Guardian Angel 5

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and such all property of Disney.
Note: Terrible historical manipulation. There is no such thing as a Earl of Southsend.
Summary: New arrivals, and kittens.

The past few weeks had been extremely trying. Not only was he bored, out of having really nothing to do but wait for plans to be set in motion, he was burdened by guilt—an emotion that he wasn't very familiar with. The gifts had stopped a week back, with Jack being careful about powders, various other little traps and invisibility. Norrington had changed from an amused state of equilibrium that seemed akin to the confident, sarcastic Commodore Jack was used to, to with to a listless shadow of his former self. The damage seemed worse, overall, than what Beckett had done.

He supposed he couldn't really blame the Commodore. It had likely been a definite prop to his self-worth—and of course, a much-needed distraction—for somebody (even somebody who was technically a natural enemy) to want him so apparently (though Jack would maintain that he really, really didn't realize how the nightly visits would look to an observer). Norrington probably hadn't expected Jack to actually resist, let alone disappear completely off the face of Port Royal. What was worse, the occasional 'check' on his mental state showed that, rather predictably, Norrington was blaming himself for the disappearance—too forward, too intense.

Not to mention that occasionally, and to his consternation, Jack found Norrington shackled in dreams of a decidedly salacious nature involving his person when he checked on the man at night. Whenever Miyako felt like taking a break from training. He'd watched, fascinated, perched on the table, the first time, as the man writhed and moaned so prettily, rubbing himself against the sheets, his body instinctively seeking friction, then the pirate had fled with a guilty start when, with a shudder, at the end, lips shaped his name. Jack.

Erasing that seductive memory and the temptation had required some constructive thievery from the local tavern.

Miyako had been a little surprised when Jack insisted the next day that he'd pay visits on her at Weatherby Swann's residence for lessons.

When exactly had the Commodore actually started wanting him, anyway? When they were in the same area, last time, be it in Port Royal or on the decks of his Pearl, Norrington had always given Jack the impression that he absolutely detested him—and that his continued downtrodden luck was wholly Jack's fault. In fact, Jack had rather thought Norrington had stolen the heart simply as an act of malicious revenge.

Further speculation was cut short as a very elegant luxury ship cruised in to dock, flanked by warships. Jack blinked, as Miyako poked at his arm. "What?"

"Stop daydreaming," she said, and poked him again for good measure. "Look at that ship."

"What 'bout it?" Jack squinted. From here, he couldn't exactly make out the script at the prow.

"The Stormy Petrel." Miyako's black eyes gleamed with excitement. "Flagship of the Earl of Southsend. East India Company. I think he's the best chance we have."

"Daughter?" Jack asked, peering at the ship. Red-coated marines scurried around it in excitement.

"Sister, actually. Victor Arthur Tembury-Lysander is twenty-five, I believe Weatherby said. His twin sister is our eligible flower of English womanhood, Lady Katherine Tembury-Lysander." During the last few weeks, Miyako had picked up some of Jack's verbal mannerisms, to the pirate's amusement and to the petite Oriental woman's consternation.

"What makes ye think she'd be any interested in th'Commodore? Ain't it marryin' down, fer her?" Jack asked curiously. He wasn't very clear on Norrington's own... pedigree. Heh. But vaguely, he'd rather have thought that an Earl's sister would be far too high up.

"Weatherby said something along the lines of lurid gossip suggesting that Lady Katherine—perhaps aptly named—is prone to being seen on the arm of a different man every month, and all uncaring of the possible scandal that could be attributed to her name. The Earl of Southsend being powerful, and wealthy enough to provide a remarkable dowry, however, stills all but the most malicious of tongues." Miyako outlined the profile with a dramatic flair, revealing that she was likely enjoying the matchmaking business far more than Jack. "He has also been known to remark that he would like to see his sister... settled down, to any man of her choice. So long as, well, she settles down. Her last little fancy dug deep into his pocket."

"What fancy?" It was entirely possible, Jack decided, that Governor Swann somehow accumulated more gossip than ladies of leisure, even fishwives.

"A pet that she takes nearly everywhere with her," Miyako shrugged. "But I think her brother has a matching twin. Oh. There it is."

Jack watched in disbelief as a lady, dressed in extremely boyish riding gear—her only real concession to femininity a long, flowing white skirt worn over jodhpurs and elbow-length gloves, led a pawing black mare out onto the deck. She mounted it, circled once, and jumped the horse expertly over the side. Marines scrambled out of the way. Hooves skidded on the docks as it landed, and she waved to the men who rushed to the rail. Even from this distance, Jack could see that the one in the shiniest clothing was shaking his head as he disappeared below decks. And came back leading a very similar horse—but a stallion—but took it sedately down the gangplank instead.

"Raised in Montserrat, along with her brother. Governor Swann said they were possibly allowed to run a little too wild, since at that time they weren't inheriting and weren't really in favor. There was an older brother who did, up until recently. Illness of some sort." Miyako got to her feet, tugging at Jack's sleeve. "Come on."

Grumbling quietly at his tendency to accrue very pushy women, Jack followed Miyako down to the docks in a slow glide. Lady Katherine had dismounted, and her brother the Earl had caught up. Reins were handed to a frazzled-looking footman in crested dark blue livery, and they were chatting with a group of curious Port Royal social elite. Governor Swann occasionally put in a word or so. Miyako plucked at his sleeve again, and pointed—Lord Beckett was approaching, having just alighted from a carriage, his face carefully expressionless. Norrington's features seemed to shut down as he came closer—the man looked away, as if very interested in the make of the Stormy Petrel rather than the current exalted company.

"The Earl of Southsend, and Lady Katherine Tembury-Lysander," Lord Beckett smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. "Welcome to Port Royal."

"Lord Cutler Beckett." The Earl inclined his head. Only slightly taller than Jack, the Earl of Southsend still cut a striking figure in what was probably his 'tastefully dressed-down sailing outfit'—a dark brown coat, elaborately embroidered at the edges with gold thread, soft pale leather breeches, belts with intricate buckles across hips. A pale white scarf instead of a cravat, and a tricorn that put Jack's battered one to shame with its complex trimming. Wheat-gold hair was bound back by a blue ribbon, and the youthful face, all smile lines and firm jaw, was elegantly attractive. Ice-blue eyes, however, were coolly calculating.

Lady Katherine resembled her brother closely—she had the same blue eyes and bound long gold hair under her riding cap. Sun-hued strands curled over her pale blue riding outfit like erratic brocade. Where the Earl was handsome, she was gorgeous, if a head shorter. Her riding jacket did little to hide her curves, and she handled herself with unconscious, feline grace where her brother moved with the careful control of a wolf. She stretched a gloved hand out for Beckett to kiss, her smile mischievous "Why, Lord Beckett. I do believe we haven't met—you have yet to grace any of the little social parties around these parts. I do hope you intend to remedy that travesty at the Governor's expense."

Lord Beckett smirked, even as he went through the formalities. "Perhaps so. In the meantime, it would be my honor to extend to you the hospitalities of the Port Royal branch of the East India Company." He glanced at the Earl as he said this, his modulated tone in itself an unruffled challenge. Like hounds squaring off over territory. Jack was aware that Miyako was snickering in a very unladylike fashion somewhere at his elbow.

Lady Katherine, however, immediately linked her hand on her brother's arm, her smile artfully merry. "I'm sure Victor and I will be absolutely charmed, Lord Beckett, but Governor Swann was generous enough to offer us the use of his home."

Jack and Miyako exchanged glances. She looked surprised. "They're a team," Jack said, gesturing at how the Earl proceeded to prevail on Governor Swann to introduce just about everybody to his sister. Velvet glove, steel gauntlet. "Ye sure ye looked close enough on why she ain't married?"

"No, no. Not that," Jack said, glancing back at the twins. "I meant... I think th'Earl o' Southsend, an' said pillar o' th'East India Company... s'really two people. A double act, an' a good one." Marriage would probably be disruptive to their little arrangements.

"Watch." Jack sidled up next to the pair, as they were speaking to some matronly Lady clad, despite the stifling heat, in a remarkable number of dead animals. That is to say, furs. "If she feels 'e should do th'talkin', her hand moves t'the right, just a wee bit. If he wants her t'speak, his hand moves down a little. Pretty sure there're more signs we be missin', but they be coordinatin' each other's reactions t'everythin'."

"'Cos there be some things a lady can say that a man can't, an' vice versa." Lady Katherine spoke charmingly and prettily to the matronly Lady, but the Earl was the one to reply to the woman's husband's question about their voyage. Each time, Lady Katherine was the sibling who spoke to Lord Beckett, whenever the man made any mention at all of business, airily talking about the weather, horses or fashion—and the Earl was the one to speak to Governor Swann, whenever the man asked about family, his replies tersely polite. Each sibling was the other's shield, and sword.

Jack and Miyako watched closely as the introductions moved down to the Commodore, who smiled politely, shaking hands with the Earl, brushing his lips over the gloved hand of his sister. The Earl's arm moved, and his weight shifted almost imperceptibly onto his left foot. Lady Katherine blushed prettily, on cue, and smiled shyly at Norrington. "We hear so much about your exploits over at Monserrat, Commodore. Did you really find a pirate treasure island in the middle of the sea?"

"Now, now, Katherine," the Earl said indulgently. "We can't really be bothering the Commodore with such flights of fancy."

A skillful setup. Would the Commodore show himself to be a ladies' man, by chivalrously going to Lady Katherine's rescue, or the uptight British officer, agreeing with the brother? Either way, Jack knew that would instantly cue calculation, speculation. To discard, to befriend, or to control. Very probably not a good choice for a vulnerable Norrington already struggling under another man's thumb...

Jack turned to Miyako, dismissing Lady Katherine as a good match. "An' who's our second best choice?"

Norrington, however, was speaking, his smile wry, green eyes darting between the both of them. Jack let out a breath—obviously, the Commodore had picked up on the subtleties of the twins' silent interactions. "You'd be surprised, Lord Tembury-Lysander, how many flights of fancies cross my desk in the form of official reports every week. Treasure, however, does seem to be a popular topic amongst the ladies, perhaps inappropriately so."

A pointed look at the sapphire-studded pendant at Lady Katherine's throat, and just the faintest hint of disparaging wit. Jack, circling behind Norrington, saw the Earl's eyes flicker slightly, and both twins smiled, faintly, very briefly—acknowledging that they knew that Norrington had found them out, and were impressed. "Will we be seeing you at the soiree, Commodore?" Lady Katherine asked playfully.

"I'm sure James can take time off his busy schedule," Governor Swann said, with a benign smile. Beckett looked thoughtfully at him, then at Norrington, then back at Lady Katherine.

Norrington glanced at Governor Swann, rather suspiciously, then shrugged, evidently thinking there was no real harm in acceding. "I suppose so."

"Wonderful!" Lady Katherine clapped her hands in girlish delight, then her hand went back onto her brother's arm, her forefinger pressing lightly into the cloth. The Earl said something politely dismissive, and they were introduced to some other couple.

"Don't worry. I looked at the guest list. There are lots of... possibilities." Miyako looked as though she were enjoying herself thoroughly. "How romantic! It's as though the Commodore is a prince, and all these women are potential consorts."

Miyako rolled her eyes. "You're beginning to sound like he's your son. Remember, we're not matchmaking, we're merely presenting... opportunities, for him to choose."

"Not matchmakin'?" Jack raised an eyebrow, ignoring the comment about overprotectiveness. "Y'sure?"

"Okay. Maybe a little." Miyako admitted. "If you say Lady Katherine is a dangerous choice... I rather like Lady Evelyn. Or maybe Miss Hatherway. Both very pretty. Rich. Important fathers in the East India Company. Young. Wide hips, children would be easy."

Jack wasn't sure he really wanted to know about that last bit. "We're not exactly selectin' cows here, luv."

"It's an important consideration," Miyako pointed out. "Narrow hips, difficult childbirth, complications and maybe death." She pursed her lips. "This new one... Lady Rosemary? Too thin. Too thin and you can't have children. Forehead not high, maybe stupid."

The brightly-dressed lady in question seemed to be trying to hide behind her father, blushing, fluttering an embroidered fan, almost painfully shy, brown eyes wide as she took in the busy dock.

"Though... some men, they like her sort." Miyako added, with disdain. Lady Rosemary squealed in shock as, at the harbor proper, a cat ran across her path. She dropped the fan. Men scrambled to pick it up for her. "Somebody fluffy to protect. But since Norrington's previous love is Miss Elizabeth, I doubt Lady Rosemary will really be his type."

"I think 'e'd be lookin' fer... brains, and pretty," Jack tapped his lip. "An' fire, like 'Lizabeth."

Miyako was definitely far more amused with their ploy than Jack was. "We could split up. Scope out the ladies. See which ones match those attributes... and arrange things."

Miyako rolled her eyes. "Obviously, we're only going to be presenting practical opportunities. It's not meant to be a short-term solution, is it? You said you were thinking of grounding Norrington with a family. That's a lifelong commitment."

"Aye," Jack nodded, faintly annoyed at himself for feeling... possessive. That Norrington would settle down, with a girl, have kids. Forget a dead pirate. Look at another person with the same intensity in those incredible green eyes.

Miyako guessed at the source of Jack's distraction, if a little inaccurately. She patted his arm comfortingly. "That's the way it gets with the first charge. You start feeling... motherly. Fatherly, in your case. Too protective. It's better to just interfere minimally, in this part of their lives."

Jack managed a shade of his usual impish grin. "An' did ye interfere a lot wi' Weatherby's choice o' partner?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. Weatherby's my third case. Or... the marriage probably wouldn't have gone ahead. I mentioned something earlier about narrow hips, didn't I?"

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching as Lady Rosemary's essential luggage was unloaded. And unloaded. And unloaded. Even Miyako was impressed. "Goodness. Does her father own an army of tailors?"

James the kitten, unconcerned, tried to hiss at him, but grudgingly mewed instead when he put it on one palm and stroked tiny little ears. "There be Beckett, an' Norrington. So far I be thinkin', everythin' would be solved if Norrington got married. But what if Beckett did that? Mebbe 'e'd then have better things t'do."

The creature he was speaking to ignored him, instead nibbling on one of Jack's fingers. Jack stared thoughtfully at it, then absently reached down to break up some roughhousing. "Hey, hey. Steady on yer brothers an' sisters, when the lot o' ye be too close t'delicate equipment. An' no bitin' wings."

Jack scratched at his neck with his free hand, watching James the kitten paw at his thumb. Perhaps the idea wasn't that good, after all.

"Or it may not change anythin'. Could be 'e'd just control his wife, an' th'Commodore. Worse, it could give Beckett more power." Jack nibbled at his lip, even as he put James the kitten back gently on the ground, watching it attempt to savage his boots. He looked up towards a balcony on a higher floor. At least the real James' mood seemed to have improved, around when the arrivals were petering to a halt. He hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Norrington why via 'suggestion', not really wanting to hear the answer.

They were in the space between the administrative building proper and the barracks. Jack leaned against a rainwater barrel and patted the ginger mother cat as she returned from a bowl of cream (stolen... borrowed, as it were, from the Commodore's pantry). She slid lazily into his lap, nudging out the kittens, and purred as he petted warm fur. "So. Mebbe not so good an idea. 'Sides, m'not sure I really want t'foist Beckett off on some poor unsuspecting gel. T'will be right cruel."

James the kitten climbed on top of maternal flanks, and sprawled onto its side. It hissed at William the kitten when said sibling attempted to follow suit. William cowered. Jack poked James in the side, and put William up on the furry side. "Now, we're s'posed t'be sharin', here." He supposed he really should talk to Miyako.

Giving that up as a bad job, Jack went to look in on Beckett, who was not at his office. He checked briefly around the EIC mansion, then decided to try another trick. "Beckett." Snapped fingers.

Smudged painting effects, and he was in the air above the meadows beyond Port Royal. There was a confused, panicky moment as he plummeted, then he banked, looking down.

Beckett was out riding with the Earl and Lady Katherine, followed discreetly by several footmen, Mister Mercer, and various other people apparently essential to people of status. Jack hovered closer, but was bored—Beckett and the Earl were merely discussing foxhunting grounds in England, the pedigree of the white stallion, the black horses, and the sport of kings. Lady Katherine rode between them, occasionally intersecting with some playful anecdote whenever the conversation turned to business.

Jack pouted, not liking how this was turning out. Beckett wasn't supposed to be getting close to said rival East India Company lords...

He supposed it was only courtesy, since they were likely... peers, and associates in business—but he didn't exactly see the other merchant princes of the Company invited along on the ride. Then again, none of them were rich and powerful Earls, either.

"... I would have thought that you would have been far too busy to come to this little affair," Beckett was remarking, possibly attempting to find a chink in the Earl's armor (Lady Katherine) simply by persistence. Perhaps he felt that while riding, the system of body language cues would be disrupted, and something would slip past. Jack didn't doubt that Beckett likely had noticed the twins' subtle little play.

"Poor Victor dotes far too much on me," Lady Katherine smiled sweetly, parrying neatly. "I wished to take a look at this fast growing little harbor town, so he had to oblige. But you're a long way from Madras, Lord Beckett. How does it compare?"

Beckett smirked, unsurprised that both brother and sister were equally well informed. "It's quieter. But not too bad."

"I heard that you came here bearing arrest warrants for Commodore Norrington, and Governor Swann's daughter," the Earl said off-handedly, as if he wasn't really curious but simply was thinking of something to say.

"Oh? Do tell," Lady Katherine's red lips formed a little 'o' of apparent scandalized shock.

"Ah. It turns out there was simply a misunderstanding," Beckett shrugged. "As you can see, the Commodore has been reinstated. I'm not sure where Miss Swann is or what she's doing, but she won't be a criminal when she returns."

"A mistake corrected by your efforts," the Earl continued, as they slowed to a sedate trot. "Very commendable, if a little surprising."

Another smirk. "Of course. To do anything less would be grave injustice. The Commodore is very capable."

Lady Katherine immediately started a long train of inquiry involving the very smart dress uniforms of British Naval Officers, leaving Jack to wonder at the subtext of the conversation.

The cream. The stolen bowl. Jack groaned, and wondered how he'd managed to be so bloody obvious and not even realize it.

He went to the specified area early. It was really just a grassy cliff that overlooked the sea, hidden from the meadows by thick copses of trees. Sat down, cross-legged, and waited, sulkily looking out to sea. Making sure he was visible, save the wings, and with some effort, managed to cast a shadow. The spot was far enough from the port, to be relatively private though he could still see the faint outlines of ships anchored offshore, to his left. Gulls wheeled below, scything over his view of the pristine white beach.

When he heard steps through the soft turf behind him, he muttered, "What did ye do t'the cats?"

"They've just been temporarily moved to an empty stall in the stables," Norrington said pleasantly. He sat down next to Jack, though without touching him. The Commodore was in his semi-formal administrative outfit—the works, but without the inner dress coat. "It didn't take very long for me to connect a complaint from my housekeeper that someone's been at the cream and that a bowl had been stolen, with overheard gossip from the men that the fort cats have been looking far sleeker than normal."

"I only took a wee bit each time," Jack inspected his still unnervingly clean nails. "An' I was goin' t'return th'bowl, just forgot 'bout it." A sidelong glance of annoyance. "I thought ye'd be above kidnappin' innocent furry animals, mate."

"They weren't kidnapped. Just relocated. And better fed," Norrington stretched long legs out over the grass, and leaned back. "Also, one of them tried to bite me."

"That's probably James," Jack smirked as Norrington glanced over and arched an eyebrow.

"Ye'd be surprised how many bad tempered people say they ain't bad tempered, mate."

A wry chuckle. Silence, and the shrill calls of birds, wheeling beneath them. Jack turned his gaze back to the far-away outlines of ships, gray and brown against the vast blue.

"Where have you been?" Norrington asked finally, deciding to change the subject. He didn't look at Jack, but at the beach far below.

Norrington sighed, and dipped his head, then spoke quietly. "All right. I'm sorry."

"Seems better that way," Jack replied absently. "Don't get me wrong, 'tis not like I wasn't tempted, but a man o' yer rank, s'posed t'be thinkin' o' th'future..." He paused suddenly, realizing he'd let slip a little too much.

Norrington had noticed—the man was wearing a sweet, almost silly grin. Warm green eyes that twinkled with suppressed joy. Too attractive, even with that bloody ridiculous wig. "What makes you think that I haven't been considering the future?"

"The lack o' a gel an' kids, p'haps?" Jack said hastily, and decided to advance the cause that he and Miyako had so painstakingly constructed up to date. "There be lots o' pretties around here'bouts now, ye should go fishin' a little."

A snort, then Norrington leaned over, close enough such that warm breath ghosted over Jack's lips. Hats bumped—Jack's was displaced. "Now. What makes you think I'm interested in having... a girl, and children?"

"There was 'Lizabeth," Jack suggested, knowing he should really pull away, but not being able to.