For Want Of A Nail

Chapter 5

by

The Dala

"Thought ye were a goner fer sure," said Mrs. Perry one afternoon, shortly after Jack's victory of being able to keep a meal down, as she was changing the sweat-soaked sheets on his bed. Jack was curled up in the armchair, fiddling with a last remaining feather from the pillows he'd destroyed. "But ye've got some fight in you, pirate, ain't no doubt about that."

He said nothing, staring down at the feather in his hand. Lethargy was not a feeling to which he was accustomed and he was stubbornly trying to deal with it. Mrs. Perry paused, drawing the cover back, to squint at him.

"You must be right mis'rable, pinin' for the sea and the Commodore both."

That got a reaction. Jack goggled at her as she calmly drew him up by an elbow. "I am not pining for Norrington!"

"Lie down, man, and stop glarin' at me like that. Would there be some other reason, then, why you been callin' out his Christian name in your sleep?" She fussed at the pillows as she forced Jack down.

Though he had left behind shame for his attraction to men round about the same time as he'd discovered it, Jack understood that there was a time and a place for indulgences that would earn him a noose faster than he could blink, and that extended to discussion and acknowledgment of same. Bustling, matronly Mrs. Perry's casual questioning was outside his considerable range of experience, and he found himself in the unfamiliar predicament of speechlessness.

The housekeeper's sharp gray eyes softened a touch. "No need t' worry that I'll be runnin' off to see you hauled away, now. When my dear nephew Gregory killed hisself because his chosen sweetheart happened to b'long to his own sex, I promised meself I'd never judge a soul on how he gets by beneath his sheets."

It was difficult to tell without a mirror and it could just be a lingering bit of fever, but Jack thought the warmth in his face might have been the first time he'd blushed in twenty-five years.

Mrs. Perry tucked blankets around him as she continued. "And the Commodore, ‘e's been on a strange tide for the past couple months, so's I knew somethin' was up wiv'im. T'weren't this bad when he was courtin' Miss Elizabeth, I can tell ye that. Some days he's grand an' gracious, an' some days in the foulest temper I ever seen." A flour-scented finger stabbed at the air in front of his nose. "Now I know who's t'blame and I've gotten a good look at ye, I c'n offer a warnin'. You're pirate through and through, Jack Sparrow, an' I cain't put a stop to yer stealin' his heart. He's a good lad, with a good, pure heart, an' if ye break it I'll have a pound o' flesh for ev'ry ship ye've ever raided."

For a moment, Jack expected her to add a ‘savvy?'.

She pinched his upper arm hard. "That clear, Sparrow?"

"Yes'm," Jack squeaked quickly. Now his cheeks were definitely flaming.

"Eat," said Mrs. Perry crossly as she settled a tray of soup on his lap.

Jack obeyed and continued in his quest to think about Norrington as little as possible. He was surprisingly adept at putting the man out of his mind, even though he spent every waking hour in his house; he suspected it came from years of trying to keep the Pearl at the back of his thoughts.

Just as he had during those ten years, however, he paid the price for it in his dreams. And was he allowed to dream of Norrington romping in his bed, as he had before the great brandy fiasco? Of course not—fate had far more effective players in her grip.

"Bill?"

He was there, solid and study as always, broader in the shoulders and quicker to smile than his son. Jack reached a hand out to him before he could form thought, but Bill shook his head even as he flashed that grin reserved for Jack and Jack alone. Kate had her own claim on Bill's many smiles, but this one had always been his.

"A dream, then," Jack sighed in resignation.

"‘Course a dream," said Bill. " I'm dead, ain't I?"

Jack looked around. They were in the Black Pearl's hold, perfect down to the last detail, except that the hatch was missing entirely. He supposed he ought to feel trapped and panicked, in the belly of a ship with no way out and probably little air, but it was only a dream, and only his own Pearl.

"Haven't dreamed of you in a long while," said Jack to Bill in a perfectly conversational tone.

Bill's eyebrows twitched upwards. "Thought you dreamed of me near every night."

Jack scowled. "That thing of bone and rot? ‘S not you, Bill."

"True enough," his dead lover replied evenly. "I hear you've gotten yourself into a right mess here."

"Don't I always?" Jack twirled around with a flourish.

"Aye," said Bill, "but this time's different."

"You're talking about the Navy boy, are you not?" He snorted contemptuously. "Bloody great idiot, is ol' Commodore Norrington."

Bill sighed and shook his head. "You can play the fool with lotsa people, Jack, but never with me, no matter how you tried."

"And I did try," said Jack quietly. "Oh, how I tried when you married her." His voice dropped ominously on ‘her.'

"Aye," said Bill with a raised eyebrow, "I remember. Think it's goin' to work now when it wouldn't then?"

Jack raised a hand to tug on a twisted lock of hair. "You just hear to upbraid me, Bill? Could've gone to pretty much any place in Port Royal for that."

"No," Bill replied evenly. "Just offering some advice."

"And that would be?"

Bill fixed him with a critical eye, years of knowing and caring for him coalesced into a single look that made him shift uncomfortably. "Only this: you love too well to never do it again, Jack. Even if y'are damned thick-headed about coming ‘round to it."

"Is that why you left me, Bill?" He dismissed the first bit as irrelevant, absurd.

"Don't be unfair now," Bill admonished. "Kate had nothin' to do with you, or you with her. I couldn't help how things turned out."

Jack scuffed his toes along the floorboards. "I know," he said grudgingly.

Bill smiled that smile again and clapped him on the shoulder. "You think on what I said." He turned to go, though Jack had no idea where as they were still locked in the hold with no apparent way out. Bill paused to look back over his shoulder. "And Jack, remember I know all your tricks—you stop giving those slit-eyed glances to my son and his bride!"

Jack chuckled. "As if they'll ever be able to see anything but each other."

"Kiss my granddaughter for me," said Bill as he faded back into the shadows of the hull. Jack went to the place he'd disappeared, pounded on the wall. It held.

He woke with a cry muffled against his own arm, the dream hazy in his mind. Only the feelings remained sharp—longing and loss, memory turned to bone and yet tempered by hope.

Wrapping a quilt around his shoulders, he got up slowly, still shaky on his feet, and shuffled to the window. A cloud passed over the swelling moon.

He wouldn't leave until Norrington was back. Some kind of accord had to be reached between them or they'd both go mad.

~~~

With a sigh, he rose and dressed perfunctorily, in just breeches and a shirt. Gillette ought to be getting off his watch and he had earlier mentioned a book Norrington might be interested in. It would be something to kill the time, and somebody to exchange words with, brief and impersonal though they would be. He'd found that he missed Jack's constant chattering far more than he would have thought possible.

Outside the door to the small cabin next to his own, traditionally awarded to lieutenants, he raised his hand to rap on it just as he heard a sharp cry. Recalling that Gillette was nursing a broken wrist, he opened the door without completing his knock.

"Oh," he said faintly to the sight greeting his eyes: Gillette braced against the far wall, his auburn hair tied loosely back, a dark-haired man kneeling in front of him. Blue-green eyes shot to his own as Gillette gasped in shock. The other man turned his head and Norrington recognized him as Second Lieutenant Groves.

Gillette scrambled to close his breeches as Groves shot to his feet in what was a quite impressive display of athleticism.

"My apologies," he managed to stammer. "Should have knocked." He bolted from the room, making sure to close the door firmly behind him, and retreated to the sanctuary of his own cabin.

Shock was foremost on his mind, quickly followed by mild resentment. If Gillette had only stayed behind on account of his wrist, as Norrington had politely suggested but unfortunately not ordered, he wouldn't have had to see that. He felt he should also be plagued by disgust, by righteous anger, but even if he had been, it would only have named him a hypocrite.

Some five minutes later, there was a timid knock on his door. He had a decent idea of who it might be.

"Come in," he called, suddenly feeling extremely weary.

Gillette, fully dressed and with his wig on, entered, looking so absolutely terrified that Norrington could feel nothing but pity.

A dark head poked in after him and he spun, trying to push it back. "Let me handle it, Tom!" he could Gillette hiss.

"We're doing this together or we aren't doing it at all," came the normally mild voice of Groves, now tight with strain.

Both of them stumbled into his cabin, Groves apparently having shoved Gillette forward. His eyes were worried as well, though not with the same panicked depth as those of his—his lover, Norrington supposed, turning the word curiously over in his mind.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. He sat down behind it, hoping his blush wouldn't show in the candlelight. Jack had claimed he wouldn't color so fiercely if he would just get some sun, but he at least had the comfort that Gillette, with his fair complexion, was outmatching him.

They sat before him and the difference between them was curious. Both were resigned, but while it seemed to settle on Groves like a solid weight, Gillette looked as though he was going to jump up at any moment and perhaps take flight.

"Well," said Norrington, glancing from one to the other. Gillette looked quickly down, swallowing hard. Groves looked back at him, jaw set. "How long?"

"Over a year," came the reply from Gillette, frank as always.

"Just before the raid on the town," Groves added. Gillette shot him a sickened look, as if he'd given too much information.

Norrington cleared his throat. They were both looking at him anxiously, now and then glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes. And just like that, he understood the nature of the fear he saw: not for the self, but for the other. Any humor he might have felt at the situation immediately fled him.

"I can't protect you if anyone else should find out," he said quietly.

Groves sat back straight in his chair, nearly rocking it. Gillette just blinked at him.

"Do you understand?" He tapped his fingers on the desk, nervous, then stopped because the gesture felt like something Jack would do.

"Yes, sir," said Groves, relief flooding his tense face. He flashed Norrington a quick, bright smile as he got up.

"But—" Gillette began, still staring at Norrington, expecting something quite different from his superior officer.

Groves tugged gently on his sleeve. "Andrew, let's go."

"You've been dismissed, Lieutenant Gillette," said Norrington, not unkindly.

Gillette allowed Groves to pull him out of the cabin. A few minutes later Norrington could hear soft laughter coming through the wall before silence fell. Of course, Norrington thought—they would have had to learn to be quiet.

Over a year and he hadn't known, hadn't suspected a thing.

Jack would probably think the whole situation hysterically funny.

Norrington kicked the leg of his desk in frustration. Could he not go a quarter of an hour without thinking of the man? One night, yes, he could accept that as too much to expect, but this was preposterous.

Getting undressed and back into bed, he clutched a pillow in his arms and began a mental chant. Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him...

He started as what felt like breath stirred across his face. But no, he was alone in the cabin, it must have been the ghost of a breeze.

Norrington rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. By the time he'd picked up his silent repetitions again, the breeze had brushed over the back of his neck.

Craning his neck sharply, he looked up to see eyes glinting down at him in the darkness.

"Having trouble sleeping, Commodore?" Jack's voice was just above a whisper. Norrington couldn't move, could only stare as the bed dipped beneath the weight of another body.

"How?" he gasped.

He felt the elegant roll of shoulders as Jack urged him over onto his back. "Pirate, remember?" With a grin gleaming in the moonlight against his dark skin, Jack straddled him, reaching down to clasp hands that had been raised to push him away or to draw him closer—Norrington wasn't sure which he'd had planned, but he forgot to be concerned about it when Jack rocked down onto him, firm erection encouraging his own organ into hardness.

Head falling back on the pillow, he bared his neck and Jack took the unconscious hint, bending down to scrape lips and then teeth across it.

"Jack," he breathed.

"Shhh, love," Jack replied, fingers tightening around his own as his thighs tightened around Norrington's hips. He let go one of Norrington's wrists to reach between their bodies and slide up under his shirt to take him in a rough, sure hand.

Louder, far more desperate: "Jack..." Tangling his newly freed hand in the thick mane of black hair, he tried to pull him down for a kiss, but Jack shook his head and arched up, away.

"Hush," he said soothingly. Norrington moaned as the heat collected low in his belly was called up by the agonizingly slow strokes along his length. "Remember where we are. Don't want to bring the whole company down upon us."

Another cry of Jack's name escaped his lips and he followed it with a hissed, "I can't, I can't, please—"

Responding to his frantically grasping arms, Jack finally leaned down to smother the sounds he couldn't suppress with a kiss that burned as brightly as the sun he had watched set a few hours before.

~~~

"Jack..."

No, he told himself in astonishment. Commodore Norrington's determination to capture Jack Sparrow was well-known, even more so among his men. He would not have been surprised if Norrington dreamed about catching Sparrow or losing him, saying his name in anger or frustration.

But there was no mistaking or misinterpreting a moan like that.

Well. That was just... interesting.

Gillette stirred, poking his head up to peer fuzzily at Groves. "What is it?"

Groves waited for the sound to come again, but it did not. "Nothing," he murmured, settling back down and kissing the fringes of his companion's gingery hair. "I'm rather anxious to get back to Port Royal, that's all."

~~~

A few weeks more—supposedly there was a Chinese pirate crew terrorizing the waters around Hispaniola, and trawling for them would take at least that long. A few weeks to give Jack time to clear out if he hadn't already.

A few weeks to give himself the chance to adjust to the concept of a newly empty house, no Annabelle, no lusty pirate captain, no twice-weekly visits from the Turners.

Perhaps a month, he thought soberly as he bundled his sheets up to be washed.

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