7. Legacy

Pairing: J/N
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own neither Jack nor James, more's the pity. They're indentured to the Mouse. I only borrow them occasionally.
Originally Posted: 3/11/04
Note: Unbirthday Fic for Cat. I stole the ship's and middies' and sailor's names from commodorified. They seemed appropriate. This is in commodorified's Sparrington universe, which she is gracious enough to share with me. It may end up being AU, depending on what we do with it in future.

As the boat approached the man-o-war through the early evening mist, activity on board slowed. Rumours as to who would be assigned her vacant captaincy had been flying all day, and those members of the crew who hadn't taken shore leave were on deck by the time the boarding-ladder was lowered over the side.

A hand missing two fingers gripped the rail, and the bosun's pipe rang out as a tall white-haired man in an admiral's uniform climbed aboard.

In the silence that followed a head appeared at the top of the ladder and the words, "Give us a hand, damn you," echoed clearly across the deck.

The officer of the watch, a man of about twenty-five years wearing the single epaulette of a master and commander, raised a hand to stifle a cough.

The admiral's only visible reaction was to dip his head slightly and, half-turning, extend a hand behind.

A scarred brown hand slapped into his palm, and as the admiral pulled the man on the ladder swung his stiff right leg over the rail and dropped to the deck.

This was clearly no officer of the King's navy. He was almost as tall as the admiral, but more lightly built. His hair hung in grizzled locks nearly to his waist, his brown coat was of ancient cut, and his leathern tricorne looked older than most of the crew. He rocked back on his good leg and, folding his arms, grinned at the young officer.

That gentleman stifled another cough, straightened, and saluted. "Admiral Norrington. Welcome aboard the Columbia, sir."

"Captain." Norrington returned the salute. "I believe you know my companion, Captain Sparrow?"

"Of course. A pleasure, Captain." He extended a hand, and Sparrow clasped it in both his own.

"And you, sir." He glanced towards the midshipmen, who were now staring at the near-legendary pair with something approaching awe. "Will you permit me to introduce my fellow-officers, gentlemen?"

They went down the line, shaking the young men's hands in turn as the captain spoke their names. "Mr. Anderson." "Mr. Brown." "Mr. Clark." "Mr. McCool."

As the introductions ended, a sailor who'd followed them onboard handed the Admiral a long, narrow box. He took it with a murmured, "Thank you, Ramon," and turned to the younger officer. "Perhaps we might repair to the cabin for some refreshment?"

"Can you?" Norrington raised an eyebrow. "I'd rather expected it all to be drunk by now."

Sparrow snorted, glanced about, and gestured at the youngest midshipman. "You, McCool, isn't it? Do us a favor?"

"Go down to the stores and draw me a noggin of rum, there's a good lad." He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "A big one, mind."

This clearly was not what the boy had been expecting. "I, ah—" He glanced towards his captain in evident confusion.

"Yes, sir. At once, sir." The boy bolted for the companionway as the three men entered the cabin.

No sooner had the door closed behind them than the young captain was seized in a hard embrace. "Damme, boy, it's good to see you," the Admiral said, backing off to arm's-length.

"Grandfather, I'd say. Spitting image of old Bootstrap, he is. 'Cept he's got his mother's eyes." The ex-pirate embraced him in turn. "How you doin', Bill me lad?"

"Very well, truly. As you can see," he gestured towards his single epaulette, "I took your advice, Uncle James."

"And what advice would that be?" Sparrow asked, pulling a chair out from the table and straddling it.

"Any post at sea is better than half-pay on land." The young officer smiled. "Especially when it's on a ship bound for home."

"Ah, yes. You were in the first Lieutenant's berth, I take it?" the admiral said.

"Yes, sir. I've been acting commander since Captain Morrow was killed in action off the Azores."

There was a rap on the door and the midshipman entered, followed by a rating carrying Sparrow's rum, a decanter, and two glasses on a tray.

"Thankee, lad." Sparrow winked at the boy, who smiled shyly back and ducked his head before following the crewman out.

Turner passed the rum to Sparrow, then poured two glasses of port. Norrington laid the box he still carried on the table to accept his share. "As Uncle Jack is with you, Admiral, may I assume this is merely a social call?"

"Well, now." The admiral sipped his port. "You will be expected to make a full report as usual at the Admiralty office tomorrow, of course. But I have some news that affects you which I rather thought you would want to hear as soon as possible."

"The Columbia's orders have arrived," Norrington said. "You're to set sail for the French coast as soon as provisioning is complete."

"I see." Turner stared into the depths of his glass. "Then the new Captain will be boarding soon, I expect?"

"Already—" Turner's eyes flickered up to the Admiral, then away again. He shifted awkwardly and said in a rather strained tone, "It will be an honor to serve under you again, sir."

Norrington stopped with his glass at his lips, and lowered it to the table, frowning slightly. "Serve... under... me?"

Turner suddenly didn't know which way to look. "Of course, I quite understand, sir. I—didn't mean to presume."

The Admiral's expression didn't change, but suddenly Sparrow threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Sweet sodomizing saints, boy!" he cried, waving his tankard so that rum splashed onto the deck, "You can't honestly think an Admiral'd let himself be fobbed off with a miserable little fourth-rater like the Columbia!"

Sparrow snorted and took a gulp from his tankard. ""You were right, James. Like his father, he is. Will always was a bit slow to catch on."

Norrington smiled and shook his head. "I am not the new commander of the Columbia, my boy. You are. You'll pick up your sailing orders tomorrow, when you make your report."

"It means you've made Post-Captain, you bloody fool," Sparrow said, and smiled. "Congratulations, young Bill."

"Truly, my boy. And, in recognition of that," the Admiral said, opening the long wooden case, "I have something for you." He lifted a sword from the box with both hands. "Your father made this for me when I was appointed Commodore of the Port Royal squadron." He swung the sword end-over-end, so that the blade rested on his left forearm and the hilt faced towards the young officer. "Take it. Use it well. Post-Captain Turner."

"No." The Admiral shook his head. "I've resigned my commission. I'm retiring in three days' time."

"Yes, well," Norrington smiled at his old companion, "I was rather waiting for the opportune moment."

Sparrow grinned back. "Speakin' of opportune moments," he said, reaching into a pocket, "I've brought you this, young Bill. Not to be outdone, so to speak." He extended his palm, on which rested a small octagonal metal box.

"Is that—" Turner took the box, opened it. " 'A compass that doesn't point north,' " he whispered, and shook his head. "I can't take this!" He thrust it back at the ex-pirate.

Sparrow closed his hand over the younger man's, pressing his fingers onto the cold metal. "You're Bootstraps' grandson, boy. No one's a better right to it. And," he added as young Turner started to protest again, "if there's one thing I've learned in all me years at sea, it's the value of a safe harbour. So long as you've got that," he gestured to the compass, "you'll always have somewhere to go where you can't be followed."

"And when things are—not quite so desperate as that," Norrington added quietly, "you'll always find safe harbour with us, my boy. You know that, don't you?"

Captain Turner drew the compass towards him with one hand and brushed the hilt of his sword with the other. "I've always known that, I think." He looked up at the two old sailors. "I'll make you proud of me, Uncles. I swear it."

Men Must Work

Jack/James Series, Chapt. 7

Legacy