"I ought to report you to the commodore for this!"

Theodore smiled, taking another pull of his ale. No one did indignant quite like his fellow lieutenant. "I'm not criticizing the man in any way, Andrew. You know very well how much I value James as a commander and as a friend. I'm simply saying that to worship him as you do will get you nothing but disappointment."

"I do not worship him," Andrew muttered. He fixed his scowl on a passing waitress, who turned a little pale. Theodore made an mental note to tip her handsomely. Too often, sailors came into this tavern or ones like it to make asses of themselves. Andrew possessed a certain carelessness as regarded his social reputation, so Theodore considered it his duty to guard it as closely as possible. All that really mattered to the man was what Norrington thought of him, but it wasn't Norrington who would whisper about his temper behind his back.

He realized that Andrew was still speaking, stabbing his forefinger into the tabletop in his insistence. And, all right, probably more drink than was wise, but who was Theodore to criticize? "All I am saying is that the commodore is as good a man as you are likely to find anywhere in this world."

"And I say that every good man has his limits," Theodore countered. "Every man has a weakness. It doesn't make him any less, it just marks him as mortal."

Andrew hmmphed in answer, lifting his glass up to drain the last of its contents. From beneath half-lowered eyelashes, Theodore watched his throat work to swallow. He had come too close to the truth with those last words; testament to how much he'd imbibed tonight. By good luck or bad, Andrew would never notice, not when his whole self was oriented toward the point of focus that was James Norrington.

He used to blame it on the red hair and blue eyes, a combination of which he had always been fond, but now he knew that his own weakness was Andrew himself and not any aspects of his physique, however fine they might be. Andrew was prickly, snobbish, and ruthlessly ambitious. He was also fiercely loyal, honest, and kind beneath the haughty exterior. His tendency to seeing everything in stark black and white often frustrated his counterpart, but he had to admire it as well. Andrew believed in goodness, in honor. There were times Theodore wished he could believe in such things too. There were times when Andrew would smile at him, his eyes crinkling with humor and affection, when he almost did.

"All right," said Andrew, hoisting himself to his feet and swaying a bit, "it's time we settled this matter like gentlemen."

"And how do you propose we do that?" His blood ran warmer at putting a steadying hand on the other man's arm as he stood up.

Andrew set his drink down with a decisive thunk. "We are going to track James down and inquire of him his greatest flaw. Then I will determine whether he is bound by this rule of yours, or whether he is merely self-critical."

Dropping some coins on the table, Theodore laughed. "You are drunk, Andrew. I ought to haul you off to bed." My bed, he thought, heat spreading from the pit of his stomach to darken his face.

Luckily, Andrew either didn't notice or chalked it up to the alcohol. He lifted his chin, looking down at Theodore from an extra inch of height. "I most assuredly am not drunk, Lieutenant Groves. I am never drunk."

"Oh? And James' promotion party—I suppose you climbed up on that table and delivered half a monologue from Julius Caesar under your own power, yes?"

Andrew stumbled a bit as they stepped out into the night, leaning on Theodore for support. "That was a momentary lapse in reason and manners, Theo. I apologized to the both of you the next morning."

"I remember." And how—Andrew knocking on his door just as he'd been exercising a very explicit fantasy about how things might have gone the night before, with Theodore making a move instead of losing his nerve. He'd had to lie curled on his side with the blankets drawn up, claiming an upset stomach.

"Anyway," Andrew continued, "it won't be long, James' house is just over here—" He paused, blinking up at the stone facade.

"I do believe we're around back," said Theodore wryly.

Andrew quickly recovered from his misjudgement, squaring his jaw in determination. "Well, it makes no difference. Come, there's the parlor window, and there's a light on..." They moved forward only a few steps before they were able to see inside the window, and thus shocked into stillness.

Andrew was the first person to react, starting forward with a strangled gasp. But Theodore took another look. He grabbed his companion's arm, clapping one hand over his mouth.

The initial rage and panic had been understandable. At first glance, it looked as though the commodore was struggling as Jack Sparrow pinned him to a sofa and clasped hands about his throat. Upon a second glance, their state of dress was taken into account—both were bare from the waist down, with shirts unbuttoned and half-off. By this time, it became apparent that though James was moving beneath Sparrow, it was definitely not in distress. And Sparrow wasn't throttling him; instead his hands ranged all over the commodore's torso, across his shoulders, down his chest, flattening on his belly, and up again to frame his face as Sparrow bent to kiss him. James held onto his hips, managing to stay inside him despite the awkward position.

Theodore could feel Andrew's warm breath, puffing against his palm. A pulse beat rapidly in the wrist he held. If he inched forward just a bit or tugged back, he'd be pressed full against Andrew. And then there would be no mistaking where his interests lay, because the combination of ale, his present company, and this unexpected peek into their commander's private life had left him painfully hard.

As they watched, frozen to the spot, Sparrow rocked up again, his head tilting back. It was difficult to see from this angle, but from the way he sped up and how his mouth fell open on a ragged cry, Theodore would guess that James was stroking him nearer to climax. The sounds Sparrow made grew louder and more desperate, muffled by window glass though they were. James watched his face, eyes avid and shining in the moonlight. Suddenly Sparrow tensed, trembled, reached blindly for James, who caught his hands and pressed them to his lips.

Andrew broke free of his astonishment and Theodore's hold, wrenching away from him and fleeing in the direction from whence they'd come. Theodore followed, sparing one last glance over his shoulder to see James' arms go tight around his lover as Sparrow collapsed onto his chest.

He was panting by the time he caught up, pulling Andrew to a stop at his side. The other man's face had turned ashen and his eyes were huge. His breath was short, probably still from the view through the window than the run. "Theo, did you—did you see...?"

"I did," said Theodore, reaching up to tug his wig straight. "What of it?"

For a long moment, Andrew merely stared at him. Theodore had to fight an urge to smile at his incredulous expression. Andrew didn't deal well with being made light of, even if it was only meant in jest. "That was—he—with the pirate!"

"Yes, with the pirate." Theodore swallowed hard. The only person who regularly figured in his dreams besides Andrew just happened to be Jack Sparrow. On the Dauntless, before the battle, he'd thought there had been—something, some current running beneath the surface, between the two of them. He had been distracted, of course, by Andrew's distress, and he'd never imagined it would turn out to be anything like this.

"It's... it's unfathomable," Andrew declared vehemently.

Theodore cocked an eyebrow. "Is it?" Andrew boggled at him and he continued, "You know the peculiarities of our profession, Andrew. Is what we just saw really such an unreasonable activity for James to engage in?"

Andrew's lips thinned. "You're only saying that because it proves your theory about all men having their weaknesses."

"Sparrow would certainly seem to be James'," said Theodore with a short laugh. Andrew made a face at the very name. "But..." He paused, gathering his resolve. It was ridiculous to believe that they could go on like this forever—that he could. Time to find out, once and for all, his chances of bedding Andrew Gillette. Even if it put their friendship at risk, he had to know. "But is it the subject in question you would define as a weakness? Or the mere act of loving another man?"

"Well, I..." He trailed off, glancing down at his feet.

Theodore moved closer, startling Andrew into looking up at him again. There was a fearful question in his eyes, and perhaps it was wishful thinking, but also—a flare of something more temporal? "Have you never considered it, Andrew?"

He bit his bottom lip as it started to quiver. Theodore let his eyes drift there, let his hand come up to rest on Andrew's shoulder. He was trying to hold onto this cool demeanor, but oh God, he was so near...

"Never thought of James lying beneath you like that, imagined him touching you, holding you, telling you how much he wanted you?" His voice sounded like a stranger's, low and smooth and sure. It was how he thought Jack Sparrow might have spoken in order to get into the commodore's breeches, because it couldn't have been any easier than this.

Andrew didn't move a muscle as Theodore tilted his head, angling it to keep their noses and foreheads from crashing if he were to move in. When his lips were a breath from Andrew's, so close he could feel the heat of his skin and catch the scent of his sweat, Andrew finally spoke.

"What are you playing at, Theodore?" he whispered.

Just barely shaking his head, Theodore said, "I'm not playing, Andr—"

He never got to finish, because Andrew closed the distance between them. His mouth was open and eager, tasting of the sweet wine he'd been drinking. Theodore responded to the sure slide of lips and tongue with all the passion of two years spent wanting—wanting, yes, but never daring to dream he would find his interests so well-matched. Andrew gasped a little as he was clutched tightly, the two of them aligned from shoulder to hip to knee. And it seemed Theodore wasn't the only one who'd been inspired by their accidental discovery tonight.

The kiss went on until realization struck: they were standing at the edge of the street. Granted, it was late, but that was no guarantee of privacy. He pulled away sharply as Andrew likewise jumped back. Their eyes met in the same silent conference they often held in battle, understanding flashing between them.

Andrew's house was closest, but not close enough. His hands shook as he tried to fit the key into the lock, probably due to the fact that Theodore couldn't help leaning in to graze lips against the flushed skin at the back of his neck. They tripped several times getting up the stairs, laughing breathlessly and shushing each other and stealing fleeting kisses.

He had mentioned James to prompt Andrew into reacting, and even at the highest point, he feared it might backfire on him. But his own was the only name he heard, whispered and moaned and finally shouted till his ears rang.

"So that's why you were arguing with me," he said later, Andrew's shoulder a comfortable support beneath his head.

Smoothing hands down his back, Andrew murmured, "What, love?"

He grinned, thrilled at the sound of the endearment. "Because you agreed and you didn't want me to know—didn't want me to discover your own weakness."

"And what might that be?" Andrew asked, kissing his damp hair.

"Why, me, of course," said Theodore, as if it should have been obvious.

Andrew chuckled softly. "Of course. And tell me, Theo, am I yours as well?"

Theodore shifted so he could see his eyes, kiss his quirked lips. "Yes, you are," he vowed. He nibbled down the pale line of Andrew's neck, following teeth with a gentle laving tongue. "You're mine," he whispered into the hollow of his throat, feeling him shudder in response.

"Yes," Andrew breathed, pulling him back up, "oh yes, I am, I am..."

As they lost themselves in another burning, building kiss, Theodore wondered idly if James would mind breakfast guests. He would love a chance to see Jack Sparrow again, and it was such fun to watch his Andrew mutter under his breath and turn all sorts of interesting colors.