Fine Men, Chapter 9
Threads So Fine
by
Full headers in Chapter 1
Beta: Nancy
Beta: Nancy
Standing on the wharf back in Port Royal, James watched the berthing of the captured ships and conveyance of prisoners to the fort. It had not taken long to round them up; the cowering pirates had mostly thrown down their weapons after the death of their captain. And with the Navy men loaded onto the Port Royal "fleet"—there were more than enough guards around.
Once outside the cove, James had handed off the trunks of promised gold to the new privateers Jack had recruited. It was money well earned and well spent, in the commodore's opinion. Especially since their efforts had been successful.
He'd stood on the wheel deck of the Black Pearl and watched as the privateers sailed away, leaving Captain Jack Sparrow's vessel alone with seven ships of His Majesty's Royal Navy. That left the governor, Will and Elizabeth on the galleon named the Endeavour, and Jack's crew returned to the Black Pearl, including Anamaria—who lamented the loss of yet another ship she thought should have been hers.
They'd arrived at Port Royal just at the cusp of dawn after sailing back through the dark moonless night. After those mind-numbing kisses, Jack had left James to his scrambled thoughts—it had taken James some time to get his breath and calm his pulse, much less string together coherent ideas.
He couldn't think of a time he'd been more aroused.
"James?"
The commodore stiffened instinctively, though he relaxed once his mind told him it was a friend. "Are you well, Thomas?"
Lieutenant Gillette nodded, stopping at his side, George Groves joining him. "We are. But you're injured, James. You should have your leg seen to."
James shook his head, though he smiled. "I'm fine, Thomas. It looks much worse than it is."
George looked at him speculatively. "You're waiting for someone," he said baldly.
James raised an eyebrow. "You can tell?" he asked as Thomas jabbed George in the ribs.
But both lieutenants nodded. James shook his head. "No. Just seeing to my duty, as should both of you," he chastised gently.
Thomas sighed and George nodded, and they moved off to manage the crews under James's watchful purview.
Taking a calming breath, James refocused his eyes on the anchored Endeavour and the small boat rowing away from her to convey the puffed and apologetic admiral onto dry land to stay with Governor Swann. God bless Weatherby, James reflected. The commodore could not imagine hosting that peacock in his house.
Being rid of that threat had helped James relax just as much as being back in Port Royal.
"James, I swear, a more bull-headed man I've never met."
"Elizabeth!" Both Will and James chorused, one in disbelief, one in long-suffering aggravation.
"He's injured, Will, and look at him, standing here trying to be a commodore when he should be a doctor's patient," Elizabeth insisted.
"Mrs. Turner," James said firmly, communicating his intention not to be swayed, "I am fit enough to see to my duties." His face softened. "I would not ignore them now that they are well assured."
Will nodded in understanding over Elizabeth's shoulder as she frowned. "But..." she started.
"Elizabeth, we need to get to your father's, he'll need you to serve as hostess since the admiral is there," Will reminded.
"Men," Elizabeth muttered as she stalked by. Will stopped long enough to clap James on the shoulder, and then he hustled his wife off before she could refocus on the commodore.
James shook his head and turned back to the cove, rubbing his hand over his eyes. The dawn that morn was exquisite, slightly orange and mostly warm gold, not a trace of red to be seen. It would be a beautiful day, he mused, feeling a tinge of the rays upon his bared skin. He was happy to have lived to see it. So much could have gone wrong. So much. Yet they emerged not only victorious, but redeemed.
He sighed, bone-tired and hurting. But the slide of his thoughts past those kisses had been more than enough to send a torrent of heat flooding into him. Unfortunately, it exacerbated the throb in his leg, which helped douse any further bodily reaction.
And if, during the course of his management of the port, he leaned rather heavily on a wooden pylon, no one left here would make mention of it.
"Jamie, you should be off that leg."
Well, almost no one.
James turned a tolerant gaze onto the pir- privateer. He sighed silently. Eventually he'd make up his mind about which appellation to use.
"I am quite well here, Jack," James protested mildly.
"Ah," Jack answered, the syllable chock full of meaning. "And that would be why your bandage is soaked through now, wouldn't it."
Looking down at his wounded thigh, which was indeed paining him, James grimaced.
"Come now, Jamie, it seems I'll be caring for you yet again," Jack said, a smiling hovering on his lips.
"Again?" James echoed, having giving up on breaking the habit of repeating some of Jack's more frustrating answers. "What makes you think I'll agree when I have already rebuffed not only George and Thomas, but the whirlwind Mrs. Turner?"
Jack stuck his thumbs in his belt. "I've more tricks up my sleeve than even Elizabeth's considerable arsenal," he said surely.
"Have you, then," James said drolly. "I cannot imagine what you would think you could say to convince me to endure your tender mercies." Though James withheld his smile, he could not stop the sparkle in his eyes as he watched his pirate.
"Is it a dare, then?" Jack asked brightly.
"Lord preserve us," James muttered. "A dare. Very well. What are the stakes?" He knew he should know better than this, to gamble with Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Hmm. Perhaps the location of your recuperation?" Jack proposed.
"Location? You mean the Black Pearl as opposed to my home?"
Jack's nose turned up. "House," he corrected in a mutter.
"House," James murmured in agreement.
"Aye, that's the wager," the pirate confirmed.
"Very well. So now, Jack, as I was saying, what makes you think I'll agree when I have already rebuffed not only George and Thomas, but Elizabeth as well?"
Jack very carefully tipped his head, studying the set of James's jaw, before taking the two steps to place himself within reach of James's arms while the commodore watched carefully. Jack raised his chin to meet James's eyes before he spoke.
"Please?"
James lost his breath as he felt his heart skip a beat, and at that moment, he couldn't have said whether his injury still pained him. His lips compressed as he shook his head ever so slightly in resignation. "Damn you," he breathed, not at all harshly. He could find no way whatsoever to protest, and James knew he in no way wished to.
Jack's smile was small and affectionate with no trace of mirth or triumph in it. He laid a hand upon James's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Come along then, Jamie." He slowly herded the limping commodore along the docks toward a boat to row them out to the Black Pearl.
They passed George and Thomas along the way, both of whom smartly tipped their hats and kept to their jobs of overseeing the securing of the many ships about the cove. But they did watch as James accompanied Jack without objection, and with a glance to one another, they agreed to keep to the Navy's work in the commodore's absence, as much as they agreed not to reveal James's whereabouts until he himself chose to do such.
The more James moved and attempted not to limp, the more his leg ached, occasionally reminding him with an acute, sharp sensation similar to the action that caused the wound in the first place. When he wavered just before climbing down into the small boat, he did not mention it when Jack placed a cautioning hand on his back.
Once aboard ship, Jack pointed toward the captain's cabin imperiously, and James barely cracked a smile as he went obediently, more than ready to sit down. Jack would join him after seeing to the ship sailing out of the cove to anchor further out in the sea.
Warm inside the protection of the Black Pearl, the cabin was shadowy despite the bright morning sunlight outside, and the warmth invaded James and relaxed him. Despite wanting to sit, he stood just inside the doors, watching as Jack moved gracefully over the slightly tipping deck as the crew pulled up the anchor and set the ship sailing for the open sea.
Leaning his head against the edge of the wooden door, James watched Jack, really seeing him in his element. In his home, his true home. He recalled Jack's words about setting foot on dry land more often. A visit, perhaps, but no extended stay, for sure. Dirt and stone were not made to support Jack Sparrow.
James felt a slight twinge of melancholy. Were that he was so free to sail the sea and feel the wind upon his face day in and day out. Yes, he'd nearly been reduced to that by the admiral's visit and the subsequent pirate attack, but he'd much rather have the choice himself.
So he would always know it had been his choice, and no one else's.
His choice to pursue a new sort of life, one possibly... hopefully... including a certain dashing pirate.
How astounding, James mused, that in just over two years of time past, and most likely only a bare month or two of actual time spent together, he and Jack would forge such an unlikely camaraderie, one built upon respect, admiration and a perplexing attraction James found himself craving more and more.
Now, if only he could discern a way to meld both his own lives together into one that might complement Jack's.
While two years ago, or even one, James would have considered Jack's actions on his behalf incomprehensible, now he knew better. Now he more than suspected the drive behind Jack's decisions. James sighed as he watched Jack move gracefully across the deck, gliding to a stop when he saw James watching him.
Jack cocked his head to one side, asking silently. James gave the slightest of shakes of his head. Jack looked the commodore up and down before gesturing for James to go inside with one bob, bounce, and tinkle of his head.
James's lips twitched, and he turned to disappear inside, unknowingly leaving Jack to stare after him, an open, yearning want upon his face.
Wandering the room for a bit, James finally sat down to take the pressure off his aching leg. He shook his head. Being around Jack had made him fanciful, even in his thoughts. He wondered what would happen next—how the next step would progress. Would it be more of the deep kisses and flaring passion? Would it be yet another retreat into ill-concealed attraction without actions or words? Or would it be those missing, afeared words, phrases that might set their intentions in stone or dash their hearts upon the cliffs?
Did he love Jack Sparrow?
The doors creaked slightly open and Jack stepped inside, carrying a waterskin and bowl of fruit and jerky, all of which he set aside after closing the doors firmly. He stopped aside James, not speaking until he apparently remembered he had something to say.
"That leg needs tending, Jamie," Jack said. "You need to rest," he added with a wag of his finger. Despite the forced, light manner, to James, Jack seemed subdued. Not downtrodden, but certainly of lower energy than usual.
"You need to rest, as well," James said.
"Aye," Jack agreed softly, holding out his hands to help James stand. "Let's get you fixed up first." He flashed one of his smiles, and James reflexively smiled in return as Jack led him across the room.
James stood next to the bunk as Jack unbuckled his belt for him, and the pirate helped him out of his jacket. James stood still and watched Jack solemnly as Jack carefully untied the laces on James's shirt and carefully pulled it over James's head.
There'd been nothing so intimate in James's life as Jack standing so close as to breathe James's own breath while unfastening James's trousers with nimble fingers, very deliberately not meeting James's eyes. James inhaled slowly and swallowed as Jack went down on one knee, eased the trousers over James's hips, and pulled them down his thighs, using both hands to carefully peel the stiff, bloodied leather and the soft, shredded cotton of his smallclothes free of the wound. James winced despite Jack's gentle ministrations, and the silence roared in his ears when Jack tipped his head back to look up at James from his knees, his hands surrounding James's calf.
As he met dark eyes with his own, James felt caught in a web of the finest threads, soft and warm, surrounding the two of them in a silken cocoon all of their own. The threads, tiny and nearly invisible, were oddly incandescent to his eyes. He could see them binding he and Jack together, gossamer threads of emotion and respect, of caring and commitment. The threads had drawn them inexorably together, as strong as the fury of the sea or the anger of the wind despite their fragile nature.
This was the connection between them, something barely there, but undeniable as the tide that tossed them in life's grand adventure.
Jack stood and fetched back a clean cloth and bowl of water. Urging James to sit on the edge of the bed, he cautiously wet the scabbed slice enough to pull the cotton free, leaving it to stretch across James's thighs and groin. Over and over Jack wet the cloth and squeezed water over the wound, washing it free of dirt and wiping away the dried blood to leave irritated, but clean flesh.
Another trip to a cabinet, and Jack came back with a length of clean cotton to wrap around James's thigh after treating it with a healing cream that eased the sting of the sliced skin exposed to air.
Without speaking, Jack urged James to scoot back onto the bed and take his ease in the slightly scratchy blankets. James was more than comfortable in only the brief shorts he now wore, and he shifted enough to rest on his back and settle his leg with a minimum of pain.
Through hooded eyes, James watched Jack clean up the supplies he'd used and then putter about the cabin, touching something and putting it back down, looking at something and looking away, seemingly unable to stop moving.
"Jack."
The pirate answered with a distracted "Hmmm?" as he started digging through a pile of maps, so obviously searching for nothing.
"Jack," James repeated, a little more softly.
Jack dragged his eyes to look over at James; James could see the worry and nerves in those dark orbs and the hunch of Jack's shoulders. With surety, James stretched his hand out across the mussed blankets.
"Come to bed."
The pirate blinked and stared.
James raised a brow. "I shall never sleep with you fluttering around so noisily," he teased gently. Why in the world Jack Sparrow was nervous, he could not imagine. But there it was, clear as the blue sky on a sunny day.
Jack peered at him for a long, long moment, and James began to fear Jack would demur. Then ever so slowly Jack's hands moved to his belt and unbuckled it. He set it and the sash aside, and shrugged out of the worn Navy jacket. He sat long enough to take off his boots, and when he stood in the shadows that met the hazy sunrays cutting through the wavy glass windows, his hand pulled gently at the headscarf James had never seen Jack without. The long mane, half braided, spilled forward about Jack's face and shoulders, blocking the light from his features.
James watched unmoving as Jack stepped to the bed barefoot, his fingers untying the laces of his loose shirt until it hung totally free, revealing a wiry body with ropy muscles, dark and tanned. James had seen Jack bare-chested before, on that long-ago stolen day on the Black Pearl, but this sight of Jack so quiet and so close was totally different.
There was no scrap of extra meat on Jack's body, yet he wasn't painfully thin. More ripcord to James's own willowy build. Aware of his own share of ship-built muscles, James could well appreciate the spill of illumination over Jack's silently prowling body.
Letting the shirt slide from his shoulders to pool on the floor, Jack sat on the edge of the bunk, dressed only in his trousers. They were both in the shadows now; the dim light reflected more from James's paler skin.
Jack sat still at James's side for uncounted minutes as they just watched one another. James felt no need to speak. They were here together, and it was enough. He felt at peace, a sensation he had somehow associated with this infuriating man who so eclipsed his waking thoughts.
Finally Jack moved, pulling his legs up onto the bed and carefully moving to curl on his side within the curve of James's arm. As James closed that arm around Jack's shoulder, Jack laid his head gently upon James's shoulder, pillowing his cheek just short of under James's chin. James could feel the spill of roughened hair over his collarbone and against his neck; it prickled, just like Jack's goatee against the soft skin of his inner arm.
Their breathing aligned as the quiet lengthened, barely disturbed by the creak and moan of the ship and the splashing of the sea against the hull—sounds as common to them both as their own breathing. James was drowsing when he felt Jack's hand coast over his waist to cover James's free hand. James opened his sleepy eyes to see dust motes dancing and spinning and floating like flecks of flashing, shining bronze in the golden light, and he slowly laced their fingers together and let their combined hands lie still, clasped against his belly.
James turned his chin gently to touch Jack's forehead and closed his eyes, allowing the fine threads to comfort him and the Black Pearl to rock him to sleep.
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