James sighed. The things he did for his country. Commodores of the Jamaican fleet should never be forced to such extreme measures. It just wasn't dignified. Wasn't it enough that he risked his own life and that of his men on a regular basis? Why had that fool spy gone and died of cholera before completing this one assignment, at least? He shook his head, very aware of the missing weight of his wig and hat. The too-tight breeches clung to his thighs and the thin silk shirt he was wearing let the breath of the wind lick obscenely against his skin. The dead agent's taste in clothing was execrable, to say the least. Couldn't there have been one other tall green-eyed officer in Port Royal who spoke both English and Spanish? He hurried along, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

He finally reached the correct tavern and pushed the door open. Low ceilinged and smoky, he was forced to duck on his way to the table in the alcove to the left of the fireplace. It was empty. He was early. He signaled the barmaid for an ale and sat down to wait. The glass was drained and the next half empty before another soul braved the fuggy interior. With a sense of inevitable dread, he observed the mass of dark hair and a rather ridiculous coat. Of course. It would be him. James Norrington began a furious prayer for Jack Sparrow to pass on to another table without seeing him. In the next moment, God abandoned him.

Sparrow stopped, looked down at him and smiled. Broadly. He kicked a chair out from under the table and sat next to James. Too close. Close enough to feel the heat of his body through the inadequate layers of his disguise.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

"Sparrow. Leave now. I am waiting for someone important."

"Tarted up like that, James? I can call you James, can't I?"

"No you may not."

"Well, I certainly can't call you Commodore, not here. And if I call you Norrington, that's just as bad, innit?"

James sighed. He had to get the pirate out of here before the contact showed. Sparrow might frighten him off. Or confuse him off.

"Fine. Call me what you like. Just go."

"But I only jus' got here, Commo-James. And we're having such a lovely talk an' all. Besides, you look like a man who'll do anything for a sovereign."

And there it was. The nightmare was complete. He stared in horror at the pirate.

Jack Sparrow winked at him. "Come on, luv. You've got to give me the countersign so I know you're the right one."

"Oh come on, Sparrow, you bloody well know who I am. Now hand over the papers."

"Sorry Jamie. No countersign, no documents. And believe me, you'll find them very interesting. I had to travel all the way to the Floridas to get them. And woo two Spanish ladies. Oh, yes. And one marquis. But he was more pleasure than business, if you know what I mean. Now then, you look like a man who'll do anything for a sovereign."

"I'm a whore. You name it, I'll do it." James's eyes were hard, his lips tight. He slapped his hand down on the table. The half-filled mug of ale jumped. "The documents. Now."

"What was that, James? I didn't quite hear you the first time."

"Sparrow." The warning tone would have had sailors cringing and lieutenants running. It didn't seem to have any effect on the pirate.

Sparrow stood up, grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Well, come on then, let's see just what you'll do. I've a few things in mind." Reaching close, he pulled James into an awkward embrace and whispered in his ear, "You really didn't think I'd have them on me, did you? I've got them well hid but you'll have to accompany me to get them." With another quick move, he pulled James closer still and brushed his lips against James's. He'd maneuvered them halfway to the door before James's astonishment had turned to disgust.

They walked down the street, the pirate never releasing his hand, as if he were afraid James might run away if he did. The grip was quite strong. Idiot. Did he really think James would run after enduring that humiliation in the tavern?

Finally, after garnering the speculative glances of every resident of Tortuga it seemed, they arrived at the pier. James stopped. He had to draw the line somewhere.

"Sparrow, I am not setting foot on your ship. That is out of the question."

"Shame, that. That's where I've got the papers hid. I guess you really don't need the location of the Spanish fleet that badly after all. Well, I'll just be moving along, then. Been lovely doing business with you, James."

James wondered how long it would take him to find Sparrow's hiding place for the documents if he just throttled the pirate here on the docks. He wondered how long it would take the pirate's crew to then kill him. He sighed. Again. Resignedly, he followed Sparrow up the gangway.

"Come along then, James. It's not every lad I meet that I invite to my very own cabin." Sparrow took his hand again and led him through the ship. Nice woodwork, relatively clean. Fresh sails. Sparrow had been busy, creating a seaworthy ship out of the hulk that Barbossa had left behind.

All too soon, they were in the cabin and the door shut and bolted behind them.

"Now, can we end this charade, Sparrow?"

"Not quite yet, love. Rum?" He held out the bottle to James.

"No, thank you."

"Brandy?" He held out another bottle. One that was worth about two months of James's pay. James knew when he was beat. He took the bottle and, seeing no glasses available, wrapped his lips around the neck and tilted it up. Ambrosial.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, will you really do anything I ask?"

"Only if you ask me to murder you."

"Little death, maybe." Sparrow winked at him again. "By the way, that shirt looks lovely on you. I knew it would when I picked it out."

James spluttered a mouthful of brandy. "You—you knew it would be me? You killed my spy?"

"Course not. I came upon his ship, he was already dead, I took advantage of an opportune situation and switched a few articles of clothing. And a countersign. And there you go, Fanny's your aunt and I've got me a Commodore in my quarters. You know what would look better on you than that shirt?"

"What?" James voice had gone high and tight again.

"Nothing." Sparrow gyrated his hips suggestively.

James knew he should be quite a bit angrier than he was currently feeling, but brandy and the elaborate plans Sparrow had made just to get him into his quarters had combined to make him feel rather flattered and a bit tipsy. Still, appearances must be kept.

"Sparrow! I am going to kill you!" He reached for the pirate and the chase was on. It ended quite a bit later, in the middle of Sparrow's ridiculous bed after more than half the furnishings had either been torn down or knocked over.

"Jack, why couldn't you just send me love letters or flowers or something instead of humiliating me into bedding you?"

Jack traced a swirling line across his bare chest. "Oh come on, Jamie. You know the answer to that."