The Affair, Chapter 7

Resolution

(Epilogue)

by

Jaekayelle

"Francis? Is that you?"

He was quite suddenly enveloped in perfume and silk and soft flesh. He struggled briefly before he realized it was Madam Helen, and then he hugged back. For an even briefer moment he gave in to the grief that he had fought to hide even from himself, and then he buried it even deeper and clung to his anger as he clung to Helen.

She pushed him away to arms length but did not release him. Studying his face, she said, "You have tales to tell. Come to my office."

#

Helen reached across the short distance between them and patted his cheek. "Poor darling. You've had a rough time of it. Tell me what I can do to help."

"Give me my job back." He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. It hadn't even been his intention to ask for it when he had arrived. He had been simply looking for an old friend, someone he could count on to be the same as before. "Please."

Helen's face changed, causing Francis's stomach to knot.

"How old are you now, darling?"

"Twenty-four."

"Closer to twenty-five, I'd say."

He nodded in confusion. "I have a birthday in a few months."

Helen got up and placed her glass on the desk. She folded her arms across her considerable chest.

"You're too old, darling."

"I... what? Oh." He understood. "I had regulars. I could still be... They might still want me..."

"I'm sorry, Francis. I truly am. My girls are turned out at twenty-five, my boys at twenty-three."

"That seems rather arbitrary."

Helen's eyebrows drew down. "I know what my customers want. The girls last longer because the men who come here wanting women usually don't mind a few more miles on them. Men who want boys want boys."

"So I would have been... turned out in a couple of years anyway, if I had stayed."

"That's right. I let you stay on a bit longer because I like you and the customers liked you."

"Madam, I left because of Jack. Not because of anything or anyone here."

"I know, dear. That's not why I'm refusing to hire you back. You're just too old." Her gaze softened for but a moment. "You're still a beautiful man, Francis. Maybe you can find work in another house. And, if you like, you can stay here tonight. Pretty yourself up and get a fresh start in the morning."

Francis did not think he was a particularly vain man—he had always done whatever was necessary for his position, but he was mildly taken aback by her last statement. It must have shown in his expression for she added, "Nothing a bath and a hairbrush won't fix."

Dismayed and unaccountably angry at her lack of support, he set his tea aside and rose to his feet in one swift movement.

"Now, Francis," she began.

"It's fine. I'll be going now. Thank you for the tea and for listening to me."

"Francis, please."

"Good night, Helen." And then he was out the door, through the parlour and outside on the street before any second thoughts could persuade him to stay.

He walked for hours around Tortuga. Not that it was such a large community, but he walked in circles until his feet hurt and his arms ached from carrying his valise. It wasn't particularly heavy to begin with, but after awhile it seemed to get heavier. The smell of the streets assaulted his nose. Another particular but less invasive odour followed him around making him all too aware that it was his body odour. He began to wish he had taken Madam up on her offer of a bath at least. Bathing had been all too infrequent on the Black Pearl, as fresh water was scarce. He sometimes got to bathe when they put into port, and then only when they had money to pay for a room with a bath. Jack wasn't fond of bathing. He thought diving off the side of the ship in the morning and swimming around her a lap or two was good enough. After awhile Francis got over his fear of sharks and other sea creatures and joined him. His once silken hair was duller than it had been when he had lived at the brothel.

Bathing was the least of his problems now. There was the matter of finding work to pay for food and a place to live. Well, he had landed on his feet twice now. He could do it again.

He walked towards an inn that he had passed earlier. It looked cleaner than the others and, so far, there were no bodies falling out of windows or being tossed out the front door. Perhaps he could apply for a job there.

Francis stepped through the door with no outward trace of the apprehension that fluttered around his stomach. As he approached the bar he heard low mutterings coming from the tables he passed.

"Ooh, lookit the pretty thing."

"Little birdie like that shouldn't be let out of his gilded cage."

"Tweet tweet, birdie."

Francis ignored them, focussing all of his attention on the burly, truly ugly man behind the bar serving drinks. When in doubt, or in need of answers to questions, ask whoever was in charge of the alcohol.

"Good evening. I wonder if I could speak to the owner of this establishment?"

The man stared at him in disbelief and then he grinned at Francis. "Yer lookin' at him."

"I'm searching for employment. If you would consider hiring me I'm sure I could prove my worth."

"Ain't hirin' your kind, son."

"My... kind?" Francis did not understand.

"Go talk to the madam down the street, or up the street for that matter. We don't hire boy whores here. Strictly women."

"I could work tables... serving drinks," he clarified.

The man's large frame started to shake until something resembling laughter rolled out. "Did you see their reaction when you walked in?" He gestured behind Francis who did not turn around. He knew what the man meant. "There's only one thing you'd be serving here and no one would pay for it. Ain't exactly the most discreet place in town, if ye catch m'drift."

Knowing there was no point in arguing, Francis turned and walked out. Again there were whistles and lewd remarks as he passed the patrons. He stopped to consider his options out on the street. He could try yet another whorehouse or he could catch a ship to Kingston or Port Royal and hope for better luck. The problem with the latter option was that he had only a few small coins. Perhaps he could work for his passage.

He headed towards the docks, but stopped. What if the Black Pearl was still there? He had no desire to run into Jack again, or any of the crew. This was getting ridiculous, he decided. He had to do something.

He began walking again and after a minute or so he became aware of voices behind him. They sounded familiar. He listened as he kept moving and then it came to him. They were the rough characters from that last inn; the ones who kept making obscene remarks about him.

Francis kept walking, picking up his pace just a bit. The voices got closer and he could now hear their breathing and mutterings. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that they were red-faced with drink and wild-eyed with lust. He ran.

They caught up with him just as he was about to cross the street to where lanterns brightened the street. Pain blazed through his scalp when they grabbed him by the hair. His arms were wrenched as they dragged him into the shadows. He cried out for help, but in a town like Tortuga such cries went unnoticed.

There were three of them, all much bigger than he and far stronger. He fought back the only way he knew how, lashing out with feet and fingers bent into claws. Jack had taught him how to handle a sword, after a fashion—he could have wounded at best, but he was unarmed now, so that did him no good anyway. He drew blood once, raking along a thick, fleshy neck. Enraged, the owner backhanded him, knocking Francis to the ground. His head thudded against a barrel, momentarily stunning him.

They were on him then, tearing his clothing. He felt a pair of meaty hands grab his breeches and try to pull them off. He struggled harder; terrified he was going to be raped. He kicked out with his feet, squirming, punching, and never keeping still. He managed to clip one of them under the chin and the brute fell backwards. The other two redoubled their attack. A blow to his cheek stunned Francis again. His hands flew up in front of his face. A punch to his stomach made him try to protect himself down there as well, but there were too many hits and he had too few defences. More of his clothing was torn from his body. His shirt hung in shreds. He saw a large fist raised and drawn back. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the blow coming.

Shouts came from a distance. He heard the sound of running feet but could not tell if they were coming or going. Then he felt himself yanked upwards and dropped heavily to the ground all in the space of seconds. His eyes popped open of their own accord and he learned that one of his assailants had had a firm hold on his waistband and Francis had been jerked along when the stranger currently pounding the thug into the ground had pulled him away from his victim. The other two ran off while the stranger left their crony a moaning heap on the ground.

The stranger, a middle-aged man with what must normally be a kindly face when he wasn't in berserker mode, held out a hand and coaxed Francis into a sitting position.

"Are you all right, laddie?" he asked.

Francis tried to answer but his voice had deserted him. He must have made a sound of some reassurance for the man chuckled and said, "Doubt that. Ye look like hell warmed over. I'll get ye to the doctor. He'll set ye right again. Right as rain."

In no way capable of resisting, Francis allowed him to guide him along the street. They soon reached a door over which hung a sign with a picture of a knife. That made Francis nervous and he balked. The man, who had been chattering to him, held him firmly but did nothing more than that.

"It's a'right, laddie. Doc Wyatt is a good'un. He'll help ye."

Just then the door opened from the other side and a young man of no more than thirty appeared on the threshold.

"What's going on, Mr. McTavish?"

"Gotcha a new patient, Doc. Found him in an alley getting hisself beat up by some hooligans."

"Bring him inside. Quickly."

"Tryin', Doc. He ain't too keen on it."

The doctor stepped forward with a gentle smile. "Please. I can help."

He held out a hand and Francis moved towards him willingly, eyes locked on his face.

"There we go. Right over here. Help him up on the table, will you?" McTavish kept a supportive hand under Francis's arm until he was seated, only letting go when Francis managed a quick nod. He remained nearby just in case.

The doctor removed the tattered remains of the shirt and then ran knowledgeable hands over Francis's body, asking questions as he worked. Francis replied in monosyllables, and occasional hisses when the doctor inadvertently pressed too hard on particularly sore spots.

"Contusions, a few scrapes... those can be cleaned right up, possibly a couple of cracked ribs. Well, Mister...?"

Francis could not remember ever being addressed by the title of Mister and it caused him to stare with his mouth open. He snapped it shut when he realized how that must look.

"Francis," he said finally.

"Well, Mr. Francis..."

"It's my first name."

"Sorry. I'll clean your cuts and see what we can do about wrapping those ribs. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Do ye need me for anythin', Doc?"

"No. Thank you, Mac."

Francis turned his attention to his rescuer. "Thank you, sir."

The man laughed heartily. "Just call me Mac. And yer welcome, laddie. Hope you mend good."

After he left the doctor said, "He's a good man. Always willing to help those who need it."

"He saved my life." Francis did his best to sit still while the doctor worked. He studied the handsome face through veiled eyelashes. "What is your name?"

"Oh, poor manners!" The man laughed. "I'm Stephen Wyatt."

He worked in silence for a while; his touch was gentle as his hands brushed lightly over Francis's over-sensitized skin. He took his time cleaning and then bandaging the cut on Francis's cheek. "There. All done. How does that feel now?"

Carefully flexing his fingers and then sitting up straighter, Francis nodded. "My fingers are stiff and my sides hurt a bit, but otherwise it's better."

"I'll give you something for the pain. Take it before you go to bed tonight. Do you need someone to help you get home? I could send for Mac if you like."

"I..." Did he tell the truth? Francis was not one to share private miseries with strangers, barely even with friends. "I have... I just got into port today."

"Were you planning to rent a room at an inn?"

He shook his head. "No money. I was out looking for work tonight when I was jumped by those men."

The doctor considered Francis's words. "You could stay here if you like. We have an extra room."

"No, I..." He had no excuse not to take the offered room.

"It's no trouble. My sister lives with me in back. We managed to make a home out of this place. Well, she did. I spend most of my time here in the clinic. And I'm prattling now, aren't I?" He quit talking abruptly and, amazingly, blushed deeply. Francis stared in fascination.

"It was your sign," he said.

"Beg your pardon?" The doctor seemed confused by the non sequitur. Francis couldn't blame him. It confused him, too. He had simply opened his mouth and that was what came out.

"Out front. Your sign has a knife on it. I wasn't sure this was a doctor's office when I saw that."

"Ah. And that's why you hesitated to enter. I've been meaning to change the sign but can't think of what else to put up there for those who can't read."

"How about this?" Francis reached out and tugged lightly on the stethoscope around the doctor's neck. "It's a symbol of your profession, yes?"

"Yes." Doctor Wyatt smiled. "That's an excellent idea. Thank you, Francis."

"You're welcome."

"You're different from the usual types that hang around this port."

Suddenly feeling a bit defensive Francis asked, "What do you mean?"

No offence. I just meant that you're polite, quiet, obviously not a pirate or a tradesman. You're even a bit, well, elegant."

Francis slid off the table and reached for his ruined shirt, pulling it on. It was ripped from top to bottom, so he held it closed and reached for his valise before heading towards the door. His stride was jerky and not at all like his usual smooth glide, further showing his upset. All the while the doctor protested.

"Hey. Wait! What's wrong? Where are you going?"

Francis kept moving but the doctor was suddenly between him and the door. He tried stepping around him but Wyatt stepped with him. When they both went the other way Francis stopped.

"I have no wish to dance with you, Doctor."

Chuckling, Wyatt said, "I thought we did rather well. Look, I don't know what I said to offend you but I apologize. Please tell me what I said wrong."

He seemed sincere. Francis nodded slowly. "You called me elegant."

"And that's a bad thing?"

Setting his gaze towards the floor Francis replied, "Surely you know what I am?"

"A man in trouble and without a home?"

Looking up into sea green eyes that quite suddenly reminded him of James Norrington's equally beautiful, yet darker eyes Francis swallowed past the frustration that was welling up. As he stared at the doctor he felt the room begin to move around him and he swayed as his equilibrium was thrown off. The doctor caught him and helped him over to a chair. Once Francis was settled the doctor checked his pulse and then his eyes, pushing the lids up with his thumb.

"I can't see any immediate signs of a problem."

Just then a low rumble emanated from Francis's abdomen. He rubbed at the hollowness.

"Ah ha." Wyatt flicked his gaze to Francis's face. "I think we've found the answer. When's the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday evening. I had some tea today."

"That settles it. You're staying for dinner and then you're moving into the spare room."

Francis still felt he had to protest. He didn't know why he was resisting so hard. Maybe it was because his trust in people was damaged after living with Jack for three years, a Jack who was in love with James and not with him.

"What about your sister? Will she object to a total stranger moving in?"

"His sister will certainly not object." They both looked up to see a woman with the same honey-blonde hair as the doctor's standing in the back doorway. "You look like you have had a thoroughly awful day. Come with me and I'll show you where you can put your things. Dinner is almost ready. We can eat as soon as you're ready."

Her manner was similar to her brother's: friendly, kind and firm about Francis doing what was obviously—to them—the right thing. He decided he liked her, and her brother was definitely worth getting to know better.

"My name is Julia Wyatt."

"I'm Francis."

"No last name, Francis?"

It had been years since he had told it to anyone. Not even Jack knew it. "Townsend."

"Well, Francis Townsend, we have to get you a new shirt. Can't have you coming to the dinner table like that. Entirely too distracting." She winked at him, causing him to blush for the first time since he was an adolescent. Simply having people treat him like he was normal was a rare and welcome experience. On the Pearl, after the crew got past him being a whore, they treated him with a certain formality because he was Jack's lover. They didn't even treat Jack that way, so he was totally confused as to why things had worked out the way they had. He never did get them to stop doing it.

#

They were seated in the parlour playing L'Hombre. The bidding and trick taking became fast and furious and the three of them were soon breathless with laughter as cards were slapped down and snatched up again. Finally Julia won, made sure they knew it and announced that it was time for tea and biscuits. She got up from the table and went to the brew the tea. Francis and Stephen gathered the cards and cleared the table. Their hands brushed once and Francis ignored it. It happened again and he glanced up to see Stephen watching him with interest. There was none of the usual predatory gleam that he often saw in men's eyes when they wanted him. This was something different, something he could not identify.

Then Julia brought a plate of biscuits over and the moment was past.

#

Julia's response was to tell him he didn't ever have to sell himself again. He could stay with them without paying room and board if necessary. When he insisted on paying his way she said they would find him a job.

Stephen was more subdued. He merely nodded in acceptance and quietly agreed with his sister that their guest could stay as long as he wished. Francis wondered about his non-reaction. There did not seem to be any revulsion or anger, which was good, but he could not understand what exactly had happened.

#

One day they were cleaning up after a patient who had been in a drunken brawl. "Well, I must say having another pair of hands around is very... handy."

Francis groaned at the pun. "That was truly awful, Stephen."

"Thank you," his friend took a bow making Francis laugh. When Stephen straightened up again he smiled at him. "I like seeing you laugh."

"Oh," was all he could say in response.

"I know you must have questions. You've been noticeably restrained in asking Julia and me about our lives before you got here. Please feel free to ask anything."

"I didn't ask because I learned it's often better to mind my own business."

"Well, you're family now. Our business is yours."

There was a weird fluttery feeling in his gut over that statement. Francis nodded jerkily. "In that case, what are two obviously well-bred people doing in Tortuga?"

Stephen shook his head. "We're not from a rich family, Francis. Our parents were reasonably well off but we still had to work to get by. I worked my way through the Royal College of Physicians as an assistant to a doctor—much the way you're doing here with me, only with more complex duties and also as a research assistant. Julia spent several years as a seamstress while she extended her education. She had a job here as a private tutor until the family that hired her moved to Kingston. We originally came here because I believed a town like Tortuga could use a doctor. I was right but it's not what I had envisioned."

"Are you happy here, Stephen?" he asked softly.

"I wouldn't say that, no. I have enough work to keep me busy but I long for a family practice."

"Why don't you go somewhere else?"

"I just can't walk away from those who need me."

"Will you ever leave?"

"Maybe someday. Not just yet." He smiled then and said, "It's your turn, if you care to answer a few questions."

"Go ahead."

"Your last name is Townsend. Are you from the shipping Townsends of Portsmouth?"

Francis tried for nonchalance and for surprise at the same time. The result was a fumble for words. "I... uh... of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Stephen merely cocked one eyebrow.

Francis sighed. "Not fair. You already know me too well. Yes, those Townsends are my family. They were too busy to pay much attention to me when I was growing up, until I got caught with my male lover in my room, and then they paid too much attention to me. They cut off my allowance, they curtailed all of my contacts with the outside world and finally assigned me my own personal guard."

The words were bitter on his tongue.

"I stayed because they paid for my education. My plan was to go away to college and then never go back home. Then my father decided that no son of his could sleep with men so he disowned me. I had no money and no hope of continuing my education. Apparently my mother had protected me up to that point, but he had something on her as well—a lover, perhaps—and suddenly she deserted me, too."

"Ah, Francis. I am so sorry."

"I was a pampered boy. At least this way I've acquired some character." He gave a short bark of laughter. "I've seen the world from a pirate ship. How many other rich young men can say that?"

"How old were you when you left home?"

"Fifteen. I lived off my lover for a while, until he realized I was not going to beg my rich parents to take me back so he threw me out. Then I stowed away on a ship and ended up in Tortuga. Madam Helen took me in and put me to work. I left three years ago with Jack."

"Your pirate friend?"

"Yes. He was good to me but he loved someone else. He couldn't give me his heart."

"You deserve to have someone who will love you, Francis."

"We all deserve that."

#

#

Staying up late one night as usual he pored over the books Julia had left with him. By now he felt he nearly had them memorized. Then he heard a sound in the stillness of the house. Stephen had gone to bed earlier. Francis listened closely for further sounds and when they came his heart beat just a little faster. He got up and pulled on his long silk dressing gown, one of the few possessions he had taken with him from the brothel to the ship and then here. Then he crept out of the room following the noise to its source.

He stood outside Stephen's door, his breathing rapid and shallow as he leaned his head against the doorjamb. He pushed at the door with his fingertips and it swung open. The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his breath altogether.

Stephen lay on the bed with only a light sheet over him. His torso was bare, as the cover had slipped down to the tops of his thighs. As Francis watched, Stephen's back arched and his spread legs bent at the knees. His head pushed back into the pillow. His hand was under the sheet pumping rapidly. Then he shuddered and cried out, a name on his lips. As Stephen collapsed, sinking into the feather mattress Francis stepped into the room. Any questions he had, any doubts, were gone now; his confidence grew with each pass of his bare feet over the wooden floor that took him closer to the man on the bed.

He sat down next to Stephen whose eyes had been locked on him since Francis first opened the door. His hand drifted out to touch the sweaty chest and trailed down to push the sheet aside. Stephen was lean and muscular, and large where it counted. Francis dipped his finger into the mess on the flat belly and brought it up to his lips to taste. He smiled fully for the first time in a very long time.

Stephen's face underwent its own transformation, eyes wide and sparkling. He lifted both arms and Francis stood, allowing his dressing gown to slide down his bared body to puddle on the floor around his feet. Then he flowed into Stephen's arms. Their mouths met in a sweet, brief kiss. Stephen was too spent to do more than enclose Francis in his embrace and pull his fair head down onto his chest.

"I had hoped..." Francis whispered. "Then when you said my name, I knew."

Stephen sighed. "I've denied myself for so long,"

"Have you ever been with a man?"

"Once. Long ago."

Francis wriggled closer. "Soon you will have another."

"The only one that counts," Stephen promised, pressing a kiss to Francis's forehead.

#

#

He became friendly with Elizabeth and Will Turner, as their four children were frequent patients of his with various childhood illnesses and scrapes and bruises. He wondered about the odd reticence that hung in the air around Francis whenever he mentioned the Turners, but outwardly all seemed fine; except that Francis tended to make himself scarce when they came to the clinic. Most of Stephen's visits with the Turner children were at their home anyway and he thought little of it at any other time.

One afternoon, a few months after they set up the clinic, a man rushed in with a small girl cradled in his arms. She had one arm locked around his neck and the other held close to her little body. Dark hair spilled over tear-stained cheeks and large green eyes peered out at Stephen suspiciously. The man called for help as soon as he was through the door.

"Are you the doctor?"

Stephen went to them. "What is the problem, sir?"

"My daughter fell from her pony. Her arm... I think it's broken."

"Set her down here." He noted that the man kept one hand on the young girl until it was obvious he was going to be in the way, and then he stepped back, though not far. The little girl reached out to him with her good arm.

"Papa!"

"I'm here, Katie. Let the doctor help and your arm will feel better soon."

Stephen lightly ran his hands over the arm trying not to press too hard. Gently, he flexed it and after doing a quick check for other sore spots on her, he straightened up. Smiling at Katie he said, "You were very good just now. I'm going to place your arm in a sling and then it won't hurt quite so much."

To her father he said, "It is just a sprain, with some painful bruising. She'll be fine if she doesn't use it for the next few days." He chuckled. "Well, as little as a child can not use it. How old is she?"

"Five."

"Almost six!" Katie piped up.

"She gets into all sorts of things every time I turn my back. We've gone through three nannies since we moved here last year. If I could find someone with the patience of a saint..." He trailed off with a smile. "By the way, I'm James Norrington."

"Stephen Wyatt." Stephen shook the proffered hand and then turned to fashion a sling for his small patient. As he settled it over her shoulder he spoke to James.

"If I'm speaking out of line, please forgive me. Where is the girl's mother?"

A bleak look came over the harried face. "My wife died almost a year ago... before we came back from England."

"Came back?"

"Yes. I was... I worked in Port Royal for a number of years."

"Papa is a Ammiral!"

"I beg your pardon, Admiral. I did not realize or I would have addressed you properly."

James waved away the apology. "I'm retired from His Majesty's service. Titles are not important to me now."

Stephen smiled at Katie. "Well, young lady. You're set to go, but stay off your pony until your arm feels all better." He noticed a pout forming and moved to forestall it by grabbing a jar of peppermints. "A sweet for a sweet little girl."

Katie looked to her father for permission to take a treat. He nodded. "Just one."

"Thank you," she said to Stephen and selected a candy. He patted her head and helped her off the table.

"I wonder," James began, "could you find the time to come out to our house and examine my son?"

"A boy as well? How old is he?"

"Matthew is nearly two."

"How many months, please?"

James did some quick counting. "Twenty one."

Stephen shook his head ruefully. "You do have your hands full. I would be delighted to meet Matthew. Is there a specific reason you want me to see him?"

"Only that he has yet to be seen by a doctor and it's rather difficult for me to come to town right now, apart from emergencies. We're making a few structural changes to the house and I need to be there. Matthew has been remarkably healthy thus far. He has had none of the childhood ailments while Katie, who is very strong, has had most of them."

"That is not all that unusual in siblings. I could come out tomorrow afternoon. Would that be all right?"

James gave him a relieved smile. Stephen marvelled at how his face changed from what seemed to be its natural stern visage, to loving when he regarded his daughter to rather young and carefree as it was now. Quite young for a retired Admiral, he thought, perhaps not more than forty.

"See you both tomorrow." As he watched them go he thought Francis should have been there to meet them, as he liked children and children loved him. His lover, however, had found someone to help him study his texts, and he spent a couple of hours a day at the woman's home. She and her husband had a large collection of books from which Francis could garner even more information. He smiled, thinking of Francis with his voracious appetite for learning. Then a man with a hand wrapped in a blood soaked cloth hurried into the clinic and he temporarily set aside all thoughts of his beautiful, elegant love.

#

"Might as well come around back, that's where Jamie and the poppets are—if you are the doctor, that is?"

Stephen nodded, eying the person before him. The man's hair was dark but liberally shot with grey; from his long braids swung baubles that Stephen could not identify beyond a bead or two and a gold ring. Dark eyes flashed curiously at him so he mustered up a smile.

"That's right. I'm Dr. Wyatt."

"Aye. Jamie said you'd be visiting today. Seems Katie has taken a fancy to you."

Grinning, Stephen replied. "I'm pleased to hear that as I'm quite taken with her as well."

"Good thing. She rules the roost around here. Her brother doesn't stand a chance, although he's got a will o'his own, too." He flourished a hand in Stephen's direction. "Name's Jack Sparrow. Come along with me. I'll take you to Jamie."

Following Sparrow was an interesting experience in itself. The other man did not actually walk. He swayed and swished and minced his way around to the back of the house. Stephen wondered if he was drunk, but he did not show any other signs of inebriation. There was a slight hesitation in his walk that might be the result of injury or arthritis.

The Admiral was presently overseeing the raising of a wall and being pulled in two directions by his children. Katie tugged on his left hand while a small boy, presumably Matthew, alternated between swinging from his right arm and trying to climb his father's leg. Sparrow stopped on the edge of the scene and chuckled. Then he wandered over and plucked Matthew off Norrington's leg and tossed the boy over his shoulder. Matthew squealed with delight. Katie now had more of her father's attention and begged to be lifted up. Norrington obliged her, listened to whatever Sparrow had to say and looked over at Stephen. He smiled and beckoned him closer.

"Hello, Admiral."

"Please call me James, Doctor."

"It's Stephen."

James nodded. "My daughter has been telling her brother all about you. I think they may try to go home with you later."

Stephen bent to speak to Matthew who hung upside down over Sparrow's back. "I would be more than happy if you and your sister came home with me, as my frie..." He caught himself and started again. "As I always have room for charming young people, but your father would miss you, I am sure."

Matthew grinned at him and reached out fat, grubby little hands. "Home!"

Sparrow patted the boy lightly on the backside. "Ye are home, ye crazy little pirate!"

Giggling madly, Matthew squirmed until Sparrow had no choice but to set him on the ground or drop him. The boy made as if to charge off but the eccentric looking man caught him by the back of the shirt and hung on.

"Matthew," his father intoned, watching with a frazzled expression. "Please behave. The doctor is here to see you. Hold still long enough for him to look you over."

The boy stopped and faced Stephen. "Lookit me!"

The adults all laughed.

Stephen squatted down to Matthew's level. "I need to do more than look at you." To James he asked, "Is there somewhere I could examine him?"

"Here!"

James frowned at his son. "I don't think that's what..."

"It's all right. Actually, right here would be just fine. The sunlight is strong enough for me to give him a cursory exam. After he slows down I can take a more thorough look."

"It's fine with me," James agreed, "but it could be a while before he "slows down", as you put it."

"Aye," Jack chuckled. "He doesn't actually slow down ever."

Stephen nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Is he always like this then?"

"Always," the men chorused and then glanced at each other fondly. James placed his free arm across Sparrow's shoulders and the other man leaned into him. Stephen felt pleasantly warm as he watched their easy way with each other, their obvious closeness. Then he opened his bag, turned his attention to his patient and quickly checked pulse, breathing, making quick work of examining the boy's eyes, mouth and ears. He finished just in time, as Matthew began to squirm.

"Thank you, Matthew. You were an ideal patient."

Grinning broadly, the boy said, "Deal payshun!"

To James, Stephen said, "It would be best if he works off some of that energy before I try again."

Speaking to his daughter, James said, "How about you and Matthew play tag for awhile?"

"But I want to stay with you, Papa."

"Just play in the yard. I'll be right here where you can see me."

"Fine," she replied grumpily. The girl slid down to the ground and took her little brother by the hand. They trotted off away from the construction area.

James blew out a long sigh. "She tends to cling to me whereas Matthew is rarely in the same place as I am."

"Why is that, do you suppose?"

"The night their mother died I sent them from the house so as not to hear... Sarah was in a lot of pain... and there were sounds..." Sparrow rubbed James' back and the Admiral flashed him a quick smile.

Stephen nodded. "It could be that she is afraid of you leaving her and not coming back. Children do need a lot of reassurance."

"Do you have children?" James asked, already stowing away his uncertainty of a moment before.

"I'm not married."

"Y'don't need to be married to have children," Sparrow pointed out.

"True, but I've never... I don't..." Stephen trailed off awkwardly. How could he possibly explain about him and Francis?

Sparrow eyed him a moment. By the time he looked away Stephen felt as if all of his secrets had been laid out for the other man to see. Then he did a remarkable thing—he laced his fingers between James' and rubbed his thumb over the other man's wrist. James absentmindedly gripped his hand tighter, as he watched his children chase each other around the yard.

James spoke up. "You might have a better chance of catching Matthew in a quiet moment after dinner. Would you be able to dine with us tomorrow night?"

Stephen suddenly felt as if a new world had been opened up for him. "That would please me very much."

"Be sure to bring along your love, if ye have someone," Sparrow added, his dark eyes twinkling.

"I, ah, thank you, Mister Sparrow. I do have someone."

"Call me Jack, mate."

James looked down at him. "Why did I only ever hear, 'That's Captain Jack Sparrow'?" He did a very good imitation of Jack's voice, complete with exaggerated swaying of his upper body. "Stephen gets to call you by your given name?"

Jack shrugged. "He's company."

James rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and turned to Stephen. "Will and Elizabeth Turner will also be here for dinner. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all! I know the Turners fairly well."

"Excellent. If you arrive around seven o'clock, I'll give you a tour of the property. It's shaping up rather nicely—apart from the chaos of this." He lifted his left hand to indicate the construction and finally noticed that Jack had a firm hold on that hand. He glanced at Stephen who smiled at him, unable to contain his joy at the tableau before him. Tension had flared up briefly in the tall frame but vanished almost immediately at Stephen's reaction. James gripped Jack's hand tighter and placed his other hand over top of their two intertwined ones.

"Goodbye, Matthew and Katie!" Stephen called to the children. Apparently, they had forgotten all about going home with him, as they waved but continued their play. He was gratified to see that, despite their differences in temperament, they did enjoy each other's company. Then he took his leave, contemplating how he could explain to Francis the homey feeling he got while in the company of these people.

As he cast one last glimpse over his shoulder he was just in time to see Jack steal a kiss from James, who swatted playfully at Jack's backside before pulling him close for another quick kiss.

#

Stephen blinked in surprise and Francis knew why. He never shouted.

"James Norrington and Jack Sparrow," Stephen repeated. "And their children."

"They have children?" This was uttered much more softly.

"James was married. His wife died and he brought his children to Port Royal." Stephen looked at him quizzically. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'm sorry... I thought you said their names are Huddington and Darrow," Francis lied, feeling sorrow at the news that James' wife had died, but unsure why he had just lied to his lover. It was hardly a secret between them that he had been in love before they met. He had spoken of Jack a few times, though he had never mentioned Jack's last name. "They were former customers of mine in Tortuga; not very pleasant men. The thought of them being here..." He shuddered voluntarily to make it look more plausible.

Stephen gathered Francis closer, stroking one hand down his back while the other petted the long blond plait that hung between his shoulder blades.

"Shh, you don't have to worry about things like that ever again. Besides James and Jack are like us—two men in love with each other. I had foolishly thought we must be the only ones in the world."

Francis managed a laugh at that. "No, darling. Not the only ones, but the only ones who matter."

As he leaned his head against Stephen's cheek he hoped that he was at least speaking the truth that time. His emotions were awhirl; could he spend the evening with Jack and James without making a fool of himself?"

"The Turners will also be there. You remember, I've spoken of them to you."

Francis swallowed past his growing apprehension. "Then I will be glad to finally meet them," he said brightly. It wasn't too late to tell the truth to Stephen, yet he held his tongue.

#

They disembarked from the carriage a few yards from the front door, which opened to emit a pair of small children who ran towards them. Stephen bent down to greet the boy and girl.

"Why, hello again."

"Doctor Stephen!"

Looking over his shoulder he said to Francis, "This is Katie and Matthew Norrington. Children, this is my friend Francis."

Francis knelt before them. "I am truly honoured to meet the lady and master of the house."

They giggled in response. "That's papa and Uncle Jack!"

Francis frowned deeply. "Which one is the lady of the house—your papa or your uncle?"

The pair erupted into a fit of giggling at that question, and they were unable to answer. Then a deep voice said, "Hello, Francis."

Rising to his full height Francis looked up into the emerald green eyes of James Norrington. James opened his arms and Francis ran to him. As James enclosed him in his embrace, Francis hugged him tightly around the middle. A large hand patted his back soothingly, lovingly and Francis smiled a watery smile. Finally getting himself under control he stepped back so he could better see James.

"I had no idea..." James said.

"Not until yesterday," Francis replied over top of his words.

Stephen touched him on the arm and he started to turn to him to explain when he caught sight of Jack emerging from the house.

"Francis!"

Suddenly he was swept up in the arms of the first man he had ever loved. Just as suddenly Jack released him and stepped well away.

"I'm sorry, Francis darling."

It was all happening too fast for Francis. His emotions were already pushed too far because he had no idea how he felt about seeing Jack again. As if standing outside his body he heard himself yelling.

"You are sorry, you sorry bastard! You treated me like a cabin boy during the time we were on the Pearl. I loved you and you gave me nothing in return except your body. There was never an emotional response to my presence on the ship. All you wanted was someone to fuck!" Distantly, he was aware of James herding the children into the house and closing the door behind the three of them. Horrified at his reaction Francis calmed immediately, turning towards Stephen and drawing him away from Jack. At last he had his priorities straight.

"Stephen, I apologize with every ounce of my being for not telling you the truth. When you told me who we were coming to see tonight it caught me by surprise. I deeply regret lying to you, and I guess it wasn't a very mature reaction just now either. I cannot tell you how very sorry I am."

The gentle look that appeared on Stephen's face was a greater relief to Francis than if his lover had swept him into his arms and kissed him senseless.

"While I didn't foresee this turn of events I knew something was upsetting you. I think I can understand how turned upside down you've felt this past day. We can discuss your manners privately at home later." He did kiss him then, a short but sweet kiss that promised he was not angry.

Francis looked at Jack who stood with his arms folded across his chest, one booted foot propped up on its toe and his head cocked to one side.

"Jack, I..."

"Don't apologize to me, lad. I deserved what you said and more. Since the day you left me I wanted to find you and try to make right all of my mistakes with you, but I didn't because I was afraid you would never forgive me."

"You loved James."

"I still do."

"Yes, but I mean you loved him to the exclusion of all else. I know what that's like. It's why I stayed with you as long as I did."

Jack clucked his tongue. "You have a large and generous heart, lad. You ought to have everything you've ever wanted in life."

Francis reached for Stephen. "I do now."

Jack nodded. "That eases my mind considerably."

James had returned during the conversation. Now he said, "Is everything better?"

"Aye, Jamie."

"I'm so ashamed of what I said in front of your children."

"It's your tone that confused them. They've heard stronger language from Jack, but they don't understand why anyone would yell at him. In their eyes he can do no wrong."

"Could I go to them and try to explain?"

James gestured towards the house. "I wish you would."

#

Elizabeth spied Francis and went to him, taking his hands in hers as soon as the children released him. "It is so good to see you again, Francis. I've often wondered where you were and how you were doing."

"I've known for some time that your children are Stephen's patients. I've been avoiding you because you are friends with Jack. I thought you wouldn't want to see me."

Will extended his hand. "Hello, I'm Will Turner and this is my wife, Elizabeth. We'd like to be friends with you too."

The faux first introduction caught at his heart and Francis shook Will's hand. "Thank you and I'm pleased to meet you." They smiled at one another while Elizabeth only had eyes for her husband.

"That was so nice of you, Will." She slipped her hand through his arm and held it close to her body. He smiled sappily at her. The rest of the adults rolled their eyes at the two of them.

Stephen cleared his throat. "James, you said something about giving us a tour of the estate?"

"So I did. Come along everyone who wants to." He took his children by the hand and led the way to the back of the house. "We'll start around here."

Jack hung back

Stephen noticed and told Francis, "I'll go with them. I think you and Jack have more to say to one another."

After he was gone Francis stepped very close to Jack until he had no choice except to move backwards out of reach, or else put his arms around Francis. He chose the latter. Francis hugged back and they stood like that for a while. When they separated Francis said, "If we hurry we can catch up with the others."

Jack nodded. "Aye. I love you, too, lad."

#

"Don't be silly, dearest. We can't control whom we fall in love with. I know how you feel about me. There are no doubts about that. You've proven to me over and over that you feel as deeply for me as I do you."

Francis nodded, his hair sliding against Stephen's ear.

"On top of all the reunions and sorting out of feelings tonight do you know what happened?"

"What happened, my love?"

"James and Jack hired me to tutor their children. I'm finally going to put to use my education."

"And all your hard work. I'm so happy for you."

Francis sat up and straddled Stephen, pulling the covers down his naked form. "I can also put to use my experience at Madam Helen's. If you like." He winked.

"I'm so happy for me." Stephen lifted his arms and Francis melted into them, first soft and pliant and then hard and demanding. No one else mattered in their world.

# end

Part 6

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)

Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)