Fathoms 3

Kingdom for a Ship

by

Manic Intent

"We do have to get off this island sooner or later, Jack," Norrington replied reasonably. "It seemed a great idea yesterday to just avoid conflict, but I don't think we can leave this place by ourselves."

"Then we don't leave," Jack replied, with a mischievous wink. "Fresh air. Has food, an' we just passed that spring. Better than a stuffy office an' all those 'eavy, fancy togs."

"You're mad," A statement, and full of wry conviction. "Besides, I think I'd go crazy, having to live here with only you for company for the rest of my days."

"Good. Then we'd both be crazy. At th'same time."

Norrington took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. "If this is about the compass, or last night..."

"Sure. What's a man s'posed t'do, forget it?"

"It'd be better if you did. If I did," the reply was without inflexion, like a glass sea, and just as dangerous. "Call it a moment of contagious madness. And I blame you for everything." Norrington had intended for the last line to sound matter-of-fact, but resentment made it petulant instead. Adorable.

"I accept. Do I get punished?" Jack asked, leered when Norrington turned to frown at him, and then laughed when the other man took deep breaths. Calming breaths.

"I think I'd go crazy having to stay another day with only your company, Sparrow," Norrington snapped, and stalked down the trail more quickly. His crew had made no attempt to hide their tracks. Some inoffensive palm trees had in fact been mutilated. Jack concluded that some rum barrels from the explosion on the Pearl had probably miraculously survived, damn it all, and he hadn't been there to celebrate it. On the other hand, he did just spend the night having some absolutely incredible sex. Rum, or sex. Too confusing. Brain still too addled.

The ex-Commodore was furious. Jack occasionally overheard soft growls, and muttered words. He wouldn't at all be surprised to see a storm cloud start to gather and zap him with lightning. Finally getting bored with looking at the devastation his crew had wrecked on the trees in some sort of odd drunken rite, he asked as placatingly as he could, "M' sorry, Jamie. Didn't mean t'make ye upset."

"No, you didn't. And that makes it worse." Norrington didn't even spare him a backward glance. "You can toy, joke, with my... my feelings, with that entire... compass... thing, and not even realize how much it hurts me." Slender fingers curled into fists for a brief moment. "Jack. If you want to do me a favor, just forget about last night. Go back to needling me about the heart." At least I can deal with that. Unspoken, unnecessary.

"M' sorry. Really." Jack darted up next to Norrington, looking up at him anxiously. Green eyes cloudy with anger, frustration, something darker, more primal, focused on him wildly for a moment, then smoothed back to ice.

"There's nothing to forgive in an act without malice," Norrington said stiffly, and Jack wondered if this was what he had said to Elizabeth, if she ever apologized over publicly breaking his heart, twice. Jack's eyes stung, and he blinked for a moment, owlishly. And suddenly it seemed imperative that he apologized.

"Plenty to forgive, in me opinion. An' it'd be important t'me, it really will," Jack touched his sleeve. Norrington jerked away, as if burned, but his expression softened.

"All right. You're forgiven." A pause. "For now." The warning was as clear as the sky above them. Jack grinned, his good temper restored, and he fluttered his fingers at Norrington.

"An' I didn't steal it. Though it could'a been crushed, poor thing."

Norrington seemed to recall some of what he had been doing last night, over and near the balled coat, and flushed slightly. "It wasn't."

So he'd checked, probably when Jack had fallen asleep. Jack mentally cursed the wasted opportunity, even as with every step his body reminded him exactly why he had fallen into that exhausted slumber. Getting back his Pearl should have been paramount in his considerations, but it didn't feel as though she was angry with him over having a bit of fun first. But then, she liked James, even though he wasn't the one who had slaved for years over her, trying to get her back. Jack wondered if he should feel jealous. And now Jamie was in love with him, or at least, Jack was what he wanted most. A love triangle. Involving a magic ship. No wonder the Pearl seemed to think it was amusing. However, James (his James) seemed bent on going back to Port Royal and Commodoring all over again, or whatever he meant by checking on the place and no doubt giving Beckett the damn heart, and he wasn't very forthcoming on any further details. Stupid ex-Commodores.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon," the dry tone informed him that he'd spoken the last words out loud. A smirk. No offense taken, then.

"M' just wondering what ye plan on doin' after handing th'heart to the East India Company, Jamie."

"I'm sure it'd all fall into place," Norrington said mildly, and then smirked again at the obvious frustration that showed on Jack's face.

"Why don't ye want t'tell me? T'aint I followin' ye to Port Royal?"

The smirk vanished. "No, Jack. You're not."

"I am too. Pirate, ye know. Got to relieve ye of th'thump-thump, attempt to, or make at least a stunnin' effort for all t'remember, or..."

"Jack. No."

"Why?" A whine. "But I want to." Now a pout. The Great Captain Jack Sparrow was not being childish, of course. Whining and pouting were all right on a grown man, when that man was his own estimable self.

Norrington met his eyes. Wounded pride, fear, weariness, self-disgust all painted a poignant picture. "No. I know what they do to pirates. You know what they do. I've seen your wrist."

"An' I've met Beckett b'fore, too. T'aint nothin' ye can tell me 'bout him tha' I don't know," Jack replied, evenly. "And Jamie-luv, I don't think 'e'd make it so easy for ye. Heart, for yer place back with yer poncy wig and big blue hat? T'would be like bettin' wi' th'devil. There'd be some sort'a small print ye'd miss, and then..."

"And you're the expert in betting with the devil, I suppose. With all evidence to the contrary," Norrington replied dryly. "I didn't manage to get to Commodore at thirty without some sort of common sense. Be safe, Jack. Leave the Caribbean, hide in Tortuga, some unknown island, something. If you go to Port Royal with me, you'd run into the East India Company again, and... and I doubt I can help you, not anymore."

"They won't catch old Jack," the pirate smiled, starting forward in front of them both, in an exaggerated, confident strut.

"Jack. Don't make me beg you for this."

Jack paused. Turned back and looked, locked wills with what must have been the proudest pirate hunter who ever lived, even when drunk and misplaced in Tortuga, ill-treated by luck. He was the first to look away, flapping his hands impatiently in Norrington's direction. "S'allright then. I like playin' the role of white bloody knight to the rescue of stupid soon-to-be-re-Commodored Commodores."

A deep chuckle. Playful, now that his bloody Jamie had gotten what he wanted. Stubborn navy types! "I doubt it'd come to that."

The crew had spent the night here, it seemed. The empty cask of one rum bottle had been dragged here, and, to Jack's disgust, was now empty. Norrington seemed relieved, for some odd reason that the pirate couldn't fathom. What was so good about no rum?

The town was empty again, however. "P'haps they went down to t'sea."

"That would seem the most obvious course," Norrington replied mildly. "After all, it's possible that Davy Jones would have returned to this island to tidy up that chest of letters that we dug up, and perhaps searched it for survivors."

"'Course, and th'heart, too," Jack grumbled. "Which somebody took."

"Quite so," Norrington replied blandly, wandering down the track. And he was whistling. Whistling! Jack vowed to himself that someday, somehow, he would have appropriate revenge. Dents to the pride of Captain Jack Sparrow were not so easily forgiven.

The wood planking of the harbor was rotting and creaking with the waves. The deep lagoon made it an excellent natural port, and again Jack wondered vaguely what had happened to the inhabitants. Not a very reassuring thing to consider, even on such a nice day.

There was no sign of his crew. In the distance, however, near the end of the port with its ruins of warehouses and shipping offices, there were ships. Jack hissed, but Norrington had already started quickly towards them, in excitement.

"Hey!" he hailed quickly, running forward to grab the other man's arm. "Don't know what those are, but they should'na be here."

His Jamie gave him an impatient look, and then relaxed. "True. We must proceed with all due caution."

"Can I 'ave me pistol back now?"

"You're very single-minded, Jack," Norrington accused.

"At least load them."

"What makes you think I haven't?" A smirk at Jack's confusion, then Norrington continued towards the ships, though somewhat more warily. The pirate shot his back a dirty look.

"An' serve ye right if ye get peppered wi' shot an' there's nobody t'cover yer back. Overconfident, selfish, arrogant..." Norrington purported to ignore him, attention focused on the curious ships. That was a definite blow to his ego—Jack's words eventually trailed away to dark murmurings, then finally to nothing as his curiosity overtook his pride.

When they got closer, it was increasingly evident that there was, at least, somebody there. Who sounded familiar. And was trussed up in a fishing net on a pole that would, if the port was still inhabited, have held fishermen's trophies of the day. Jack glanced briefly at Norrington, who seemed to be fighting a grin.

"Sei zhor. Sei zhor." The creature whined constantly to itself in a litany. Jack recognized the language as some sort of Oriental dialect. It was the pinky clam-hermit-crab-headed crew member, late of the Flying Dutchman, on which Jack had exacted terrible retaliation with a well-thrown coconut. The thing looked up wildly when they approached. "Cap'n! I tried, but..." it paused, and glared down at them, then sighed. "Jack Sparrow. Just me luck." The body reached up quickly and held on to its head.

"And where did the others go?" Jack heard Norrington demand in a properly Commodorial voice, all stern and cold.

The large buildings behind them were weathered down and nested what looked like several families of birds, but the rain and sea had failed to erase the logo above the two large doors, one of which had nearly come off its hinges to show what looked like a ship building workshop behind it. Most of the tools still remained in the gloom, though what he could see were rusted and unusable.

"Jones and Jones, Shipbuilders," Jack read. "I'd be damned."

"The Cap'n's property!" Crab Head protested. "He'd be right mad, he will! The other 'umans took one of his ships! And... no, don't touch that one!" There was real fear in the creature's voice, and Jack spun on his heel to see what Norrington had gotten up to.

Norrington was admiring a small ship that was slightly larger than the late Interceptor. Its workmanship nearly took his breath away, and it put all the other four fine ships lined up in the harbor to shame. Rich, amber-brown mahogany had been buffed to a polish lovingly, the hull sleek like a dolphin. A fine gold design of spirals traced a curved line from stem to stern, intricate and gorgeous—the same design curved up the base of the mast. The bow was perfectly curved, and the ship seemed as though it was set for flight at any moment. The rail was painstakingly etched with what looked like patterns of seabirds, with several types that he did not recognize, their eyes inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The sails looked new, if slightly worn, and were of the finest quality—stark white, edged with pale gold embroidery. The ship had been crafted with joy, with love.

"This is the most beautiful ship I have ever seen," Norrington breathed.

Instantly, Jack felt the need to defend his Pearl. Sulkily, he retorted, "I bet she ain't as fast as me ship. An' she's fat. And squats in the water. And she don't 'ave nearly as many cannons."

"Next you're going to tell me she smells funny," Norrington arched an eyebrow, obviously amused, chuckling when the pirate pouted. "Come on, Jack. It's only my opinion."

"'e doesn't mean it, missy. I'm sure o' it," Jack assured the sea, only for Norrington to cast his eyes heavenward for patience, and turn back to the trussed up creature.

"Where did Davy Jones get these from?"

"He made 'em. Didn't ye see the sign?" Crab Head said slowly, as though Norrington was incredibly stupid.

"When he was human, I suppose. But they didn't rot like the rest of the town."

"Ye'd accept th'fact that 'e 'as a ship that can dive into th'sea an' command a giant squid, but not that 'e can keep five ships sparkly clean an' pristine for years?" Jack asked incredulously. He wandered over to where Norrington was standing, and peered up at the beautifully carved figurehead. A woman, each smile line lovingly picked out, her hair swept behind in a wild mane, her hands raised with joy to the sun. And frowned. And then looked up at the calligraphy of the ship's name.

"Tia. What a rather... er... short name for such a beautiful ship." Norrington mused, following his gaze. And very obviously itching to climb aboard.

"Explains a lot of things." Jack said very slowly, looking back at Crab Head, who blinked at them in confusion. Her pride. The hidden sorrow. Her willingness to help, so easily. Hiding herself in an island, away from most of her people. How a Dutch immigrant learned the way to cut out his heart and still live. And he had seen Tia Dalma several times in his career as a pirate, but she had never seemed to get any older.

"Really." The cultured voice reminded him of how he had better reel back his Commodorial catch before this saucy... intruder... seduced his Jamie away. Norrington had, despite renewed protest from Crab Head, climbed aboard, letting out the occasional low whistle or exclamation of delight when he found something particularly pretty. Then finally, so much like a captain, headed up to the helm, running those aristocratic fingers over it, letting out a low hum.

Jack shot Crab Head a dirty look, as if it was his fault, then turned back to Norrington, speaking in his best wheedling voice. "Why not th'other ships, Jamie-luv? Think 'bout it. A big ship, wi' lots o' cannons, a lot more use to yer Navy than... than this boat."

"It's obvious that Davy Jones treasures this ship most, Jack," Norrington said patiently. "Therefore, in the even that he catches up with us, he's unlikely to use it for cannon fodder... or a chew toy for a squid."

"Yer going to right piss 'im off, though, ye are."

Norrington shot Crab Head a pointed glance. Obviously not wanting to talk about the heart, but Jack got his point. There was no way he could piss Davy Jones off any more than he already had. But then, at the moment, the cursed captain didn't have any reason to chase them, either. Still, it was likely that whoever took one of the ships would get chased, anyway. But he would likely go after this ship first.

Perhaps that was Norrington's point, as well. Wanting to spare 'Lizabeth. Stupid notions of chivalry, perhaps. Or he really loved the boat.

Jack felt a stab in his gut that seemed suspiciously like jealousy.

"Jack," Norrington was leaning over the rail now. And yes, there was that damnable smirk. "I'm leaving without you."

"Aw'right, m'coming," Jack growled irritably.

Crab Head groaned in misery. "Sei zhor. Sei zhor."

A bookshelf of poetry and sketches in a ladies' room, with dresser, wardrobe. No bed, how amusing. Privacy, but not sufficient privacy... and Tia, well, she lived deep in a swamp. Said a lot about a person.

The captain's cabin was sumptuous, a little tastelessly so. A large round rosewood table, filigreed in silver, with matching chairs, the square cloth on it a map of the world, carefully dyed. The carpet the pelt of some sort of huge white bear. A globe set on a side table. Wardrobe, bookshelf containing tomes of naval history, and ship-related details. And a bed that looked like it could contain at least three people, with cream sheets and plush pillows. Jack shook his head with a wicked grin. Perhaps this ship had its redeeming points. 'Course, it was still not a spot on the Pearl.

The cabin, however, was very masculine. As if it highlighted, perhaps unconsciously, the builder's opinion of gender supremacy. Ironic, what with all the symbols of freedom about the ship—the paintings, the maps, the globe, the dolphins on the rail. The woman as a tamed object of love—the man, as the breadwinner, the dashing captain. Jack found himself shaking his head wryly, then chuckling to himself as he thought of Anamaria. Any man she took aboard this ship would probably have been pitched in the ladies' room.

Jack went back up to the bridge, and Norrington frowned at his irrepressible grin. "Anything good?"

"No rum. But not too bad," he replied, a little too off-handedly. The other man shot him a suspicious look.

"I suppose you didn't look for something useful, like a compass."

"I 'ave one, mate."

"Right now I think we'd be better served with one that pointed north."

"Gimme th'helm and I'd get us back t'Port Royal, no problems."

"Jack," Norrington said patiently, "We're going to Tortuga, or somewhere you feel is safe, to drop you off."

"And 'ow are ye going to get t'Port Royal all on your ownsies? 'Tis a big ship fer one man."

"I'd manage," Norrington said mildly. "All I need to do is move in close enough to be picked up by one of the patrols. And besides, I am sure Beckett has men watching the area around Tortuga." A pause. "I do hope you know how to hide there. And stay out of trouble."

"No worries, mate, if I wanted to," Jack said cheerfully. Again that suspicious glance. Seemed his Jamie might want him, but not trust him. It wasn't an unfamiliar situation to Jack, and he was well-versed in the ways to change it—but it needed time that he likely did not have."Seems a pity though, bringing this ship there."

"What do you mean?" Fingers tightened a little possessively on the helm. Jack scowled instantly, his frown deepening when Norrington grinned at him, obviously aware of his jealousy and finding it hilarious. Whatever had possessed him to shack up with such a cruel ex-Navy officer, he'd have to ask himself closely, the next time he had a decent amount of rum.

"T'aint no use for its like in the army. The cannons are pretty, but prob'ly ornamental. An'..." Jack described the ladies' room, and the captain's cabin. When he got to the issue of the bed, Norrington blinked slowly, then flushed a little.

"Surely there is space for a hammock."

"No hammocks. Checked." Jack said happily. Actually, he hadn't, but it seemed logical given the nature of the ship.

"I'd sleep on the carpets, then."

Jack looked at him incredulously. "After yer... we..."

Norrington's shoulders tensed, his lips setting into a thin line. "I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"It'd make it all that harder to leave. To do what I should. And it'd make it far too... too much of a temptation to ask you to stay. Even though you should go."

"Jamie-luv, I just walked th'entire day wi' me bum remindin' me o' th'fun we 'ad last night." Jack sidled closer. Norrington flinched.

"Sorry. If... If I was too rough."

"I'm only going to need an apology if ye refuse to..."

A faint smirk. "One step ahead of you, Jack."

Jack growled, and cheated—a swift step forward and a twist, insinuating himself between Norrington and the wheel, hands dragging his head down for a fierce, possessive kiss. The ex-Commodore froze, then snarled in response, in frustration and need, one hand holding the helm firm while he crushed Jack against it with his longer body, desperation roughening the intimacy, tongues fighting, slippery against each other. Giving no quarter. The second kiss was slower, but Norrington's chest was heaving under wandering hands—the third was almost chaste, but it muffled a low moan as Jack rubbed himself shamelessly against the other man, in invitation.

Finally, "We are not doing this here."

"No?" A wriggle.

"No." A warning growl. But given the excellent results the last time Jack had tried Norrington's patience...

"What about downstairs? There's that big bed..."

"Jack Sparrow." A deep breath, smoothening the growl back into the cultured baritone. "We happen to have just stolen Davy Jones' most prized possession, and a ship that obviously has great sentimental value to him. I therefore refuse to engage in any sort of debauchery with you at this moment, while our lives are at stake."

"That's why we need a plan."

"That involves the bed." Flatly spoken. Disbelieving. But Norrington didn't pull away.

"No, no. That involves hidin'." Jack grinned impishly. "An' I know who can help us wi' that."

"After Port Royal."

Jack pouted, then tried his best wheedling, wounded-puppy expression. "It's on th' way, really. Don't you trust me at all, Jamie-luv?"

A long-suffering sigh, then an apology—lips brushed his scarf-covered forehead with heart-breaking tenderness. "Who is this... person?"

Jack danced fingers up Norrington's ribs, making the other man hiss softly in pleasure. "Wouldn't ye like t'meet th'woman whose likeness is on yon prettily carved figurehead?"

Green eyes sparked with sudden curiosity. Jack had to stifle a grin of triumph. Delay accomplished. It wouldn't be much, since it seemed Norrington was a veteran sailor and was unlikely not to notice them sailing in circles, but he was sure he could come up with something. Coming up with something was one of his strong points, after all...

"Shouldn'a make way there wi' all speed, though," Jack suggested innocently.

Suspicion. "Why does it feel as though you truly are trying to waste my time, Jack?"

"'Cos Gibbs an' th'others know this gel, on yonder figurehead whom Davy Jones seemed t'ave been mad over, and are definitely, certainly on their way over there after 'aving mourned me right proper on th'island, an' what wi' us mebbe 'aving problems if we see them again now, an' did'ya notice ye didn'a get a tombstone?"

Norrington arched an eyebrow, then rested his chin on Jack's forehead for a moment. That was yet another (annoying) thing about (his) Jamie, Jack figured. He didn't get blinkered by the convoluted sentences, like Gibbs and such did. Neither did 'Lizabeth, though they worked on Will. Birds of a feather? No, 'Lizabeth, as much as he actually liked her (more pirate there than Will), was very different from James. And definitely not his type, sober. James, on the other hand... he could hear a purr, and realized it was coming from his throat. Being pressed up so close was beginning to distract him most terribly.

"So you suggest that we take our time, so that we will miss them at the... home of this lady."

"Exactly! I knew ye would see it me way." Jack clasped ringed fingers under Norrington's nose. Who smiled, predatorily, in a way that made Jack shiver, and ran a pink tongue over the fingers. Was the weather suddenly getting very warm?

"Of course, you do realize I need an assurance of your good will. So as to know you aren't trying to waste my time."

"An' what's that ye be wantin' old Jack t'do?" Slightly breathlessly. Definitely from being crushed. Couldn't be anything else.

"I want your agreement..." A nip on his ear, a flick of the tongue.

"Ye-es...?"

"That there will be..." A muscled thigh between his legs. Jack moaned, rubbing against the friction, baring his neck as teeth moved downwards.

"Umm..."

"No attempts from you on my virtue for the duration of the trip to this lady's abode." Norrington purred. It took a moment for Jack to register the words, then his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Norrington pressed a kiss to his nose, then stepped away from the wheel and smirked. "The helm is yours, Captain Sparrow. Do excuse me. I'd be going to explore below decks."

"You... you... teasing..." Jack spluttered at the ex-Commodore's retreating back. Norrington didn't look back, but waved a hand absently before he disappeared into the ship.

Jack groaned. Wicked streak bad. Bad!

It was going to be a long voyage to Tia's island.

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