Overboard

by Jestana Silvercoat

Pairing: Jack Sparrow, James Norrington
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing except the story itself. The characters belong to the rodent empire (otherwise known as Disney)
Originally Posted: 4/12/08
Beta: umbralillium
Summary: Jack's crew find a certain Commodore in the ocean.

"Man overboard!" Gibbs' bellow from the port railing surprised his captain, who was perched up in the crow's nest, enjoying the height and sense of freedom after spending several days battened down in his cabin as they'd ridden out a sudden squall that had come up as they were being chased by the Royal Navy.

Peering over the lip of the crow's nest, he called down to his First Mate, "Don't just stare down at 'im! Haul 'im out of the water!"

A great deal of bustling later, the unfortunate soul who'd been floating in the water was now stretched out on the deck, pale and waterlogged. Captain Jack Sparrow was standing over his unexpected guest, musing that Fate was a fickle and wonderful lass. The man in question was none other than Commodore James Norrington of the Royal Navy. He'd lost his hat, wig, coat, and shoes, but he was still recognizable as the famed and feared Pirate Hunter. "What should we do, Cap'n?"

"Take him to my cabin and get him out of those wet togs," Jack ordered, fluttering his be-ringed fingers gracefully. "He may be Navy, but we can't very well throw him back into the sea."

His crew exchanged wary looks, but nodded at their captain's orders. Gibbs and Cotton lifted their unconscious guest and took him to the captain's cabin. They reappeared several moments later with the Commodore's wet clothes, grimacing a little. "He woke up a bit while we was takin' care of him, but I don't think he was all there, Cap'n."

"Thank you, Mr. Gibbs." Jack nodded, gesturing for them to drape the clothes over the rail so they would dry, at least a little. "We need to set course for the nearest neutral port. I've a feelin' our guest will be demandin' we take him there the moment he wakes up from his waterlogged slumber, so it's best that we be headin' that way now instead o' later, when said guest starts makin' his demands, savvy?"

His first mate stared at him in silence for several moments as he worked out what Jack had said. Once he had, his face cleared and he nodded. "Aye, Cap'n. Viejo Maracombe it is."

"Good man." Jack patted his shoulder and stood back as Gibbs bellowed orders at the crew. A part of him wished Anamaria was still present, but he'd kept to the promise the whelp had made on his behalf and found a boat for her. She occasionally collaborated with him, but they mostly kept to their own courses. It was simply easier that way. For both of them.

Shaking his head free of such musings, he told Gibbs he'd be in his cabin and went to it, settling in a chair to watch over the Commodore as he slept. Now that he was mostly-dry and sleeping peacefully, Jack couldn't help noticing how handsome the Navy officer was. Pity he's Navy. I wouldn't mind keepin' him aboard. For a few weeks at least. Maybe a few months...

* * *

The first thing he became aware of upon drifting to full wakefulness was the fact that he was no longer submerged in the ocean. He was, in fact, quite dry and lying on something almost sinfully soft. Is this Heaven? He breathed in deeply, as an experiment, and his chest tightened up, prompting a coughing fit that left him weak and breathless. "Glad to hear that ye're awake, Commodore."

"Oh, God. I must be in Hell." He knew that voice far too well. "That's the only explanation for you to be plaguing me."

There was a jingle of beads and clink of glass on wood. "I'm hurt, Commodore. We go to the trouble of fishin' ye out o' the water and alterin' course to take ye home, and ye think ye're in Hell. Ye cut me deep."

"Oh, please, Sparrow. You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" he growled, reaching up to his head, which had begun to ache. He frowned and shifted experimentally, feeling soft sheets gliding against bare skin. "Why am I naked?"

Sparrow's voice sounded far too pleased and smug. "Yer togs were soaked through, y'see, so Gibbs and Cotton removed them so they would dry without chillin' ye at the same time."

"Where are they, then?" he practically snarled, opening his eyes just enough so he could see Sparrow, who was lounging in a chair at the table.

The infuriating pirate fluttered his hands like two overactive butterflies as he explained. "Yer shirt, breeches, and stockin's are all dry, but yer waistcoat is takin' a little longer. All that brocade, y'know."

"I know." He sighed and closed his eyes again. When he'd fallen into the water, he'd kicked off his shoes right away, abandoned his wig and hat, and struggled out of his brocaded coat when it had become too heavy and started to weigh him down. I know now why he removed Elizabeth's dress when he rescued her...

"How did ye end up in the water, Commodore? Where's yer pretty boat?" Sparrow sounded concerned, but James wouldn't put it past him to merely be acting a part.

Which justified his curt response to the question: "That's none of your business, Sparrow."

"Actually, it is, mate," Sparrow's voice was unusually serious. It was also louder, as if he'd come closer to where James was laying. "I need to know if yer crew will be lookin' fer ye."

Much as James would have loved to insist that it was none of Sparrow's business, he was actually quite correct, which annoyed the Navy officer even more. Heaving a put-upon sigh, he explained. "We were trying to weather the storm that blew up while we were chasing you when a particularly large wave crashed across the deck and swept me into the water." He opened his eyes to look at Sparrow and jumped when he saw that the pirate had come closer. "I've no idea how long I was in the water before I lost consciousness."

"That was a couple days ago, mate." Sparrow was frowning now and began to pace. "Dunno how ye survived that long."

James watched him for a few moments before closing his eyes. "Sparrow, could you please sit down? You're making me dizzy."

"'m sorry, mate." He could hear Sparrow walking across the deck, but still started when the mattress shifted by his hip.

He snapped his eyes open to find the pirate seated on the edge of the bed, studying him consideringly. "Sparrow, what are you doing?"

"'m sittin' down, just like you asked me to." There was a sparkle in those dark eyes that the Navy commodore didn't entirely trust.

"I meant in the chair." He tried to sit up, but the movement made him light-headed and he sank back against the pillows with a groan, pressing his hand to eyes.

Shifts in the mattress informed James that Sparrow was now seated beside his shoulder. This was confirmed when the pirate's voice spoke almost in his face. "Are ye awl righ', mate?"

He kept his hand over his eyes, ignoring the scent of rum that wafted to him from Sparrow. "I'm naked and I have a headache. What do you think?"

"I don' see what's wrong wit' bein' naked, meself." Sparrow spoke almost conversationally, his fingers fluttering along James' arm. "It's 'ow we're born, isn't it?"

The commodore supressed a shiver of pleasure at the pirate's touch. "Modesty is a virtue, Sparrow. We should not flaunt ourselves for all to see."

"When ye're a pirate, mate, ye haven't got time for virtues." Sparrow sounded truly regretful, his hands now fluttering across James' chest, the sheet having slipped down during his aborted attempt to sit up.

It was more difficult to suppress a shiver of pleasure this time. It had been too long since he'd indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. Even then, it had only been a business arrangement between himself and the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who serviced him in exchange for his money. There had been no pleasure for James. Only physical relief. When he finally thought of something to say, he winced inwardly at how weak the retort was, "Given the sort of lives pirates lead, one would think that virtues are their first victims."

"Given the sort of lives Naval officers lead, perhaps it's a blessin' that ye were swept overboard, mate." Sparrow's voice was soft as he tugged insistently at James' arm. "So many rules and regulations to follow. So many layers of clothes to confine ye. How can ye enjoy a life like that?"

Surprised by the question, James dropped his hand from his eyes to look at Sparrow. The pirate's dark eyes were quite serious and—perhaps—a little sad. "I live that life to defend those who cannot defend themselves. It may not be as carefree and unrestricted as yours, but I enjoy satisfaction knowing that I have helped others."

"That's all well and good, mate, but what's in it for ye?" Sparrow tapped James' breastbone with a be-ringed forefinger. "Ye can't be completely selfless, ye know."

He was silent for several moments, staring at the dark hand spread on his pale chest, almost directly over his heart. Not sure why he was telling the pirate this, he eventually spoke: "The Navy is my escape from the life my father wanted for me. He expected me to become a merchant like himself, but I despise buying and selling. I had always preferred the sea. He resisted the idea at first, but it helped when my brother, John, developed an interest in the business. It was easy enough, then, for Father to find me a position and begin to train John to take his place."

"Why not simply become pirate, then, if you love the sea so much?" Sparrow had rested his elbow on his knee and cupped his chin in his palm, his dark eyes intent on James' green ones. "As a commodore, ye still spend most of yer time shut up in a stifling office instead of on yer pretty boat."

The commodore sighed, gazing up at the ceiling. He had no idea why he was telling the pirate all of this. It wasn't as if he had to explain himself to the man. "Truthfully, I considered it when I was very young, but I had been raised to respect and honour the law. I could not throw all of that away in favour of simple freedom." He managed a wry smile. "If something drastic occurred that would ruin my Naval career, I may consider turning pirate."

"Or ye could turn privateer if it comes to that," Sparrow offered, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes, his fingers beginning to tap a maddening rhythm on James' chest. "Ye'd still be able to defend the defenseless, but ye'd have more freedom than ye do now."

"Perhaps." James stifled a yawn with his hand. "My apologies, Sparrow, but I'm exhausted."

An expression flashed across the pirate's face too quickly for the commodore to read. Then he gave James' chest one last pat before getting to his feet. "Rest, mate. If ye were in the ocean that long, ye need it."

"Thank you, Sparrow." He pulled the sheets up over his shoulders, nestling into the sinfully soft pillows and closing his eyes.

He's sure it was just imagination that Sparrow had brushed his hand over his hair. The pirate's voice was very soft when he spoke: "Not at all, mate."

There was the sound of booted footsteps, then a door opened and closed. All was silent and James Norrington slept.

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