Seven years ago, James Norrington had let Captain Jack Sparrow go, promising him "one day's head start". At the time, James had the grandest of intentions to go barreling after the Pearl with the long nines of the Dauntless, and justice would be repaid. One day, it seems, had been enough for Jack Sparrow to make tactical plans against the forces of justice.

Seven months ago, James Norrington had boarded the Black Pearl. It had been the first time he had done so of his own free will. Before then, Jack had only captured him. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he had told James during the first incarceration, was not pleased with just one day's head start and would kidnap the Commodore as many times as it took to extend that one day into something more.

Because six years ago, in the cabin of the Black Pearl, Jack had first run his hands over James's body, and when James hadn't protested, Jack had kissed him.

And so, that one day had become two days had become three days, which had become years.

Over the years, many things had happened. James was nearly brought in for another court-martial. Ironically, that had happened only a week before Jack very narrowly escaped the guns of a rival pirate ship. Jack had received one or two more tattoos (always earning a groan and a fuss from James), and James had remained steadfast in loyal service to the Navy.

Until seven months ago.

Seven months ago, Gillette and Groves had both been taken in an attack on Port Royal. The rumours were that it was the same lot of pirates that had nearly taken Jack's life. These were also the same pirates who had come back for a second attack, and had killed both Elizabeth, and one of the children. William had gone into isolation, never coming out, and never speaking.

It was then that James had given up. He could not protect the ones he cared about, and he was not about to lose the one person he had left to this same threat. He had stepped aboard the Black Pearl, knowing that he was starting a new life completely, and that Commodore James Norrington was in the past now.

Now he was just James. He had let go.

Irony, in the end, had too much pride to just let James go, however.

Some score of years ago, in the full light of the moon aboard the Pearl, Jack had slipped inside of James, whispering promises into his ear, telling him that everything would be all right. It was, James reflects, the first time Jack had ever lied to him.

Things had not turned out all right.

Seven hours ago, Jack had run up the white flag as they had approached an unknown ship. James had barely been stirring from sleep, kicking the sheets of the bed off, and grasping at the reinforced sides to make some sense of the situation. Jack was not beside him anymore.

James had dressed quickly, and found his way out to the sunny deck, blinking to see what was going on. The unknown ship, it had turned out, were pirates.

"Jack," James had murmured when he saw the faces aboard the other ship, saw the familiar sloop. He had run a hand through his hair, and had felt a cold chill seize him. Jack stood frozen a few feet in front of him, clutching onto one of the Pearl's ropes. "Jack, no, you have to sail..."

"Can't," he had replied tersely, turning back to give a helpless smile to James. "They've got the cannons on us, and my Pearl can't outrun something that's attackin' right in front of us."

"Why did you run the flag?" James had hissed, gazing up and back in fury. "Jack, why the bloody hell did you have to run that stupid flag?" he had continued to spit out, fury overtaking anything he had left. Jack had dropped his head a little before releasing the rope and running a hand down James's face, as though his fingers had been memorizing the curves.

"We thought it was one of your ships," he had explained quietly, the other pirates keenly interested in the menacing silence of the air, and not what their Captain was doing. "I was going to let you go. You always let go of the things you love."

"I am not a thing," James had hissed, grasping Jack's wrist violently. "You can't just turn me away like some stray dog. Jack, you can't..." he had been about ready to explode.

"Don't think it quite matters now, do you, love?" Jack had asked calmly, turning his attention to the silent ship.

Seven minutes ago, James had been manhandled by a set of pirates who were all too eager to put him in irons and present him to their captain as a prize. James had gone silently, Jack in the violent arms of more vile pirates behind him. James had been spit at, taunted, and laughed at.

"We found 'im, boys," they had snarled. "Found the coward Commodore at last! Cap'n's gonna be mighty pleased wit' us."

The Captain had then set out James' sentence for him in exactly one word.

Death.

His hands were to be clapped with irons, his legs to be weighted down with irons, and he was to be walked off the plank into the sea. James had accepted his fate with a nod, glancing only once at Jack to see the pirate's face pale.

Seven seconds ago, James had been walked to the side of the ship, and placed on the edge, Jack was set to be placed to watch him just off on the deck, and seven seconds ago, James had made one last request.

The pirates had not laughed at it.

"Do it," the Captain had ordered when they had told him. "Find it!" he had barked louder.

They're approaching James now with the implements they need to fulfill his last request. Jack is watching on helplessly, a bewildered look on his face, because he hasn't heard exactly what James has asked for. All he knows is that it isn't freedom. James wouldn't beg.

James holds Jack's gaze fiercely, not letting go in these last moments. Two pairs of hands bring him back onto the deck, and he can smell it. They are going to give him one last thing, after all.

"What are you doing?" Jack asks, and James isn't sure the question is meant for him. He holds out his bound arms, and inclines a gaze down towards the pale skin, exhaling slowly. "James..." he snarls.

"Jack, where is your pirate brand?" James asks calmly, turning to look at him.

"What in the name of... what are you... James, you idiot, you utter..." he sputters for a moment, before sighing heavily. "The right," he answers.

"Good," James replies briskly with a nod. He turns back to his captors. "The right, if you please."

He keeps his eyes open the entire time they press the fire branded metal to his skin, forming out two very distinctive shapes there. He does not scream, nor does he beg for it to stop. He bites down on his lip and thinks that soon, very soon, it will all be over anyway. One more bout of pain will not hurt him for it.

They finish, and there are smoke tendrils curling from his skin. The shapes are raw and blistering red. If anything, the plunge into the water should cool them off. He turns so that Jack can see exactly what he has asked for.

On his right forearm, he now bears the letters 'J' and 'S'.

"Yours," James says simply as he is led to the plank. He shares one last look with Jack—painful, long, lingering, and he hopes that Jack understands now. He might not be a thing, but he belongs to Jack.

Jack nods, the comprehension painfully clear on every feature of his face. He struggles as though unable to find words to speak. He nods again, an unbidden, "James," parting from his lips.

It is when James falls, and when the sea claims him instead of Jack.

END