The Commodore had chosen to let him go. It was the strangest piece of good fortune Jack had come across lately—strange, because not only had he had not created it himself, it had been completely unpredicted. Like a cat with nine lives, and far too much curiosity, he couldn't resist prodding at it. "Taking the law into our own hands are we, Commodore?"

Norrington looked at him flatly. "In Jamaica, I am the law."

That was interesting. "No offence, mate. It's just not an attitude I would have expected from you, that's all."

"Few people do, Sparrow."

No. They wouldn't, would they, Jack thought, fascinated. But you—who are you? "Tell me, then," he challenged, almost not expecting an answer. "Why?"

Norrington's voice was bleak. "If you can't bend, you will break. Having done both, I can assure you that the former is considerably less... unpleasant."

"And your duty?"

James' lip curled sardonically. "Duty is a myth, pirate. I am not so naïve as to believe otherwise."

Oh. Enthralled almost past bearing, Jack leaned forward, pressing his fingertips against the Commodore's white and gold uniform for balance. "And yet," he said softly, wonderingly. "And yet, you protect Port Royal."

Norrington's eyes flashed. "Always."

"Oh." Oh, I want you. Jack grinned fiercely, tipping forward just that little bit further needed to crash their lips together. "Good."

And perhaps, Commodore, this will change your mind about letting me go free. Jack pulled away, still grinning. But you'll have to catch me again, first.

Laughing breathlessly, he ran.