Jack Sparrow was ever a man appreciative of opportunities so, when he spied the open window in the Commodore's home, of course he climbed to the second story. When he saw His Commodore-ship seated at a desk in the study, Jack felt a spasm of desire shoot through his groin. There was the reason for his foolhardy adventure—a man who could end his life with but a single order to the Marines who policed the town. Norrington sat with a fist propping up the side of his head. At Jack's inadvertent scrabble into the room the Commodore glanced his way, blinked once, and then rolled his bloodshot eyes. Rising slowly to his feet, he swayed slightly in what could have been a parody of Jack's own natural state.

"The last time you were here you propositioned me." Norrington's diction was slow and precise. Jack's eyes narrowed and he listened carefully to what was underneath the words. The man was exhausted. There was an opened bottle of whisky on the desk at his elbow. It didn't look as though more than a glass or two had been consumed, but there wasn't a tumbler in sight. "Sodomy is a hanging offence."

"Tsk. Commodore, you're a one to talk, sitting there with a bottle of illegal spirits. Not so law-abiding yourself, are you?"

An indelicate snort spluttered past Norrington's lips. He seemed genuinely amused, which puzzled Jack greatly. His whole demeanour was confusing to the pirate, who cocked his head to one side and studied the angular planes of the officer's face, the play of shadows in the dancing light of a guttering candle. There were no clues there, as he held himself in rigid control. Jack shifted his gaze up to the eyes that were presently dark and immeasurable. He distinctly recalled their green colour from the day he met the Commodore on the docks. It was their look of the sea that had originally drawn him to the man. That, and the sense of loneliness overlapping not quite banked fires that radiated off him. Jack was still surprised at his reaction to those first impressions. Normally, he was attracted to superficial beauty and glitter. While Norrington had that in spades with his natural beauty and pretty uniform, it was what lay underneath that ultimately held Jack's attention.

Norrington stepped forward, seeming to glide out of the deepening shadows of the room. There was still enough light for Jack to notice that the sea-green eyes were now stormy. His breath caught in his throat as he noted how the pulse beat rapidly in the long, pale throat. They were close enough now that Jack could see powder residue from the absent naval wig in Norrington's hair. He couldn't say he was sorry to not see the white horsehair. Itchy looking thing, there was something to be said for natural locks. The Commodore had very fine, dark hair that Jack was willing to gamble on being soft to the touch. Then he moved even closer and the acrid scent of smoke hit Jack's nose.

"Y'get too close to the stove, luv?"

Norrington recoiled as if Jack had struck him. He spun on his heel and returned to the desk, hefted the bottle and took a large swallow of the amber liquid.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, all of his senses alert to danger and totally bewildered as to why.

Taking a second, smaller drink of alcohol, Norrington smiled grimly. "I should think you would hear all of the news."

"What news?" Jack was genuinely puzzled. It was obvious something bad had happened, or was about to.

Hesitating as if unsure he wanted to tell his tale to a pirate, Norrington finally spoke. "There was an accident at the docks." He stopped and looked at Jack with an enquiring eyebrow. "I'm surprised you did not hear of it."

"I came to town from... a different direction. The Pearl dropped anchor a ways out and I rowed in."

"To avoid being seen. And yet you came straight to my home. Hardly a prudent move, Sparrow."

"Captain Sparrow," Jack reminded him, but only shrugged in response to the rest of it. "What happened at the docks?"

"A merchant from Bristol was loading supplies. Some... fool lit a pipe next to a cask of gunpowder, a cask with a hole in it. There must have been a spark... The resulting explosion killed him and three more. Many were injured, the merchant ship was destroyed."

"So you rushed down there to help with what you could," Jack surmised.

"I was already down there. I... saw them die."

Spare words but Jack could well imagine the sight of so much destruction, his mind racing as images of wood and metal flying through the air filled his imagination. He had witnessed such an event once before, and the damage it wrought on the surrounding area, on the people. Suppressing a shudder, he thought of something else.

He strode over to the commodore who stood with hands braced on the desk. He grasped the man's face and turned it toward the faltering light, peering closely.

Norrington tried to twist away and then pushed at Jack's hands, failing to dislodge them.

"Sparrow...!"

"Hold still!" Jack searched for injuries and thankfully found none—no visible ones, anyway. There was a smudge of soot along the side of his nose and one across his forehead. The white linen shirt bore a few marks as well. He could see the Commodore pulling off his heavy coat and rushing in to battle the fire, and do whatever else he could. He ran his hands down Norrington's arms and the man actually suffered his attentions, albeit with an unhappy expression. "So. You're not hurt?"

"I am fine. Thank you ever so much for your concern." He pulled away abruptly leaving Jack with his hands falling to his sides. The haunted green eyes slid closed and his head bowed.

Jack fell silent for a moment, respecting the sorrow displayed before him. He wasn't surprised that the Commodore was a compassionate man. He had seen traces of it that day on the ramparts of Fort Charles when Elizabeth had chosen Will to be her man. Jack had his own brand of compassion, and had felt it strongly when he saw Norrington fight his disappointment at her decision. That was another reason why he kept coming back. Well, this was only the third time he'd visited the Commodore in his home. Why he hadn't had him arrested the first time... Jack decided not to press his luck by thinking about it. Besides, if he really wanted Jack to stay out he would have locked his window.

"It's a hard world in which we live," Jack told him.

The words got Norrington's attention. He straightened up, his shoulders moving back and spine stiffening. An unexpected pang of dismay twitched through Jack, and he puzzled over that as well as the rest of it.

"Is there something I can do to help you?" He purposely kept his expression open and friendly. Why he kept pushing his luck with this man, he'd never know...

For a moment the arrogance was on full display as Norrington looked down his nose at Jack. How dare a mere pirate ask if he could help the Commodore of the Royal Navy Jamaican fleet? But then something changed. Jack was still playing catch up and couldn't follow what little he could read on the handsome face. All he knew was that Norrington let a small smile emerge from his grim visage and Jack's stomach did a little flip at how it transformed him from stern and foreboding to open and somehow younger in appearance.

"What exactly are you offering?"

"Friendship. Comfort. I know, I know. I'm a pirate and you're the Law, but just for tonight how about we forget all that? It's clear you're rattled by what you saw today—any man with a heart would be." Jack thought that the Commodore had also been shaken by the walking dead at Isla de Muerta, not to mention the loss of some of his men, and wondered who had helped him then.

"Why are you offering it?"

Mildly annoyed at all of the questions Jack allowed his hands the freedom they craved. It wasn't normal for him to stand still for any length of time unless he was at the helm of his Pearl. He fluttered as he said, "Because you're a damn pretty man, y'daft bugger! I do want to help but I want to bed ye more!"

There. That did it. Jack could almost feel the bite of iron on his wrists and smell the stink of the jail. He took one step backwards.

Norrington merely stared at him, obviously contemplating Jack's demise.

Jack took another step, aiming for the window that was somewhere behind him. But the man surprised him.

"Very well, but just for tonight you will call me James. I cannot be the Commodore if we... in these circumstances." He peered out from under the hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Aye!" Relieved beyond measure, Jack bobbed his head. He brought his hands together, palm against palm and half-bowed over them. The man must really be hurting to give in so easily. Still, lying with a pirate had to be better than being alone with his thoughts and memories. Jack felt a pang of sympathy for Norrington... for James. What must it be like to be the one in charge, to have to be in control all the time, ruled by...well, rules? Jack shuddered inwardly.

So, now what; was he expecting a kiss? Jack wouldn't mind it later but it was too intimate at the start. They hadn't had sex yet.

Norrington... James smiled a little bigger this time, and more mysteriously, before turning and walking away while unbuttoning his ruined shirt. When he pulled it off over his head, the waning light, along with a brighter moonbeam through the open window, captured him and displayed a long torso with lean, muscled arms and broad shoulders. Jack's breath stopped momentarily. Then Nor... James stopped in the doorway of the next room, the balled up shirt in his hands, and looked back at Jack.

"Well?"

Jack hurried to catch up, reaching for him just as the candle went out. Never mind—he was sure they could do this by touch.

# end