One thing that Sparrow noticed as he skirted around the elegant townhouse was the complete silence. The unbearable heat made the air sluggish and thick, and it was strange to be creeping past the town hall and the fort and not hear the snap of the flags, the rustling of wind in the trees, or even the crash of the waves from the shore. Even the usually ever present sounds of the island were absent; the noisy cicadas and tree frogs lacking the energy to make their usual racket. This uncanny heat wave was a worry in many ways, it promised storms, bad storms. As a result the whole island seemed to be on edge, sullen and lethargic, and the overwhelming sense of expectation hanging over the town was fraying nerves and shortening tempers.

The hour was late, or possibly early, so Sparrow wasn't expecting to see anyone abroad but the devilish heat guaranteed this. All good citizens were lying abed, beside their open windows, desperately trying to sleep in the stifling heat. He had spied one of the patrols but they'd been easy to avoid. To a man they seemed listless and uncomfortable in their heavy uniforms, and Sparrow wagered that more than one was probably pining for the cool drizzle of England. He could sympathise to a point, although he himself was feeling remarkably refreshed—the promise of adventure keeping him sharp.

He at last found the Commodore's window and climbed up. The room was in darkness and he moved surefooted towards the bed, only to be slightly taken aback to find it empty. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness then moved to the door, but started when he caught sight of Norrington watching him. The officer was slumped in a chair, bottle of brandy at hand. He covered his surprise, and swayed closer, "Why're you sitting in the dark, love?"

Norrington hadn't moved, just watched as he ventured a step closer. "Jack," he spoke flatly and Sparrow felt a sudden stab of cold fear swirling in his gut, something was terribly wrong here. It had taken some considerable time for Norrington to stop calling him Sparrow in that supercilious voice (with never so much as a 'Captain' to soften the sting) and use his given name. However since then he had spoken that name in a number of ways; sarcastically, angrily, drunkenly, laughingly, even on one very, very memorable occasion drunkenly laughingly, but never with this resigned dead tone.

He kept his own voice even and gave an exaggerated bow, "The very same."

Norrington sighed and mustered up a small smile, little more than a cursory twist of his lips, "Forgive me Jack, I'm not good company tonight."

Sparrow leaned closer. Norrington looked tired, more than tired, exhausted and stretched close to breaking point. He reached the chair at last and nodded at the brandy bottle, "Didn't think you'd keep it." That raised another of those strange distracted half smiles.

"If some... mysterious benefactor sees fit to leave fine French brandy on my desk, who am I to refuse their generosity?"

Sparrow chuckled appreciatively "Ill-gotten gains. There's hope for you yet, James."

Sparrow knew he was on dangerous ground here. As a rule it never paid to remind Norrington of his own illegality which with the fraternising with a persona non grata such as himself, and the countless indiscretions associated with said fraternising was really beginning to mount up. As expected the comment did penetrate his dull haze but Sparrow was surprised by how much it appeared to affect him, Norrington paused with the glass almost at his lips and paled.

"James? Jamie, what's happened?"

Norrington watched him carefully over the rim, and finally took a small sip as Sparrow crouched down before him and gestured for the glass. He took a mouthful before handing it back, their fingers entwining on the glass as they shared the measure of spirit.

"Nothing Jack, its just this damn heat. I... I haven't been sleeping well and..." He shook his head slightly and sighed, "I'm just tired."

Sparrow cocked his head, he certainly looked like he hadn't slept for days—but there was more to it than that, of that he was sure. He reached out and swiped a hand under the fine linen shirt to stroke across the heated, sweat-slicked skin. "Well then," he purred "We'll just have to wear you out."

This at least forced a genuine laugh from him, and Sparrow was cheered to hear it. They looked at each other for a long moment before Norrington abruptly sobered.

"You can't stay Jack, its..." he paused as if choosing his words carefully, "Its not safe for you here."

Sparrow kept up his idle stroking, as he wondered what the Commodore wasn't telling him. Of all the things he was imagining, he certainly wasn't expecting what he heard.

"The Admiral's representative has arrived. Not the Admiral, not yet..." his voice was soft, musing. "The disciplinary process starts tomorrow. Well, the preliminaries. At least I have my freedom for the moment. The actual Court Marshal won't be until next month. At best I'll be dishonourably discharged, at worst..."

He shrugged and reached again for the brandy.