Beyond the Horizon
Part 2
by
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow has been dropping by at random for years, as well, which surely doesn't help matters.
Originally Posted: 10/29/09
Originally Posted: 10/29/09
Six months later, Jack was still keeping to his priorities quite well, especially since he no longer had to worry much about the 'keeping alive' part these days. It was quite a relief. Otherwise, Jack might be quite worried about being shipwrecked on this spit of rock. As it was, he was just struggling to get a shard of yardarm the length of his forearm out from where it seemed to have gotten stuck in his ribcage.
Then he heard it: a too-familiar, too-lovely, baritone voice calling out orders nearby. It cut through the air with nothing less than naval precision.
The Flying Dutchman appeared out of the fog. Jack leapt to his feet and pulled out his spyglass. He could just make out a tall and familiar figure at the helm, dressed in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, but with no naval colors or hat or wig in sight. There was no reason at all for his breathing to hitch and pause now, when the chunk of debris piercing his left lung hadn't managed to stop it before then.
When longboats came out to collect the dead, dying, and lost, Jack went with them. It was his best bet for a ride off this hopeless spit of rock, anyhow. He did worry, however, that either William or his replacement might have wised up and fixed the potential escape-hazard presented by half-pin barrel hinges. Such a thing might hinder the various contingency plans Jack felt the need to weave in his mind, prepared, as ever, for hostility from his hosts. It was, after all, how he was usually greeted.
A familiar, long pale hand gripped his to help him aboard, and Jack was absolutely stunned when Captain Norrington greeted him with a sardonic but sincere smile that completely lacked malice. "Welcome aboard, Jack Sparrow. I had not expected to see you here for some time; then again, I cannot help but notice that you are not actually dead." He took hold of the impressive chunk of wood piercing Jack's ribcage and gave it a sharp tug, removing it in one pull. "Nor are you ever likely to be, it would seem."
Jack shouted and swore hoarsely in four languages, but breathed easier when, within thirty seconds, the wound had shut, leaving no trace behind. "Jesus, Norrington, you're a damned malicious and flagitiously cruel bastard!"
"You're welcome." Norrington held out the offending chunk of debris.
Jack took it in hand, glared at it, and tossed it over his shoulder and off the ship, where it hit the water with a splash. He transfered his glare to Norrington, whose slightly smug smirk was becoming a distraction. "I admit; it was givin' me some trouble."
"I'd gathered. I take it you are here by accident? I'm afraid that I cannot exactly take you to the nearest port and drop you off, however." Taking on a more solemn look, he gestured toward his duties: ship, crew, lost souls... "We are not due at any port on this side of the horizon for some time yet, and you will not stay at any of the several we have to visit elsewhere."
"Ah, yes." Well, traveling beyond the horizon now and then had been a fancy of his for some time, and now that he had the freedom, it would truly be a sin against the code and Jack's own principals not to exercise it with verve. "You are, however, my only option at the moment, mate. I suppose I'll just be along for the ride."
Norrington gave an amused snort, a smirk curving his lips quite fetchingly. "Yes. You are one of few living men who can follow where we travel, Sparrow." He turned his head, looking away as he heard one of his crewmen approaching. "Mr. Turner," he greeted. "I believe you know Mr. Sparrow."
"Captain," Jack muttered under his breath.
James chose to ignore it.
Bill approached, nodding at Jack with a smile. "How's Will and his lass?"
"Saw them some months ago. They're well, and have their own ship, it seems, as well as a young whelp now; so another poor lad has been saddled with your name and some of your looks, mate," Sparrow replied.
Despite the jibe, Bill positively beamed. "That's great."
"Mr. Sparrow will be our guest, for a while, it seems."
Bill raised his eyebrows. "Another wreck, Jack?"
"Not my ship, not my fault, and I told the crazy son of a bitch that it was a bad idea, but he wouldn't listen," Jack countered blithely.
"Of course," James said, dryly mocking, but his amusement was actually light-hearted. "Would you care for a drink, Mr. Sparrow?"
"Absolutely. Rum?"
"Indeed." James gestured for him to follow, and led the pirate into the captain's cabin, which had undergone some rather stark changes.
"No organ?" Jack sounded completely befuddled. In place of the rather malevolent organ was a large set of windows, which let in bright shafts of daylight. There was also a considerable library, which did not seem to be susceptible to water damage, despite regular soaking whenever the ship went below. On top of the tallest of the bookshelves, held in place by two metal restraints with locks on them, was a familiar black chest, which no doubt contained James' heart.
"No. The ship, much like the crew, seems to mirror the state of the captain's soul. I have never been a skilled musician, I'm afraid." James moved to a cabinet and removed a bottle of fine rum with traces of ocean floor stuck to its outside, as well as a bottle of wine in a similar condition, and two glasses. He set them on a large round table, pushing aside the chess table on his way.
Jack watched him, and occasionally let his gaze wander the spacious cabin. "Definitely an improvement since I was last aboard, mate."
"I should hope so." James poured the pirate a glass of rum, and himself one of wine before sitting at the table and gesturing for Jack to join him.
Taking the seat across from him, Jack asked, "How did you know I wasn't dead?"
"One learns the difference rather quickly, in this profession." James shrugged.
"Death, you mean?"
"Ferryman, rather. With the whole ocean to cover instead of just that measly little river Styx," James corrected. He did not seem at all like a man who died almost two years ago. He looked more alive than Jack had ever seen him.
A thought occurred to him, and Jack's brow furrowed. "Out of curiosity, mate, are you actually dead or alive yourself?"
James smirked again, this time with a hint of pride. He held out his wrist, hand bent back to expose the delicate lines of veins and tendons, just barely visible through the delicate-looking skin of his inner arm. "Care to check?"
Jack raised an eyebrow, but reached out, and put his thumb across a pale blue vein. His eyes widened. "You've a pulse." After a thoughtful moment he let go, and stood up, shutting his eyes for a moment, feeling the ship under his feet. Then his eyes opened wide. "Your ship, too. Same beat, isn't it?"
"Bravo, Mr. Sparrow. Most people take days to notice the ship's pulse," James appeared sincerely impressed. He said nothing of how no one else had thought to ask about his own pulse. "How did you notice it?"
"The Black Pearl has one, too. Doesn't always match mine, but it does often enough." He shrugged his shoulders and collapsed gracefully back into his chair.
"I see," James murmured. He looked up and out the windows on the high back wall of his cabin. "No wonder, then, that you are so attached to her." He sipped his wine.
Jack nodded. "Aye. One of a kind, she is." He raised his glass, and was surprised again when James met his toast.
"Indeed."
Eyeing the other man, Jack drained half of his glass quickly. "You've changed, Norrington. Quite a lot, I'd say, since ye've not killed me or thrown me into the locker for vengeance or anything. Not that I'm complaining, of course."
"Death has a way of re-shuffling one's priorities. And are you yourself not a different man, Jack Sparrow, when you've got your Pearl under your feet and a sizable prize to chase after?" James countered.
Jack considered. "Aye. I suppose I am."
"It is the same in my case, with this ship, and in addition I have a home and a purpose; I am therefore more whole than when we last met." He paused to consider this. "And taking into consideration the greater level of freedom I now possess, for all that it has come at a price, I am, in all likelihood, more whole and clear-thinking than when we first met, as well."
With a nod, Jack murmured an agreement, watching the captain's throat as he took another drink of wine. "Not lonely?"
A hesitation, then James gave a shrug and a small bittersweet smile. "No more so now than at any other time in the last thirty-three years of my life, or even that brief bit of death I had recently."
There was no reason, Jack told himself, to feel a sympathetic tug of sadness at that statement. It was Norrington's life, and therefore no concern of Jack Sparrow's. Savvy? "Things do seem to have worked out well for all concerned. We're immortal, you and I. The whelps are content. Beckett is dead. Calypso is free." He gave a flourishing gesture. "All's well that end's well, and all that."
"Are you content, then, Jack?"
The pirate wondered, then replied, with surprising somberness, "Still chasin' the Pearl. When I get her back, I'll be as content as you, at least."
James' smile was only a little strained.
Then the room darkened as the Flying Dutchman dove beneath the waves. Jack held his breath, then noted that the cabin was not filling with water. He raised his eyebrows at James.
"You cannot die, Jack, but that is no reason for me to drown you. I'm keeping the water at bay."
"Er... you are?"
James looked at him with those deep sea-green eyes. "I'm as much a part of the ship as anyone else in the crew, Jack. I just happen to be the head, and therefore I can exert far more control over the whole of it than the others can quite fathom."
"Ah," Jack said. "I see. Must be interesting."
James smiled, and this time it had a bright, sharp edge: vitality and love of a good horizon-chase. "Isn't everything, in these strange days?" He did not sound displeased with it in the least.
Jack swallowed, wondering why his throat felt so dry. "Aye. But strange can be good, ay?" He smiled back, not able to help himself.
"Aye." James finished his wine, his eyes bright and contemplative. "That it can."
Jack stepped up on deck when the Dutchman next surfaced, some hours later, and shivered at the familiar unnatural feel of the air here, in the world of the dead.
"You need not fear the locker, Jack," Norrington said, not looking away from the horizon. He stood at the helm, his hands graceful and sure. "It no longer has any claim on you. That is why you are able to travel with us this easily."
"Aye. None of that mad sunrise-setting nonsense to get out or that either falling over the edge or just simply dying to get in bit. Much better this way," Jack murmured. The wind and the smell of the sea were a relief to his still-humming nerves. "Where are we headed, then?"
"To take these people home," James said. "A number of them, this time, will be headed to a place that might interest you." He shot Jack a faint smirk. "I think you should see it. We will be there by dusk tomorrow."
"You'll swear on your honor that you'll not leave me there?" His dark, fathomless eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.
"I swear it. Although I doubt you would find better places to be left; I enjoy lingering in the place, myself." James smiled absently, but then it faded. "Neither of us are allowed, however, to stay. Like the rest of the locker, it has no claim on us, because we have given up our claim on it, along with our respective claims on death itself."
Apparently, James habitually spent all of his evenings not treating anyone like a corpse. It was, perhaps, the gentleman in him that made the whole matter both so natural, and so important to him.
Jack watched, sipping rum as James listened to the dead and the lost tell him stories. He asked the right questions, made the occasional dry remark, and generally just let these souls feel lively for a while. The crew sat in amongst the souls: talking, drinking rum, occasionally singing and learning songs, telling tales, and often just listening, and feeling some of that life too.
The pirate watched all of it: James sitting in the center, calm and constant, like an unusually humble king holding court. He was well-bred and gracious, patient and kind, but capable of making every woman in the crowd blush with a dryly delivered joke or suggestive comment—all in the most polite and proper manner possible, until he let that odd wicked streak escape, just every now and then. Usually it came out when one of his own men, or one of the more tempestuous souls, went beyond careless and rude into the territory of outright crudeness (threats, cruelty, et cetera); then, sharp and sudden, James' wit would cut them down with a few quick and graceful verbal swipes, and perhaps a raised eyebrow; and then all would grow calm again, and James would re-direct the mood of the evening with all the skill of an experienced host.
And yet, he did not sit so stiffly, at times like this. He leaned against table or chair, relaxed and not nearly so starched and stuffy as he had seemed when he was commodore. For all that he was adamant, on his ship, about the sorts of civility that related to humane treatment of others, James was not up to naval standards anymore, and seemed to have realized which rules mattered and which ones could be removed without putting his honor and decency into question.
James was, once more, a truly fine man to behold; perhaps moreso than he had ever been before, now stifled by no one: not the navy, not religion, not even by his own guilty conscience as that too seemed to have become irrelevant after all that Norrington had seen in this new job of his as ferryman.
What had Jack expected, coming aboard Norrington's ship, knowing the man's history and knowing the duties of this ship's captain? He almost laughed at himself for being at all surprised, but surprised he was. He had, ever since the Dauntless had gotten himself and Elizabeth off that forsaken island, felt an uncomfortable bit of respect for Norrington, for being more than Jack had expected him to be: not a puffed-up and ambitious prat, but, instead, that rarest of creatures: an honorable man with a surprisingly noble heart.
However, honor is a luxury that many cannot afford, and Norrington had learned that first hand, when letting Jack Sparrow escape with one day's head start had cost him too much: putting his formerly solid position and reputation into an unstable and very nearly dangerous position, and in response, James had tried to make up for it with effort and loyalty and obedience, and it had driven him into a hurricane, which had cost him everything else.
Unlike many men of his calibre and birth, however, James Norrington had not only admitted to his mistakes and accepted responsibility, he had also learned from them, and thus become this wise and serene creature, a strangely civilized predator, who now captained the Flying Dutchman. This was a man at peace with himself, which was also a rare and strange thing.
Jack himself, now that he had something to focus on other than the often huge efforts he had once required simply to keep himself alive, found himself thinking too much, too often, and about matters far too solemn in ways that made him uncomfortable. What was it his father had said? It's not just about living forever, Jackie. It's about living with yourself forever.
Jack had spent far too much time in his own company, trapped in isolation in the bloody Locker, to be fully comfortable with that thought; although he had, at least, stopped seeing copies of himself and slowly re-adjusted to being alive. It had helped immensely, of course, that in these past months he had been reassured often that he would never end up in the Locker again. He did, however, still have to deal with himself.
Though he would never admit it, especially to himself, Jack envied the air of calm about James Norrington, who was, apparently, in his element now. More whole, as the man himself had admitted. Duty-bound though he was, Norrington was more free now than he had ever been in his previous life and it suited him. He seemed content, which was the sort of feeling Jack had never been able to hold on to for more than short periods in his life.
And yet...
Now and then, the attention would pull away from Norrington, to a few other lively souls, and James would sit back to listen, but with the attention off of him, his mask would occasionally slip just slightly, and something sad and a bit dissatisfied would flicker across his face. It was that loneliness he had mentioned, making Jack wonder what hid behind those sea-green eyes: the toll it must take on such a passionate man, to be the only living soul aboard his ship, and thus so uniquely isolated from warmth and desire and love. The second time Jack saw it happened, that sadness crossing James' face, James glanced up, as if sensing the pirate's gaze, and caught sight of Jack. The ex-naval man's mask of reserve slid effortlessly back into place and he waved a hand, urging Jack to join them. James' smile, however, was sincere.
After the slightest hesitation, Jack did. He slipped through the crowd like a fish to sit near Norrington. He chose a spot to James' right, so that could watch the man, but also in front of James enough that Jack could be sure that the captain could see him.
Jack Sparrow soon gave the party new life, telling grand tales, and he prevented James from getting that look again, if only for a while, which made the pirate feel quite pleased with himself, though he could not have said why.
The place that James thought Jack would find interesting was a small crescent-shaped island surrounded by a massive web of docks, all of which were full of a massive array of ships. In the middle of the largest section of dock was a large tavern. Ships, docks, and taverns were all full of people, laughing, drinking, telling tales—always of the sea. Every soul here had been a sailor, and were at home nowhere but the sea.
As captain of the Flying Dutchman, James could stroll the docks, but not the island. "If you had died at sea again, Jack, you would have ended up here," James said quietly, as they strode along the docks.
Jack wondered at the flicker of regret deep in his chest. This was Tortuga without the foul smells and fouler diseases; this was a place to dock but not actually a place to land (the island in the middle had nothing built on it, since the tavern was on the docks, and no one walked on it, except for a few souls exploring along its beaches) and it felt... it felt almost as much like home as the Pearl had when he first stepped aboard her. "I see. What's the requirements to get in, for most other folks?"
"They have to love the sea," James murmured, "and she has to accept that love. It also helps if she, in turn, also comes to love them."
"My love is easily won, by dhose who respec' de sea wit'out seeking to control it," said a sultry, warm voice behind them.
Both men turned.
Calypso was lit by distant torchlight, and recognizable despite (or, perhaps, because of) the way that her form seemed constantly shifting. While she at least made the effort to remain woman-shaped, this time, it was simply that she was a different woman ever ten seconds: her eyes, the shape of her limbs, her height, her hair, her facial features and the dimensions of the curves of her body—all of them subtly changed every few seconds, making her image seem to flicker like a flame in the wind.
"Aye, but your love doesn't save us from much. Not even your temper," Jack purred affectionately, doffing his hat and bowing. He kissed her hand when she held it out for him. "Unless, of course, one happens to be Captain Jack Sparrow." He grinned. "Thank you for your help, darling."
"Witty Jack," she murmured. "It be good, I t'ink, to keep a man like you 'round. Keep t'ings int'resting." The goddess leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Jack shivered and leaned forward involuntarily as she leaned back, which made her laugh, but then she moved on to Norrington, and prevented him from also bowing by cupping his face in one hand.
James gave her a soft smile. "Good evening, m'lady."
"James Norrington," she purred back. "You do well." She kissed him: just the briefest brush of lips, and then danced away, laughing, back into the sea.
"She likes you better," Jack complained. "'S not fair in the least; I've known 'er a lot longer."
"I have given her more, without asking for anything in return," James murmured. Then he cringed slightly, but it came with a bitter smile. "I am not to her what Davy Jones was," he added quietly. "Nor will I be."
Jack did not want to think about why that made him want to sigh in relief, so he resisted the urge to do so, and instead mused aloud, "I suppose she's learned her lesson in that respect."
James laughed, softly, and led him further into the floating city.
Following him, Jack scanned the faces in the crowds they passed. He was not surprised by the mixing of navy men and brigands here, of all nations and eras, all of them telling stories as though sharing temporary peace while waiting out a tempest, for all that the seas here were calm. Jack saw several faces he recognized from the distant past, one or two of which (both of them people he had loved dearly) caused him to half-trip or stumble, due to how quickly his feet began to struggle over whether to stop him dead in his tracks and make him flee with all speed. The result was that he nearly fell on his face, but both times that it happened, a graceful, long-fingered hand caught his elbow; Norrington steadied him gently, and though he would not meet Jack's eye, the look on his face was one of sympathy, not pity.
Jack wondered what faces James had run across here, to clearly know the feeling so well. He wondered who else this ferryman had loved, in days long past. Jack did not visit his past loves, knowing instinctively how much hurt would come of it.
Jack's lost loves, for their part, seemed not to notice him.
Few people, in the various crowds that they passed, seemed to notice either of them; although more of the dead seemed to note and greet James, often with a respectful salute—even from pirates. Jack would hazard a guess that those who saluted were only those whom James had brought here himself.
It took Jack some time to figure it out: they, the only two men here who still lived and breathed, were the equivalent of ghosts here among the dead. Only those with whom they wanted to interact, or who were unusually aware of their presences, were able to see them. Jack understood it then: that he and James did not belong to this peace, this warmth, this permanent safe harbor for all who have loved and ever will love the sea.
Jack stopped walking as the insight sunk in—feeling a heavy sense of loss and a sudden pang of loneliness far deeper than he had ever felt before—and caught Norrington's eye. "It wasn't free, was it? My immortality. No more than yours, really."
James folded his hands behind his back, his eyes downcast for a moment. People passed around them like a colorful, raucous sea, but the sounds seemed suddenly distant: neither man wanted this conversation overheard, and so the world around them was muted to them, just as they were to it. James took a deep breath and let it out as he met and held Jack's dark gaze. "No. The price you paid was your mortality, and with it, some part of your humanity. You are more free than you have ever been, but..."
"Lonely. Aye." Jack looked away, his throat suddenly tight. "I've been alone for most of me life, though, mate, and this is different. This... feeling like a hot-blooded ghost, of a sort." His hands fidgeted as his sides, fingers shifting constantly, but his arms were tense and unmoving.
"You've been running for most of your life. As soon as you stop, and no longer have pure survival to focus on, you want more." James' brow furrowed. "Having ambitions, such as something to chase or to hunt down: be it ships to capture, piratical or otherwise, or some kind of puzzle to work out, something valuable worth going after—that helps, but not permanently."
"You don't strike me as the running type, mate."
James' smile was bitter and self-depreciating. "I am not. That is why it all went so spectacularly badly for me when I unintentionally ended up trying it: the hurricane, Tortuga, Lord Becket..." He shook his head. "At least, before the end, I finally made a stand of sorts, even if it did kill me."
"Temporarily killed you. I could say much the same about my own not-so-permanent end," Jack murmured. "And for similar reasons." For some reason, despite his general affection for the lass these days, he felt a sudden flare of anger towards Elizabeth again. It was, he knew, irrational, and he had to wonder where it came from.
"Yes. William told me the whole story, before we parted ways." James was looking out over the crowd again when he caught sight of something, or, more likely, someone of considerable significance, making him flinch, a look of sharp regret and pain crossing his features for a moment.
Jack's head turned, but he only caught the brief sight of two men in naval uniform, laughing as they walked away and vanished amidst the others in the crowd; Jack did, however, process that one of the men was familiar-looking, from those long-ago days when he had only just made Norrington's acquaintance; and the two men had been walking quite close together, hands touching in a close and affectionate manner and one whispering in the other's ear; they were clearly lovers.
"James?"
The captain cleared his throat and explained in quiet tones that managed to sound almost as perfectly deadpan as usual, but not quite. "My former lieutenants; in death, they were both captains, I think. In life I... had not known them to be lovers." He hesitated. "I have not yet spoken to them."
Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting for James to condemn them.
Seeing it, James' eyes narrowed a little and he shook his head, wearing his usual mask once more. "This is the afterlife, Jack, and a better, more unconventional heaven than I would ever have expected, but heaven by my standards nonetheless." Then he looked into the middle-distance, in the direction that Gillette and Groves had vanished, because he could not look Jack Sparrow in the eye as he added, "Why would I condemn them for being happy here, when they have done nothing more malicious than to merely possess that which I have, in the past, longed to have for myself?" He took a deep, steadying breath and made his posture impossibly straighter. His hands, still folded behind him, were now white-knuckled with tension.
He glanced at Jack, but the look he thought he could see on the pirate's face made him look away again quickly. James tried very hard to tell himself that it was just a simple matter of having spent too much time at sea, with no other living soul, and that was the only reason that he felt this inexplicable and all too enticing tension in the air between himself and Jack Sparrow; however, James gave up soon enough, silently cursing his inability to lie to himself deliberately, because life (and afterlife) would be so much easier on him if he could.
Massaging his temple as though to be rid of an oncoming headache, James said, "I do not think that I can currently remain civil here, this evening. There are too many familiar faces, this time. I should return to my ship." He looked up at Jack. "If you should wish to linger, I will not leave you here. You still have my word."
Jack nodded lightly, a few ideas forming in his head. "Aye. I'll rejoin ye soon."
James bowed his head slightly in a very officer-like gesture, and turned on his heel, walking away. Perhaps it was the strangeness of this place, perhaps it was simply the difference between the living and the dead, or perhaps Jack was in more trouble than he thought: because as James wove through the crowd, he made everyone he passed look less clear, their colors washed-out, in comparison to his richer, sharper-looking form.
Firstly, Jack sought out palatable rum, and was very pleased indeed to find it—A fine and unconventional heaven indeed—in the tavern.
Then, he sought out a certain pair of naval officers. On a hunch, Jack focused on his desire to talk with the two men, and found that it directed his attention towards them like a compass needle (not Jack's compass, however) towards true north.
"We went through a lot, he and I," said Theodore Groves, taking a large sip of rum as he leaned on Andrew Gillette's shoulder. In his right hand, Theodore held Andrew's left hand, their fingers intertwined. Gillette was silent, albeit with a sardonic and slightly amused expression, letting the other man tell his story, which was clearly one that he already knew.
"I was a recently-transferred midshipman when he first made lieutenant, and that was how we met. He wasn't able to... get close to anyone after that. Not in the ways he had before. He was promoted to that rank because the men with more seniority than he, who might still have accepted the position at the time, were very recently killed or injured by pirate attacks, through which he had fought. I think one of those men, at least, was quite close to him; Andrew thinks they were lovers, but neither of us really know. James took to his new rank well, though; he was a good leader, and had a head for strategy that earned him respect from the post-captain early on." Groves looked away into the distance. "He was just so solemn and sad and beautiful; I grew quite infatuated with him."
Jack sipped his own rum, glancing cautiously over the rim of his mug at Andrew Gillette, who was only watching Theodore with a faint smile, apparently comfortable enough with his lover's past not to be bothered: a rare thing indeed.
The pirate cleared his throat. "How did that work out, exactly?"
"Well, I'd not yet gotten the hang of drinking, you see, so it was, perhaps, several months after that wherein I had the ingenious idea to dive headlong into a rum barrel, metaphorically speaking, to see what it was like." He winced. "Not pretty, I'll tell you that. I awoke, with both a hangover and a minor head injury, on the floor of the room James had been settled in. He had sprained his ankle a few days before..." Theodore blushed and cleared his throat. "It would seem that, whilst inebriated, I had the brilliant idea to visit him and cheer him up. At that point, seeing him bed-ridden and tousled, dressed in only his shirt-sleeves and breeches, I then attempted to confess my adoration for him and then ravish him, only for the drink to cause me to stumble, bash my head against the wall, and fall unconscious for a few hours."
Jack almost snorted his rum, but restrained most of his startled laugh otherwise.
Gillette himself chuckled. "I would have paid to see that."
"No you wouldn't, you jealous prig," Theodore countered, with pure affection and a hint of playfulness in his gaze.
"I take it J—Norrington did not react altogether well?" Jack inquired.
"He was embarrassed, and afraid for both of our futures, and I think he felt too insecure and guilty about various things to allow himself to..." Groves gestured vaguely. "He felt undeserving of his position, since it had been bought with the deaths of men he had grown to respect and care for, and so he felt, for a long time, that to deviate from duty and purity of thought was in some way an unjust insult to, and a lack of appreciation for what he had been given. It weighed heavily on him, and aged him what seemed like five-score years within a fortnight. He was once the finest mischief-monger in the Navy, from what Andrew has told me, and he worked with James off and on in the even more distant past, but having so much thrust upon him all at once... well it sobered James thoroughly, and in a very lasting manner, it would seem. He took to responsibility and duty like it was salvation."
Doesn't that ring a few bells, Jack mused, recalling a far more scruffy and disreputable Norrington talking about his chance for redemption. "Aye. Lasting, indeed."
"He sets very high standards for himself," Gillette murmured. "And is rarely, if ever, fully satisfied with his own work. When he suffers, he gets further and further dissatisfied with himself. Even before the hurricane, I wondered if one well-aimed misfortune of sufficient impact might not just shatter him like glass."
Remembering the James Norrington he had seen in Tortuga, Jack grimaced slightly around his next sip of rum. "Aye. I suppose it did."
"Captain Sparrow, if I may inquire: why are you so interested in James?" Theodore raised his eyebrows significantly. "You do not mean ill, we can tell that much, being as we aren't exactly corporeal anymore and so such things are quite obvious; however, it is your lack of ill will in and of itself that I find curious."
Jack stared into his rum for a thoughtful moment, swirling it about in the mug. "I've not any real idea, mate. Just a feeling. And more curiosity than is generally healthy for any man." With the latter statement, he gave a hint of a smug smirk, but it did not quite reach his eyes.
"Don't hurt him," Gillette said quietly. "He's had quite enough of that."
A flicker of guilt crossed Theodore's features.
Jack's eyebrows raised. Not sure quite what to make of the warning from Gillette, he instead focused on Groves' reaction to it. "There's more?"
"I never said that James did not return my affections; for all that he never acted upon them. If he did not fear for me, and my future and my reputation, then we..." Groves sighed, shaking his head. "It would not have lasted, I do not think, but we could have been happy, for a while." He leaned against Andrew's shoulder almost without thinking, taking support from the other man. "James Norrington is the most practical man I have ever met: wise, sharp-minded, and possessed of incredible self-restraint. He is also, however, therefore one of the most lonely."
"Too strong for his own good, as well," Gillette added.
"Yes. The stubborn bastard."
Jack half-smiled at the shared sentiment, for all that it implied that he, like the pair of lovers sitting across from him, felt a strange mixture of respect and affection for one James Norrington, Stubborn Bastard Extraordinaire.
Bidding the two naval gentlemen farewell, Jack made his way to the bar because he felt that he needed a great deal of rum to work this one out.
James had inspected his ship, as an initial way to clear his head and distract himself. Then he had attempted to read, but been unable to focus. Setting Homer aside, he had sat at the chess table, deep in thought, one arm across the back of his chair as he lounged indolently, and the other held up as his fingers danced with the jade queen.
For a long time, he had merely sat in deep thought, in the quiet, listening to the distant sounds of laughter and tides and talking.
He was not entirely surprised when Jack Sparrow burst in an hour later. He was more surprised by the level of un-faked inebriation that the pirate seemed to be under.
"I've got a number of things I'd like to ask you, you know," Jack said, leaning forward precariously. Only the one hand (the one not clutching a half-empty rum bottle) wrapped around the doorframe prevented him from falling the rest of the way forward onto his face. He swayed and pointed at James with his more rum-laden hand. He seemed about to add something further, but changed his mind, letting go of the doorframe, stumbling forward almost gracefully, and kicking the door shut behind him in in one sprawling movement. Then he advanced on James and sat opposite him at the chess table. He put the bottle in the middle of the table, managing not to disturb the carefully-arranged chess pieces in the process.
James was somewhat impressed by how bizarrely graceful the drunken pirate was. "Feel free. I will answer to the best of my ability."
"But will you also answer honestly?" Jack pointed at him again. Even sitting down, he seemed to sway a little, as though the sea beneath the ship were rougher but only he could feel it. "That's important as well."
"I will." James had not noticed that his hand, still holding the jade queen, had stilled its usual fidgeting, so focused was he on Jack.
"Good, then. I'll hold you to that." Jack's usual slur was further emphasized, now. He leaned forward, resting one arm along the edge of the table, not quite on the tiles of the chessboard built into the middle of the round table, and leaned his weight on it as his other arm and hand continued to gesture with many flourishes while he spoke. "You see, Jamie, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. You know that. What ye don't know is how bloody maddening I can find my own company to be when it's the only company I've got. I didn' even know it 'til I was stuck in Davy's Locker with naught but me onsie and me Pearl, and I went bloody mad, savvy?"
"Madder than usual, you mean?" James asked, but without the sardonic mockery that Jack had braced himself for.
"Aye. Hearin' voices, seein' copies of meself, like twins or triplets but still me, that would argue with me as I tried to plan things or reason things out, and generally being barking mad in a way that's not conducive to my usual goals: survival, captaining the Black Pearl, outwitting and making miserable or killing that traitorous rat Barbossa, and all the rest that goes with being Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"
"I think so," James said slowly. "Are you still suffering that sort of madness?"
"No, no, I've not for a while now, since Davy's heart was stabbed and I was freed from havin' to fear goin' back to that damned, desolate waste." He shuddered. "And then, o'course, I let Barbossa think he could do what he'd done before: leave me behind and seize the treasure of immortality. Well, this time I got that treasure all for me onsie, and the place collapsed behind me as I left, and now it should just be a matter of either catching up with ol' Hector and takin' back my ship after I shoot him again, or just waiting for him to die, since I've got all the time in the world, now, ay? That's how it should be but that's not what's on me mind." He lifted the bottle, took a large swig, and set it back down again.
"What is it, then, that is on your mind, Jack?"
Jack looked away, frowning. "You know of the pirate called Cap'n Teague?"
"Yes, although he's considered an almost mythical figure these days, I know better. When I was a small child, he actually saved me from drowning, to my father's chagrin." James picked up the bottle and took a swig himself.
"Not the sort to trust pirates, then, even when they've saved the life of someone he loved?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "Familiar."
"Familial." James winced and set the bottle back down. "I tried, rather unwisely in retrospect, to follow in his footsteps in many ways. He was also an Admiral."
"And a git, it sounds like."
"That, too," James admitted easily. "What is it that relates to Captain Teague that bothers you so greatly?"
"He's me dad, but there's more than that," Jack muttered, almost dismissively, ignoring the surprised look on James' face. "He's seen it all, done it all, and survived it all, and I've done very nearly the same. I asked him, if that was the trick of it: that he survived." He took the bottle, swirled the rum in it thoughtfully. "He said there was more to it than just living forever: that it was also 'living with yerself forever.'" Jack took a more than healthy quaff, then slowly lowered the bottle, again setting it in the middle of the table. "Not a comfortable thought, consid'ring my past experiences with the matter, I must admit."
James considered this for a moment, and set down the jade queen lightly, right in her proper place on the board. "What is it you are trying to ask me?"
Jack folded his arms, resting them both on the edge of the table and slumping so that he nearly rested his chin on them. "How do you do it? You weren't at peace with yourself at any point in our acquaintance before I climbed aboard this ship. What changed, ay? You're still not exactly happy, for all that you're bloody serene an' content most of the time, because you're effectively trapped here, and the only living man aboard, but you're not..." Jack gestured futilely, unable to find the words.
"I'm not exactly in danger of going mad," James concluded. "Not again, at any rate."
"Aye. And you're sure of it. I can tell that. I jus' don't understand it." He rested his chin on his folded arms, looking over the chessboard. A furrow appeared on his brow. "Just like I don't understand how it is I've ended up on the side with the white pieces here. I always preferred black." He peered up at James.
James sat very still. "You play?"
"Aye." Jack looked over the chess pieces. "But not white when I can avoid it."
"Yes. I've preferred to avoid it as well. It's so much easier to read an opponent when they make the first move," James murmured.
Jack looked up at James again, this time with a surprised sort of fascination, which seemed to cut through his inebriation; either that, or the rum was wearing off a bit already, and considering Jack's level of alcohol tolerance, it was quite possible. "Aye. That's exactly it, mate." His eyes narrowed a little, warily. Yes, it must be the rum wearing off. "Most just assume it my naturally evil nature makin' me prefer the darker pieces on the board. Did they ever think the same of you?"
James hummed, looking into Jack's eyes and reading him, while remaining himself masked and unreadable. "Some did, actually. There has always been a good number of naval men suspicious of me: my relative youth for a man of my rank, a number of the circumstances that led to some unusually early career advancements, my intelligence and skill at strategy, as well as a few instances wherein I diced with death, which others managed to make into popular gossip amongst the men. Some of my fellow officers went so far as to call me a devil."
"As did numerous pirates, 'm sure," Jack mused, absentmindedly, his intent gaze still trying to pierce James' mask. "You're an interesting man, Jamie."
After a moment's hesitation, James could not help but ask, "Why use that appellation? That's the second time this evening you've called me by it."
"Wot?" Jack seemed sincerely confused.
"You just called me 'Jamie', Mr. Sparrow," James pointed out, deadpan once more: an instinctual defensive reaction.
No one else had called him that in more than a decade, and he had not thought of those past friends and lovers in a very long time, indeed: they had been young and foolish midshipmen together, three boys, none older than fifteen, on a large ship full of much older men, and had become very close. He had not fallen in love with either of them, even as they had grown older together and their closeness had taken on... interesting new dimensions, but the three of them had once lived in a small world of their own making, apart from the rest of the navy and all its propriety. James had been the youngest among them, and had learned the most whilst asking the most creative questions for the others to answer and... when they had been murdered, James had taken the rank that should have gone to one of them.
Since then, James Norrington had been the best officer he could be, in order to live up to the greatness he had believed them to possess. Now, older and wiser, looking back on the young men he remembered, and how well he had known them, James knew they would think him a stiff and cold man. Perhaps they would wonder what had happened to the more brash and playful lad they had once known. Sometimes James himself wondered just that.
"Oh," Jack said, interrupting James' somber thoughts. The pirate sounded like he'd been caught filching sweets. "Sorry, mate." He sat up slowly. "Not my place, I suppose."
James pondered this for a moment, recalling some of the matter that had been on his mind in the two hours since he had left the docks, and re-evaluating them in light of the recently-stirred memories of a small world he had shared with two beloved friends. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Your place, Captain Jack Sparrow, is anywhere you set sail for. That is part of your nature, is it not? Your freedom to go wherever you please without heed to any authority telling you that you cannot or should not?"
Jack fidgeted. "Any legal authority, anyway. I still keep to the code, and a few principals of my own."
"Such as your preference to avoid killing people who have saved your life? I've taken note of that one, however wild, unscrupulous and artfully conniving your tactics tend to be," James mused, sounding more amused than disparaging.
"Aye, but I'll not have ye ruin my reputation as a ruthless scallywag," Jack warned sternly. "Or you'll again be at the receiving end of such tactics, mate."
"I've not exactly got access to most gossip circles from my current position, but even if I did, I'd hardly be inclined to share the knowledge. Why ruin the surprise for other people? It is, perhaps, a bit of epicharikaky on my part."
"A bit of what?"
"Enjoyment of the suffering of one's friends or peers, often with a hint of smugness, if not actual cruelty," James supplied.
"Ah. I'll have to remember that one." Jack sat up a bit further, reaching for the rum again and draining still more of it. "You've still not answered my question."
"I... am not sure how to answer. I grew to hate the world and myself, and became a 'rumpot deckhand what takes orders from pirates' for a time, during which I continued to stew in my own anger and the sudden sense of uselessness I felt without any of the numerous support structures I had relied on all my life, until I betrayed you and all of yours, as well as William and Elizabeth, by stealing the heart of Captain Jones. Once I had regained my position in the world that I knew, I began to regain my sanity, much to my discomfiture, because with it came the realizations that Beckett's intentions were not only mad but evil, and that while I thought that I needed my position for the honor and duty and resources it provided me, the political and ideological machinations that had created my position, allowed it to continue to exist, and also allowed me to regain it once more, were abominably corrupt, with only the thinnest veneer of honorable appearance to hide behind. I also realized that I myself was not much better than those machinations, except for parts of my nature that had been shut off for some time: compassion, charity, the urges to serve and protect the innocent, the ability to forgive, and the strength to endure. I had lost them, at some point, which had led to my fall from grace in the first place, and when I regained them, my reward was to feel very guilty for a long time, but by accepting my faults, I have been able to work to correct them, and accept that the only way to make up for my past mistakes is to move beyond them and embrace the better parts of my nature to the fullest, instead of letting the weight of sin drag me again into darker, madder depths."
James paused, looking at Jack, who was watching him intently, curiously. James looked away, down at the jade chess pieces. "I do not see how my own experiences may be of much help to you, Jack. I am of a different nature than you. I can only tell you that the darker parts of the Locker twist reality in order to make even the strongest minds break, that the rest of the world—the living world—will not threaten to do that to you, and that you will not be so alone as that again, despite your immortality inflicting on you its own form of isolation." James got to his feet, folding his hands behind his back as he strode to the window, staring out into the dark, away from the warm lights and laughter of the island and the docks nearby. "You can still go wherever you please, interact with people as you always have, including your usual looting and plundering and debauchery. The only distance between you and them will be in your mind: you will outlive every single person you meet, no matter how much you like them, and eventually I imagine that they will begin to all seem incredibly young and foolish to you, but for all that, I do not imagine that you might again go mad, not in the way that you fear returning to."
For a long few moments, there was silence. "Thank you, James." When the pirate spoke, his voice was close (unexpectedly, wonderfully, startlingly close) behind James' shoulder, making the ex-navy man's muscles twitch slightly, and grow quite tense. "But you've missed a part of it."
James turned his body partway, and turned his head a little further, in order to meet Jack's gaze. He swallowed thickly at the contemplative heat he could see in it.
"I will outlive every single person I meet... except you." Jack tilted his head to one side, like an intrigued bird. If he was still intoxicated, it was no longer at a greater level than he usually maintained whenever possible: the level at which he best functioned. "Assuming that you can keep this job, anyway."
For reasons James did not want to think about overmuch, those words made him shiver—not quite visibly, but he shivered nonetheless. Taking a slow, silent, and above all steadying deep breath, James took the rum bottle from Jack's hand and drank deeply. He did not hand it back, did not meet Jack's eyes again. "Yes. There is that." He smiled faintly, despite himself, feeling a little warmer (from the rum, he assured himself, from the rum) now. "The irony of it all is truly astounding."
"Destiny has a deep love of irony, in my experience," Jack mused, his gaze lingering on James' mouth, where a small drop of rum clung to the man's lip. When the pink tip of James' tongue darted out briefly to swipe it away, Jack felt it in his prick, and stifled a guttural noise that would have revealed how much he liked it.
"Destiny?" James' eyebrows raised. He seemed amused by the idea.
"Aye." Jack took another step toward James and leaned in even closer. "We both seem to be creatures of it, especially now that we cannot die."
James' brow furrowed as the pirate invaded his personal space, but did not back down. He was unnerved however, to recall his own last words to Elizabeth: our destinies have been entwined... but never joined. Himself and Jack Sparrow had long before had their destinies entwined in a sort of rivalry ever since their first meeting on the docks at Port Royal, but now that the hatred and fighting was past... what now? Now that he could see past the eccentric garb and decorations, the madly eccentric hair and the ridiculous beard, to the good man beneath and the keen intelligence in those deep jet-black eyes of his; and now that James could see that man as beautiful...
What was this between them, now?
In lieu of speaking, since James no longer trusted his voice, James lifted the rum bottle for another drink, but was startled when Jack's hand stopped him. Warily, he watched the pirate pluck the bottle from his hand, cork it, and set it aside on the windowsill. Then Jack got rid of the last few inches of empty air that separated their bodies and pressed close, one hand cupping the back of James' neck to pull him into a slow, exploratory kiss.
James' breathing hitched, then stopped for a few long moments, the warm press of Jack's lips and the slight rasp of that mad beard taking up all his attention, making James only half-aware of his own lips parting slightly in response as Jack's free hand slipped under his coat to clutch at his hip. Jack's body was warm, too, even through all of the layers of clothing between them. Scarcely remembering to start breathing again, James started to return the kiss almost hesitantly, and rested his hands on Jack's biceps, gripping loosely and pulling them closer still.
In response Jack gave a soft, breathy sound of mixed relief and passion, and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into James' mouth eagerly. James responded in kind, matching him and even going so far as to tease him. His long pale hands slid under Jack's coat and exploring the lines of Jack's body through the coarse cloth. The heat of it was getting to him, now; it had been such a long time since James had been offered this closeness and this warmth, that his control soon crumbled under the sudden flare of desire it evoked in him. He returned the kiss with increasing hunger, tasted desperation that matched his own, and tugged the shirt and the always-unbuttoned waistcoat out from under the Jack's belts, slipping his hands beneath them to caress bare skin.
Jack gasped into James' mouth and arched into the touch of those long-fingered hands, rough from sword and sail, as they mapped his stomach, sides, and chest. He made a guttural noise of not-at-all-displeased surprise when James' thumbs rubbed across his nipples, then Jack felt the other man's smirk against his lips before James rubbed them again, more slowly and deliberately this time, making Jack's breath hitch.
James pulled back from the kiss and trailed his lips up along Jack's jaw, then nuzzled Jack's heavily pierced ear through Jack's equally-decorated hair. "Why?" he rasped, even as his hands began tugging at the buckles of Jack's belts.
"Dammit, Jamie," Jack hissed, through gritted teeth, as James tenderly bit and suckled at a sensitive spot just below his ear. "Because I want you, that's why."
With a low chuckle against Jack's skin, James asked again, "Why?" and then moved his mouth down along the column of Jack's throat, teeth and lips and tongue mapping and gently tugging at the tender skin.
"Y' expect me to answer if you keep that up?" Jack's voice was strained.
"Yes," James countered, with a slightly sharper nip at the place where Jack's neck and shoulder met. "You answer more honestly when distracted." He lathed the reddening bite gently with his tongue, soothing and maddening at the same time.
Jack muttered a series of very colorful expletives, then tangled a hand almost painfully in James' still-tied-back hair and tugged the man's head up until their gazes were level. "Fine, you want answers?"
James' jade green eyes were bright, narrowing wickedly as the ex-commodore ex-admiral ran his hands slowly down Jack's sides, sliding tauntingly under the waistband of his breeches.
Jack stifled a whimper and barked out, "Fine! I want you because, James, you're too bloody noble and lonely and moral and you've got too many rules and your issues are not my problem to deal with so I shouldn't care about them, but I still haven't been able to stop thinking about what a damned fine man you bloody well are an' how damned much I've wanted to taste you and, especially at the moment, how very much I want to strip off all of your blasted clothing and have my way with you, or let you have your way with me, either way's fine enough in my book, so just stop asking so many bloody questions! Savvy?" Then, before James could answer, or even fully absorb Jack's words, Jack pounced.
Stunned to the point of near shell-shock, James found himself not only thoroughly smothered by the kiss of an extremely enthusiastic pirate, but also responding to it with matching fervor even as his head spun from the impact of it all: Jack's confession and the sound of the raw want, almost desperation, that had laced it.
Then Jack pushed the heavy coat off James' shoulders and shrugged out of his own, letting both garments fall to the floor; although he held in one hand a small vial on a cord, plucked from one coat pocket, which he tucked into the waist of his breeches in order to keep his hands free. He realized James was staring at him, breathing hard, his gaze intense and heated. Jack swallowed thickly. "Alright, Jamie?"
James tilted his head to one side, looking predatory and contemplative. "I'm thinking," he said softly, his tone mocking, but with an added burr of something far more sultry that made Jack's mouth feel suddenly dry.
"Aye?"
"About having my way with you," James purred, not breaking eye contact, even as his fingers began deftly unbuttoning his own waistcoat.
Jack watched, fascinated, his gaze darting from James' eyes to the buttons, back and forth. "Are you now?" His voice was slightly off. He suddenly felt like he was staring down a green-eyed tiger made human, who could either rip out his throat or give him the ride of his life.
The ex-commodore ex-admiral hummed thoughtfully. Once done with the last button, he moved on to unbutton his shirt-cuffs, then shrugged out of his waistcoat casually, still not looking away from Jack. Then he reached forward, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Jack's breeches and put one foot forward as he tugged the pirate closer. As a result, Jack half-straddled one of James' legs for a moment before regaining his balance. Then James moved his hips forward and his thigh up a little pressing hard against Jack's growing arousal and contemplating the choked half-gasp, which this drew from Jack, with apparent satisfaction. Jack opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when James gave one final tug at his red piratical sash, letting it fall away, and then removed Jack's shirt in one quick, fluid motion.
Jack opened his eyes, finding James' face very close to his, almost close enough that they should be kissing again. He let the taller man lead him, backing him up until he felt the edge of James' large cot against the backs of his knees. The pirate gulped silently, feeling hypnotized by the way James's gaze still fixed on his. It was only belatedly that he realized his hands were twisting fistfuls of cloth: clinging to the front of James' shirt. He relaxed his grip and ran his palms down James' chest, seeing a corresponding flicker of intensity in those deep green eyes, almost matching the firm and heated response that Jack could feel pressing against his hip. The pirate licked his lips unconsciously.
James cupped Jack's behind in both hands and gave a low, wordless rumble of anticipation, and Jack shivered, bucking his hips a little against James'.
Leaning in to brush his lips across Jack's, James paused just long enough to murmur, "I'm rather fond of you as well, Jack. Thank you." Then he kissed Jack again, pausing only briefly, when the pirate pulled his shirt over his head and tugged them both down to sprawl across the immaculately-made cot, sending blanket and sheets into immediate disarray, which they both immediately set out to exacerbate.
Footnote:
"I'm thinking..." - When I wrote that line, the exact vocal inflection, the precise tonality, of how James said it was taken from a scene in the movie Constantine wherein the pretty female, who is preparing to lay in a bathtub full of water to commune with Hell, has just removed her shoes and sweater, and asks Constantine if she needs to remove anything else. There is a long pause, wherein he remains conspicuously silent, followed by the woman asking, tentatively, "John?"
To which he replies: "I'm thinking," in a soft, dry and not-over-the-top suggestive manner that still expresses clearly how much he is rather enjoying his contemplation.
I felt the need to share this because... well... I can't think of any other way to describe quite how that sounded in my head, and I did hear it oh-so-clearly.
Prev ::
Next
Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)
Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)