Nail 17

Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own the stuff that belongs to the Mouse. Anything you don't recognize is mine fair and square, though.
Originally Posted: 4/07/04
Summary: Things would be so much easier if wishes were horses rather than ships.

Jack's skin was nearly colorless in this light. In sleep he looked unformed, neither the silk-tongued wraith moving with him in shades of night and moonlight and desire, nor the roguish fool who'd tumbled him down with laughter time and again. He was not the pirate unconsciously checking every entrance and exit when he came into a room, the sallow-skinned invalid asking for water, the unwavering friend consoling a frightened young couple, the surprise of a romantic gifting him with a new pet. He was only a man, breathing deeply and sighing now and then as he slept with an arm around Norrington's waist.

But on the beach he had been more. In the star-sparkled waters he had slipped away and back again, until Norrington was not sure if he was being met as an equal in element or if Jack was merely letting himself be caught. He'd chosen, wisely or no, to believe the first. Jack was pulling him in, pulling him under, and for once he'd followed with his arms outstretched—reaching, grasping—and his eyes closed.

Trusting a man who by definition could not be trusted, because his heart was not his own. Norrington had seen that last night, engaged in mock battle with Jack as the waves brought them near and pulled them apart again. There was no reason to resent him, but there was an ocean of reasons for sorrow. The Turners' child had been born and Jack had no further reason to stay.

He turned onto his side, brushing fingertips against the lips he'd kissed so many times that they melted against him in his dreams. Jack didn't stir.

"I wish I could keep you," he whispered, stroking the knobby back of Jack's hand on his ribs. "I wish we could be enough for each other."

Eyelashes nearly as long and lush as a woman's quivered open, unveiling dark eyes fuzzy with sleep. "Wha'?"

Jack brought his arms in close to his body and tucked his head under Norrington's chin. "'F wishes were ships."

Norrington supposed he was right. Things would be so much easier if wishes were horses rather than ships.

He left Jack snoring softly, rolled over into the warm spot and the pillow smelling of commodore. The thought of going to work made something ache behind his eyes, but that was what he had, wasn't it? That was what he would be left with, so he might as well get readjusted to the concept.

In a way the neat order and precision of proceedings at the fort became a relief, as long as he didn't think too much on what awaited him at home. He signed papers, read dispatches, and tried to feel useful to the world. When Gillette came by with a report that a local tavern owner was running an illegal gambling ring and possibly involved in smuggling, he was eager to snatch up his coat and walk through town to investigate.

The man's wife met them at the bar, looking more and more guilty as they questioned her until she let them into a back room. Barnes the suspect was there, as were a few men of low status and a pretty blond barmaid trying to coax a recalcitrant man into letting her sit in his lap. She screamed when they barged in, but Norrington was staring at the object of her flirtation, blood rushing so quickly through his head that he scarcely heard a thing.

Jack's eyes were shadowed in the low-burning candlelight of the hidden den, but Norrington thought he saw a wince in them. Other than that, Jack did not move.

The noise of mingled outrage and triumph came from beside him. Gillette cocked his pistol at Jack's head.

Jack didn't take his eyes away from Norrington. They asked for nothing. They admitted nothing. "Well, I had such a lovely stay last time, Mr. Gillette, and I thought to further extend my tour of your little town's amenities."

Cold was pouring down his spine as surely as if a bucket of ice water had been upended over his head. He had to flex his fingers to ease the numbness.

"Sir?" Gillette was saying. He sounded very far away. "Shall I arrest this man?" His tone indicated that he thought the pirate was anything but.

He had to swallow several times, tasting thick bile at the back of his throat, before he could answer. "Yes." His voice, to his own distant surprise, was steady.

Jack did not try to run or reach for the weapons he was now carrying. He held his hands out exactly as he had done once before, an offering made to Norrington rather than to the men who were actually cuffing him. His arms were twisted around behind his back, but he did not flinch at the sharp pulls on his shoulders.

It was an effort of sheer will to turn away from that immobile gaze to deal with the tavern owner, but Norrington managed it, feeling Jack's eyes bore through him. In minutes the culprits were secured. Jack was the first marched out, Gillette pulling him by the elbow.

He looked away as he passed Norrington, but it was not a rebuke. His eyes simply moved with his body when it was turned, leaving Norrington to stare at the back of his head.

Giving instructions to take the prisoners to the jail, he left his men to duck behind a corner and vomit into a pig trough.

For Want Of A Nail

Chapter 17