For Want of a Nail

Chapter 2

by

The Dala

The room was unpleasantly warm, so he knew that he was either somewhere in summer or in the Caribbean at more or less any time of the year. He heard the unmistakable clink of something hard against glass. A throat clearing marked his companion as male. He began to hum in a low voice, a complicated tune that was vaguely familiar to Jack and definitely not a bar ballad or shanty. Probably upper class, then. He sniffed, detecting a faint whiff of cologne. French cologne. Definitely. Well, he had dispatched many a Frenchman over the years, and he didn't think this one would be any trouble.

After the few seconds it took him to process this information, he leapt to his feet, surprising his aristocratic French enemy and upsetting the decanter of cognac beside the bed; he thrust a blade in deep below the man's ribs, grabbed the spirits, and made a run for the open window.

At least that was what happened in Jack's imagination. In reality, he opened his eyes to find Commodore Norrington sitting by his bedside, pouring some pink stuff into a small glass. Jack attempted his heroic leap-and-stab, but found himself barely able to raise his head and one arm. Exhausted by the strain, he let his head drop back onto his pillow, eyes darting about the room. He didn't recognize it, but a glance at the orange trees outside the window reconciled with his knowledge of Port Royal's native foliage.

He still felt the oppressive heat, but Norrington was dressed in relatively heavy clothing and was not sweating. Jack could feel warm droplets running from his own brow. He kicked futilely at the quilts covering his prone body.

Norrington—a man Jack would have been perfectly content to never see again—was looking at him now, his eyes stern and unforgiving.

"Do you know where you are?" Norrington inquired in a condescending tone that made Jack want to hit him.

Of course, he didn't in fact know where he was, so he chose to ignore the question entirely.

"Lemme go!" he growled and was surprised at the immediate pain, almost like a rash, in his throat. His voice came out in a croak.

Norrington set the bottle and glass on a bedside table with a sigh. "This is going to be so very unpleasant," he muttered to himself. Turning, he called through the open door, "He's awake!"

Elizabeth Turner hurried in and Jack felt somewhat less panicked. The Commodore most certainly shouldn't be here with him—or perhaps it was the other way around—but if Elizabeth was present as well, neither of them would be able to turn to bloodshed. Jack figured that he would be rather overcome in his present state of immobility.

"Lizzie," he rasped, "what the hell's going on?"

"That type of language is inappropriate for—" the Commodore began with a frown.

"Where the devil am I?" Jack continued as if he hadn't heard.

She smiled gently at him and bent over his bed, presenting him with quite a fine sight of her cleavage. Oh, he'd missed that, all right.

"Don't you remember, Jack?"

"I told you he was insensible when we brought him here," Norrington sniffed. Elizabeth shot him a look.

She put a hand to his forehead and her fingers were blessedly cool. "You're in Commodore Norrington's house. We've just taken you from our own place."

"Elizabeth," he said in what he felt was an exceedingly patient voice, "I cannot think of one single reason why I would be in the good Commodore's place of residence, especially since last we met he tried to hang me." He glared at said Commodore, who looked away with the affectation that Jack wasn't important enough to rest one's eyes on.

She turned to Norrington. "Would you mind giving us a moment of privacy, Commodore?"

Norrington cast a side-long glance at Jack. "I would prefer not to leave you alone with... this man, Mrs. Turner." Jack rolled his eyes and noticed with dismay that there was no kohl framing them. His jewelry was likewise missing, though his hair-baubles were still in place. His eyes combed the room, but it was disturbingly bare of any art or furniture—more importantly, it was also bare of his coat, hat, compass, pistol, or sword.

While he was taking a silent inventory of his effects, Elizabeth had apparently convinced the Commodore to take his leave, because he stood and exited the room (not, however, before giving Jack a warning look).

Jack fixed his attention on Elizabeth again and noticed the little crease of worry between her brows.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed. "Is the whelp all right?"

"Yes," she said, giving him a strange look. "It's you, Jack. You're ill. Don't you remember...?" At his blank look she continued: "You've been staying with Will and me for a week now."

Jack sat bolt upright—or tried to, in any case. He made it about halfway, then fell back into the pillows. It was quite humiliating.

He tried to think—Elizabeth and Will, what did their home look like? If she was telling the truth, he'd be able to remember it...

Concentrating, he could feel the memories starting to come back, some of them clear, some of them fogged.

She watched recognition flicker in his eyes and said, "You keep slipping in and out. When we brought you here you were nearly delirious, which is probably why you couldn't remember much at first. Your fever rises and falls as well."

Fever. So that was why he was so uncommonly warm. And although his head felt all right now, if a little fuzzy, he thought he could recall splitting pain centered there. Likewise he could dimly remember vomiting at some point.

"Anamaria and Gibbs brought you to us," Elizabeth said. "They couldn't treat you at sea, and you're much too notorious now to be taken to a doctor." She winked at him, but he was too upset to be amused.

"There are crooked doctors in Tortuga," he pointed out.

"And it's a good thing Ana didn't trust them any more than I would," she snapped.

Jack lifted an arm to gesture weakly with. "Yet here I am in the belly of the beast, so to speak."

Elizabeth's face turned resigned as though she'd already had to argue on the Commodore's behalf (which, if Jack knew her husband at all, she probably had). "He's protecting you, Jack, and he'll be able to care for you better than Will or I could."

"And when I'm well again he'll clap me in irons, Lizzie, I promise you that!"

"No, I won't," said Norrington smoothly. He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest, looking completely impassive. "I gave my word. And I wish you would stop addressing Mrs. Turner so informally."

"Well, I wish you'd take a rusty anchor and shove it backwards up your—" Elizabeth clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish, but her eyes were dancing. Jack was capable of heavy flirting even with a severe fever. He puckered his lips and kissed her palm, making her giggle as she pulled away. When she settled her hands in her lap, he noted her rounded stomach for the first time. It was barely noticable, but Jack made it his business to notice such things.

"Did I know about that?" he asked, giving the area a significant glance.

She blushed prettily. "No, we hadn't told you yet. Should be about five months before we have our own little pirate running around the shop."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her in mock disapproval. "Darling, we are extraordinary creatures, but not even pirates are able to scamper about at birth."

The Commodore cleared his throat. Both parties looked over at him, clearly annoyed. It was, however, his house.

Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, Jack said, "I don't trust him."

"I do," she replied simply. "What are your other options at this point, Jack? He'd never have believed that we hadn't seen you. He knows me far too well."

"As well as I do?" asked Jack with a bit of a pout. With a smile, she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Please behave," she whispered into his ear before sitting back up.

"Do I really have to stay here?" he demanded, loud enough for Norrington to hear. He thought he could detect an irritated grunt coming from the doorway.

Elizabeth smoothed his bedclothes fussily. "Yes, you do."

"You could tell me what I'm sick with, at the very least."

"Possibly malaria," Norrington said.

Jack brightened visibly. "Serve me up a gin-and-tonic, then!"

Norrington sniffed. "I have purchased some ground Cinchona bark, which will do far better. It dissolves quite nicely in tea."

It was the first inkling of a friendly gesture from the man, but Jack wanted nothing to do with it.

"Makes a tea tastes like bilgewater, I'll wager," he grumped.

"Jack," Elizabeth admonished, "this is very serious. I want you to take whatever he gives you, and don't waste your energy trying to escape or contact your crew—they've left you entirely in our care and you'll return to them when I have personally deemed you well again."

Jack looked to Norrington, finding this hard to believe.

"Of course," he said, with an utterly sincere smile for Elizabeth. He did not meet Jack's eyes. He was lying, and Jack would swear to it on pain of death.

Well. He wasn't Captain Jack Sparrow for nothing. He would deal with that when the time came. He had not escaped the Commodore twice to die by his hand now.

"You see?" Elizabeth said, poking him in the arm. "Will or I'll visit you as frequently as we can. I've got to go now—I want you to rest, you hear?"

A tiny thread of panic rose within him at the thought of being alone with Norrington, but he kissed her hand graciously.

"Thank you for your care, Lizzie," he murmured, letting his lashes drop down over his eyes. She was immune to his charms by now, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate his constant attempts to use them on her.

"You're welcome, Jack."

"I'd like to be around when your babe is born," he said almost shyly, hating that Norrington was present but wanting to tell her anyway.

Elizabeth's answering smile was brilliant. "I'd like that too. Rest well." She nodded to Norrington as she left.

And then it was just the two of them.

Norrington kept his position, arms crossed hostilely, at the doorway. Jack didn't move either—but then, he had far less choice in the matter.

He opened his mouth, but Norrington cut him off before he could get a word out.

"Look," said Norrington in a short, clipped tone that could not have been more different from that he used to address Elizabeth, "I don't want you here any more than you want to be here. Frankly I think you're a common filthy pirate, no matter if you've happened to do the Turners a fair deed or two, and the gallows are too good for you. But I'm doing a favor for the women who just left."

"You still in love with her?" Jack wondered aloud. "I never believed you were to begin with."

"That's none of your business." Norrington shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous gesture Jack had seen in many a sailor. "Regardless, you are not going to die under my roof. But if I find any of my possessions missing or misplaced, I won't hesitate to turn you into the authorities immediately."

"I won't touch a thing." Pity; there was nothing worth pilfering in this drab little room, but the Commodore must have some riches in the building somewhere. He certainly could afford to keep those brass buttons and fine leather boots polished to a sheen. Still, if it was between stealing a few knickknacks and a hanging, he supposed he could restrain himself.

Norrington hesitated a moment before he grudgingly asked, "How are you feeling? We gave you some medicated tea a few hours ago, but if you're doing badly another dose wouldn't hurt..."

Jack chose to see this as an attack on his manhood. Such attacks had been made, many times, but coming from Norrington he was incensed where he would normally be dismissive. "I don't need it," he said defiantly.

"Fine," said Norrington, still talking as though someone was waiting with scissors to chop off the ends of his words if he lingered on any too long. As he turned to go, Jack couldn't help asking something.

"Am I to call you Commodore, or Norrington, or are you goin' to give me a proper name? I don't feel it's fair, you knowing mine and me ignorant."

Anger flashed in his eyes, the clearest display of emotion he'd shown since Jack had woken up. "I do not feel inclined to tell you my first name, Sparrow. And you may address me as 'Commodore Norrington,' not one or the other."

"Then it is Captain Sparrow, savvy? And where are my effects? I should like to have them at hand."

"I'm not going to arm you, Captain Sparrow. They are at the Turners' and will be returned to you when you leave this residence." He left, shutting the door behind him—not slamming it, of course, that would be far too unseemly. Jack heard mechanic tumblers fall into place; apparently it locked from the outside.

"That day cannot come soon enough," he muttered, wiping his brow before sinking into an uncomfortable sleep.

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