Moves & Motion, Part 3

You Know It's True

by

Rispa Cooper

Why he even attempted to maintain a calm façade after last nigh—after the news of this morning—was a question without answer. It was within reason, even for a Commodore, to show a hint of temper with the dim-witted innocents who continually stopped him to wish him a good afternoon, undoubtedly knowing as they did that it was not a good afternoon at all. There wasn't the slightest thing good about it, and he challenged them all to name one positive aspect to whole bloody day.

A boy not much older than William Turner came out of a pastry shop just ahead of him and Norrington had his glare ready before the boy could form a greeting. Without one word his meaning was conveyed, and the boy blanched and stepped back.

The path cleared, Norrington continued on his way, happy for once that people were in awe of his fierce reputation. His chin came up, and he forcibly unclenched his hand, noting that once again it had fallen to the sword at his side. Remarkable the effect that man had on him. He was aware that making a spectacle of himself in this way was not helping the situation, which had been difficult already, but there seemed no way to slow his pounding heart or to keep the heat from his skin.

He had warned Sparrow. He had gone to St. Kitt's and found the man, drunk as usual, and spoken to him. An appeal to reason that had been purposefully ignored. He could almost believe the man as stupid as he had first thought him to be, but the evidence to the contrary had proved beyond a doubt that Jack Sparrow was a crafty devil indeed. He had understood every word Norrington had offered him, and had countered accordingly.

So this... this act of taunting could be nothing but deliberate. It had not even been a fortnight since their moonlit encounter and Sparrow had returned to... to Port Royal. A few days travel, another few days to imbibe all the rum Tortuga had to offer, and there Sparrow was, sighted a few miles out. Or rather, his black-sailed ship had been spotted, breezing past Port Royal as though there were not bounties on the heads of pirates, on one especial pirate now known the Caribbean over.

That was what most in the city were aware of. A few others—those relying on his command at the fort—were also speaking of the rumours that the Commodore had been seen with a brazen wench who had dared to steal his wig the night before. Norrington had no doubt they were amazed at such a story, though could not decide which would astound them more—that he had been with a woman or that he had not hanged her instantly for such a trespass.

I am not some lonely midshipman.

His fingers curled, his jaw clenched so tight it creaked, and Norrington stopped for a moment to attempt to compose himself. That he had another, and wore it now, still did nothing to erase the feeling that his head was bare. That his whole being was naked. Indeed, he might have killed Sparrow at that moment if Sparrow had been there for him to run through. Perhaps Sparrow had known that, and was not as mad as his actions indicated he was.

You're a lonely commodore then?

His throat suddenly dry, Norrington swallowed once, carefully, then straightened up so that the brim of his hat kept the sun from his face. Damned hot already this morning, stinging at his cheeks, creating a steady itch at his back that he refused to scratch.

He had not been urging Sparrow on to greater madness with his words, and any man who had not pickled his brains with sun and rum would have known that. But no sane man would have straddled his lap in the first place. The citizens of Port Royal would agree that only a lunatic would have dared it. Of course, logic would then suggest that a sane man would have thrown Sparrow from his lap the moment he had perched there. And Norrington, internal protests aside, and however much he might wish he had, had not done that either. Just as before he had let his guard down and let that pirate take whatever he wanted, something Norrington had personally vowed no pirate would ever be allowed to do in the Caribbean again.

Of course, he'd had no wish to make a scene; Sparrow's presence alone would have led to questions. One look at the skirts and they both would have been taken for...

Not even the prisons of Spanish Town could be this bloody warm. With a quiet snarl, Norrington tugged at his tightly knotted neck cloth and resolutely resumed walking.

Sparrow undoubtedly thought him desperate enough that such a teasing act would have been a distraction. Or perhaps he merely wanted another laugh at Norrington's expense, and followed the path that many pirates were said to follow. Without the noose as a consequence, many chose it. Not that the noose was any deterrent for Jack Sparrow. If the man didn't make such a point of escaping, Norrington would have thought Sparrow eager for the touch of a rope to his skin.

For a moment, Norrington paused, his brow smoothing and his lips curving into a smile he knew to be ridiculously large. Entirely inappropriate for a man alone in a busy street; he undoubtedly looked mad. But perhaps Sparrow had learned that, one well intentioned visit aside, Norrington would not let such humiliations go unrequited. He could just imagine the displeased, drunken scowl that had crossed smooth features, the twisting of dirty fingers in the braided beard as Sparrow had learned of the price on his head, and then the glow in the dark eyes as the man had realized exactly who had slighted him.

His men had thought him crazy for issuing the order, he was certain. Those who hadn't been there for the theft of the Interceptor less confused than those that knew of Jack Sparrow's history.

It had only been minutes after Gillette had left him to order the Dauntless to make ready, that Norrington had issued another order. Henceforth, the reward for Jack Sparrow was lowered to one golden guinea. It was less than what was offered for certain thieves, and would not increase whatever amount of respect other pirates held for him. Though Norrington suspected Jack Sparrow was known for his brilliance—and his madness—more than he was known for ruthlessness and danger, the damage done to his reputation had infuriated him just as Norrington had thought it would. He was the man, after all, who insisted on his title of Captain even when he had no ship and could barely control his crew.

Nevertheless, he had not anticipated such a response. With a short cough, Norrington wiped the grin from his face and left dirt roads for cobbled streets. He would not be so careless the next time.

The blacksmith shop was not far, and though his destination was the house behind it, Norrington let his mind recall his swift descent upon the shop nearly two months before, his intense pleasure at seeing the pirate Sparrow lying on the ground at Mr. Brown's feet. There was still a trace of pleasure in the memory, despite the events that had followed. Sparrow had defied him, and threatened Elizabeth's life. He had grinned and pulled her slender figure hard to his wet body, holding her close with the heavy weight of the irons cold on her fair skin.

Norrington shivered, tension building low in his stomach at the memory of how helpless Sparrow had rendered her, her life in those filthy, fluid hands.

Again, he found his fingers gripping the hilt of his sword, but he allowed them to remain, edging his thumb along ridges and cool, smooth steel, the marks of Will's craftsmanship.

He really should have questioned the dirt on Will's face, the state of the blacksmith's shop, the reek of gin on Mr. Brown's breath. But he had been eager to have Sparrow safely in hand. It was to his discredit that he had so lost control, but Turner had not once uttered a word to condemn him for it.

The boy was... he was not a bad man at all. He was very good in fact, risking more than his life, his very soul, to save Elizabeth. A man with no hopes for himself could not ask for a better replacement. It was something to tell himself, in moments like these, when duty forced him to do what he would never have done otherwise.

The smithy's stood before him, and he opened the door easily, walking through the empty workspace without pause. Mr. Brown, urged into retirement, had retained his spot, and his bottle, in the corner. He didn't stir as Norrington crossed to the other door and out into the yard behind. And there were only a few chickens, likely those of a neighbor, to see him walk around to the front of the modest house.

They were not yet married, but Elizabeth was already busy setting up what was to be the couple's new house, had even taken tea with several ladies recently, he had heard, the impropriety of which he was certain was the reason she had done it. Ensuring, in her way, that she had to marry Will and making certain her already somewhat... coloured... reputation was less of an issue.

He had barely knocked when the door was opened, and Elizabeth was grinning up at him. She did not dart her eyes to and fro as though scouting an escape route, and her smile offered everything and held back nothing, and yet her greeting echoed another, the tone so similar that Norrington forgot his hand, still in the air where the door had been.

"Commodore!" She seemed surprised, but no more than he, and he knew he looked it as she extended her arms to embrace him for a moment. Then she was dashing back, waving him into her home with every appearance of welcome.

"Miss Swann." That stopped her for a moment, and he watched her lovely moments still, and then she was rolling her eyes and stepping back to close the door.

Norrington blinked, unsure when he had even crossed the threshold. But then he was sitting as requested, removing his hat and watching her walk away to either fetch a maid or make the tea herself.

"Elizabeth, please, Commodore." Her voice called out to him the moment she was no longer in view, and despite himself, Norrington found himself frowning to again hear her words echo in his mind. "Will is out on a nearby estate."

"I..." He cleared his throat roughly and placed his hands flat on his lap. "I can ask you as well as Turner, though it is a somewhat... difficult question."

"Really?" For that she poked her head back into the room. Her cheeks seemed quite rosy. Happiness, he supposed, did that to a face. Happiness or a great deal of rum, which to Jack Sparrow were one and the same. His face had seemed ruddy enough, glowing with good spirits even the dark, growing rosier as their talk had progressed. Pale, later, against the scarlet of the dress, his eyes stealing his skin's brightness. "Then I daresay you will not wish for tea."

Her eyes were sparkling, and he looked away, taking in the plain things, simple but practical. Not what she was used to, but no better than what he had earned in service. It took someone remarkable to give up that life of ease, and she had done it effortlessly.

"You look well, Miss Swann." Her pout at his insistence on formalities was most becoming, but at his steady stare she sighed and sat gracefully across from him.

"One would think you and Will had switched places." Her tone seemed teasing, though he did not quite understand her jest and feared that he was frowning again. "You do not seem well at all, Commodore." Quieter now, and serious, making her statement into a soft question.

So you were to chase old Jack after all? The gall of the man, to take such delight in what would have been a hunt to the death. As though he held the lives of others in some esteem but cared little for his own so long as he captained the Peari and knew that the Commodore would regard him seriously. Norrington could not escape that realization, and knew another night would be spent sleepless as the nature of Jack Sparrow's madness further addled his brain.

Lying on his arse in the wet sand, drinking stolen rum unrepentantly and babbling about naked fortresses and his lack of sport. Not once begging or even bargaining for his life, not even with a sword tickling at his throat. Instead stinging him with the reminder of the Turner's impending wedding, requesting a pursuit from the Navy—no not the Navy, from Norrington himself—of all his mad acts, that was surely the greatest.

"Have you harbored a criminal in your home or this one recently, Miss Swann?"

There was no point in tact, and other than refusing to say the man's name he did not try. He did not think she would appreciate subterfuge, and any delicacy would have proved unnecessary anyway as Elizabeth immediately sat back in her chair and frowned.

"Jack Sparrow?" She made a futile attempt to stay thoughtful, and then her mouth was curving generously. Norrington sighed. "Why would Jack come here? That would be dangerous... and mad... and..." She focused on him, obviously excited to think of someone she considered a friend. She had risked her life, and her reputation, along with Turner's to save Jack all those weeks ago. Norrington only prayed their loyalty was not misplaced. "Is he in Port Royal now?"

"It would be rash of him." His teeth were not gritted. His hands were not clenched in his lap. "Very rash and very foolish." That meant nothing, and they both were fully aware of it. Elizabeth was silent for a moment, and then her hands fluttered in the air.

"What will happen if you catch him?" Another question to rub at his nerves, testing the limits of his patience to hear her parrot the words of that pirate.

"It seems he is a difficult man to kill." Marauders the world over had already tried. This was fact, why his statement should cause Elizabeth's smile to grow he did not understand.

"You are a good man, Commodore." Her knowing gaze gave the words some special meaning, and again Norrington was left feeling confused in her presence. But his hands relaxed on his legs, and he tried to smile.

"I..." He looked over once more and caught the pity that she had tried to hide the night of her betrothal party. That look he understood too well and cleared his throat. "I have not had a decent cup of tea in a fortnight."

"Just a moment!" she hopped up from her and disappeared back into the other room. A kitchen he assumed, as her gentle humming was not quite drowned out by the rattling of dishes. "I heard about the new reward for him," she spoke again the moment she reentered the room. "Will told me." The tray went easily between them, and then he was holding a cup and saucer and sitting still as tea was poured and cream and sugar and other niceties were seen to. "It really was well done of you." She beamed as brightly as the sun and blew the steam from her own tea. "Surprising, but well done."

"Yes." Norrington coughed and felt the steam hot on his face. "Captain Jack Sparrow... the legend of the seven seas... brought low with one guinea."

"I wonder if he will feel the need to reply," Elizabeth mused aloud, taking a sip. Norrington lowered his cup before it reached his lips, wincing at the slight echo of cup against the saucer, and studied the wall beyond her, the ocean he could not see somewhere in the distance. He narrowed his eyes as though a small black ship were in fact visible to him now.

"Then he can expect to be met in kind." His mouth firmed, forming a tight smile as he imagined a new look of dismay on Jack Sparrow's face.

"Commodore!" Her shock brought his gaze back, and he blinked, uncertain of the new gleam in her eye. "He's not that bad a man at all." Again her generous mouth quirked upward in a smile that could only be called knowing. He had never noticed those smiles during his failed attempt at courtship, as blind to them as to the steady flow of wit behind the slick oil that coated the surface of Jack Sparrow. Her eyes went distant, her gaze obviously disappearing somewhere inside, but before Norrington could rise and make his excuses; she was sitting up and focusing on him with a soft laugh. "He's quite dull actually. Talks of nothing but rum and his ship. I couldn't wait for rescue."

"Dull?" He had never asked Elizabeth of her time on the island alone with Jack, had never presumed, and turned his eyes from her now before she could detect any curiosity that he had no right to have. He put down his tea and cleared his throat, knowing his time had expired without a glance to any clock. Nodding, he put a hand to the table to help himself to rise and then blinked, focusing sharply on Elizabeth.

"That song you were humming, Miss Swann..." he began, wondering how it was that when she widened her eyes, he believed the innocence there.

~~~~~

Judging from the wary manner in which the good Commodore paused in the doorway to Will's shop, Jack was willing to guess the question had surprised him. Or maybe it wasn't so much the question as the fact that Jack had asked it. Or maybe it wasn't so much that Jack had asked, as that it didn't seem the man had known Jack was in the shop at all.

Interesting, that. Jack had only hidden in the shop since it had seemed... unlikely... at best... that the Commodore would be visiting the Turners any time soon. He had counted on telling Will of his presence and perhaps having a chat before slipping off again with the tide, but there hadn't been the least of sign of young William all day. So here he had sat—partaking in a well stocked supply of gin and mourning his rum—waiting for nightfall and another chance to escape Norrington's soldiers.

And here it was, almost sundown, and who should walk in but Commodore Norrington himself. The sadly jilted Commodore Norrington, walking with a smooth and even gait toward the house of one Elizabeth almost-Turner. And wearing a new wig as well. If the man hadn't also been wearing such a beautifully ominous expression, Jack might have lost hope entirely.

However, it appeared Norrington's determination to chase down Jack Sparrow, wicked Captain of the Black Pearl and sometime wearer of ladies undergarments, was stronger than the embarrassment and heartbreak that the man would feel at seeing the Turners' happy homestead. That was most interesting. Especially considering that he had, at the moment, no official, legal way of punishing Jack at all. Made his motives all the more personal, as it were.

The fading light at Norrington's back meant that he could not yet see Jack standing in one shadowy corner, and Jack grinned and shifted a bit. The slightest clacking of the finery decorating his hair and Norrington's head was turned toward him, long coat pushed aside at the hip.

He was not the only one of them with his hand resting atop his sword hilt, Jack was pleased to note. It took a kiss to make the man see him as a threat, then; that was a thought worth pondering once he was onboard the Pearl. A special sort of pondering, the kind that was best done sitting down with at least one hand free of distractions.

"No." Jack answered his own question. "Your intentions were almost inescapably clear, Commodore." The snoring gent in the opposite corner drank a strange gin; it wasn't every day that a bit of drink gave Jack odd fancies. But he would be willing to swear on whatever holy relic of whatever god the Commodore pleased that he knew the exact moment the Commodore saw him; his legs suddenly seemed to think he was back at sea. It took a moment of struggle not to fall to his knees.

"I shall not remain Commodore much longer if you continue to make a mockery of my authority, Sparrow." From another man, there might have been a trace of pleading in that statement, or at least, a quiet appeal to decency or nobility or some other bloody notion not to be found in a pirate's miserable guts. At that, Jack had to grin, humming a bit to be reminded once more that this wasn't just any man. It was the great Commodore Norrington, leader of the whole bloody Caribbean fleet at an age when most hadn't made captain unless they stole the boat themselves.

It hadn't been a complaint; it had been a warning.

Jack nodded.

"What might a man do, when not bound by the law?" He asked softly, directing his comment to the sleeping fellow across from them for all he expected an answer.

"You tell me, Sparrow. You seem quite intent on showing me." One quick, graceful step brought the Commodore into the shop and out of sight of the house beyond it, which, for all the beauty of the movement, implied the man might do something he didn't wish the fair Miss Swann to behold. Truly, the man moved with more than a passing grace. Bet he danced a jig sweeter than the lightest girl that ever tripped through an Eastern port.

Jack realized his hand was waving in the air before him as though keeping time to low music, and he grinned.

"There's only one law that really matters, Commodore." There was enough light in the shop for Jack to see the frown of confusion on the other man's face, and the slight parting of his lips that meant Norrington meant to remark on the Code—or to tell him to be quiet. "There's only what a man can do..." Jack tapped his hilt with his thumb and considered, squinting one eye and leaning to one side. "...And what a man can't do."

"And what is it you think I can't..." Jack had barely even a moment to dart a glance over to make sure his friend in the corner was still snoring before the Commodore, sadly, stopped his sentence short and cleared his throat. "Why are you still here, Sparrow? Logic and sense would suggest a departure from the one place where you are certain to encounter trouble." The man set his jaw at such straight angle that Jack was certain he could judge a position based only on the sun's height and the Commodore's chin.

Of course, Jack had to nod again, as the Commodore had the right of it, and of course, that only made the Commodore's frown deepen.

"Surprised to see you here, Commodore." Indeed he had been, and quite pleased, as that hadn't really been any sort of a kiss at all. Though his pleasure had been short lived. Equal in length to the time exactly that the other man had remained in the Turner's future home. Jack slid his gaze about the dusty air of the blacksmith shop and then turned his eyes back onto the Commodore. "Quite a chat it must 'ave been. How is Mrs. Tur—Miss Swann?" Not so many big words in that, but Jack thought that even a Royal Commodore should have been able to read his meaning.

But the man's hand actually slid from his sword for a moment, the move so startling that Jack wasn't completely certain it hadn't been another gin-soaked fantasy. Now those serious eyes were light, crossed only with a surprise that the Commodore did not immediately hide. And then Jack bared his teeth in a smile and lifted his eyebrows high.

"I ain't seen hide nor hair of Will for hours now," he went on deliberately, thinking that it would be madness if that all Norrington would do to him for speaking slander against the lass now was hang him down at the Cove. Might almost be worth it, for the look on the man's face when they arrived there.

"You presume, Pirate." Chin again reaching to the clouds, the Commodore stayed where he was, looking much the same as he had weeks ago on the fort's tower. Jack blinked, shivering slightly at the icy touch of Norrington's voice but watching warily as the other man only took his hand from his sword and raised it to his lips. And though the burning was a shameful thing to admit to, Jack once again acknowledged his own covetous nature to see the slow smirk curving behind those clean fingertips, at his expense though it might be. "Indeed, considering your own... uneventful... time alone with Miss Swann, you have no right to impugn her honour."

Jack jumped out from his place by the wall and let his fingers point accusingly in the direction of Will's household.

"Unfair was what it was!" Jack howled roughly, pausing to once again glance at their still sleeping friend before continuing. "Bloody unfair to offer a man all the rum he wants just to leave him lyin' in the sand with naught but the bottle to hold." Look though he might, this revelation only made Norrington raise an eyebrow, and that hardly even a twitch.

She couldn't have kept that night to herself, could she? Well, there would be no wedding gift from Captain Jack Sparrow now, not on pain of death. "Mouthy lass," Jack began, sighing as only a Turner's, or an almost-Turner's, stubbornness could make him sigh, then scowling at the altogether too pleased countenance of Commodore Norrington.

"There will be no more talk of Elizabeth." His voice clipped, the Commodore ended Jack's tirade before it got a chance to really begin. "I do not think it likely she would suddenly be overwhelmed by a desire for impropriety in my presence." Only Norrington could make an iron decree of state so empty of anything hopeful, and Jack wondered how many of his fellows had ever stood waiting their turn for the drop and thought themselves happier than the man hanging them. "She has, after all, already rejected me... my suit, Sparrow." For maybe a moment, there was silence, and when Jack looked up he found Norrington studying the floor. "And she had her virtue tested even by you."

"Am I a test of virtue then, Commodore?" Jack was grinning before the Commodore could snap his head up and stare at him with an expression that even a kind man would have said was horrified. "If not hers than whose, I wonder." Jack paused to stroke his beard thoughtfully and run his tongue along the tangy surface of one gold tooth. He could feel the weight of the Commodore's gaze on him now, no tricks of gin or his own fantasies. It was most interesting, to have the undivided attention of Commodore Norrington, to even have the man just a bit afraid of him.

"It rubs a man raw, don't it, mate?" Both hands now weaving the story in the air between them, Jack dared to step forward, not quite a sword's length away from Norrington now. Dangerous position for a pirate to be in. In arm's reach of Norrington. Jack shivered, though knowing that any reaching done here would not be done by any members of the King's Navy.

"Where is my wig, Sparrow?" His brow heavy, Norrington spoke with jaw fully clenched. He didn't even have the grace to blush, but his eyes tracked each of Jack's hands, each finger, like. Waiting for an attack, he was so wary. Jack Sparrow wasn't one to disappoint, but there were other matters to consider first, weren't there? Even if Norrington had forgotten them.

"I keep tellin' you, it's Captain Sparrow, Commodore. I have my ship and crew and everything." Firstly, to insist upon that. Someday, the man might even say it without prompting, but likely that would be the day that Norrington turned pirate himself—the same day the ocean herself boiled and the sun fell from the sky.

"Yes, I saw your ship only this morning... as we drove it from the coast." No smug smile followed the words this time, not even the scent of one in the air. That was disappointing, but no need make the other man aware of that just yet. There was, as always, opportunities to be found in misfortune.

"If y'wanted Old Jack to stay, ye only had to ask, Commodore." Rocking back on his heels and tilting his head up afforded Jack a lovely view of the great Commodore gaping back down at him. For all of one moment, it was Jack's turn to grin, and then Norrington was frowning again, a truly dislikable frown. The kind of frown lasses got right before they decided to mark Jack's poor cheeks with red imprints of their hands.

"Need I remind you that I could have left you to the mercies of my officers last night, Sparrow. You are testing the limits of my patience with your madness." Swiftly, decisively, the man clasped his hands behind his back and glanced over the forge, over the ground, over the roof beams, everywhere with his air of displeasure but at Jack Sparrow.

Now those were dangerous limits to be testing indeed. Jack waited, but that was all the man were going to say it seemed. So then they had not been tested enough, his limits. But tomorrow's dawn would likely see to that.

A little quiver of something close to fear trailed down his back at the idea, and Jack let his eyelids fall near to closed. If the man wasn't going to ask, then Jack was not likely to tell him anything. "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"

That hadn't worked on Will either. If Jack hadn't been so very proud of his chosen profession, he might have been offended at the Commodore's brief snort of disbelief. But in fencing with Will—in a very different manner from his current match with Norrington—Jack had been only too happy to remind him that pirates did not play fair.

"I am not an idiot, Sparrow, even if you think I am." The man took a long, tired breath before he spoke, but kept his hands tight behind his back. Jack kept still, and waited, as he truly did know the meaning of silent as the grave, when he chose to remember it. Better than even the Commodore knew. "I have shown you nothing but leniency for your latest acts, surely you have other adventures to seek." Norrington paused, and stared Jack full in the face. "...Outside the Caribbean."

It was about bloody time; at last, the man wished for him gone. Jack nearly started singing again.

He leaned in instead, noting that this time Norrington did not flinch back. He smiled wide enough to show all his teeth, real and golden, moving himself forward with silent ease. He let out one huff of air, fighting with most of his being to keep his words from arcing up into melody, settling for a brief, low hum when his spirits would not be so contained. "Been thinking about it, mate?"

"What...?" What might have been a curse again profaned the very pure lips of Commodore Norrington as he stared at Jack. "Why are you still continuing this farce?"

The obvious confusion in the smooth voice brought Jack up short, and he leaned his head to one side, suddenly so desirous of rum that even more bitter gin would have done.

"I'm not seeking the treasure you're thinking of. I have no need of that, for the moment." Jack nodded very, very slowly and dropped one lid in a deliberate wink, scowling dizzily a moment later when blank annoyance was all the reply he received for his troubles. The man was being a mutton-headed idiot. That or he was as shy as a lass.

Now there was a thought to make even a man without proper drink warm to his toes.

As though sensing Jack's sudden increased attention, Norrington's fine eyes grew wide and then his mouth tightened to a thin, disappointing line.

"If you are referring to your... game last night, I assure you I have no wish to hear about it." For a few moments only, he held Jack's gaze, and then his eyes fell to the side, studying the mule that still stood tethered to the bellows.

There really was only one thing to do with a shy lass, or, for that matter, a lass pretending to be shy for the sake of propriety. Or with a bold lass. Was all the same with lasses, really, when Jack thought about it. Sally had taught him that well when he was but a lad of ten.

"Your whole fleet runnin' around in here couldn't wake that fellow, could they?" Jack posed the question idly, hiding a smirk of his own as the Commodore immediately turned to face the sleeping figure, his lips curving a bit to see someone he obviously knew.

"Things have not changed, I..." Whatever the Commodore had meant to say was lost forever as he choked on his words, twisting partially around to study Jack—or Jack's hands, as it were—as they slid slowly up the length of his person. A very fine person it was too. Nicely solid, with a steady—and rapid—pounding against Jack's palms that meant that somewhere deep in that chest, despite what folks might have said, there was a heart beating. "What...?"

If the man hadn't suddenly seemed so out of breath, the full force of the intended derision in his voice might have hit Jack square in the face.

"What are you doing, Sparrow?" He bit out Jack's name with a bit more wrath than Jack felt he deserved, considering that here he was, making his intentions too bloody clear for comfort as the Commodore was being so slow to understand.

The gold lining on the waistcoat was rough, the buttons stiff and unyielding, and Jack scowled at them but didn't pay much mind, for the moment. Norrington's hand went to his side, and Jack smoothed his palm across wide ribs, around the breadth of that body until he felt in his fingertips the minute trembling at the Commodore's back. Before the man could actually touch his blasted sword he was trapped in the embrace of a weasely black pirate.

Muscles tightened, and Jack felt the ache of a strong hand gripping his other arm, the one that hadn't yet circled the Commodore. Holding on for his life, he seemed to be, and Jack found himself wondering if the Commodore knew how to swim, if he'd ever been close to drowning, if he had ever jumped in of his own free will.

Norrington's gaze was hard on him, and Jack lifted his eyes, considering the resolute and angry appearance of the man before him. Quite lovely it was, especially when it was so at odds with the shaking at his back, or the stillness of the hand he had laid on Jack's arm. Hardly pushing him away now, was he?

"Why are you here, Sparrow?"

Served him right, that the Commodore would ask that. It was what Jack got for being so direct, and he felt his gaze drawn the pressed, pink mouth just above his own.

In his boots, Jack had only to stretch a little.

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