The Nature Of Curses

by AndreaLyn

Pairing: J/N
Rating:R
Disclaimer: Not quite mine, never quite happened.
Originally Posted: 5/14/04 - 4/08/05
Beta: Eternal thanks to fabu for the beta. Thanks also to oneko_briar for the translations.
Dedication: Dedicated to mimesere, who's completely always been there and supported my Sparrington endeavours.
Summary: James Norrington encounters a curse that takes him through the ages and right back to where he started, all with Jack Sparrow at his side.

Commodore James Norrington did not want to be in that particular spot at that particular moment, and he most certainly wished with every fibre of his being that he wasn't there with Elizabeth Swann, William Turner, and the Governor breathing down his back as he met with one Captain Jack Sparrow. His eye twitched a little as they all—all of them, as though they had conspired in this insanity—beamed at him.

"You want me..." James began, clearing his throat. He shook his head and massaged the temples of his forehead as he sat down in the chair, risking a glance up to find that yes, they were all still beaming at him, and yes Jack Sparrow was still wearing that calculated grin. "Oh, do stop that at once," he muttered to no one in particular. William had the good sense to put on a more somber visage, but the others did him no kindness.

"I am simply asking you to investigate," the Governor gently replied, taking a step forward and adopting a more serious facial expression.

"With him!" James replied, almost too quickly—and certainly much too childishly. He cringed, and watched the grin on Sparrow's face grow wider. He lowered his head and resigned himself to studying the notary on a piece of paper on his desk. "With Mr. Sparrow," he repeated with more decorum.

"James," Elizabeth started, and James immediately snapped his head up, ready to reprimand. Elizabeth challenged him with a wry smile that lit up her face. "Commodore," she corrected herself before James even had the chance to sound a syllable. "His knowledge of the area exceeds anyone else's. With him as your guide, it would take a mere day..."

"...as opposed to a week!" William finished her sentence for her. James rose from his seat, pacing back and forth in front of the window, casting shadows all over the floor as he drew out the time. He spared a moment to be annoyed with the way William and Elizabeth shared their sentences along with each other's heart.

"Please, Commodore," Jack Sparrow himself piped up, and this caused James to roll his eyes. "After all, what more could I want than to spend a day with my favourite officer of the King's Navy?"

"This officer would think that you'd rather have a fine ale, a less than fine woman, and a day filled with debauchery and theft," James muttered to himself, grabbing his hat and a few items to bring along with him. He began to head out of the room, past a nearly-giddy Elizabeth, a content Governor, and a more-pleased-than-usual Mr. Turner.

"Excellent!" Sparrow exclaimed, and James heard the sound of hands clapping together before he felt the tap of light fingers on his shoulder. James rolled his eyes once more—feeling he wouldn't be ceasing that detestable practice anytime soon—before turning.

"Yes, Mr. Sparrow?"

"You're quite wrong," Sparrow leaned in to speak. "I hate ale something fierce, and I would be happy with a man as I would be with a lass. Dead-on with the debauchery and theft though. I do enjoy a bit more gallivanting and pilfering though. All for a just cause, of course."

James made no motion to reply, but simply went back to his desk and opened a drawer, grabbing a set of irons and the key in one swift movement. He looked over just in time to see Sparrow visibly cringe. James gave a hint of a pleased smile at that reaction. Elizabeth made a great show of rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips, to which James gave a polite bow.

"His clemency is over the moment he commits a wicked crime," James said directly to Elizabeth, tucking the key into his coat.

"Wicked," Sparrow murmured, stroking his beard, "I like that," he mused approvingly, shooting a fiendish little grin to James. "Do you really think me wicked?"

James sighed, placing a firm hand on Sparrow's shoulder and giving a hard push forward in order to get him to march out the door. He nodded towards those remaining in his office and closed the door as he turned back to Sparrow, muttering to himself, "If I knew you were going to be the one the Governer was bringing to aid me, I would have brought one of the gags from the Dauntless, what with your penchant for going on and on."

"Now, Commodore," Sparrow began, sounding all too pleased with himself, "All you had to do was ask, love. I've a wide range of such implements."

"Walk," James ordered tersely. "Do not speak."

"Silent as the grave, aye?" Sparrow murmured to himself, sounding bitter.

"It's good to see that you recall the important lessons," James smiled—almost too widely—as they left the house and began making their way towards the caves by the sea. "For your," James grimaced, "well-being, all that you need know is that we are investigating reports of strange activity in a cave just outside of the town."

"Strange?" Sparrow commented, and when James turned to look at him, he appeared more serious than James had ever seen him. "Strange how?"

"Reports of a strange glow emitting from a cave," James strained to recollect everything he had been told. He made sure to keep one step behind Sparrow, and continued to prod him forward—almost an absentminded gesture as they walked further and further from town. "There have also been noises, and two young boys reported a supposed 'treasure' they found. That was when this was brought to my attention, and you were summoned, one assumes."

"One also assumes that's not the whole of the story," Sparrow commented dubiously.

"No," James admitted, clearing his throat. "One of the boys that came out... he was unable to speak. Robbed of his voice, and he cannot sleep at night. They were both terrified. The boy who retained his voice went on about a curse, and how it was the curse's fault."

"A curse," Sparrow murmured. "That would be when you assume that I was summoned. After all, I've such experience."

James ignored Sparrow as he rambled on—to James's passive hearing, it sounded as though he was cursing Barbossa posthumously. James stopped at the crossroads, looking forward to the rock face in front of him and hearing rather than seeing waves crash against rock. From all appearances, there appeared to be five separate entrances to various caves, just in James' view. He made a begrudging observation that it was for the best that he had a guide who knew the area.

"Treasure, is it?" Sparrow mused distractedly, pacing in front of James, and rubbing his chin slowly. "This is shaping up to be an investigation I jus' might enjoy. What's the name of this cave we're lookin' to find?"

"Dead Man's Cavern," James mumbled. He watched as Sparrow opened his mouth to speak, and immediately cut him off, "which bears no significance to this investigation at all, nor does it say anything about what is to happen."

"You're no fun, Commodore," Sparrow shot back at him, giving what could be translated as a pout in the civilized world. Although, James reflected, it was most likely a pout in the world of piracy as well—in Jack Sparrow's circles, at least. That pout was likely responsible for earning its share of goods and persons.

Sparrow took a few steps forward, inclined his head upwards to look at the sky, and made a great show of slowly licking his finger and testing the wind. James began to tap his foot on the ground as Sparrow peered inside two of the nearest caves before pointing to one in the far-off distance to their left.

"That'll be the one there," Sparrow nodded to it. "And we'll be going in bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Why not now?"

"Tide is high," he said pointedly. "You're more 'en welcome to go about wading hip deep in water, but typically, I only like getting wet for better reasons," he added lasciviously, and winked—winked, James thought in shocked horror—before making a full turn and beginning his traipse towards town. James rolled his eyes and pressed his hand to the hilt of his sword before following Jack Sparrow, and keeping a keen eye on his back.

Just in case.

Sparrow sent a man to wake James up at precisely six AM, according to the time he was given upon being sent for. The message had run along the lines of, "Tide's out, we're in. Rise and shine."

James rolled his eyes, muttering about the perils of working with a pirate and having to accompany him through every trial and tribulation—all while he slipped on his boots and walked out the door to find Captain Jack Sparrow waiting for him just outside his house.

"James," Sparrow greeted him in a friendly tone, going so far as to clap one hand on his shoulder. James brushed it off quickly, walking briskly in the direction of the caves. "No hearty good morning? I'm disappointed. And feeling quite neglected."

"How terrible it must be for you," James replied as he prodded Sparrow forward.

"Oh, terrible indeed," Sparrow lamented. "After all, does a pirate not warrant a simple two words?"

"Good morning, Mr. Sparrow," James tiredly replied, knowing that he could easily go on arguing about the logistics of this very simple concept for the next hour or so. He had more than a full mind to nip anything in the bud so as to prevent his head from blossoming into a landscape of pain. "I beseech you with every fibre of myself: is silence too much to ask for?"

"Depends on the price you're payin'," Sparrow smirked.

"I could just gag you," James shot back with a wicked grin.

He received no reply to his words, and chuckled quietly to himself as they made their way to the cave. James took a hesitant step forward to find a lit torch blazing at his feet, burning itself out against the rocks. He crouched down and grabbed the torch, watching as the flame did anything but dwindle.

They paused there, Sparrow beside him, looking deep into the cave. There was something resembling an air of trepidation to the moment, and James found he was unable to make the first step—and really, he should always make Sparrow go first, he thought. The man in James's question fidgeted a little, digging something from a well-concealed pocket. They stood there for many moments, James tapping his foot on the ground while Sparrow flipped the coin in the air. It caught the sun every time, and glinted in James's eyes.

"Must you do that," James sighed exasperatedly. "What is that even?" James inquired, trying to take the first step, but failing in doing so. Sparrow looked at him, shrugging slightly.

"Good luck charm," he commented lightly, as though an afterthought.

James rolled his eyes and gestured with the torch into the cave, waiting for Sparrow to take the lead. He remained steadfast in his position, keeping strong footing. He was not going to budge before Sparrow went in first. "Well?" James snapped coolly. Sparrow had been taking a few steps into the cave, but in one smooth motion he changed directions so that he was gliding up and into James' personal bubble.

"Commodore," Sparrow chided, clucking his tongue and speaking in low, dulcet tones that could very well hypnotize a man caught unaware. James Norrington, however, was nothing but aware. "You spend so much time wi' a man, and then you snap at him so. What's a man to think?"

"You are not a man," James tiredly replied, exhaling to punctuate his words.

"Oh?" Sparrow made a grand gesture of looking down, even going so far as to slip a hand into his trousers. His face took on a great look of concentration as his fingers made noticeable movements within the clothing—and James' eyes were simply drawn there was all—before taking his hand out and tapping James in the chest with one finger. "It certainly feels that way."

"You are not a man," James repeated, even more wearily now. He suppressed the urge to rub at his eyes. "You are a pirate," he said, more acid in his words. "Now would you do the honour of leading?"

Sparrow grinned—wide, wry, and bearing great resemblance to a feline on the prowl—and leaned in just a little further. James could smell every whiff of rum, sea, and Jack drifting from his face. "If you insist," he whispered, backing away and giving an elaborate bow before traipsing off, deeper into the cavern. They walked in silence to the end of the tunnel. James didn't feel like inciting an argument, and Jack seemed quite enthralled by their surroundings.

Once they reached the end, even James had to admit that his attention had been captivated.

On a pedestal formed entirely of rocks, and sitting in a shallow pool of water, there was a rectangular chest. James approached it cautiously from the left as Jack tiptoed closer from the right. Neither of them said a word, but merely watched the chest as it shined—impossible, James thought, because there was no light but the torch, and the blasted thing was shining everywhere.

"Jack," James murmured absently, tilting his head to catch an inscription on the side of the chest. He halted a few feet away, his mouth open. There was something about this object that had him utterly swept away. He just didn't know what it was. He swallowed a lump in his throat, furrowing his brow and squinting to read what was written in Spanish on the side of the chest. "Jack," he said, more urgent this time.

Jack didn't stop once. Jack didn't hesitate a single second.

He walked right up to the damned box and laid his hands flat out across the top, making a great show of closing his eyes as he pressed his ear to the chest. He exhaled deeply, eyes closed, as he tapped out a rhythm with his fingers—barely touching the surface of the chest. James watched, still trapped in whatever spell the moment had over him as Jack's eyes flitted back and forth behind his eyelids.

"What is it?" James questioned in a hushed tone.

"It's humming," Jack said quietly, not moving. "Whatever's in this... it's got a hum to it."

James tried to shake the hazy feeling off and translate the words on the side. He was sure they meant something. He'd not spent all those afternoons learning Spanish for it to go to waste. 'The language of Cortés', Maria, the woman he had employed to teach him had intoned as though it had some great importance. 'Responsible for the fall of a civilization, and the cause of many legends, some complete... some not. This language is important. The language of Cortés will help you one day.'

James had a feeling he had come upon that day.

James frowned, trying to work through every word slowly as Jack took a step back. James sounded out a few vowels and paced about, putting all his concentration and focus into deciphering the last of the etched words. Out of the corner of his eye, James watched distractedly as Jack fit his fingers underneath the lid of the chest and very slowly began to pry it off. By the time James had fully turned around, Jack had a very good grip.

"It speaks to me," Jack said quietly to the chest, giving one tug and lodging the lid off. It rested precariously, about to slip off completely before James realized what Jack had been doing.

"Jack, no!" James cried frantically, the translation clicking together and making sense as he turned and reached one hand out. He rushed into the water, sending it splashing against the walls and his clothes. He wrapped his arms around Jack's waist and tried to tug him away, but Jack seemed rooted to the spot. James pulled harder, and finally, they fell backwards as the lid of the chest fell off and the cave was bathed in a blinding white light. James closed his eyes tightly, his grip on Jack's waist tightening as a painful sensation went through him, as though he had no barrier to keep it away.

He heard a cry of pain, and in that moment, he wasn't sure whether it was he or Jack. Then the pain was gone, and all James could feel was the cold rock against his back, and Jack's slumped body on top of him. As everything seemed to go dark, James breathed heavily, knowing just what the inscription said.

"World without end," he exhaled before everything went pitch black.

1788

James didn't know why he accepted such invites. Except that he did know. "Go and smooth the way with the King and Madame Antoinette," he had been urged. James had scowled, muttered, and traipsed his way across England, a body of water, and more land to arrive in Versailles. He'd been handed a mask, and then a variety of people had bowed to him.

Apparently, he was important in France. Or so the legions of his admirers were making him believe.

"Monsieur! Monsieur Norrington! Bienvenue, c'est un plaisir. Est-ce que je peux t'aider avec..." the man on bent knee in front of him cleared his throat, and smiled apologetically behind the mask that covered the top two-thirds of his face. "Apologies," he said, accent heavily affecting the word. "Welcome. I am Monsieur Gillette. I have been sent to make sure you are seen to."

James nodded in acquiescence. He folded his hands behind his back, marveling at the scope of the party and listening as he caught wisps of conversation that floated past him. He wandered down the steps, Gillette trailing behind him by a few footsteps. Fans were waved in his direction, women smiled and giggled coquettishly, and some men bowed to him.

He stopped when he heard an animated voice in the midst of a lengthy story. James paused, hovering behind the gesticulating arms. There was something about this particular storyteller that drew the room in. He had a great crowd gathering all around him.

"The legend of Captain Jack Sparrow is one of the finest!" the storyteller exclaimed, eyes bright and dancing behind the feathery mask. "And I don't just say that because we share a name," he grinned cockily, turning and winking at the crowd, gaze seemingly lingering on James. He felt as though he was trapped, and the wink had been the final step in luring James in.

"You took on Sparrow yourself," a dry voice commented from the crowd. "In homage to your god," and James could nearly hear the eye-roll that accompanied those words. James chuckled in appreciation of a good, dry wit.

"Jonathon Groves," the man in the finery replied happily and jauntily, "do shut up."

There was something itching at James, skirting around the peripheral knowledge of his mind. It was the strange recollection of this storyteller's voice, this man's actions, it was the strange idea that James had met him before and that there were memories he was missing.

"Now, where was I?"

"The legend of Sparrow!" an eager male voice called out from the thick mob that was slowly growing. "And not your legend. We don't need a tale of drinking and debauching. We've seen that and need not hear recollections of tales that happened just the other night!"

"Critics, the lot of you," Jack mumbled. James took a step or two closer, Gillette slowly shadowing every movement. "My favourite of all the legends is one of cursed treasure in a cavern so deep that sunlight ne'er reached its walls, angry gods with a thirst for vengeance, and a doomed life that's to repeat as often as needed before ..."

"Everything turns up shiny and new," a feminine voice broke up the crowd, a playful ring to her words. "Jack, you've got to stop with the lies."

"Lizzie, you must stop interrupting my lies," Jack replied to the swan of a creature talking to him, irritation and affection waging war in his tone. "And they're true. Each and every one of 'em."

"You've been lying to esteemed folk," this 'Lizzie' scolded Jack, and her eyes skirted to James. She fanned her face and turned her full attention to James and his own entourage. She curtsied and made her way to him, Jack in tow. "Mister Norrington, I can't say how pleased we are to have you here."

James kissed her hand, eyes warily on Jack. Lizzie... Lizzie, James frowned slightly as he tried to place her. Of course! he realized. Lizzie was Elizabeth Turner, wedded to an important man and sent to placate relations between France and England

"The invitation was most appreciated," James replied politely. Jack peered over Lizzie's shoulder with curious eyes, cocking his head to the side in a manner best befitting birds in a barn. "I do believe the court of England has been missing you for a fair five years now."

"Oh, my husband takes care," Lizzie said with relative ease, tossing his comment away with little more than a careless shrug. "Will is too busy teaching the young lords of London how to play with their shiny swords than trifling with foreign affairs. That's best left for me to do. The man has no sense of foreign hospitality, good lord. He'd most likely start a great battle with some poor region to the south in his attempt to further trade."

"Yes, well, the lords must learn somewhere," James replied with ease, relaxing into the situation. "It's best done at the hands of a master swordsman as I'm sure your husband is."

"He likes to try," Lizzie replied with an impish smile, moving away. This Jack fellow did not do James such a pleasure. From his dress, he appeared to be a commoner, and the way he spoke lent belief to James that he was well traveled.

"Norrington, is it?" Jack asked, hands behind his back. He swayed on his feet and peered up past the mask straight into James's eyes. "There was a Norrington in the legend of Jack Sparrow. A James Norrington, in fact."

"A relation, perhaps," James retaliated with feigned interest.

"Well then, Mr. James Norrington. I must say, you please me as well with your presence," Jack announced with great delight, clapping one hand down on James's shoulder and leading him towards the table.

"Everyone is so pleased to have me," James replied, amusement in his voice. "Have I done something to incur such a welcome?"

"You're James Norrington of the Royal Court," Jack replied, inflecting his words with the grandiose nature of the name. "Your simple existence brings with it pleasure," he added sinfully. Jack poured himself a large cup of the punch and offered it to James, who took it with aplomb.

Jack sipped at his own cup and watched the dancers skirt around the dance floor, which James knew he was simply marking time in avoiding. He was graceful by nature, by all rights he shouldn't fear the act of dancing. The mere truth of it was that he feared what came after the dancing in which lovely ladies always expected much more of him than he was willing to offer.

"The legend is actually one of the most marked and interesting, if you must know," Jack murmured into his glass cup. "Simply because there is no end."

"No end?" James frowned and inquired. His interest was perked, having a guilty affinity for unsolved mysteries both in the courts of the civil and the less proper. "Surely there was a conclusion."

"None to be heard," Jack replied, his eyes widening, a grin lighting up his face and his voice dipping down into a mysterious hum. "There are many accounts of what happened. Some say they never returned, others cite that they returned and all was well. A third version tells of them returning, but never were they the same."

"How were they different?"

"In the third version?"

James rolled his eyes. "No, in the grand scheme of nautical academics. Yes, in the third version."

"They say they came back empty," Jack hushed his voice and leaned in to murmur into James's ear. "Devoid of anything. No passion, no life, no ambition. A tragic shame, really."

"Yes, to be devoid would be frightful," James made a 'hmm' noise of quiet empathy, standing up as straight as he could and finishing off his drink. Jack turned and grinned crookedly up at him, taking a step back.

"I was thinkin' more along the terms of there being no further legends for Sparrow, although devoid," Jack made a mocking noise that sounded akin to the sympathetic murmur James had just made, "devoid is frightful, of course." He stepped away and bowed to James, smirking even as he righted himself and made his way towards the door.

James watched him go, thoughts plaguing his mind as he felt the inklings of curiosity run through him to the sounds of a woman politely asking him for a dance.

"Sir, would you do me the honour..."

Her voice was barely heard by James, who merely trailed after Jack in a slow, possessed walk. His thoughts were untrained, unfocused, and not in the least bit coherent. The only thing in his mind's eye was the cocky grin of a mouth framed by feathers.

"...of a dance."

James drifted away, pushing past a waiter in the process and trailing Jack into a darkened alley, the sound of footsteps echoing and pounding in his head.

"Knew you'd follow," came Jack's voice from the shadows, and James knew in that moment that Jack was trouble. Very persuasive, very tempting trouble. "Now then, let's see what we can do about making some legends of m'own."

And James abandoned any thought of returning to the party.

1870

Jack flipped the coin, watching as the sun set on the mountains. Colorado was as good a place as any to be until he could make it all the way West and hop a ship to somewhere—anywhere. The sea was in his blood, and it'd been too long since he'd sailed.

Heads.

The horses were put into the stable by the hands, and Jack never had to do any work. He'd come to Highlands Ranch to find himself, to find some purpose, and all he'd found was that they were willing to make him feel useless so long as his money kept coming. Jack acquiesced with a thin smile, fingers always quick as he handed over a satchel of money and snatched a shiny trinket from the couple that ran the ranch.

He flipped the coin after studying the strange markings on the one side. He'd had this coin for many a year now. He'd never been able to read the inscription, but it constituted a good luck charm as far as his life went.

Heads.

There were reports of a stranger coming in, due from the East. Jack had to chuckle and admire the tenacity to come all the way out West and journey over the mountains. It'd been a long time since any visitors had stopped by, and certainly none of them had the title of their latest arrival.

Lordships did not come to America simply to hasten to the Western frontier to search for "articles and thoughts lacking" as his correspondence had reported. Something else was sparking this visit. Lord James. An impressive title, but worthless in Jack's eyes.

Titles were, for the most part, worthless to Jack. He saw no need for them, nor surnames. A good and proper given name was all you needed to get by, and that why he was known as plainly Jack. He flipped the coin high into the air, catching it swiftly and grinning with that glint of knowledge sparking the smirk. Going by Jack alone had done him well, and he needed nothing more.

Heads.

He reclined in his spot, tipping his hat forward and watching the last rays of red dip into the peaks as he tossed the coin high in the air and waited for it to fall into his waiting palm. It never made it that far. He tipped his hat up and wondered just what part of the atmosphere was against him that day. Instead, there was a silhouette clutching his good luck charm firmly between thumb and index finger, studying it.

"Tails," a cultured, British voice intoned absently when Jack focused an intense glare on the stranger. "It was tails."

"First time so far," Jack drawled.

"In how long?"

"All day," Jack challenged.

"The odds for that are highly preposterous," the reply was droll, dry and amused. "Perhaps you'd like to assume that I have the capacity for intelligent thought?"

"Well, you sound British," Jack lobbied. "I suppose I could pretend that you were intelligent, despite the accent."

"Your kindness shows no limits. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord James..."

"Yeah, I know who you are," Jack cut in, nudging his hat upwards so he could get a right-good look at this Jimmy fellow. Not a bad looking man, although he looked altogether too stiff and proper. A few weeks out in the West ought to cure him of that though. "You plan on stayin' long?"

"Until I reach," he cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "That is... I've come to seek peace of mind. I hope to find it."

"Won't find it here," Jack muttered under his breath, taking his coin back from James. He caught the slightly off-kilter stare James had on the coin. "You're looking at my lucky coin funny. Don't think you can go taking it for yourself. It's mine and my own only."

"It's quite... well, it's quite fascinating," James admitted, an intrigued hum to his voice.

"Handed down through generations," Jack said proudly. "And then I stole it," he admitted with just as much pride. "Something of a tale attached to it though," he continued quickly, not letting himself be chided for theft. "Apparently, there's something of a curse rumored to be connected to this bit of coinage."

"Perhaps to discourage the theft of such a coin?" James retaliated dryly.

"You're hilarious, has anyone mentioned?" Jack rolled his eyes and got up, heading towards the house. James was in tow behind him, hands folded properly behind his back. "A real joker at heart," Jack added snidely.

"And you're the most empathetic man I've ever had the privilege to meet," James tossed back nonchalantly. "Truly, are all Americans like yourself?"

"No," Jack commented, his upper lip curling in very thinly hidden disgust. "Some of us would have shot you on sight."

"Charming," James muttered, entering the house as Jack did and lingering in the doorway. "You really are utterly and completely..."

"Charming?" Jack answered with a grin, leaning on a piece of furniture and doing a full-body appraisal of this Lord. "Now my Lord, let's not all jump to flattery despite the fact that I am, of course, utterly and completely deserving of it."

He moved to flip the coin but found it missing from his hand. A quick look around placed it in James' palm. His jaw dropped in awe and surprise, but it was swiftly matched with a fierce annoyance at having been bested.

"That's my coin!" Jack seethed and marched to James' side.

"Yes," James mused. "The markings are extraordinarily intriguing. One hardly ever sees Spanish on coins these days." He narrowed his eyes and Jack found himself lost in a haze, watching James as looked over the coin methodically. "Though, it's faded." He looked up and cleared his throat. "The markings, that is."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," James made a 'hmm' sound, lodged deep in his throat. "This is numbered. It seems to be one of many. If I'm not mistaken, there are approximately twenty-five in this particular collection."

"And here I thought I had a one-of-a-kind," Jack rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers in mock consternation. "You come over here, Commodore, and you crush all my..." he trailed off, frowning at the slip of tongue. James was frowning as well. "Did I just say..."

"I'm hardly a Naval man," James admitted, sounding confused and dazed.

"It came from nowhere," Jack tried his best to explain, still confused down to his very boots. He cleared his throat and commandeered his coin. He began to walk away, trying his best to shake the unnatural feeling that had become lodged in his fingers, the strange shake of something supernatural at play.

"I don't suppose you want to know what the inscription means," James called out. His voice stopped Jack in his tracks. It was night now, and there were only the torches to burn and provide lighting. Jack turned slowly, looking down at the foreign language on the coin.

"What does it mean?" Jack hummed quietly.

"Only the blind will see."

It was hot enough in the prison cells to be cruel and unusual punishment, but really, none of that mattered to the Spaniards. James lazily wiped away a new layer of sweat that had appeared on his forehead as he sat at the table, hands folded and waiting for his newest client. Assigned by the Crown, he reminded himself with a heavy inner sigh. This was the last thing he needed to do before going back to England.

The jailer came in, bearing a thin man with shackles clamped around his wrists. James shook his head, turning away quickly at the sudden and terrible smell. The jailer and the inmate both looked quite accustomed to the smell and gave no sign of a reaction. The two had a quick conversation, quiet and quick with hands gesturing everywhere. Finally, the jailer tipped his hat to James and left the two alone in the sweltering room.

"My representation, I assume?" the inmate commented, relaxing in his chair and propping his feet up on the table. James started in surprise. He had expected some manner of broken English. The man across from him hadn't lived in England for twenty years now, a long enough time to lose a language, but his English was impeccable if a little dodgy when it came to class. Then again, James supposed he shouldn't have expected an upper classmen in this hell of a prison.

"James Norrington, Barrister at your service," he replied curtly, almost holding out one hand for the criminal to shake. James thought better of it at the last moment and tucked his hand back down at his side. He quietly repeated the time a trial would take in his head as he planned his return to England, if only in his mind.

"Yes," the inmate scratched his chin. "You look like you'd be a Norrington. Probably never e'en seen a prison before now."

"I assure you, I've been to many," James replied evenly, feeling the onset of irritation within him.

"Now, mind you mate, I don't mean tea parties. They trap you, of course, damn English version of a prison," the man blathered on. James took the opportunity to check his notes, frowning.

"Jack?"

"Yes," the criminal nodded.

James frowned. "There's no record of your surname."

"I've got none," Jack replied proudly.

"Isn't that just delightful," James forced a smile, rolling his eyes as he looked back down at the papers and ran a finger along the list of the crimes that this Jack had committed. "Well now, aren't you just enjoying the clergy a little too much?"

"They weren't actually nuns, you know," Jack said passively, studying his fingernails.

"Arson, petty theft, grand theft, debauchment in the royal court?" James lifted his gaze from off the paper and gave his client a shake of the head. "For god's sake, this might as well be Mount Everest."

"I'm not that much trouble to mount, love," Jack winked.

"This is pointless," James pressed his lips together and gritted out. "I'll transfer your case over to someone who... oh, hell, to anyone who gives a damn." He shook his head and began to pace around the room, mindful of the two lawyers who walked in the room—both English, it seemed from their accents.

"Don't go walking out on me," Jack said quietly, his voice serious now. "I need someone to make a gamble for my life."

James paused, stared straight at him.

"Estàs culpable?" he finally asked, smirking slightly at the startled little jump that Jack gave when the Spanish floated effortlessly off his lips. He wasn't a stupid man, he'd spent too much time in Spanish prisons and speaking with the locals. He'd picked up the language because it was what he had to do for his duty.

That shock seemed to wear off quickly, because Jack just crossed his arms and shrugged. "Me creerlas?"

"Diga la verdad y yo lucharà para su vida," James swore, locking eyes with Jack and finding himself unable to pry his gaze.

"Y por supuesto, cuando estoy recostado?" That playful smirk was back, taunting and teasing. The glimmer in his eyes was supposed to be flirtatious, James supposed, but really it made him all the more irritated at this point.

"Yo mismo cuelges," James said, disgusted.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well?" James prodded him.

"I did not murder that man," Jack leaned forward and said ever so quietly, ever so slowly and with so much conviction and sincerity that James supposed he was either being fooled quite expertly or just possibly, that may have been the truth. He looked up into James' eyes and shook his head. "I did not kill him," he swore vehemently, his voice hushed.

James sat back, pressing a cloth to his forehead to dab away some of the sweat. He studied the papers once more before looking up to look Jack in the eyes and then he looked away.

"I'm in no way a miracle worker," he began. "And there are three witnesses, whose credibility I doubt greatly, yet they are attesting that they all saw you commit the crime. Add to the fact that you're not a local here and they are, and it's a tough case."

"So it's a pair of boots for me, is it?" Jack laughed somberly.

"Pray for a miracle," James smiled grimly.

"God doesn't want to hear from me anymore," Jack shook his head, already bearing the look of a doomed man. "We parted paths too many years 'go."

Those were the worst words he'd heard come from Jack's mouth, tinted with the cold taste of truth and the sheer acceptance of the inevitable. James recalled many years later that in that very moment, he knew how little hope there was for Jack's life, guilty or no. James hated seeing innocent men die.

***

At the end of the day, Jack has been hung, and James couldn't stop it.

"No," James hissed, feeling the strong hands of a few officials against his chest when he surged forward the moment the board gave out from under Jack's feet. It was a strange sort of desperation pulsing through him regarding a man he had barely met and spoken with. In the back of his mind, he thought that perhaps he could make one last stand and cut him down. Perhaps it was not too late yet. He never did pinpoint why and from where those thoughts were coming. "Let me through," he commanded in a booming voice, but that only brings another two men down upon him to hold him there.

He muttered a curse or two while he watches the slow sway of Jack's suspended feet.

He watched as the official got up on the stage, waiting a moment until Jack's eyes went completely dead before revealing a scroll, reading it aloud in fluent Spanish to reveal it to be the death warrant, his tongue curling around the consonants as though taking pleasure in the words. James looked on with disgust. He had been innocent and he hadn't even been given a fair trial. He had merely been locked away, assumed to be guilty and summarily executed. Of all the injustices, denying a man justice had to be the worst in Norrington's eyes.

"Jack," he said with defeat as he gave up, and his limbs go limp.

He has failed, after all.

"You've got to pick a pocket or two," Jack sings under his breath, darting around the corner of the alleyway and slipping into the shadows, his fingers nimble as he checks to make sure the wallet he's just lifted is still there. It is. "Oh," he sings a bit louder, spinning in a great circle and grinning, "you've got to pick a pocket or two!" Once he reaches his hide-away, he closes and locks the door behind him, tipping his hat to the 'doorman' he's hired to keep an eye on his goods and yells out a cheerful greeting to the lovely Miss Ruby Red-Locks who lives down the hall from him.

"Sounds like you had a helluva day, Jack," Ruby teases, leaning out from her doorway.

"I can assure you I did," Jack winks at her. He opens the wallet and tilts his head to look at the identification. "Sadly, the owner of said boring piece of leather did not." Jack grins wryly, opening it to find a few bills. He tucks them away in his pocket. "That might just buy us some electricity, love. I seem to have forgotten to pay m'bills."

She smiles at him, shaking her head. "Oh, Jack."

"Yes, love?"

"Jack, Jack, my poor, stupid Jack."

"Rubes, either you're going to keep on chiding me, or you're going to tell me why I won't be giving you a warm ol' kiss on your bonny lips tonight," Jack warns, growing irritated and tired. His good mood is slowly evaporating as quickly as it had come about. She sidles away from the door, her hips swaying like the sails of a ship in the wind. She gives him a kiss on the forehead, plucking her lips away just as quickly as she had descended. "Ruby," Jack growls warningly.

"It's the kiss o' death, Jack," she tells him. "You've picked the pocket of the most renowned private inspector in London, love. And here I thought you were an intelligent man. Perceptive, at least. Seems I was mistaken." She shakes her head sadly.

"This isn't... it's not..." Jack says aloud, mostly to himself, but losing his confidence quickly as he goes through the cards and identification. He closes his eyes, the I.D. card in hand. "Oh, bloody hell." He looks up to find Ruby staring at him with a cocky grin. "Don't start," he growls, slamming the door shut behind him and wondering just how quickly he can make it out of town.

***

"Swann, please," Jack begs, his hands out, his voice pleading, his whole body language portraying a man of such desperation as to not be mistaken for anything else. "Let me use the library. Just for tonight."

"It's after hours, Jack," Swann comments distractedly, his pen scratching at the page and making notations. "If you truly want to spend the night amongst stuffy books, I can't stop you. Besides, if it keeps you from thieving on the streets just one more night, I'll be glad to do it."

"You're a godsend," Jack presses a swift kiss to Swann's lips, bringing about a disgruntled scoff and a small shove. Jack grins sheepishly, sinking down into one of the chairs and kicking his feet up on the table. "Rejected once more."

"Don't burn my library down," Swann warns vehemently, closing off the lights and leaving through the cages, leaving Jack to his own devices and the silence of the private library. "Behave!" Swann's voice echoes as a door clangs shut somewhere and Jack is now truly alone.

He grins, pleased with the solitude. It's been a long while since he's been allowed to spend his time in this utopia of knowledge. He plucks a few books from the shelf—plays, philosophy, a myth here and there, but only the most famous. Sisyphus, Sparrow, Icarus. Once he does that, he settles himself into a chair, tugging on a lamp and lighting up an area.

And then he sees the silhouette.

"Jack?" the voice echoes.

Jack wants to pound his head on the table, very loudly.

"Jack, are you in here?"

"James, not now," Jack snarls, getting up. "I thought I would at least have one day before you tracked me down to blast my ears out about my latest offence." He makes his way around the bookshelves, the book on myths in hand. "You can't give a man a night's peace?"

"You stole my wallet again, Jack."

"James," Jack whinges.

"You stole from me, Jack," he starts evenly, his tone patronizing and placating. "I investigate wrongdoing for a living, Jack," James says sternly now, his shadow looming. "I thought we had this conversation. You're not supposed to steal, and if you can't stop, then you're not supposed to steal from me!"

"I didn't know it was you?" Jack tries.

"You copped a feel after," James replies in a dry tone. "If you didn't know it was me, I might be a little jealous."

Jack keeps quiet, not disclosing that he actually hadn't the slightest idea that it was James. In a large crowd, people tend to melt together and Jack has nimble hands that don't discriminate, nor plan in advance. They merely thieve. He flips open the book, trying in a new attempt to stall James from getting him and taking him back. The mood he's in, he might tie Jack up, but there'll be none of the fun stuff. "James, love, just listen," Jack pleads, trying to inject reason into his tone. "Listen to me, love. Come on then, there's a pretty man. You've not even been coming round to see me, or hear me talk of late. A man's bound to feel neglected. Who'm I supposed to read to when you're not around?"

"Jack..." said warningly, telling Jack that he'd better apply the charm.

"I could read you a story now!" Jack offers, darting into another aisle of books. He still hasn't seen James by the face yet, so he can't quite gauge just how upset he is, but judging by the voice, he'd wager that James is a trifle bit angry. "Your favourite, love. The story of the Sparrow and the Naval Officer, your personal raison d'etre."

"Jack, this is not the time..."

"But it certainly is the place," Jack interrupts, grinning when he hears the slight hesitation in James's tone. Jack backs himself into a corner, pressing his shoulderblades to the aisle and feeling the shelves digging into his back. "I could read on about the honour of the men, I could tell you about Norrington's proud naval history or Sparrow's cunning nature, but I know that you just enjoy the part where the myth tells of the cursed gold."

There is no answer.

"I know it," Jack smiles to himself, leafing over the page. "And we could skip right to the part of the conversation where you press your cold feet up 'gainst me and wonder if my lucky coin's got anything to do with them, and then you wonder if the Captain and the Commodore were a bit like us, aye?"

"From two different worlds," James finally speaks up, still out of Jack's sight.

"But together in their own."

"Jack," James says, more gentle now as he rounds the bookshelf and finds Jack. He gives a shake of his head and a small, disappointed smile. Jack offers the wallet with his free hand and James takes it back, pinning Jack by placing one arm over Jack's shoulder, almost as if conversationally. "You didn't have to hide here," James offers quietly.

"Oh, yes I did," Jack vehemently protests.

"Oh?"

"Hell knows no fury like my James scorned," Jack scoffs.

James grins, shuts the book and tugs on Jack's shirt. "Come, you can read the story to me while I think of vile, dissolute ways to get my revenge."

Jack mutters, a grin on his face at having gotten away with it, "Dissolute, aye?"

"The very worst."

"I can live wi' that."

2005

"And for the low, low price of..."

Click.

This channel's never found him anything decent in the past, save for his one prize piece, and James doesn't know why he thinks today will be any different. He should simply call his find a stroke of blind luck and accept that his contacts can find him rare coins far faster than the bloody Shopping Network. He slowly departs his bedroom and embraces the depressingly navy blue colour of the kitchen's walls, searching for something to eat. He's supposed to be meeting Elizabeth at a meeting place of her choice to discuss future university choices for the lass. Her father could be an overbearing sort, but they are family friends and James owes it to them. Besides, if it helps him get out of Los Angeles, the sooner the better is his motto.

He's desperately willing and wanting to be somewhere else because he doesn't belong here, he doesn't feel rooted. He crouches and inspects his collection, locking up the case and putting it into the vault before he goes, tucking his good luck charm in his pocket and checking his pocket watch—gift from his grandfather—before locking up.

He'd deliberately missed watching the Coin Show today. The bloody bastards had taped him rambling on about the latest discovery—a set of coins that can be traced back to the golden era of pirates in the Caribbean, said to have a legendary curse upon them—only to wind up admitting that he's one piece short of the full set. He hates to be embarrassed and having it happen on National TV—albeit, American TV that only approximately three people watch—is not something he enjoyed.

He's driving to the coffee shop and ordering a tea, bored with the situation already. He thinks briefly about going out on another trip around the world on the family boat when Elizabeth enters the shop with a beaming grin, a positively fierce glow to her cheeks that seems to indicate she's achieved happiness that James could become quite envious of.

"James!" she announces, wrapping him in a hug, though he neglects to stand up. "It's lovely to see you! You look well!"

"And you look beautiful as always," James presses a kiss to her hand, guiding her over to the seat and nudging over her favourite drink, her favourite espresso that she swears is delicious, but James won't take her word for it and avoids it like the devil. He raises an eyebrow when he catches the glint shining from the ring on her finger. "Elizabeth, are you engaged?"

Her eyes widen. "Don't tell Father," she says in a rush, as though she thought James would find the nearest telephone and let loose the news over the ocean that's keeping her secret safe.

His eyes copy hers as though in a mirror. "Elizabeth!"

"James," she whines in return. "Don't dare give me a lecture in responsibility," she warns. "I may not be the girl you and my Father want me to be, but I love him and I want to be with him, and sod University because I didn't want to stay here anyhow! He's from the mother country and we're going back there," she finishes stubbornly, her pretty little chin perfectly set in a pretty little pout. James sighs. "Besides, why don't you go and have a little fun! You're always doing such boring things."

"My life is not boring!" he protests.

"James," she replies evenly. "You collect coins from the era of piracy on the high seas. Pirate treasure? It's three centuries out of fashion."

"I happen to be in the midst of a compelling mystery, Elizabeth," he stresses her name. "It's quite intriguing, really," he begins, grinning. "In fact, it's told that there's a curse upon the..."

"...coins, terrible, terrible pain, yawn," she mutters, giving a real yawn at the end. "Go out. Have fun. Meet someone," she orders. She arches an eyebrow. "That woman, Ana, she was your last girlfriend, hmm? And your last boyfriend? Theodore! Two years ago!"

"He's my best friend now," James replies sternly, already pulling out his wallet and intending to leave this mockery of a meeting. "Elizabeth, really, such things are beneath you. I'd come to give you my advice regarding your education, but all you seem to want to do is set me up on dates and play matchmaker."

She plays with her drink. "And?"

"And I'm supposed to be meeting Jonathon for a drink," he replies swiftly. He slides his folder of information across the table. "Do me a favour, Elizabeth. Read that." He stands quickly and straightens his jackets as he slips a few dollars across the table for her—scant money that's become tradition for him to give to her upon their meetings, a way for him to know that if she needs it, at least she'll have something thanks to him. "Tell your Father I said hello when you call, as I'm sure you don't want me to phone," he says wryly.

"I will... if you tell Theodore to make sure you get lucky tonight," she replies easily, giving an all too pleased grin and tucking away the money, placing the folder under her arm. She kisses him on the cheek and glides out the door, turning and leaving his sight almost immediately.

***

"And I said..." Theodore shouts, one finger in his ear. He frowns. "Christ, it's loud in here. Why did you choose this place!"

"You did," James shouts back, eyes on the dance floor of the club—because that's all it is. It's a bar that's become a dance club with the ebb and flow of the consumers du jour, thanks to the trendier, heavier drinkers of the lot up and moved to other places and in their place came the new generation of customers. James frowns, unconsciously mirroring Theodore's every move. "I haven't danced in years."

"You might want to start again," Theodore smirks, gesturing to someone with his glass. "You're being ogled. Man on the dance floor." He points. "Ri-ight in the middle." He wiggles his finger a little and his smirk grows wider as he looks at James. He gives him a slight nudge in the shoulder, causing James to stumble slightly, even though he's sitting. He's about two millilitres away from being done his rum, but he suffers Theodore's insanity for a moment and glances to the dance floor.

And his gaze is trapped.

"Who's that?" James asks, his voice sounding murky, as though he'd been trapped under the sea for twenty thousand leagues and left there for Cousteau to discover. "He looks... familiar," he adds, and he can't recall speaking any more words because he's trapped in that gaze, swaying almost unconsciously to the beat of the music as he stares back at the one staring at him. He swallows the lump in his throat. "Looks like someone I've known..."

He closes his eyes and things flash by, things too short to quantify or qualify as anything important, but they flash and before he knows it, he's out of his seat.

He slips onto the dance floor and into waiting arms, sliding and gliding around his hips and pulling him close, grinding with a purpose. The music pounds in James' ears and the lights flash all around his eyes as he locks eyes with this stranger and the next time the lights flash in James' eyes—blinding him temporarily—he's blinded for a moment. Images and sensations overwhelm him as this stranger clutches him tightly and keeps him grounded. James remembers a chase on foot, he recalls a swordfight; James remembers another swordfight that has a very different ending. He recalls tangling limbs and the very same eyes he's been staring into.

The lights flash again and James pulls his way out of it, glancing down. "Do you want to escape to somewhere else?" he whispers, nodding to the back door, berating himself even as he speaks. He doesn't do this. He's never done this before.

"I thought you'd never ask," the growl he receives is musical and sultry, the arms already tugging him through the crowd and towards the exit door. James allows himself to be pulled, images overtaking his mind every second seemingly as he walks every step closer to the damp alley. There's a dance from what seems to be an 18th century masked ball. He recalls a duel with pistols, and then there's a flash of a more dangerous dance in which they're both running for their lives.

And then it's back to the present and reality, with the stranger pressed up against James' back, arms wrapped languorously around James' front, and lips pressed firmly to James' neck as they stumble out the heavy exit door and find solace in the silent alley. Their footsteps echo and their feet splash through a few puddles as the stranger brushes his thumbs against James' hips, hair—brown and dark—wild in his eyes and the shadows of a few tattoos glimmering in the moonlight. There are words that have died in James' throat and he wants to ask this stranger's name, wants to know where he's met him before with his tattoos and his tanned skin and the lanky, strange hair and with his piercing, knowing eyes.

Before James can protest, he's being shoved up against a graffiti laden wall in the alley. The stranger is fierce as he surges forward with his mouth, teeth, tongue, hands, and everything else is coming at him like surefire bullets.

"You seem somewhat familiar," the stranger growls while his hands unlatch the hook of James' trousers. "Have we met before?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," James breathes into this man's ear, voice heavy and deep with desire. His mouth presses against James' and he exhales into it, letting his limbs go heavy. "Jack," he moans out as his eyes close.

Later, James will recall that he was never told the stranger's name.

James doesn't bother to mention that the name had been flashing in the front of his brain over and over again in a heated rush. Jack, he mentally cries out as James hooks one arm over the man's body while the stranger sinks to his knees, water lapping at his ankles on the ground as he yanks down James's trousers and takes him into his mouth.

James cries out once more and the flash that accompanies his cry thieves away all sensation. Everything goes black.

***

James blinks awake and finds himself being lulled by the soft rock of something. He sits up slowly, and something falls down his face. He grasps the wet cloth that's fallen down and blinks to find himself in a wholly new place. "Where m'I?" he murmurs groggily, rubbing at his eyes. He lets out a groan as his head pounds.

"Whoa," a voice stops him; a familiar voice. James opens one eye suspiciously to find the man from the club. "You ought to stay horizontal. I'm Jack," he smiles, voice betraying yet another exile from the good old Kingdom.

"I know," James replies automatically, though he hadn't been told yet. "Again, where am I? The floor seems to be... swaying."

Jack laughs. "You're on a yacht, mate. The floor of the ocean's quite solid, but that's about thirty feet below. You know, if I weren't a man with quite the large ego, I'd feel offended. You passed out on me jus' as I was getting to the good part," he flashes a grin, golden teeth flashing past his lips. James sits up, though Jack's hand on his shoulder is trying its best to prevent that—either that or warm him in that nice show of affection. James narrows his eyes when he sees the flash of gold in Jack's hands.

"What's that?" James asks accusingly, pointing at the coin. He's got one almost exactly alike in his own pocket. Cold shock rushes through him as he realizes that he may be in the presence of a thief, a thief in the process of stealing his beloved coins from his latest find, the legendary coins from Port Royal, the cursed coins that were said to have ended the lives of two men and cursed many curious young boys.

"M'lucky charm," Jack replies absently, his eyes focused on the cold cloth in his hands.

James narrows his eyes, quickly shoving his hand in his pocket where he finds his coin, his same coin, his very same lucky coin. He stares at Jack and his fingers fumble as he draws the coin out and shows Jack with wide eyes. "Where did you get that?" James whispers, grasping Jack's coin and studying it, almost ecstatically. His face lights up even further as he read the number. "Fuck," he swears happily. "Jack. Jack! This is... you have to come with me. You have to come with me to my place."

Jack's face lights up as well. "Well, well, James... why didn't you say?"

"How do you know my name?" James narrows his eyes.

Jack innocently shows James his wallet, cradled between three fingers. James rolls his eyes and snatches it back. Thief, James mutters mentally. He scoffs slightly, knowing that he should always stay with his first impression. He raises his brows expectantly and Jack offers him a hand.

"Lead away."

***

James opens the cabinet with reverent respect, his fingers gliding over the water-worn chest and the individually showcased golden coins—twenty-three in total; one for James to use as a lucky charm and one in Jack's hands as his lucky charm. He grins at Jack, leaning against the table and watching Jack take in the sight.

"Fabled gold," Jack whispers with a grin. "I know how to pick them. Next you'll tell me there's a curse."

"There's a curse," James replies swiftly and teasingly, grasping his coin and placing it in the chest, picking up each of the others in numerical order and dropping them in—listening to each plunk as though it were a ritualistic, holy sound. He stares into the depths of the chest, hearing a slight humming approach his ears. "Give me your coin," he beckons with his fingers, not looking up from the deep depths of the chest. He snaps his fingers slightly and looks up when Jack doesn't hand it over. The humming is growing louder in James' ears and he looks up. "Jack!" he says sharply.

Jack grumbles and places the coin into James' palm—with more than a little bit of necessary force.

James holds the coin and returns his gaze back to the box, gazing down in awe. "I've solved it," he says with giddy wonder, his voice light. "The mystery of the Spanish Gold. The last piece."

"What happens now?"

"Legend says that the curse is removed," James replies, fingers trailing across the engraving. "World without end," he repeats the words of the curse, each one echoing in his head. He bites his lip in anticipation as he takes the last coin, his hand hovering above the chest. The humming is louder now, almost surrounding him as though threatening to take over. He closes his eyes to fight off the almost real force that seems to be trying to sway his hand from placing the last coin in the box.

"Jack," he says, just saying the name. He hears the name echo back at him in dozens of voices, dozens of tones, a million ways—laughing, happy, moaning, angry, saddened, disappointed, lovingly—and with his eyes closed tight, James drops the coin.

The unseen force knocks them off their feet.

"Jack," James says through gritted teeth, golden sunlight beaming in through his room, though it's too late at night for anything resembling light. He tries to get up, but every effort is pointless. He lets out a cry of pain.

"One of the boys that came out... he was unable to speak. Robbed of his voice, and he cannot sleep at night. They were both terrified. The boy who retained his voice went on about a curse, and how it was the curse's fault."

"Some say they never returned, others cite that they returned and all was well. A third version tells of them returning, but never were they the same."

"Apparently, there's something of a curse rumored to be connected to this bit of coinage."

"I need someone to make a gamble for my life."

"I could tell you about Norrington's proud naval history or Sparrow's cunning nature, but I know that you just enjoy the part where the myth tells of the cursed gold."

Port Royal

James clutched his head as he sat up slowly, mind pounding with a thousand images he'd lived through in his head. He groaned and when he looked up, he saw the pulsating chest, still humming. He stumbled to his feet, slamming the chest shut and pressing his back to it, heaving with every exhalation, breathing with lungs that felt like they'd seen centuries upon centuries of visions.

He glared down at the pirate at his feet.

"Up," he ordered, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and trying to pretend as though his legs weren't doing their best impression of gelatin. "Sparrow!" James voiced hoarsely. "On your feet!" he ordered tersely. He grasped for his sword, fumbling and finally grasping it on the third try. Sparrow rose cautiously, eyes never leaving James as he raised his hands in surrender.

"Well, now," Jack smirked. "Wasn't that a fun ride?"

Jack rose to his feet slowly, his gaze fixed on James, his eyes brimming with enthusiastic mischief, and a wondrous smile painted on his lips. James only advanced a single step, pressing the tip of his sword to Jack's chest and glaring. His hand shook slightly and it felt slightly odd to be standing, but he was standing. He looked over his shoulder, always wary of the chest.

"Move," James ordered. "Back to the Governor's estate. Now."

"Pretty please will make it happen faster." Jack raised an eyebrow.

James glared. "Now," he repeated with more force to the word. He eased a step backwards and sheathed his sword, never once taking his eyes off of Jack—Sparrow, Sparrow, his name was Sparrow, yet his mind continued to replace the legend with the man—and trying to fight off the clashing thoughts and memories that assaulted his mind. He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, standing firm and straight, every Naval teaching flooding back into him. He rearranged his clothes properly and led the way out of the caves, his steps faltering every once in a while, as though he had been at sea for a month and was finally back on land.

"You're not as much fun compared to your other selves," Jack replied cheerfully, walking beside James. "Tell me, James. Is it a stick up your arse? Sword, perhaps? One of William's!" he continued with the same irritating joy that he'd began with.

"Sparrow, walk," James barked, his patience at the end of a very long rope.

After that, Jack didn't utter another word.

***

"Commodore, you look absolutely frightful!" the Governor announced with shock as James entered the room to find that Elizabeth and William had hardly moved but an inch since they'd left—he could barely recall leaving, but there they were in the same-self positions. James glanced over his shoulder to assure that Jack was still trailing him. "Whatever happened out there!"

"Jack!" William looked up with grave concern. "You look..."

"He looks the same," Elizabeth interrupted, dismissing William's shocked tone. She turned to James in concern. "Are you okay? Did you discover the problem?"

"Quite!" Jack replied, arranging himself comfortably on the couch between Elizabeth and Will and draping his arms around the easily concerned pair. "We made all sorts of intriguing discoveries, isn't that right, James?"

"It's Commodore," James replied brusquely, not bothering to give Jack the courtesy of eye contact. He focused on the Governor and assumed the military position. "Yes, sir, the problem has been found and hopefully we can deal with it as soon as possible. I'll bring a few Marines with me and we'll dispose of the trouble at sea. I must warn you though, the lid on the chest needs to be firmly kept on, or I fear there may be trouble."

"Trouble," Jack snorted. "Interesting word for it."

"Sparrow, quiet. We'll discuss the ramifications later," James said, his teeth grinding together as he fought to keep control and not snap at the sheer insanity of what he had seen. He gave the Governor a small nod. "I'm sure there will be no problems. We'll dispose of the problem tomorrow and Port Royal will be back to normal," he reported with as much cheer as he could muster.

"James, are you all right?" Elizabeth persisted, brow knit in a furrowed pattern. James turned and allowed himself a brief moment to falter in front of her perfectly presented worry. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Miss Swann, please don't worry about me," James quietly commented. "I'll be back to my usual self as soon as we dispose of this troublesome chest." He glanced around the room and cleared his throat. "I'll be on my way then. Governor," he nodded. "Miss Swann, Mr. Turner." He paused as he landed on Jack's expectant grin. "Sparrow," he finished with a withering sigh.

He adjusted his posture once more, unable to get the feel of slouching out of his spine.

***

He had intended to spend the night in his room, trying to write away the memories by creating a log of their discoveries, but he soon found that the sheer act of writing evoked the memories in vivid flashes. The quiet confines of his memory had all too quickly grown to be much to handle, so James had escaped to a much louder venue. He'd delicately rested his wig upon the foot of his bed, grasped breeches and a loose shirt and had promptly made his way down to the pub for a midnight drink, hoping that the barkeep would comment little about his appearances.

"Drinks all around!"

The pirate, of course, would do nothing but comment on his appearances. James sighed and tipped back his ale, trying to drown himself to the bottom of the glass. It, sadly, did not work. He sighed once more when that same-self pirate slid into the seat opposite of James with no less than three mugs of ale and two bottles of rum.

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," Jack encouraged with a sly grin.

"Sparrow, what in damnation are you doing in a pub at this hour?" James asked, tired to the very core.

Jack chuckled, pouring himself a glass of rum. "That's not the question you want to ask me, Commodore, and I think we both know it. Go 'head. Jack won't fault you for asking the question you really want to get off your very pretty l'il chest."

"Sparrow," James commented reprovingly, closing his eyes and sitting perfectly straight, willing himself to forget.

"C'mon, James. You're not the least bit curious?" Jack cocked a grin, sliding a mug of ale across the table. "Drink up," he whispered, eyes alight with mischief. "After all, so many years, Commodore," Jack began with mock-severity, "so many lives, and so many interesting memories." He was barely restraining the laughter from his words, by the sound. Jack twirled his moustache as he leaned in slightly, inclining to whisper, though there was little point in the near-empty pub. "Clearly, you can't seem to get over me."

"The memories are wrong," James replied with some force, opening his eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at Jack.

Jack's laughter was almost musical, laughter as clear as a voice carrying across the water on a clear day. James frowned as he finally noted just what Jack had been spinning between his fingers, glinting gold. It was a golden coin, eerily reminiscent of the cursed coins from Cortez, the coins from the cursed chest. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that it was merely a piece of currency, bronzed by age, minerals, and assorted factors.

Jack flipped him the coin. "How many lifetimes of memories were there, Commodore, love? Just which one were you apart from me? Fate's a bitch, but sometimes she's right."

"Whatever could you possibly be..."

"Fate needs us to shag, Norrington. It's inevitable that your arse is going to be under my perusal. Fate says."

James sputtered, choking on the ale in his throat and pounding hard at his chest in an attempt to dislodge the liquid. Jack tried to aid him by resting one hand on James' back and idly tap his fingers, not quite slapping, not quite doing anything. James wheezed slightly as he caught his breath, sitting back in his chair and nervously glancing around to see who had overheard. Luckily, the pub was quickly emptying by the minute.

"Mr. Sparrow," James began stridently. "You are, without doubt, the..."

Jack's hand slipped slightly higher, brushing against James' neck and the strangest, smallest of content moans drifted out past his lips, almost of its own volition. He closed his eyes, his body leaning back into the touch as though it were a natural muscle memory that he was merely adhering to.

"Jack," he got out, strangled as it was. "Stop it," he reprimanded quietly, not without a fair share of severity. Jack didn't remove his hand, merely leaned in closer with an impossibly neutral expression on his face that James opened his eyes to find lingering mere inches from him. "The memories are wrong," he repeated stubbornly, quietly.

"No, they're not," Jack replied lightly, almost playfully. "C'mon, James. I jus' want to have a proper location to discuss some of the issues this troubling l'il curse seems to have brought up. Back to your esteemed house?"

James sighed, the terrible realization dawning on him that the chances of Jack leaving him alone were quite slim and that he might as well get this matter out of the way so he could return to repressing the issue. He tipped back the last of the remnants of ale and considered the proposal about two moments too long, just enough to irritate Jack—and James could tell from the barest of twitches in Jack's eye.

He gave the smallest of tired smiles, blaming even that on his exhaustion—that seemed to range past the day, as though all his lives were collapsing tiredly into his current one. "If you swear upon your ship that you won't pilfer a single item from my home, then yes, we'll leave for cleaner venues."

"I swear on the Pearl," Jack crossed his heart, solemnly speaking. James gave a nod to bind the promise and stood, pushing his chair under the table. "It's not your property I was looking to have under m'sinful fingers," Jack smirked, winking lasciviously as he headed for the exit.

James sighed once more, tired of hearing that sound from his lips, and followed after a moment of debating whether he had gone insane.

***

"Very nice," Jack whistled, low and impressed as he plucked his hat off his head and draped it across the coat rack. "Walls are painted," he ran a hand down the foyer wall, "all the help seems to be tucked into bed, and my Commodore, is that a painting!" Jack exclaimed with false awe, traipsing over to put on a very exaggerated study of a piece given to James by the Governor. "Terrible use of colours, sadly. It's all bright and cheery."

"It was done by an esteemed artist from the Colonies," James replied evenly. "Didn't you want a discussion? I hardly think spending your time mocking my art equates."

"Mocking is discussion of a manner," Jack protested, gliding by James and arranging himself on one of the upholstered pieces of furniture.

James paused and hung his coat neatly on the rack, concealing Jack's one trace of being there. He made sure that the help was helpfully out of the way before joining Jack in the quiet room, nothing but the sound of crickets chirping outside, far in the distance. James bowed his head lower, folding his hands behind his back as he paced around the room, trying to dispel the notion that Jack's eyes were constantly upon him. Surely, the pirate would look away at some point.

"James," Jack interrupted his thoughts with a quiet, vocal nudge. "You're going to have to look upon me soon enough. It may have taken a few centuries for you to figure out the curse, but m'fairly sure you're a brighter than most man, and I suspect you've got more than a glimmer of what's going on."

James stopped—with quite a bit of deliberate thought put into the motion—and looked very deliberately at Jack. In exchange, he received a brilliantly bright and genuine smile from Jack—and how odd to know that smile so intimately from so many different memories throughout history. With sly ease, Jack beckoned James closer with the crook of two tanned fingers and James went without much pause at all. He stopped two steps from Jack and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?" he asked expectantly.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Relax, Commodore. I won't jump you until you say please," he whispered, eyes wide with delight. "And of course, pretty please will make it happen faster."

James crossed his arms and glared with a little more force.

"Oh, don't look at me that way," Jack scoffed, leaning forward slightly in a graceful motion. "Gets me worked up," he confessed, licking his lower lip—tongue impishly dashing across those lips and quickly filling James' mind with various thoughts regarding putting that tongue to better use. He reached one hand out and lightly rested it on James' hip—and the strangest of all things was that James felt neither the need nor the desire to recoil. "A part of you, somewhere," Jack whispered, "wants it. I won't take without permission, but I won't stop without a reason to."

Reason, James thought, simply give him a reason.

"I'm waiting," Jack prodded.

"Perhaps, an experiment?" James ventured hesitantly, clearing his throat. He was almost unable to believe he was saying this, but his body seemed to lean forward under Jack's gentle hold on him. Reason went out the window.

"A man of science," Jack grinned, hopping to his feet. "Excellent."

James gave a small smile at Jack's enthusiasm. He leaned in a little closer, silence filling his ears and the sound of Jack's breath lapping into his hearing like waves on the hull of his Dauntless—calming and there. He closed his eyes and let his natural senses take over, every memory guiding him along this well-known path as he closed his eyes a little tighter and leaned in to press his lips to Jack's, wrapping one hand into the jungle of Jack's hair and pulling him ever closer, kissing Jack like kissing him was breathing. He parted reluctantly, lips slightly swollen. He cleared his throat.

"Now that was excellent science," Jack commented with approval.

James gave a distracted hum. "It certainly didn't feel that wrong," he murmured to himself, confusion filtering into every vowel and consonant and running amuck. He cleared his throat and backed away slightly to properly look Jack in the eyes, cupping his face slowly and simply giving in to the muscle memory. He leaned in once more to kiss Jack, lingering and closing his eyes, knowing the rules, knowing all the consequences.

"James?" Jack exhaled slowly.

"Yes, Jack?" James whispered back, pressing his forehead to Jack's. To Jack's. Not some pirate, not Sparrow, but Jack. This wasn't some name to be told through the histories in front of him, but a man that had followed him through history.

Jack leaned away, pressing his hands against James' hips. "I deem this conversation to be best finished in your bedroom," Jack murmured with a mischievous smirk. "And then tomorrow we'll deal with the cursed gold."

James grinned. "You have to put the piece back, Jack."

"What piece?"

James rolled his eyes. "I saw you take it before I slammed the trunk shut and the curse's effects began."

"No one sees my thievery."

"I saw, Jack. You'll throw it in the ocean with the trunk. Understood?"

Jack gave James a small push towards the door, raising one expectant eyebrow. James walked forward very slowly, teasing Jack as much as he could with every step. "Commodore, if you're jus' going to make requests and demands of me, I can't expect that I'll follow you past the one lifetime. You'll bore me to death and annoy me out of rebirth."

James glared sternly. "Jack...?"

"Fine," Jack sneered. "I'll throw it back. Now, get your shapely arse upstairs. Fate needs to be placated and I've got a mind to do you in to give her some peace at last."

James rolled his eyes, willingly being shoved along. "I'm sure, Jack. Fate," he replied dryly.

"Norrington, up the stairs," Jack threatened in a growl. "I'm not waiting three hundred years this time."

James concealed his small smile. This might be a mistake, but at the moment it seemed perfectly natural. He would re-evaluate the situation come morning and see if three hundred years of various lifetimes were merely teasing him or if, perhaps, they were right.

***

James overlooked the effort, standing atop the craggy cliffs and watching his men very carefully lift the chest—kept closed with ropes—towards the edge. He had threatened them with a very frightening death scenario if any of them felt inclined to open Pandora's Box of Curses. Jack lingered back and forth, pacing his way about as though he had an excess of energy.

Though, James smirked, by their activities last night, Jack had plenty to be energetic about.

"How long does it take to dispose of a chest?" Jack complained, fidgeting with the coin he'd stolen. James cast a glance backwards, amused by Jack's sudden impatience at the job, until he recalled his words during breakfast, offering Jack a tour of James' estate and very private rooms if Jack could behave for the proceedings of the morning. "They've been sweating and complaining all the way," he growled.

"Sounds like someone else I know," James replied casually, arms folded behind him. "Jack, if you wanted the process sped up, you could always help."

"And so could you," Jack retorted with a glimmer of a smirk. "Take off the shirt, get your hands dirty."

"We're... almost there, sir," Mullroy grunted, gasping for breath as they neared the edge. He had a few other Marines there to help him and James had commissioned Gillette and Groves to help by pleading for them to fulfill a favour. In the end, James had assembled six men that he would trust with his life. "Commodore, sir, with all due respect, was there a need for the large rock atop the chest."

"Yes," James and Jack echoed together, turning to glare at each other.

"Well then, let's move it faster and get it over with," Groves said cheerfully, the sweat rolling down his face, clinging to the collar of his perfectly pressed shirt.

With a final loud grunt, the lot of them managed to get the chest pushed over the edge and they watched it tumble down, bound by ropes to prevent it from opening. James peered over the edge, flashbacks of a time when Elizabeth went tumbling over the side, light as any doll falling to the water. He pulled back and cleared his throat, looking around at the tired faces of the men he'd come to trust. It was strange to be back home, a little like putting on clothes that were ill-fitting, but you still knew they were yours.

"Good work, men," James congratulated them with a brisk nod. "I thank you for your efforts."

"Duty is duty," Gillette wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Indeed," James smiled. "And in this case, your duty is over until tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off." He was met with about six glances of incredulity, looking at him as though suddenly, he had turned to piracy. Even Jack was giving him a surprised look and James wanted to wipe that look off. "Go on," he urged. He grasped Jack by the coat when he began to move on. "Not so fast, Sparrow," James warned sternly. He waited until the others were heading back towards Port Royal. "Throw the coin."

"What coin?" Jack beamed innocently.

"You're a pirate, not a miracle worker. Don't try and look innocent, Jack," James chastised. Jack approached the edge and placed the coin in James' palm, the weight of it cold and heavy against his skin. "No more curses," James murmured to himself as he threw the coin with a good flick of the wrist, sending it out to sea.

Jack grinned and turned to James, mischief written all over his face. "Your duty is done as well, Commodore. Would you give yourself the day off?" Jack inquired pleasantly.

James gave a wry grin. "I could be persuaded."

Translations:

Estàs culpable: Are you guilty?
Me creerlas: Would you believe me?
Diga la verdad y yo lucharà para su vida: Tell the truth and I'll fight for your life
Y por supuesto, cuando estoy recostado: And if I lie?
Yo mismo cuelges: I'll hang you myself.