Guardian Angel 6

Compromises

by

Manic Intent

Norrington frowned and pulled back, arching an eyebrow, and Jack realized he'd said that out loud. The Commodore was panting quite prettily, pressed up against Jack's side on the grass, one hand around the small of the pirate's back, the other stroking his cheek. "Who's Miyako?"

Jack closed his eyes, fought down the grin at the edge of jealous suspicion so obvious in Norrington's voice, and rested his forehead against the other man's shoulder. He considered the relative sins of a guardian angel sleeping with his charge, accepting proffered affections and hence royally screwing over said charge's life, as compared to showing him irrefutable evidence of why he may have to consider going to church regularly. Doing the wrong thing, but in lesser degrees. And Oriental guardian angels, furious at him breaking up carefully laid plans.

"She's a guardian angel," he said, quietly.

Norrington stared at him, then tilted his head and chuckled. "Is that some sort of euphemism?"

"No. Listen, mate. There's somethin' ye really should know." Jack prodded Norrington's shoulder. "I died, out at sea, wi' me Pearl, t'the giant beastie."

A snort. Hands patted his cheek, then fingers pressed over his heart. Felt the beat of a habit that was very difficult for Jack's body to stop. "I think you've been out in the sun too long, Jack."

First names, already. Jack, however, felt no pleasure—his answer was a wry, sad smile. "Watch." He willed his wings to stop being invisible.

There was a sharp inhalation of breath. A wide-eyed stare of shock that was only comical—one hand closed on his wrist in a bruising grip. Norrington opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, his mind unable to process the words required. Jack bowed his head, his lip quirking, and poked at the restraining fingers. "Right. Now ye know. An' that's exactly why I said it wasn't a good idea, mate, y'know, courtin' me."

Norrington didn't let him go, instead tentatively pushing fingers into soft feathers, stroking the white arch of the wing. "Incredible." Fingers stroked circles down to his back, tracing muscles that could not have existed when Jack was alive. The pirate grit his teeth. That felt far, far better than it should have, blasphemously so, and he was fighting the urge to purr. "So you er, made it to Heaven."

Jack rolled his eyes. It seemed that whenever Norrington was in a state of shock, he tended simply to say the first thing that came to his mind, however ill fitting. "Ye thought otherwise?"

"What's it like?" Norrington asked the most predictable question, curiously.

"Ye'd find out mebbe in fifty years, mate," Jack tugged irritably at the fingers on his wrist, deciding he didn't really want to go into details about clerical errors. "Ye goin' t'let me go, or not?"

"No." Norrington said firmly, and pulled Jack into his lap. Sprawled over long legs, his head tucked under the Commodore's chin, Jack yelped, squirming, wings arcing behind him for balance.

He growled, twisting, then gave up as an arm curled around his side, holding him in place. "Commodore."

"James." Norrington corrected.

"Want t'tell me why ye'd be... why ye'd be doin'..." Jack took a deep breath, and reorganized his thoughts. "M'dead, mate. T'aint right. T'aint nothin' in this fer ye."

"I killed you, didn't I. Indirectly," Norrington said softly, the hand on his wrist going up to pet a wing, exploring crisp white feathers. "Is that why you're here?"

"Nope," Jack said quickly. "Totally opposite reason. An' I've already broken enough... rules, showin' ye this." A deep sigh. "Kissin' ye."

"How can it be wrong?" Norrington murmured, removing Jack's hat and placing it on the grass, then nuzzling his hair.

"How can it not be wrong?" Jack poked the warm arm around his waist. "M'sure there's lots o' examples written down somewhere, th'sin o' an angel consortin' wi' a human. An' there be good reason. I can't make ye happy. T'aint real, an' sooner or later, I'd have t'go."

"Nobody can stay with another person for eternity," Norrington shrugged, muscles moving under Jack. More softly, "And you're already making me happy. Like this."

Jack groaned, wondering why Commodores had to choose the worst times to be absolutely illogical and stubborn to the point that pirates felt their conviction beginning to erode. "Look, mate. I won't age wi' ye. An' I'm not even warm anymore. I have no reflection an' I don't cast shadows. After a while, I won't even have... human traits. I'd forget t'breathe." A sigh. "Mebbe I'd forget how t'want another person." A pause. "Ye know, a normal, sane person would'a run screamin' by now. Summat like that. Mebbe gone into denial." A growl. "An' a normal person would'a accepted me logic 'bout how this relationship can't work out, wi'out givin' me so much grief."

Norrington seemed to ignore him, instead gently pulling at one wing, studying how muscles flexed. "So. What do you do nowadays? Haunt other people?"

The absolutely surreal nature of this conversation was beginning to unnerve Jack, and he'd had his share of surreal conversations over the past few months. "Ye know, I'd feel better if ye went into hysterics."

Norrington glanced down and arched an eyebrow at him. "Should I?"

"Mm." So warm. Nice, masculine scent. Starch.

"All right." Norrington tilted his head again, and intoned in a dry voice, as if reading off some invisible script, "Oh God, Jack, you're dead, and you're an angel, I can't believe my eyes and I think I've probably either been working too hard, or going insane, or both. And I just kissed you, which is probably blasphemous in every religion, but I really want to do it again, and possibly suggest further blasphemous things to do to your person." A pause. "Sufficient? And where's your halo?"

"Ye really should be takin' this seriously, mate," Jack pouted, ignoring the way a certain part of his body stirred with interest at Norrington's words.

"Coming from you, I suppose I really should give pause," Norrington retorted. "Really, Jack. After what your actions have put me through for the past... few months... was it undead pirates, and Davy Jones' rather singular crew, you'd think my grasp of reality would be somewhat less stubborn."

"Just so ye know, bein' an angel is why I was checkin' in on ye at nights," Jack said sulkily. He disliked it when people didn't react the way he thought they would.

"I'm still flattered," Norrington informed him dryly, and punctuated this by pressing a kiss on dreadlocks.

"No, I meant... I'm s'posed to," Jack said, before realizing he had previously decided not to say anything about guardianship.

"Why?" Norrington, to Jack's dismay, came upon the reason himself. "You mentioned some person... angel... called Miyako. Are you a guardian angel now?" the smooth voice was all but vibrating with suppressed laughter. "Because if you are, that would be absolutely... ironic."

"'Tis not funny," Jack muttered.

"So, whose guardian angel are you?" Norrington smirked into his hair. "Should I start checking in on newborn babies in Port Royal? Warn the parents, perhaps?"

"Yours, mate," Jack said irritably, deciding that since he'd already gone this far, he might as well simply go all the way. "Yer previous one was reassigned, around a little before when ye first met me, an' they didn't have enough t'go 'round t'give ye a replacement. Hence, apparently, all th'bad luck."

"So you're Heaven's way of an apology?" Norrington patted a wing, fascinated by the soft textures. "If so, I rather think I'd accept."

Jack rolled his eyes. "T'aint that at all. They think that everythin' that's happened t'ye so far is me fault, so I should make up fer it. In return, if they think I'm doin' a decent job, then I'd get accepted t'Heaven. There. Nothin' bout apologies. Ye know, that's possibly a sign o' an ego bigger than mine, ye assumin' that straight off." It was definitely not logical. Why would Heaven want to apologize to a human?

Though, then again, it sounded suspiciously... true. If Norrington had already been... wronged, by the bureaucracy, why send someone without training and who was likely to, given his past record, bungle or make mischief, out to guard said person? Ensure his happiness? Why not simply assign Jack to any other person?

No, that didn't seem right. They could simply restore Jack to the living, not give him all this business with wings and responsibilities under the threat of high stakes... wait.

Being an angel had, so far to date, made Jack think more about what was right and wrong, see more clearly how consequences stacked from his actions, than he ever had in his life. If one looked at it that way...

Or it could simply be his rather palpable and selfish wish to want to be with the very handsome man currently cradling him in his lap that was shaping that thought. Besides, Jack wasn't sure whether Higher Powers would be so concerned over the fate of a single Commodore in the face of infinity to go about so much trouble to ensure his happiness, in such a convoluted way. And all his previously voiced fears about how being an angel would change him out of being anything human enough to make said Commodore happy, were all valid, as well.

"I'm sorry to say this, but that sounds no more logical than my theory," Norrington said mildly, having come to the same conclusions as Jack had. "You're not exactly... very capable guardian angel material, are you?"

Jack thought a little guiltily of wyvern-spear brands, took a deep breath, and played his other card. Emotional manipulation. "'Tis all supposition on yer part. What if by doin' this I end up goin' t'hell? Ye don't want that t'happen t'me, do ye?"

"Mm. Jack. I've seen your... list of crimes, against the Crown, and I'm fairly sure quite a few of them are also crimes against Heaven. Say, dressing up as a member of the clergy. Armed thievery. Even your association with the lowlifes of Tortuga has likely tainted your immortal soul. I'm sure that what you're doing now probably doesn't even come close to what you've already done, while you were alive."

"If I'm startin' now wi' a clean slate before evaluation..."

"Besides, I'd very gladly assume all responsibility. For corrupting an angel, perhaps." Norrington said playfully. He ran fingers over the ridge of one wing, murmuring, "I didn't think it was possible for you to get any more beautiful."

"Oh, no ye don't," Jack twisted up in Norrington's lap to glare at the other man, ignoring the compliment. "Don't ye be sayin' those things just like that. Responsibilities."

"So what do you want me to do, Jack?" The playfulness disappeared. Hands gripped his waist. "Forget you?" He bowed his head. "Jack. A... a long time ago. Remember we met, on the docks? With Elizabeth?"

"Aye." Jack said, wondering where this was going.

"And... I opened your compass."

"Ye said it didn't point north."

"No. It pointed at you."

"Oh." Jack blinked, speechless. "Um."

"I didn't really think about it then, up until I found out much later in Tortuga what the compass really did. When you handed it to Elizabeth. It was a rude shock." Norrington said quietly. "I didn't really want to believe it. Forced myself not to think about it. Then I came back to Port Royal, and..." A deep breath. "You probably know, then. What Beckett's been doing. To me."

"Aye." Jack's hand instinctively headed for Norrington's cheek, but he pulled it back. "I've seen. M'sorry."

"For what? You didn't cause it. Though now that I think of it, the rather unbelievable prank with mice in Beckett's drawer likely had a supernatural cause." Norrington looked up with a wry smile, his eyebrow arched. "I was wondering who could have dared to do that to Beckett."

"I did it," Jack admitted. "T'was th'first or second day o' me comin' back t'Earth. But I didn't think 'e'd take it out on ye."

"Hardly your fault, Jack. You couldn't have known," Norrington pulled Jack up against him, petting an arm. "So. I don't think I could have survived, the month or so of... of what he was doing. Without thinking. Of you."

"Eh?" Jack hated how his brain was refusing to come up with any sort of coherent reply to these revelations.

"So as... not to think about it too much. I'd wonder what it'd be like. To do that... things like that. To you. Not as a service, but out of, well." A harsh laugh. "I don't think it really helped my peace of mind very much in total, I guess. I think I could have been on the verge of breaking... then I found you stealing rum from my cupboard. And lately Beckett hasn't been calling on me, so... I guess I've been healing. Slowly. Up until I thought you left... that I'd scared you away."

"Ah." Jack knew Beckett had been too busy of late to advance any further plans about captaining said submersible ship, thanks to 'suggestions' from himself and, occasionally, and to Jack's surprise, Miyako. And the soiree should give them yet another breather. A deep sigh. "Yer makin' things really difficult."

"So. What do you suggest we do?" Norrington asked, mildly. "To make things easier for you."

"What I suggest you do," Jack corrected, "Is t'enjoy th'soiree. Make some lady friends, mebbe think o' settlin' down."

Norrington's lip quirked. "I should have known you were somehow behind that. It seemed far too random for Governor Swann to have suddenly thought of it himself." Dryly. "So. You want me to enjoy myself at this gathering, and socialize with eligible women. What do I get in return?"

"Eh?" Jack waved his fingers vaguely in front of Norrington's face. "The possibility o' future happiness wi' little Norringtons?"

"I find it very odd how you continue to be convinced that I can only be happy if married, with children," Norrington said mildly. "Whatever gave you that idea? Proposing to Elizabeth? I assure you, when I did that, I wasn't thinking of the whole issue of 'settling down' and raising a family at all."

"Then what?"

"I was offering myself to an individual who I wanted and loved. No expectations attached." Norrington shrugged. "What would make me happy, Jack, is to have someone else. A partner who would... care for me." Quietly. "At this moment, the person I'm thinking of isn't exactly any of the women who recently arrived in Port Royal."

"I'm askin' ye t'give them a chance." Jack poked Norrington's nose, refusing to give in. "Keep yer options open, savvy."

"Jack. If you weren't... if you were alive. Would you have... have accepted." The pirate found the little stammer that sometimes crept into Norrington's voice when the man was wearing his heart on his sleeve so very endearing.

"M'findin' it very hard t'refuse, even now," Jack said gently, but firmly. "But I am. Refusin'."

"Just because you're... dead."

"Ye know, they have a word, fer likin'... dead," Jack said dryly. "An' if I recall, t'wasn't a nice word."

"I hardly think that applies in this context," Norrington replied severely. "What makes you different from the living? A difference in body temperature and the lack of a heartbeat?"

"Also immortality an' uh, other abilities," Jack pointed out.

"And do any, any of those... differences you've mentioned, change who you are? Rather than what you are?"

"Could be that'd change. Could be I'd become less... human. More angel."

"There're humans who easily change into becoming less human, while still being technically human." Norrington didn't look at the brand on his arm while he said this, but he didn't need to. "I'm willing to take that chance on you."

"Yer really single-minded, mate," Jack groused. "M'surprised ye gave up on 'Lizabeth so easy."

"It was hard," Norrington admitted. "But she didn't want me. It would not have been... human, to make her keep her word. I wanted her to be happy." He glanced over the cliff, for a moment, his smile wry. "What would make you happy, Jack?"

"T'be alive again, wi' me Pearl, out on th'sea," Jack said quietly. "But I'd settle fer ye bein' happy. Wi' somebody alive, who loves ye back. I'd rather ye gave that a chance."

Norrington brought up one nut-brown palm, and pressed his lips to the fingers. "You want me to let you go. Give you up."

"Aye."

"That'd make you happy."

"... aye."

"You know, for a pirate, you're remarkably bad at lying, sometimes." A sigh. "All right. I'd give the soiree a chance. A real chance. But I want something in return."

"What?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"I want you to think really hard on giving this—giving us a chance."

"M'not sure if that's really..."

"I rather think the Norrington who gave so much of a damn about what was right or wrong died, chasing you into a hurricane," Norrington snapped, intense green eyes holding Jack's startled dark ones. "Besides, I do recall that you used to be in love with a ship."

Jack thought about this. Norrington wasn't asking him to give 'them' a chance, merely to think about it. And technically, he had, already, done so. And had already come to a conclusion. So... it wasn't really much of a consideration, from him. "Awlright."

"That includes not... disappearing. Once I let you go."

"Hold on, that wasn't in th'wordin'," Jack said quickly, fluttering his fingers and leaning back. "An' I have t'disappear, mate. I'm s'posed t'be dead, aye?"

"I mean when we're alone. Like this. I want to see you." Norrington stroked Jack's cheek. Warm fingers, exploring the edge of his moustache.

"I don't think ye'd really be up t'keepin' yer side o' th'bargain, wi' that sort o' stipulation, mate," Jack said dryly. "Wi' yer past track record in mind, an' all."

"Then we don't have an agreement."

"Mate, these terms are totally unrelated t'the original thing ye wanted back in return."

"They are now."

Jack glared at Norrington, who held his gaze evenly. Grumbling under his breath, Jack was the first to give. "Fine. Keep a cat."

"What? Why?"

"If ye want t'know when I'm about," Jack said irritably. "Cats can see angels. Don't ask me why. But don't ye be movin' th'family o' cats from th'fort, they like it there."

Norrington nodded slowly. "I see."

"Awlright. See ye later." Jack tried to rise, but found that he was still being held firmly against Norrington's frame. "Hey."

"We have some unfinished business," Norrington said mildly. A hand rubbed suggestively down Jack's side.

"There ain't goin' t'be any finishin' o' businesses," Jack growled, catching the wayward hand by the wrist. His body protested. "'Leastways not 'till after th'soiree."

"Not in the terms."

"They are now."

This time, Norrington gave, with obvious reluctance. "Fine." A pause, then more dryly, "I'd never have figured you for a matchmaker."

"Workin' wi' what I had, seemed like th'best way t'solve yer problems," Jack said defensively. He tried to get up again, but found himself still firmly locked in place. "Commodore..."

"James."

"Fine. James. Let go."

"Let me hold you. For a while." A soft breath of air over his scalp, that could have been 'please'.

Jack hesitated, then grudgingly relaxed. Watched fingers trace the spines of flight feathers, and thought about the abstract concept of voluntary damnation.

Through Governor Swann's insistence, Norrington was obliged to go for several of the social functions, which he did, with reluctance. The Governor, however, was very pleased (Miyako reported) that the Commodore actually seemed to be showing an interest in the lades—to the extent of actively engaging them in small talk. Jack convinced himself that he was definitely not jealous—and that the terms of their agreement were, indeed, of his making.

Miyako expanded her 'potentials' to include a Miss Betherst and a Miss Glace. She filled Jack in on their profiles with all the obsessive detail of a professional matchmaker, as they trailed behind the Lords and Ladies out on a foxhunt. Somewhere around when Miyako started speculating how the very sweet, if not conventionally thin Miss Betherst was more likely to be able to breastfeed children than the rail-thin, solemn Miss Glace, Jack decided he had better head off the conversation before he absorbed far too much unwanted detail.

"But who's yer favorite choice?" he asked, over the din of hounds straining at the leashes to get at the caged imported fox, held by a scarlet-coated whippers-in.

That got Miyako thinking for a while, allowing Jack to observe this rather brutal and skewed gentleman's sport. Most of the men wore elaborate scarlet jackets, with more dour, dusty-red ones worn by the huntsman and his assistants. The women wore less elaborate riding dresses, all sitting sidesaddle on sensible horses, save for Lady Katherine, distinctive in her tailored red coat and white skirt concession, straight-backed and proud next to her brother, her mare snorting and impatient for the run, ignoring the disapproving murmurs about her. Lord Beckett was also visible, marked out by the spirit of his stallion, watching those about him with disdain.

As far as Jack knew of the sport, they'd let the fox out, set the hounds after it, and then all the horses would try and ride it down, where the fox would likely be shot to pieces or torn up. He had been fairly surprised at Governor Swann's resourcefulness in locating requisite staff, sufficient horses, and the fox, as well as finding sufficient space to hold a hunt. They were somewhere in the countryside behind Kingston, rather than in Port Royal. The hunt would be followed by lunch at the Governor of Kingston's residence, then a leisurely cruise back to Port Royal.

The Governor of Kingston—one Governor Horner, seemed to be old friends with Weatherby Swann—they rode sedately on geldings to a side, sporting their massive periwigs and discussing regional politics. Norrington rode beside them, clearly not very comfortable on a horse, and pointedly wearing his Naval dress uniform, despite the heat. Not hunting then, the Commodore.

Occasionally, Jack caught Norrington looking around, especially at empty spaces, as if looking for something no one else could see. He smirked. Likely, the Commodore was wishing for a pack of cats rather than hounds.

"And so I think the best choice is still Miss Hatherway," Miyako concluded. Jack nodded hastily, before she realized that he hadn't been listening. "You know, Jack, I'm really glad you came along, after all. I haven't had this much fun in decades."

"Glad t'oblige, luv," Jack said dryly.

"Who's your favorite choice?" Miyako asked curiously.

Jack had, as Miyako had suggested, split up to check out the ladies. Several of the latecomers had been other eligible bachelors, however, also here to scope out a match—which could be a problem. Or perhaps not. It was hard to tell. "I'm thinkin' Lady Savony. Pretty. Uncle in th'Navy out in th'Indies. Lots o' Naval family history. Sense o' humor."

"She squints," Miyako said disapprovingly. "And her voice is a little shrill. Like chicken."

"Now, luv, I don't disparage yer choices an' ye don't disparage mine," Jack said mildly. "Yer Miss Hatherway isn't really in th'realm o' slim an' gorgeous either."

"And Norrington hasn't been looking at your Lady Savony," Miyako said triumphantly. "But he has been talking with Miss Hatherway. I saw them. Besides, it's just a little baby fat. It'd disappear."

Jack had also seen Norrington speak to various women, including the charming, if a little plump Miss Hatherway, but he managed to grin. "Me bet's on Lady Savony."

"Fine. I bet Miss Hatherway. What are the stakes?"

"Loser takes over winner's duties for a month, winner gets a brief vacation back in Heaven," Jack decided. He had some questions he wanted to ask Barachiel, anyway.

"Done. You're going to regret this," Miyako said gleefully.

"No cheatin'."

"Of course." Miyako nodded impatiently.

The fox was loose, soon a russet blur over the grass. Then the hounds, after it was deemed that it had a sufficient head start, and the hunters who wished to give chase. Jack lingered hesitantly next to Norrington, who didn't seem interested, but Miyako tugged at his arm. "Come on!"

Grumbling, they took to the air, following the tide of bloodthirsty nobility. Soon, however, it was very obvious that there were only three real contenders for the chase—Lord Beckett, Lady Katherine and the Earl of Southsend, with effortless jumps and skilful navigation of obstacles.

"I'm beginnin' t'feel sorry for it," Jack muttered, watching the fox dart over streams and slip into undergrowth.

"Don't be silly," Miyako said, though she added thoughtfully, "Though I'd like to see who gets the kill."

"Ye really want t'see it getting torn into little bits?" Jack asked.

"Not really..."

"An' don't ye want t'see if Norrington starts chattin' up any o' our choices?"

Miyako pouted. Outside of verbal mannerisms, she had been picking up physical ones, as well. "Well..." She paused. "What about I follow them, and you go back to observe your charge?"

"Sure," Jack agreed, not really interested in the hunt, but in a pretty Commodore whose average ability at riding was quite adorably obvious.

Unfortunately, nothing very interesting happened—the Commodore was introduced to several newcomers—social elite of Kingston, it seemed, and he spoke with several of them—politely, but with no real inflexion other than basic sociability. He eventually began discussing Naval policy, with obvious relief, with Lady Savony's cousin—a Lieutenant, stationed somewhere Jack didn't catch, here to escort her as well as carry out some administrative detail or other in Kingston—and a few merchant-princes. The women, bored that the two most good looking men in the group were occupied (one hunting, one chatting about Men's Business), began chattering amongst themselves.

Jack pouted. With the handsome young Earl removed from the area, it should have been far easier for Norrington to start upholding his end of the bargain.

Eventually, Miyako returned, excited and chatty. "Lady Katherine got the kill," she said happily. "A clean shot from horseback, quite a distance, too."

The riders in question came streaming back, finally followed by controlled hounds, and a whipper-in holding a limp red carcass. Lady Katherine was flushed with triumph, her brother no less proud alongside her. Lord Beckett seemed more amused than disappointed—a true horseman, he had likely derived far more enjoyment from the wild steeplechase rather than the actual issue of the kill.

More murmurs from the crowd as the news spread. Many were quick to (cautiously) congratulate the Earl on having such a talented sister. Norrington, however, was the first to offer congratulations to Lady Katherine, for her skill with both rifle and riding. As Jack and Miyako watched, one perfect feminine eyebrow arched slightly, and she smiled, prettily modest in her reply.

"Can I change my bet?" Miyako asked.

"No." Jack frowned, wondering if Norrington knew what he was getting himself into. Did Commodores always have to attract trouble?

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