Jack idly flipped open his compass, glancing at the inscription therein. Then, eyes widening, he stared closer. "You, my Captain, are fair 'tis true—but one there is, more fair than you." And the needle spun, still not pointing north, but a different not-north than before. Jack's expression was a study, mixed up and unsure whether to be resentful or hopelessly intrigued and completely obsessed with treasure. Not silver and gold.

Shouted orders turned the Pearl around, chasing a new horizon.

***

He had ended up back in Port Royal—a surprise that was more than welcome—wandering along a deserted part of the beach as the sun drifted teasingly towards the sea, not setting just quite yet. Tracing the path of footprints in the sand as the tides patiently erased the history they told, although too late to hide their maker. An outcropping of rock made Jack pause, falling instinctively silent as he stepped around it and froze, the scene before him engraving itself into his memory in shades of gold and emerald.

Dark green shirt and black trousers encased the most lovely, elegant body he had ever seen. Lithe limbs and straight posture, head turned slightly away from him. Statuesque stillness wrapped around the other as he stood poised on the edge of the sea, gazing out over endless waves as if it were possible to drown just from watching.

Soft brown hair curled delicately to brush fine cheek bones and pale skin lazily lit by the evening sun.

Jack gasped. Hopelessy intrigued it was, then. He couldn't resent this. At the sound of that inadvertently drawn breath, the stranger turned. Bright bright green eyes met his, a tear-free look of intense misery stuggling to make itself hidden.

He stepped closer, baffled by a nagging sense of familiarity, and the stranger's green eyes widened, a dark honey voice snarled "Sparrow," in a tone of mixed scathing and panic, unprepared for this. One hand found its way to his sword hilt.

"You?" Jack was stunned, but not so stunned that he couldn't reach the Commodore's side and wrap his arms about him in time to stop him from drawing the weapon. "You're unhappy," Jack murmured against the Commodore's neck. "Why are you unhappy?" He stared up at his captive in fascination.

Struggling reflexively in the pirate's grasp, James opened his mouth to answer Sparrow's sincere demand for information with "I'm not unhappy." He shut it without speaking, concentrating instead on escaping. He managed with difficulty to throw the pirate off, the man mysteriously ending up in possession of his sword.

Jack backed away carefully and laid the sword against a boulder, before moving closer again, and reattaching himself to the Commodore.

"Let me go."

"But you're beautiful," Jack said plaintively.

"I... What?"

"Beautiful. Gorgeous, adorable, lovely, precious pretty." Jack's arms tightened. "Mine. 'm not letting you go." He pouted stubbornly.

***

James was charmed.

Clear brown eyes blinked artfully up at him from what was probably the most beautiful face he had ever seen. A strong slender body clung to him as if he was the most precious treasure in the world. As if he was worth cherishing.

Elizabeth hadn't cherished him.

Lonely and heart-shattered and with the sea calling to him in a constant undertone of music, clashing waves against rocks in his veins, James wanted nothing more to curl into that embrace and relish the sensation of shredded bits of his soul pulling back together.

Which they were. Because Sparrow... and this was where his thinking fell apart. Or rather, was viciously cut off. The simple absence of pain should have left James melting in Jack's arms—instead Commodore Norrington clamped down on his emotions until green eyes turned to hard, clear-cut emeralds. Right. No cuddling the pirate. Making any sort of rational decision under the influence of vibrant copper-gold Sparrow-bird would be as impossible as inadvisable, and was to be avoided at all costs. Almost all, he corrected automatically, becasue all costs covered some things he would never ever do.

He's a pirate, James reminded himself sharply, layered the thought with all the disdain he could muster and held it like a shield against the abject adoration that threatened to overwhelm him. And struggled.

The sudden violence of it was enough to detach Sparrow, a fraction too easily for James to convince himself that the pirate had meant to hold him against his will.

He backed up against the boulder and retrieved his sword to hold warily between them.

If Jack was armed he hadn't drawn a weapon, but he didn't need one. The traces of hurt James glimpsed as Jack's face closed over on an expression he had just missed were harder to ignore than folded steel ever could be.

Irrelevant. "Do refrain, pirate, from laying your hands on my person without permission." Ice that had no place in the Caribbean frosted over James' words.

"With permission then, Commodore?" Sparrow asked, flirtatiously impertinent as ever.

Mind and heart still a tangled mess, James failed to answer.

Against all reason, Jack darted in close to him once more, slipping through his defences like water to brush a feather-light kiss over slightly parted lips, danced back before the Commodore could react, and grinned at him. "The next move's yours, love. Call if you need me; I'll be around." Jack saluted neatly and brushed past Norrington to continue in an uneven saunter along the edge of the sea.

Watching him leave, James absently traced a finger over his lips, and tried to make his brain start functioning again.