Guardian Angel 11

Rating: R
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and such all property of Disney.
Note: Yeah, going to finish soon (probably in 12), and a little abruptly (leaving space for a sequel, probably). : / but like mentioned earlier in Fathoms, I have a terrible habit of occasionally losing interest suddenly. XD Art will make up for it sometime.
Summary: Revelations.

"Gift horses, Commodore," Lady Katherine grinned, and exchanged glances with the Earl, as if sharing a private joke. They were in a private function room in Port Royal's only 'gentleman' club—a relatively new affair, constructed since Lord Beckett's arrival. Terribly masculine place. Subdued décor, austere paintings and the occasional very shiny suit of armor—and the lingering scent of cigar smoke. The Earl and his sister stood next to one heavily draped window; Jack and Norrington next to a bust on the mantelpiece of some long-dead, wigged person that Jack didn't recognize. Privately, the pirate had no idea how Lady Katherine had managed to wheedle her way in, but seeing as how she seemed attached to her brother at the hips, he supposed it really wouldn't have been difficult.

"Thanks for the note," The Earl said benignly, ignoring the grumbles and the willingness to take a metaphor a little too far. "My sister and I would love to stay and chat, but we'd better be using the little break while everybody settles down over Miss Swann's return to send a few discreet messages to London."

"Re-deploy a few pawns," Lady Katherine smiled. "Now that we know who he puppets in the Navy."

The twins looked like cats that had just come across several large tubs of cream. Jack grinned, unable to help but be caught up in their enthusiasm, despite his misgivings about secret plans.

"He could ruin you. If this is book is what he says it is," Norrington tapped at the box.

"Oh, it is, Commodore," The Earl said with a little nod. "Perhaps more than he can imagine."

Norrington glanced at the case, then back up at them. "Locks." A pause. "But I have the keys."

"And did he technically ask you for the keys?" The Earl folded gloved hands into his 'casual' dark green coat (still terribly heavy with brocade, that, though the pattern suspiciously military in its neat severity).

The Commodore glanced down at his shoes, his lips quirking up wryly. "No." A pause. "Then why give me the keys?"

"We trust you, Commodore, to do what you see fit," Lady Katherine grinned playfully. "If you'd like, you can give Lord Beckett the keys. Or keep them, throw them into the sea, open the book for yourself. It's up to you."

Norrington reached into his pocket, and took out both keys. He opened the box with the specified key and glanced briefly at the book. Jack peeked—it was exactly like how Beckett had described it, resting on dark blue velvet. Doeskin leather, and heavily locked in turn in what looked like iron. The Commodore closed the box again, and locked it. The iron key he put back into his pocket—the silver one he handed back to Lady Katherine, who arched an eyebrow in surprise.

Both twins returned the smile, precisely at the same time. "Victor," the Earl said.

"Katherine," his sister inclined her head. She smirked. "I must confess that I'm rather looking forward the scandal."

Norrington rolled his eyes, and looked over at Victor as if for aid. The brother shrugged noncommittally, his voice bland. "If she gets to call you James at dinner, then so do I."

"You're not the one marrying him," Katherine said pointedly, playfully jabbing her brother in the side. Jack blinked—the twins seemed to have relaxed their guard—not all of it, but perceptively. Becoming less of a double-act of the 'Earl of Southsend', but more like... Victor, and Katherine. "Shouldn't I get privileges?"

"But he will be my brother in law," Victor glanced at Norrington in challenge. "Well?"

"Call me whatever you like," Norrington said dryly, his eyes darting between the both of them. If he was surprised by the change, he hid it well.

" 'James' still sounds so terribly formal," Katherine pouted. "What about... 'Jamie'? Or Bobby?"

"I like the name," Katherine shrugged. Elaborate jewelry shifted around her neck—if Jack squinted, he supposed it rather looked like an 'artistic' impression of peacock feathers—the eyes picked out by tiny emeralds and rubies, curled around her neck and sweeping down towards cleavage. "It's adorable."

Victor grinned at him. "All right. Sure? It was pretty funny, I guess. Maybe not to Bobby, but, well, objectively."

"Not from falling off the cliff," Victor agreed, "The actual cause of death was..."

"Stop," Norrington said, his icy tone cutting off all protest. The twins grinned again, in perfect tandem. "That's one more thing I need to speak to you both about. If we're to continue with this... this... agreement, there will be no more misuse of power."

"I don't think you appreciate the fundamental joys of power," Victor patted his sister's arm. "And you're terrible at the diplomacies of negotiation."

"Of course we agree, James," Katherine said with exaggerated exasperation, dangling the silver key before her. "That's why we gave you both keys. Instead of keeping the iron."

"Katherine thought it was about time we got a little more civilized," Victor said dryly. "She felt that all this cloak and dagger business was all right while we were still in our early twenties, but it was about time it merely became metaphorical."

"Besides, the reputation scares off potential allies in London," Katherine pointed out.

"That too," Victor agreed. A quick glance at the window and the cloaking darkness that night draped over the town. "Well. I suppose we had better be going. Do keep us updated. Port Royal is so fascinating." He pursed his lips. "In fact, we might even look into acquiring some property."

"A summer house, perhaps," Katherine grinned, just as Norrington arched an eyebrow. "We could have so much fun. Cruising about, following you around the fort, lounging in the EIC building..."

"The fort isn't a tourist attraction," Norrington said austerely, mustering all the dignity he could gather.

"What? So many pretty boys in gorgeous uniforms, and it's off limits?" Katherine pouted.

"That's oppression, James," Victor agreed firmly. "I didn't think you were the tyrannical sort. Terrible, just terrible. Or is it some sort of territorial thing? Because, you know, we won't really be poaching, seeing as you're not involved with any of..."

Norrington choked, then recovered quickly enough to interrupt before the speculation began to affect his sanity, rubbing his temple as he anticipated an oncoming headache. "I don't think the wife of the Commodore should really be gawking at marines. Wasn't the agreement to be... discreet?"

"I can be discreet," Katherine pressed a hand over her heart, quivering with mock outrage. "The very idea!"

"Locked," Beckett said, poking the offending item on the box as he glanced at Norrington.

"Hm," Beckett placed the box delicately on his desk. "I suppose that's why they gave it up so easily when you asked for it. Well. No matter, I am sure there are any number of locksmiths. If not in Port Royal, then in Kingston."

"Consideration has been received, if in a rather unwieldy manner," Beckett said distastefully, poking again at the box. "You are free, Commodore. Unless, of course, the box contains something other than what is expected."

"They showed it to me before placing it in the box," Norrington said, a little impatiently. "It's exactly as you described." The Commodore, it seemed had learned to lie a little. Assaulted from all sides by bad influences, Jack supposed. "My word on it."

"But you didn't insist on a look inside?" Beckett smirked. "No matter. Given I previously only asked you for the location of the book, rather than the book itself, this is already a marked improvement of the terms. You may go."

Norrington nodded, and stalked out of the office. Jack didn't follow, curious to see what Beckett would do next. The man waited until he could no longer hear footsteps, then stroked fingers absently over the wood. "Mister Mercer."

"Yes," Beckett took the box and left the room, followed by Mercer, no doubt to squirrel it away somewhere less accessible than his office. Which reminded Jack of something he really had to be doing.

The thumping sound was faint. Jack carefully lifted up the blankets and looked under the bed. A little box, with another heavy lock. Jack carefully took it out, put his fingers to the lock and muttered (self-consciously) "Unlock." He wasn't sure how theft featured in the general view of things, but he figured that he could, if pressed, argue that it was really all for a good cause. Loyalty to crew, and that.

The lid sprang open, and Jack took out a very familiar looking pulsing bag, which he put in his coat. Replacing the box under the bed, he willed himself to Norrington, who was alone in his office, scribbling something or other on pieces of paper. A smirk, and he slipped behind him. Fingers stroked gently over the nape of Norrington's neck. The man yelped, and jumped, looking around wildly. Jack smirked.

"I'm fine. Minor accident," Norrington called, glaring about him, whispering, "Jack?"

Jack tiptoed and murmured next to his ear, "Get molested by things ye can't see very often, d'ye?" He emphasized this by briefly flicking his tongue over a shaved chin, and dodging quickly back as a hand swiped through the air. There was an odd tingle as the tips passed right through an outstretched arm, and Jack's smirk widened. Not only invisible, but also conveniently insubstantial, it seemed. Miyako, wherever she was, would have been proud.

An issue to consider for another time. Jack sidled close, ignoring groping hands and a darkening Commodorial expression, popping open one button on the immaculate white shirt and rubbed his fingers over the warm stomach. A hand clutched ineffectively over and through his wrist, then Norrington sighed. "That's unfair."

"Aye." Jack nodded, forgetting that he'd technically come here just to deliver the heart. "An' ye'd be wantin' t'sit down now, James."

"Because some o' th'things m'goin' t'do t'the other James, I don't think ye can handle standin' up."

"Now ye just pull th'chair up a wee bit more, an' I'd scoot under th'desk... eh, th'marine outside, 'e has sharp ears, aye? Think ye can be a wee bit quiet?"

"Well now we're goin' t'do it practically. An' probably... mm... agnostically, severally an' grammatically."

"No, I can see where you might be... be... getting that from. But... but 'agnostically'?"

William hefted the bag in his hand, his eyes going to his father's dagger where it lay on Elizabeth's dresser. "I was thinking, actually, after you told me that Governor Swann's angel was missing."

"We looked around, couldn't see her," Elizabeth agreed, looking to Gibbs, Marty and Cotton.

Gibbs nodded. "Aye, an' Marty even took th'gem t'walk around th'harder t'reach areas o' Port Royal. Nothin'."

"So now what?" Norrington asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the feminine room.

"I was thinking, we'd go ask Tia," William said, sounding a little embarrassed. "I know, I shouldn't make it a habit, and Heaven knows what I'm going to use to pay her, but I can't think of any way else to know. Since, well, Elizabeth and I suspect that maybe, maybe she was kidnapped by Captain Ichiro."

"Or left wi' him?" Jack suggested, unable to come up with a way for an angel to kidnap another angel.

"He's probably unlikely t'harm her," Jack pointed out. "Though ye might want t'watch yer da' carefully, in case he's as prone as th'Commodore here o' getting into trouble without a guardian." Norrington snorted.

"Well. I rather, er, feel obligated," Elizabeth muttered. "Since she's been watching over Father for so long. I want to thank her."

"Pretty sure angels don't expect thanks," Jack said dryly, gesturing at his own wings. "'Tis part o' th'job."

"I'm sure you're worried about her, Jack, or you wouldn't have asked us to check around for her," Elizabeth said challengingly. Jack grimaced.

"We-ell... m'not worried enough t'go chasin' after her," he muttered. "Ye don't even have a ship. How're ye goin' t'find her?"

Gibbs gasped. Jack frowned, suppressing the instant thrill of excitement at the thought of seeing his beloved ship again. "Ye don't have a cap'n."

"Can't leave Port Royal, mate," Jack pointed vaguely in Norrington's general direction. The Turners looked sharply at the Commodore.

Norrington sighed. "I can't leave Port Royal to go on a wild goose chase over the high seas in search for a guardian angel who may or may not have been kidnapped. Especially since I've only recently been reinstated."

"No," Norrington said firmly. "This has even less... sense, than the last time you made an appeal to me, Elizabeth. And I already have what I want." Fist unwrapped briefly to show the Hell's Emerald. "The both of you can go after her yourself. Though... the last time already nearly put Governor Swann close to a nervous breakdown, so I would really advise inaction."

"An' I thought ye both were all fer getting married as soon as possible," Jack put in. "Also, 'tis all speculation. Why not ye go speak t'Tia first?"

"I suppose we could raise the Pearl and captain it ourselves," Elizabeth said with a sidelong glance. "She's faster and safer than the Flying Dutchman."

Jack grimaced. Envy, jealousy and irrational irritation warred within him. "She's fairly beat up. Ye'd have t'get her repaired."

"Port Royal has a decent shipyard," William said innocently. "And given the unfortunate decease of the original owner, I suppose we're really the last people left who can legally pay for repairs in a legitimate shipyard."

"Ye said that... angels can't leave their sphere o' influence?" Gibbs asked suddenly, slowly, before the incipient and usually rare Jack Sparrow explosion.

"Could be that Tia has a way, too," Gibbs said cheerfully. "Then ye can go, aye? I can get William an' 'Lizabeth there easy on any seaworthy ship. Or make it there by meself, me an' Marty an' Cotton, if th'two o' ye want t'get hitched first."

Jack didn't need to look at Norrington to know that the other man was frowning. "Abandonin' me duty may drop me in Hell, mate."

"Could be that helpin' t'rescue a fellow angel could earn ye some points, Cap'n," Gibbs pointed out.

That was true. Jack hesitated, clearly torn. Norrington was the one to speak, quietly. "I can take care of myself in Port Royal until you return, Jack. Honor dictates that you help a lady in need, even if this... this... quest seems beyond rationality."

"T'aint no self respectin' pirate pay any heed t'honor," Jack pointed out, but he sighed. "Right. Ye lot get t'Tia, then. See what she says. We'd wait fer ye t'come back, have th'weddin' party, mebbe save ye some cake."

"But..." Elizabeth pouted. "Since, well, since you're um, dead, Jack, we rather wanted Gibbs to be the best man. Also, well, since..." She glanced quickly at Norrington. "I'm sorry, James."

"S'pose ye could have a small, quiet one first, then have th'big party later," Jack suggested. "Don't need a big weddin', d'ye?"

"No," Elizabeth admitted, linking her hand with William's arm. "It'd really be a formality also, after what we've already gone through."

"Archangel Barachiel," Jack said, in a manner of introduction and as a warning. Norrington glanced at him, then sat in the chair indicated, arms folded, fingers tight around the Hell's Emerald.

"Captain Sparrow. James Norrington," Barachiel tapped at his lip with the white rose. "Developments have become... fairly unexpected."

Jack sat cautiously in the chair, as if expecting it to melt at any moment. "Aye?"

"Not only have you broken just about every significant rule in guardianship, you have rather indirectly caused another guardian angel to shirk her duties in some half-baked idea of self-sacrifice," Barachiel said wearily, "An angel, mind you, who previously had all the makings of one set for fast-track promotion."

"I don't see why what happened t'Miyako has t'be seen as me fault," Jack protested.

"There were no other anomalies in the calculations," Barachiel said flatly. "And the fact that you have flagrantly breached the very idea of the nature of this specialized form of fiduciary duty already puts you well into the red, Captain Sparrow."

"I wouldn't say that was..." Norrington began, but was cut off as Jack clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Aye, I know that," he said, with a grin, even as Norrington yanked the hand away. "I ain't sayin' that bit ain't me fault."

"On the other hand, your, as you put it, 'fans in heaven' have found the whole episode to be highly entertaining, and you have, I suppose, removed a little of the tarnish on your soul. Learned something in the way of morals and self-sacrifice. Managed to arrange events enough to extricate your charge from a very difficult problem and yet retain an acceptable modicum of happiness and order," Barachiel said, a little grudgingly. "It's been decided that you may redeem the little point about the breach of duty via ensuring the return of Miyako to her duties."

"My... charge ain't interested in leavin' Port Royal," Jack said, settling back in his chair.

"Yes," Barachiel nodded, "Nor should he be. And by next month there should be a few guardians who may be free to take up existing cases—for the time being I am sure I can get one already in Port Royal to take on double duties. You, however, as much as I feel it is unnecessary and a potential waste of power—not to mention a farce of the system—are due to be promoted. Again. To a full angel. So you can travel freely, up until you ensure the return and well-being of Miyako." Dryly. "I would rather send a few... available angels to do so, but that sword Negation is fairly inconvenient."

Barachiel held out his hand, and a familiar scroll appeared in it. The silver darkened, until it resembled bronze. Jack frowned. He didn't feel any different. There was a sudden sound, however, from Norrington, which resembled, suspiciously, a stifled guffaw.

"You have a halo," Norrington said, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he took deep breaths to prevent himself from laughing. A few chuckles escaped him as Jack automatically attempted, ineffectively, to look behind him.

"I have a question," Norrington said, evidently deciding to change the subject in the face of two irate angels. "Is Jack really here... as a test? For admittance into Heaven? Because it seems—forgive me if I'm wrong—that we are taught, in Church, that admittance into Hell is fairly easy, and there are no second chances."

"Some things get lost in translation, I suppose. We tried for a while to change a few popularly held misconceptions with some miracles—and with the whole Lamb of God business, but it seems that word of mouth tends to lose details after a while. I believe a more heavy-handed clergy would also attract more... flock. After all, if word leaked out that the scales are not as weighted as they seem, perhaps the religions would die out." Barachiel said absently, as if this had been an old topic that he was used to debating.

"Still, sometimes I wonder. Does nothing about eternal torment strike you humans as being remotely unfair?" Barachiel inquired. "That for an eyeblink's worth of life in the span of the infinite you get committed to eternal torture? No, James Norrington—the system is based on forgiveness. Hell and Purgatory—and sometimes, Heaven—are occasionally metaphorical, or personal to a soul. Often, once sufficient penance has been met, they are merely reborn for another chance—or ascend into Heaven."

Dryly. "In Jack Sparrow's case, it was found that happily, his good heart outweighs any amorality he may care to attribute to his personality. And, at the same time, there was the matter of injustice to you personally, for the brief if untimely reassignation of your guardian angel. His assignation was a case of killing, as that morbid phrase goes, two birds with one stone."

"So he is here as an apology," Norrington said, with a faint grin of irritating triumph and a glance at Jack.

"Partially," Jack muttered, his ego bruised. "Does that mean I wasn't expected t'keep t'the rules?" Indignant. And he'd tried so bloody hard.

"Quite a few of us were rather surprised that you managed to restrain yourself for so long, actually," Barachiel remarked unmercifully.

Guardian Angel 11

Promotions