being able to tell himself a few white lies about the matter. Seems I was a bit mistaken."

It was on the tip of his tongue to mention Elizabeth, how he had lied to himself then, convinced himself that once they were married, she would love him the way he loved her, how much it had hurt when the truth had broken through. How tonight had started as a lie, but one it would tear him apart to maintain; how there was too little in his life already that wasn't somehow less than real. But there were no words for any of that, only action, and so he said the only thing that made sense.

"Carnival, remember? I can have whatever I want."

"Without masks?"

"Without masks."

"Good," Sparrow said, lifting his hands to Norrington's mask and pulling it off in a flourishing gesture.

There were no more words then for some time, only the rustle of clothes falling to the floor and the whisper of skin against skin, until Norrington found himself naked on the bed, Sparrow moving above him—a ghostly shape in the darkness, granting him touches quick and restless as moonlight on the waves, kisses deep as the night beneath the sea. The body in his hands was so thin he would have called it fragile, had he not seen with his own eyes the damage it could do. Contradiction there like the man himself, with his submissive gestures and commanding ways, so hard to comprehend, so much easier to just give in to, here and now, in this calm where nothing had to be denied.

Slick cock sliding in the hollow of his hip, burning him, and he was hard again himself, arching up against sweat-dampened heat, craving this, demanding it. Moans and pants around them in the air, surrounding them, and he couldn't tell which were his own and which were Sparrow's, didn't want to, as long as they never died away. When sharp teeth found the curve of his neck, he threw his head back and begged for more.

Time passing only as the rhythm of heartbeats, the steady ebb and flow of bodies moving together, and Norrington closed his eyes, let himself drift on sensation, until at last their thrusting grew more frantic, their need for completion palpable in every touch. Sparrow's hands cupped his face, then, callused thumbs brushing his eyelids, a pleading command breathed against his lips.

"No masks, Commodore."

And he opened his eyes to the pirate's gaze, saw himself reflected there, saw himself the way he looked to Sparrow. Sharp as a gleaming blade, unyielding as the hangman's noose, but also, through some wonder he didn't understand, gentle as the horizon at sunrise, open for passion and love. And as his body stiffened in the final spasm of release, he felt whole, comprehended, like a man who has found something long lost. He wrapped his arms around Sparrow and held him tight while he came in long, shuddering gasps, never taking his eyes off Norrington's face.


~~~~~~~~~~


It was only when the music downstairs had stopped and they heard the other guests begin to depart that Sparrow slid off the bed and started to get dressed. It was a peculiar feeling, sitting there in the bed and watching him get ready to leave, knowing that he would let him, though his duty told him otherwise.

"Jack," he said, his gaze following the pirate's fingers as they flicked specks of dust from the sleeves of his coat. "You do realize that whatever information you came here to get about the gold shipment became worthless the moment I spotted you?"

Sparrow tilted his head thoughtfully, stalking closer to the bed.

"Can't convince you not to change your plans, eh? Such a shame about all that lovely treasure. Still..." He reached his hand out and stroked a strand of hair out of Norrington's eyes, sweeping it behind his ear with a teasing grin. "I suppose the evening wasn't a total loss."

Norrington smiled, and for the first time in years, there was genuine laughter lurking beneath the razor-sharp sarcasm in his voice.

"So I wasn't a complete waste of the pirate's valuable time? How very gratifying."

The more conspicuous trinkets in Sparrow's hair had been sacrificed for the disguise, but odds and ends still dangled here and there, and as Norrington tilted his head up, capturing the pirate's lips in a final kiss, a small coin grazed his cheek. It felt cool against his skin, hard in contrast to the softness that claimed his mouth. An absurd reminder of reality.

When Sparrow pulled back, they didn't need words to say farewell, only a last, lingering look, before the pirate turned away, gathering his hat and mask from the dressing-table where they lay waiting and slipping out the door. In the silence that followed, Norrington realized with a smile that it had begun to rain.


~~~~~~~~~~


Standing on the bridge of the Dauntless the following afternoon, dressed once more in his uniform and wig, Norrington had a hard time truly believing that the previous night had been anything but a bizarre and inappropriate dream. But there had been a red bite mark on his neck when he had looked in the mirror that morning, and, even now, there was a lightness in his heart he couldn't deny. He didn't quite know what to make of his encounter with Sparrow, whether to feel guilty or glad, but the fact remained that it had happened.

Governor Longfield had seemed somewhat perplexed when Norrington had insisted on altering the arrangements they'd made only the day before, but the commodore didn't take Sparrow's designs on the gold lightly. Still, it was a relief that Jack had been warned off and would probably have the sense to stay away from the Orion and her escort—the Pearl would have been severely out-classed and he preferred their game to be even. Had a preference for Sparrow—in all things, he supposed—precisely because they were even, and he liked to keep it that way.

They were halfway to Port Royal when they came upon a merchant vessel drifting rudderless on the water. The victim of a pirate attack, as they learnt from the captain when they hove to and boarded her, despite the obvious lack of any damage but the disabling of the rudder.

"They knew what they were looking for," the captain explained. "Isn't that so, Mr. Parker?"

"Quite." A passenger stepped forward, and, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Norrington recognized him as the round-faced man who had been talking to Sparrow the night before. "I'm a courier for Hollingsworth & Sons, dealers in precious stones," the man said. "I was on my way back to England with a small fortune in uncut emeralds from the Spanish Main. A very closely guarded secret, of course, but the pirates went straight for them. Didn't even appear to be interested in anything else."

"A good pirate is always a threat, mate, 'specially when you think you know where you've got him." Damnation. Sparrow had as good as told him...

"Last night at the governor's ball, you were talking to a man in a red mask. Did you tell him that you were leaving Port McCrawley on this ship?"

Parker gave him a bewildered look.

"You were there? Well, yes, I may have told him I had booked passage on the Henrietta, but there is no way he could have known about the emeralds. I certainly didn't say anything about that."

"Believe me, he knew."

"But how...?"

"Who knows?" Norrington said, exasperation warring with a peculiar sense of pride in his chest. "He is Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Will you go after him?"

"Certainly. But he has a fast ship and a head start with favourable winds. I doubt we will catch him today."

But it was a good day for sailing, just as he had foreseen it would be, and though he would no doubt have to concede this game to Jack, there was no reason not to play it through. He would learn something, and he would play better next time. That was the benefit of having a good opponent.

He took his leave and had turned away to return to the Dauntless when Mr. Parker called him back.

"Oh, Commodore Norrington, I almost forgot. The pirate, he gave me a message for you. Very important, he said, though it makes no sense to me."

"Yes?"

It was quite unforgivable how fast his heart was beating, but he couldn't seem to get it under control.

"He said, 'Be sure to tell the commodore I'm looking forward to the next calm.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Norrington shook his head.

"No. No, I can't see what he meant by that. But then Sparrow is notorious for being even more deranged than the average pirate. I wouldn't attach any importance to anything he says if I were you."

But as he turned towards his own ship once more, Norrington allowed the sudden smile in his heart to reach his lips. This was a fine day for sailing, to be certain, and when the sailing was done, there would come a time for other things. Looking up at the clouds racing towards the horizon, he knew that the winds had changed for good.

~~~~~~~
The End
~~~~~~~