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Another Angle on the Problem
by Aris Merquoni
Pairing: Jack/James
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 4/12/10
Summary: Jack's had a new companion show up on his search for the Fountain of Youth, and he's not quite sure what to make of the situation.
Jack was two days into the swamp on the trail of the Fountain and about to settle down beside a fire of not-too-damp-logs and sleep the sleep of the at-least-it's-not-bloody-freezing when he heard the footsteps approaching his camp. He gently checked his pistol to make sure it was ready and loaded, then said, "Whoever's making that bloody thumping, come into the light or leave so I can get some sleep."
There was a pause in the footsteps, then a sigh. "I should have known you wouldn't be easy to sneak up to."
Jack raised his eyebrows at the voice. "Commodore?" He edged himself up on his elbow and squinted into the darkness. "I heard you were dead."
There was a pause, then Norrington said, "It is a very long story. Are you going to shoot me if I come any closer?"
"I might," Jack said, easing into a sitting position. "You did me a very bad turn there, Commodore."
Norrington, for his part, stepped into the light in order to make a more inviting target. He'd gotten cleaned up somewhere; he was shaved and his coat was in better repair, though he'd been up to his knees in mud at some point. He was missing his wig, but his hair was tied back neatly. He didn't appear to be wearing his sword, which was a damn shame—it was a nice instrument—but a little reassuring. "I recall," Norrington said without inflection.
"I got eaten by a kraken," Jack said, and felt himself grinning. "Some people would take exception to that."
Norrington stopped moving and looked pained for a moment. "I'm sorry for what happened to the Pearl."
Jack frowned. Norrington was continuing to look at him, but his expression had gone from pained to resigned in the meanwhile. Finally, Jack smirked and cocked his head, and dropped his pistol back to his side. "I do believe you mean that."
"Thank you." He stepped forward again. "Do you mind?"
"Now why on earth would you want to search out my company?" Jack asked.
Since it wasn't a 'no,' Norrington seemed to take it as a 'yes.' He sat down on a moderately clear piece of ground out of the way of the smoke and said, "You should probably know that Barbossa is on your trail; I think he's at least a day behind."
"Bloody hell," Jack said, grimacing. He'd known Barbossa would probably find him eventually; he didn't expect it to be this soon. "That's not good news."
"No, it isn't," Norrington said. He was looking at his hands and reflexively rubbing spots of dirt off of his knuckles, as though it would make a difference in the long run. In the firelight he almost looked out-of-focus and wavery around the edges. Jack surmised that meant it was time to get some sleep.
Instead he straightened his posture out, let his pistol lay on his leg, and said, "Well, if you're joining my company again, that's all well and good, but I'm taking first watch."
Norrington looked up, startled. "That was easy," he said.
Jack snorted. "I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you."
That got him a smile, a real one. "Fair enough." And far too easily the man lay down, curled up in his coat with his arm under his head, and fell asleep.
This was bizarre.
Jack took a turn around camp, checking for any sort of surprise that might be waiting in the bushes—a regiment of marines, Barbossa's crew, evil undead—but turned up nothing but mud. Grumbling, he returned to his fire to find Norrington in the same position as before, sleeping soundly.
"Lucky bastard," Jack said offhandedly. Norrington didn't even twitch.
Still dubious of this unexpected arrival and change (for better or ill, he couldn't say) in his fortune, Jack pulled out the compass and the map and checked his heading. He was still on target to reach the Fountain by the next day, if his current rate of progress was any indication. If Norrington's information was correct—and how the hell could it be?—he would make it in plenty of time.
Best to assume Barbossa was on his trail, anyway. That thought kept him miserable and brushing off mosquitos the rest of the night.
***
He finally woke the commodore up a few hours before dawn and got a quick nap in before the sun was up. When he woke again, Norrington was looking peevish. "You should have woken me earlier," he said.
"Now where's the fun in that?" Jack asked. "I hope you're not after my rations as well as my company."
"No, I have my own," Norrington said. Where, Jack couldn't see, but that was none of his business. He breakfasted while Norrington buried the remains of the fire, then wiped his hands off and took out the compass.
No reaction from Norrington on the compass, and no words from him when they started hiking, not even complaints.
"So what are you doing here, in any case?" Jack asked after enough hours of silence had gone by.
Norrington raised his eyebrows. He looked, if it were possible, even more off in sunlight than he had the previous evening. After a moment he said, "I... was looking for you."
"Right, and you found me," Jack said. "What for?"
That only got him a sigh from his companion. Jack rolled his eyes and wondered at his luck, having a walking cipher turn up to keep him company. Well, if he tried to get in the way of Jack getting at the Fountain, he'd be a dead cipher, and that'd be the end of it.
"I suppose I made at least partial amends to Eliz—Miss Swann," Norrington finally said. "So that accounting's already taken care of."
"It's Mrs. Turner, now," Jack pointed out.
Norrington made a depressing humming noise. "Of course it is."
"See, there's your problem, mate," Jack said. "You give up too easily. Young Turner, though nowhere approaching your physical or social stature, was just bull-headed enough to win the lass."
"The fact that she was in love with him didn't hurt, I'm sure," Norrington said wryly.
"Yes, one imagines." Jack sent Norrington a look. He was focused straight ahead, on the trail. "But if you'd done a little more wooing and a little less pirate hunting it might have been a closer fight."
"It's a little late for that advice now," Norrington said.
"General advice, mate." Jack was feeling generous. "If you want something, go after it. Better to try than the alternative."
That drove the commodore silent again, so Jack re-checked his heading. They'd drifted westerly a bit, and he corrected their course around a couple of massive trees.
It felt less strange than it ought to have Norrington there as a companion. For all the time the bloody navy man had spent chasing him, Jack didn't feel under much threat at all.
"What are you looking for in this mess, anyway?" Norrington asked suddenly.
Jack looked over at him, surprised. "You found me even not knowing what I was after?"
Norrington shrugged. Jack rolled his eyes. "See, I've just been wondering what to expect when I get back to the sea. Got a mess of ships waiting to snap me up, commodore?"
Norrington's eyes flickered toward him. "I effectively tendered my resignation from the service when I assisted in Miss Swann's escape," he said. "Again, I mean."
"Hmmm," Jack hummed. "So it isn't naval business which sent you after me."
"... No." The admission seemed dragged out of him.
"So—" Jack stopped, frowned, then pulled out his pistol and whipped around—
To see Barbossa and a compliment of his crew stepping out of the bushes, all of whom carried pistols. So that made Barbossa and quite a lot against Jack and an unarmed commodore.
"Gentlemen," Jack said, rapidly deciding that parley was the wisest course of action. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"
Barbossa wasn't amused. "Hand over the map, Jack."
"Map? What map?" Jack feigned befuddlement quite well, he had been told.
"No excuses, Jack. Where's the map?"
Jack grinned. "Hidden. In a safe place. Which you won't find out by shooting me."
"Map?" Norrington asked softly.
"Nothing," Jack said.
Barbossa sighed and waved his pistol irritatedly in Jack's direction. "You can hand it over, and the compass, or we can start shooting. One or both of you, it doesn't matter much to me."
Jack tilted his head to indicate Norrington, who was looking bewildered, and asked, "Why would shooting him motivate me?"
"Yes, and why would shooting him let me know where he's hidden this map?" Norrington added, quite thoughtfully.
Barbossa scowled. "Him," he said, pointing at Jack, "I expect not to have a plan, but you, commodore, you wouldn't show up unless you knew where you were goin'."
Norrington was taken aback for a moment. "My reputation for competence is going to get one of us killed."
"That's the size of it," Jack agreed.
"Bloody hell."
"One or both of you, start talking," Barbossa said.
Norrington shook his head. "I honestly don't know anything."
Jack shrugged. "I'd rather you shoot him."
Norrington gave him a dirty look.
"Sorry, mate," Jack said.
"Oh, well," Barbossa said, unexpectedly holstering his pistol. "I tried to do this the easy way, Jack."
The small packet he pulled from his pocket didn't look dangerous, but Barbossa handled it gently, and then suddenly flung it at Jack with full force. Jack threw up his arms uselessly—whatever charm or bizarre curse the thing carried probably wouldn't be stopped by his elbows—but the packet was stopped instead by Norrington, who was suddenly in front of him and then getting hit by the thing with an audible thunk.
"Ow," Norrington said. The packet hit the ground at his feet and he doubled over. Jack was about to say something apt, possibly even a word of thanks, but the thing started smoking, huge waves of billowing black smoke that fogged up around them and rapidly made it impossible to see.
"That's strange," Jack said, or would have said had he not inhaled a lungful of black smoke and started coughing and feeling all of a sudden as though he'd drank the entire ship's store of rum, blacked out, woken up still drunk, drank some more—he was starting to get confused as to how much rum would have to be in his system to feel this discombobulated and to be coughing this much when someone threw an arm around his shoulders and started hauling him out of the smoke.
And then there was stumbling through swampy undergrowth, which reminded Jack far too much of certain other nights, and he tried to sing a couple of drinking songs and maybe get Norrington to sing along—because it was probably Norrington who was half-carrying him, certainly smelled right, all starch and king's discipline. But he kept coughing on the smoke and then forgetting the words. Lamentable, that.
"How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now," he sang, suddenly remembering the line. Then he frowned. "That's an anachronism, isn't it?"
"Jack?" Norrington was leaning over him, sea-green eyes and worried expression. He was on the ground. Possibly this wasn't too bad. "Jack!"
"Commodore," Jack asked, suddenly curious, "Where'd y'get the wings?"
***
Jack woke up with a splitting awful headache and a rotten taste in his mouth. He was on his back. Barbossa had done something to him. He struggled up to a sitting position and looked around.
It was late afternoon; sunlight was coming down through the trees and hitting him straight in the eyes. He put his hand up to block the worst of it and squinted, finally making out his sole companion in the area.
Sure enough. He hadn't been hallucinating the wings.
Norrington was sitting down a few paces away on a log, oriented so he could keep an eye on Jack's location. He'd removed his coat, and had his right sleeve rolled up so he could sit there staring at something on his forearm.
The wings, though—those were real. Well, not so much 'real'-real. They weren't precisely solid-looking. More like suggestions of wings than actual feathery appendages, all abstract glowy see-through shapes that faded out in sunlight. But they were definitely there, and definitely connected to Norrington. They were a bit incongruous next to the mud-spattered trousers and the day and a half of stubble that the commodore was sporting, but apparently angels didn't get to magic themselves clean any more than men did.
"So," Jack said, and Norrington's head jerked up. "You were dead, after all."
Norrington stared at him for a moment, then jerked his sleeve back down over his arm. "How's your head?" he asked in lieu of an answer.
"Were dead? Are dead? How's that work?" Jack struggled to his feet, which was a bad idea since the ground felt like it was pitching and rolling underneath him, and eventually tipped himself over to Norrington's log and sat himself down. "You're here now, so that implies some kind of past tense somewhere."
"You breathed a good deal of that smoke. You ought to rest." Norrington wasn't quite meeting his eyes.
Jack reached up and poked at the wing closest to him. It was warm to the touch, felt like it was made of real feathers, despite appearances, and made his fingers tingle slightly. Norrington jerked back and glared at him.
"Sorry," Jack said.
Norrington sighed and rubbed his forehead briefly. "Yes, dead," he finally snapped. "And I was quite clear on rejecting Davy Jones' offer, as well. I thought that was the end of it."
Jack grinned, though it hurt his head a bit. "So you're looking after me for some reason, is that it?"
"Something like that." Norrington's pained expression was back. "I... am not able to remember specifics."
"Heh." Jack braced himself and forced himself to his feet. "Well, no sense wasting time."
"You're still sick," Norrington argued, but he followed Jack to his feet.
Jack shook his head. "I've been worse. Let's go before Barbossa finds us again."
He really wanted to see how Norrington got the coat on over the wings, but they sort of shimmered, like a mirage, and then they were gone. Didn't seem to interfere with the coat after that. Jack repressed the urge to poke him in the back.
"All right." He pulled the compass out of his pocket and squinted at it. "This way."
"This way to what?" Norrington asked as Jack started walking.
Jack rolled his eyes. "The Fountain of bloody Youth, what else would I be doing in Florida?"
Norrington frowned, and stumbled over a tree root. "We're in Florida?"
"Boy, those angels sure didn't give you much to go on, did they?" Jack stumbled between a couple of trees, righted himself, and at Norrington's concerned expression just waved in the direction they were going. "Come on."
And all right, if when they reached the Fountain Jack was leaning rather heavily on his companion, it was only fair as Norrington hadn't inhaled nearly as much of the black stuff as he had, being slightly angelic and all.
It was a lovely sight, though. A small pile of stones from which a brilliant stream of slightly silvery water was cascading. It looked inviting and fresh and just what Jack needed after coating his lungs with smoke. He was just about to weigh the possible consequences of taking a gulp when Norrington cleared his throat. "Sorry to bring this up so late, but Barbossa's caught up to us."
"Fat lot of use you are," Jack muttered, then gulped as Norrington dropped him on the ground.
"Well, we've led you to it," Norrington said as Barbossa approached and Jack struggled back to his feet. "Go ahead, there's enough for everyone."
Barbossa had a particularly unpleasant version of his usual scowl in place. "I'm not sure I ought to believe you," he said.
Jack sighed, pulled the compass off his belt and held it up. It hurt his eyes slightly to focus on it, but he gave it a good go. "The Fountain of Youth," he intoned, and opened the case.
The needle swung wildly for a moment, then pointed solidly at the spring.
Barbossa leaned over him and squinted at the compass, then nodded. "Well done, Jack. I always knew you had it in you."
"Could've just asked," Jack said, "instead of deciding to whack me over the head with that smoke. I would've said no, but it would have been comrade-like."
Barbossa eyed him as he snapped the case shut. "Very well. Now give it a try."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"Go on. Have a drink." Barbossa waved grandly. "I'm interested to see what happens, just in case someone forgot to mention a few by-laws in the legend. Some little catch or curse for whomever takes a drink first."
"No more bloody Aztec gold, mmm?" Jack asked. Inwardly, he was a trifle nervous. He hadn't worked out a complete plan for what he'd do when he reached the Fountain, but testing the water on himself suddenly sounded like less like an excellent idea.
"I've decided to start with the expendable ones," Barbossa said. He cocked his pistol and pointed it at Norrington's head. "If you really don't mind his brains being spattered out, we'll start on your less important extremities next."
"It would be more effective to hold him down and pour the water down his throat," Norrington suggested quickly.
Jack scowled at him. "Stop helping."
"Well, now, Commodore, you're finally proving your usefulness," Barbossa said. "Gents, take Jack for a drink."
Jack wasn't too steady on his feet anyway, so it wasn't much use struggling when the two sailors—who he thought he recognized, but the faces weren't coming to him—took his arms and dragged him over to the water. They seemed uncertain how to proceed after that, but finally just pitched him face-first into the stream.
"Ow," he said.
"Well, Captain did say make you drink," the slenderer of the two said.
"I'm not sure he's drinking, though," the other said.
"We could hold his head down."
"I know," Jack said. "Weren't you two royal marines?"
There was a pause during which, if Jack was any judge, the pair exchanged a glance. Then they both put their hands on the back of his head and forced his face into the water.
"Aaaggphll," Jack yelled, then swallowed a few mouthfuls of Fountain water.
The two marines-turned-pirates hauled Jack to his feet after that and dragged him back to Barbossa's inspection. Jack took a few deep breaths and straightened himself out. The water'd done pretty good at easing his throat, if nothing else. He took a deep lungful of air and straightened up, then did a slow spin, "Well? Have I regained my youthful looks?"
Barbossa frowned, studying him. "D'you feel any different?"
"I feel wet," Jack said.
"He doesn't look any younger," the skinnier ex-marine said.
"Maybe it takes a few minutes," his partner offered.
Jack squeezed some of the water out of his shirt and waited.
After a few minutes, he still didn't feel any younger, and none of the others could detect any youthful freshness to his complexion. He wasn't happier than the rest of them. "That was a bloody wasted effort."
Barbossa even went and scooped up a mouthful of water himself, but it had just as little effect on him as it did on Jack. "Blast it."
"Sorry, mate," Jack said. "You can lead 'em to a magic fountain, but you can't guarantee results."
Barbossa looked, for one moment, as though he was going to resume talk of killing and blowing brains out, but then he just looked suddenly twice his real age and holstered his pistol. "I suppose there's just less magic in the world altogether, isn't there," he said sadly.
Jack could meet his eyes, but only with effort. "I suppose there is."
Barbossa sighed deeply, then gestured his crew. "All right, men," he said. "Back to the ship." He looked back at Jack. "Enjoy your magic fountain, Jack."
"Thank you," Jack said distantly.
Barbossa shook his head, then turned and left, followed by the two ex-marines, who shot a few nervous glances in Norrington's direction as though they were going to be ordered to midnight watch on the docks at any moment. The rest of the crew filed after, until Jack was left alone with Norrington and the useless water-spurting fountain.
Norrington raised his eyebrows. "That could have gone worse," he opined.
Jack grumbled, then pulled the map out of his pack and smoothed it out. Norrington moved to stand next to him, and stared. "That's the map?"
"It's the map," Jack confirmed.
Norrington was staring at him. Jack was just trying to make out the writing on the map's wheels. "What... why didn't you say something earlier?"
"Well, I was hardly going to tell you I had it," Jack said. "I think this says we're in the right place. Can't bloody figure out why the Fountain doesn't work, though."
"We're probably better off that it doesn't," Norrington said. "I've had enough of contrary magical objects."
Jack rolled up the map and pulled out the compass again.
"It'd probably prove to be more trouble than it was worth—what are you doing?" Norrington asked.
"Hush," Jack said, moving the compass from side to side. "I'm experimenting."
"Well, experiment faster," Norrington said. "The sooner we can get out of this swamp the better."
"Shh." Jack stepped closer to the pile of stones and watched the movement of the needle. Clearly it was pointing to the base of the spring, clearly, clearly...
And then not so clearly. Hmm.
The lee of the spring was a good deal more vertical than the rest of it. Jack started poking at the rocks until one of them shifted under his fingers.
"What's that?" Norrington asked. James shushed him again, put his fingers to the side of the stone and pulled.
The rock lifted away to reveal a dark, cool alcove. From the ceiling hung a stalactite with a single clear drop of water on its tip, and below that had been placed a cup no larger than a thimble. As Jack and Norrington watched, the droplet shimmered slightly, then fell into the cup with a tiny 'plip.'
Jack looked at Norrington. Norrington looked back, slightly bewildered. "Do you think..." he said.
Jack picked up the cup and sucked the single drop from it. It felt cold and tingly on his tongue before he swallowed it. "Well," he said, putting the cup back, "we'll see, won't we?"
Norrington stared at him for a second, expression blank. "That was more than usually irresponsible, even for you."
"Indeed!" Jack held out his arms. "Well? Do I look younger—er." He stopped, feeling suddenly tingly all over. "Hold that thought."
The sensation which flooded his veins wasn't unpleasant, exactly, it was just a surprising rush of bubbly, rollicking energy that made him want to start shaking. He gave in for a minute, giving himself a good shake all over, then beamed at Norrington again. "All right. Did it work?"
Norrington had one eyebrow raised inscrutably. "You seem... slightly younger," he finally allowed.
Jack frowned. "How slightly?"
"How should I know? You're... younger, that's all. A bit." Norrington shook his head. "Try another droplet, see if your beard falls off."
"I don't think there's enough there to make my balls shrink back," Jack said, going to look in the crevice again. "C'mon, Fountain."
There wasn't another drop in the cup. There wasn't even another drop collecting on the stalactite, just a bit of damp. Jack might have leaned in and licked at it if Norrington hadn't been watching, and if there had been room to fit his head in.
"So," he said after a minute. "How long d'you reckon it takes to make another drop?"
Norrington sighed. "Too long to bother sitting around here."
"You're probably right." Jack stared at the damp rock for another moment, then reluctantly covered it over again. "C'mon. I miss the ocean."
***
Norrington followed him all the way back to the docks, and didn't even say a word when Jack took him aboard the small sloop he'd taken in place of the dinghy Barbossa had left him with. The officer proved an able enough seaman, and they made it out to open water in good time. Jack charted them a course to a bay he remembered and hoped that Barbossa had forgotten, where they could pick up water when they needed it and rest awhile before they headed out to ocean.
"What now?" Norrington asked when all the lines had been tied off and Jack was taking a moment to relax.
"Now?" Jack grinned. "Now you start answering questions."
Norrington made an irritated noise. In the heat and the work he'd stripped off his coat, and was looking slightly more angelic than usual in the sunlight. The slight off-ness of the commodore's appearance was more explicable now that Jack knew about the "dead" thing, but it didn't make it any less obvious, especially when Norrington stopped trying to hide the whole halo effect.
"What questions haven't I answered?" Norrington finally asked.
"Well," Jack said, "The most obvious of questions is what do we have to do to get you back to your heavenly host?"
He'd started collecting Norrington's bewildered looks; this one was a fine example. "I... what?"
"You're obviously supposed to be up there," Jack said, gesturing vaguely in the direction he assumed heaven lay in. "Hanging around with a pirate's not helping that movement any, I wager."
"Heh," Norrington said, disbelievingly. "Not happy with my company, then?"
"Well, you did tell Barbossa to try and drown me," Jack pointed out.
Norrington made a strangled noise, then half-laughed. "I could actually tell the water wasn't magic," he said. "I was trying to keep him from shooting you."
That made a certain amount of sense, given that Norrington was theoretically supposed to be keeping him out of trouble. "Well, all right," he said magnanimously. "Still. You probably want to get back, despite the company, ay?"
Norrington's expression had gone completely inscrutable. "I... suppose."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Bleedin' hell, man, what could be so hard to agree with about getting you back to heaven? You're dead and supposed to be there, aren't you?"
"Jack," Norrington said, and the use of his Christian name was enough to startle Jack out of his argument, "I was sent here."
Jack stared at him for a moment, then said, "I hope you don't have to reform me, matey, because you're going to have an awful long job of it—"
He'd never actually heard a man growl in frustration before Norrington did it. The apparently now earth-bound angel pulled back his sleeve and shoved his forearm in front of Jack's nose. "See that?" Norrington asked.
Jack did see. It was some kind of black tattoo, wrapping around Norrington's arm, almost like some kind of writing. He frowned at it for a moment until he was pretty sure it wasn't in any language he could read. "Well?" he asked, for clarification.
"I can't go back," Norrington said, desperately. "Not because of you, dammit, because I—"
Jack had become accustomed to a variety of glances from law enforcing officers, but not quite the one he got from Norrington in the instant before the man—angel—turned away and gritted his teeth against some kind of angry outburst. It was a good deal... rawer than Jack was accustomed to. Not entirely unwelcome, mind, just surprising coming from one so particularly enfeathered.
"Mmmm," he said thoughtfully. "So you're feeling a bit... lacking. In heavenly qualifications."
Norrington made some kind of hysterical noise.
"Because I would have thought," Jack said, "that lying to yourself about what you want—"
"Damn it all, then," Norrington said, then grabbed Jack's shoulders and kissed him.
And that was definitely not unwelcome, Jack determined. He grabbed back, allowing himself to give the man's arse a good grope before taking ahold of his belt and tugging forward. "C'mon," he urged when his mouth was given a breather, "let's get out of the sun. The last thing I want when I finally get to fuck you is a burn on my arse."
Fucking Norrington—Commodore Pirate-Hunter James bloody Norrington—on a proper bed instead of the deck seemed like the most brilliant idea in the world until it turned out they had to stop kissing to manage the ladder. And that was just enough time for him to look up and see the glimmer of halo that Norrington wasn't bothering to hide any more, and get just a twinge of conscience gnawing at him.
Jack pushed that down, because it had been a good long while indeed, and if he'd gotten any kind of rejuvenation out of that Fountain he wanted to make good use out of it. And that worked, as James went back to fiercely kissing and pulling Jack against him like he'd been starved for touch, it worked just fine until Jack got James' shirt off, and the next time he grabbed for James' back he got his fingers full of angel feathers.
"What?" James asked when he'd been still for too long.
"James..." Jack began.
That got a laugh. "So you do know my name, then. And I was worried this was going to be awkward."
Jack found the next bit surprisingly difficult to say. "Are you sure you want to do this, mate?"
James' expression went suddenly neutral, and he pulled away. "If you don't—"
"Oh, I'm much obliged to your enthusiasm," Jack clarified, and let himself grab ahold of James' hips to demonstrate a bit of that obligation. "I just...think you've earned the right not to be trapped in the same boat as me. So to speak."
Norrington held that same pose and expression for three breaths—Jack counted—before he announced, "I don't care."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Even if that means you don't get to go back—"
"I don't care," James said again. Then, more quietly, "as long as you..."
"That's settled, then," Jack said. "C'mere, angel."
He still wasn't quite sure if James' wings were more real or more metaphorical, being as they had the disturbing quality of not staying visible unless he was concentrating on seeing them, but they were real enough that James wound up on top to keep them out of the way. Jack tried to hold onto his senses, but James was full of tense burning energy, pulling at Jack's and his own clothing until there was enough skin to just touch. And then James slid down the bed and closed his mouth enthusiastically over Jack's prick, and that was as good an argument for not thinking as Jack had ever felt.
James Norrington had practiced that skill sometime in life, Jack was certain. They didn't teach that in heavenly choir practice.
Jack lay back, gasping and utterly spent, as James crawled up to lay on top of him. "I can reciprocate momentarily," he offered when he had his breath back.
"I only—" James cut himself off, shook his head, then shifted so the length of his prick slid satisfyingly along Jack's stomach. "I keep not believing you're really here," he said.
Jack frowned, and shifted around so he could at least give James the benefit of his hand, if the man wanted him to keep talking. "What're you talking about? You're the one who's got the bloody wings."
James laughed into his neck, softly. "I never knew what I'd do with you if I caught you again," he said. "You drove me to distraction—half the time I didn't know if I'd throw you in jail or drag you to my bedchamber."
"Gratifying," Jack said, "I'm sure."
"But that wasn't it, was it?" James continued. "God, Jack, I just wanted—you had everything, you just sailed off without having anything to tie you down, and I wanted—"
Jack licked sweat off his lower lip, then pushed back until he could look James in the eyes. "Freedom?"
James' eyes lit up, and then he was grabbing at Jack's body, cursing, crying, shuddering, finally falling still.
"Guess that does it for you," Jack said.
"Bastard," James said into his shoulder.
Jack had to chuckle at that. "You hate bein' cut loose, though," he said. "I mean, in Tortuga, you were miserable."
James leaned back, then reached up and cupped Jack's cheek with his hand. "I hate failing those I bear responsibility for," he said, and rubbed his thumb along Jack's jawline thoughtfully for a moment. Then he smiled and rested his head on Jack's shoulder again.
Jack waited until he was pretty sure James was asleep before he said, "I guess I'm responsible for you, then. Just remember to call me 'captain.'"
***
James slept without tossing, turning, or kicking, which Jack was thankful for, but he was also heavy. So the next morning Jack had to shove rather hard in order to get out of his own bed.
When he did, though, James looked so peaceful that Jack almost felt bad for shoving him awake. "Commodore! Wake up, mate."
"Mmmf," James asked, blinking his eyes open. "What?"
Jack pointed. "Your wings supposed to look like that?"
'Like that' meant solid, feathered, real. White and downy and even glowing slightly in an angelic fashion. James sat up and craned his neck, then exclaimed in surprise.
Jack tracked James' left arm for a moment as James examined his now non-metaphorical feathers, and pointed out, "Your black mark's gone, too."
James jerked his gaze over to his arm, startled, and then stared at it for a good few moments without even blinking. Jack left him to it and started searching for his trousers.
"I don't understand," Norrington said softly.
"Well," Jack said, "the evidence seems to indicate that the heavenly host doesn't disapprove as much as we might have thought." He hummed. "Something to keep in mind, that."
He found his shirt as Norrington sat there gawping, then headed up to the deck.
It wasn't like he was disappointed, he mused as he set the ship to sail and hauled up the anchor. No, he ought to be relieved that whatever mortality-binding had affected the former commodore had dissolved and left him free to flit back to whatever heaven he'd fallen from. He'd suggested himself that Norrington figure out a way to do just that, hadn't he, before the kissing and the naked rolling about, and he still more or less believed it. More or less.
Norrington's footsteps were rather loud on the deck behind him, which meant he'd stopped to put on his boots again. "So," Jack said after a few moments of silence, "I suppose you'll be off, then."
"I suppose I ought to." Norrington didn't sound too thrilled about the idea, but he should have thought of that before he'd gotten himself killed, hadn't he?
Jack turned around to look at him. He hadn't managed to get his shirt on, and was standing there running the cloth through his fingers and looking at Jack through his bangs. Jack raised an eyebrow. "Can't get that on over the wings?"
"They've become irritatingly literal," Norrington said vaguely. "Look, Jack—"
"I think you're meant to ascend at some point," Jack said. "Think you can just start flapping?"
Norrington sighed sharply. "I think they won't bear my weight properly. Jack—"
"You're not going to ask to borrow a razor first, are you?"
Norrington stared at him in shock for a moment. Then he rolled his eyes, dropped his shirt, marched over and kissed him.
Jack blinked a few times to clear his head when James pulled back. "That's nice of—"
"Shut up," James said. "The last thing I want to do is leave."
Jack frowned. "Heaven can't be worse than knocking around on a boat with yours truly for an unknown number of years, can it?"
"That's not the point," James said. "Even if I could choose to, I can't just... just come back to life."
"I did," Jack pointed out.
"Yes, but—"
"Barbossa did."
"You're muddying the—"
"Even young Turner did," Jack said. "And you're not going to let him beat you out, are you?"
James' aggrieved expression deepened slightly. "Look. What do you want?"
Just instinctively, answering that question felt wrong. "You're going to have to make a bleedin' decision, here," he said instead. "Go, stay, if you want something you have to fight for it."
"This is ludicrous!" James threw up his arms and flared his wings slightly, which Jack had to admit was impressive. "I don't know what I'm meant to do. I didn't get a set of orders or a plan of attack when I was sent here, other than a notion I should find you." He let his arms drop and shook his head. "I don't know what else to tell you."
Jack had to think that one over for a minute. James looked at him sadly, then sighed and turned to pick up his shirt. "Do you have a razor I can borrow, or were you merely being flippant?" he said.
"I like the beard," Jack said. "Makes you look properly piratical."
"Oh, yes," James retorted. "Because the beard is really what people will notice when deciding if I'm properly piratical."
Jack stuck his thumbs in his belt and mused over that for a moment. "Could you be, though?"
James looked at him sharply. "Be what? Convincingly piratical?"
"Could you serve on a pirate vessel, under a pirate, subject to the Code?"
Norrington raised his eyebrows slightly. "Is this about me not calling you 'captain'?"
"There's that, too."
Norrington opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, looked down and deliberately folded his shirt over his arm. "I have come to accept," he finally said, "that a uniform makes no guarantee of a man's behavior." He looked up. "If a pirate can be a good man, and a good man can be a pirate... then yes, I could accept that." His smile quirked, and there was only the barest hint of irony as he finished, "Captain Sparrow."
Hint of irony he'd take. "Excellent. Well then." He leaned over the side of the boat and called, "Oi! Calypso!"
"... What are you doing?" Norrington asked, in the voice of a man who was swiftly regretting his every decision.
"There's a sea goddess owes me a favor, I'm thinking," Jack replied. "Calypso!"
"Oh, good grief," Norrington said, coming to the railing beside him. "Let me borrow your knife."
Norrington made a swift cut across his palm and held his hand cupped for a moment over the water, letting rather normal-looking blood fill his palm. "Calypso, we wish to speak with you," he said, then poured the handful of blood into the sea.
Jack frowned as the water started frothing and boiling in response. "Where'd you learn that?"
"I've fought undead pirates, dug up the heart of Davy Jones, and hiked to the Fountain of Youth," Norrington pointed out. "You must think me a poor student if you've concluded I've learned nothing."
The sea erupted a column of water and foam, splashing saltwater across the deck and thoroughly soaking the both of them. When Jack blinked his eyes clear, Calypso, still in the visage of Tia Dalma, stepped onto the deck. She didn't look happy.
"James Norrington," she said, ignoring Jack for the moment. "You think a second human life comes free?"
"Calypso! Excellent to see you looking so well," Jack said, trying to save James from his own bewilderment. "I was wondering if we might reach an agreement of some kind."
She turned and raised an eyebrow in a look of disdain that was almost physical in its force. "I owe you a favor, Jack Sparrow?"
"Uh, 'captain,'" Jack corrected. "And if I hadn't voted Elizabeth Swann in as King of the Brethren, the Council would never have had a leader and would never have set you free."
"Elizabeth King of the what?" Norrington asked, shocked.
"Pirates," Jack clarified.
"I did miss something."
"I am free," Calypso said sternly. "And as such I can set my own price for my help."
"So you will help?" Jack asked.
Calypso ignored him and turned back to Norrington. "You earned your rest," she said. "What more do you need a second chance for, hmm?"
Norrington was twisting his now soaked and much-abused shirt in his hands, but his voice was steady. "A matter of my own conscience."
"Mmmm, and not because you have a passionate attachment to lucky Jack?"
Norrington smiled wryly. "I won't deny that's a factor."
Calypso nodded, then turned to Jack. "What would you do, mmm?"
"Me?" Jack asked. "What do I need to do?"
"For your crewman," Calypso said. "Would you work in my service?"
"In your service," Jack repeated nervously.
"In the ocean's service," Norrington said thoughtfully.
Calypso smiled.
Jack looked back and forth between them, then asked, "For how long?"
"For as long as you want him on your crew," Calypso said, nodding at Norrington. "Do you accept my terms?"
Jack shifted his weight back and forth. "Am I allowed to go get the Pearl back?"
"Jack," Norrington complained.
Calypso just laughed. "You're allowed to try."
"And no weird conditions, like not bein' able to come ashore for intervals up to and including a decade?"
"You'll have to do no harm to the ocean," she said. "But that is all I demand."
"Well," Jack said. "You have yourself a deal."
Calypso smiled and clapped her hands. "Promised and agreed to, then," she said.
There was a strange ringing tone in the air, clear like a bell. Jack closed his eyes as the sound suddenly rushed through him, leaving him feeling wobbly on his feet but not significantly changed.
James was happily putting that shirt on when Jack opened his eyes. Calypso had vanished, leaving only a puddle of seawater and a crab standing on the deck. Jack eyed the crab warily as he stepped around the water to James' side.
"You have no idea how good it feels to stand up straight after that," James said.
"You need a shave," Jack commented.
James chuckled and dragged Jack into an embrace. "Captain," he said, now without a trace of irony. "Thank you."
"I wonder," Jack said. "She said 'as long as I want you on my crew.'"
James pulled back to look at him, then rolled his eyes. "Well, she certainly couldn't have meant... we're going to die sometime, Jack, let's enjoy this while we can."
"Hmm," Jack said. "I'll certainly agree to that."
***
1980:
Jack cleared his throat and tapped the podium's microphone. "Excuse me," he said to the banquet hall full of patrons, "I have an announcement to make."
The murmuring voices didn't precisely stop, but they got low enough that he could make out the sound of his own thoughts, which was good enough. "Excellent. Ladies and gentlemen of the cruise ship... the ship..." he frowned and looked at Norrington, who was leaning against the edge of the stage looking dashing. Something about the man in a tuxedo he'd come to appreciate. "What ship was this again?"
"The 'Empress,'" Norrington said patiently.
"Right! Lovely ship. We've come to rob you."
The crowd of people were quiet for a moment, until someone burst out laughing.
Norrington rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Jack."
"That's 'Captain'," Jack corrected him. "No, I'm serious," he said into the microphone. "This is a platform of economic disincentivizing for the cruise ship industry via a program of small business enrichment."
Norrington sighed and stepped up to the microphone himself. "What my compatriot is saying—"
"Captain," Jack corrected again.
"What Captain Sparrow is saying, ladies and gentlemen, is that we've already siphoned the fuel from the engines and we're about to come around for your cash and any other valuables you'd like to part with. Thank you."
That was starting to get a reaction. Jack grinned and took over the microphone again. "And if you'd like to complain about this, I'm sure you can find some kind of comment card on your table to send to the filthy owners of this floating strip motel. Ta!"
It was a strange trick of human psychology that they didn't even really need to brandish weapons to get people to hand over their money, nor did they encounter much resistance. Of course, most of the people on board were wealthy retirees of average age sixty-eight, but Jack wouldn't have lay odds on fighting fifty of them at a time.
"Are you James Bond?" one of the women was asking Norrington as he left with the table's combined valuables in a sack.
"Really, really not," Norrington replied. "Jack?"
"Ready when you are," Jack said, which was when shipboard security burst through the doors.
Fortunately, their plan of escape was to utilize the windows. To cries of "Freeze!" they kicked out the glass, waved farewell (well, Jack waved farewell) and slipped down their belaying lines to the speedboat they'd left bobbing in the waves.
"I bloody hate cruise ships," Jack said as Norrington got the motor running.
"I just hope they had insurance," Norrington said, then shouted over the motor, "And that they're not going to start shooting at us!"
"I hate insurance companies as well!" Jack shouted back.
James grinned and shook his head. Jack took the wheel, and they left the floating behemoth coasting in their wake, mighty engines falling silent behind them.
"Next time we just go shut down some oil platforms, all right?" James asked.
"You're no fun," Jack said, as the next bay and the anchored Black Pearl came into view. "We're pirates. What's the point of bein' a pirate if you can't board and loot another vessel?"
Jack looked over at James, who was leaning back in his seat. He had one leg up and had pulled his bowtie off, leaving it loosely hanging around his neck. James met his gaze, smirking in amusement. "All right, Captain Sparrow," he said, "You tell me."
Jack killed the engine and smiled back. "To freedom, then," he said. "C'mon, let's go home."
________________
Read Oneiriad's remix, The Devil in Disguise (The Diabolical Remix).
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