Never Say Die

1. And A Bucket Of Rum

by

Hippediva and Elessil

If Barbossa thought that just because he'd gone to all that trouble to fetch him back from the late Captain Jones receptacle, where-ever in hell that was, Jack Sparrow was ever going to be without an ace up his sleeve, he really must have been braindead.

Jack scratched his head. Not a comfortable thought. He glanced around rapidly, relieved to find himself alone.

No other selves emerged out of the dinghy's rather leaky bottom, or hung from the spit masquerading as a mast to taunt him with his own eyes, his own words.

More rum.

He leaned back to grab the bottle and yelped.

He was mid-drink before his eyes opened and fixed on the white-gray crustacean snapping tiny claws at him. He ignored it, swallowed and prepared for another guzzle when his nose twitched. At the same time, one of those sinkingly real cold shivers ran straight down his spine to where he was absently rubbing his sore backside.

He swallowed again, looked three times in each direction, spat over the side and lounged. 'Still not quite yerself, Jack ole man. Yer really gonna wind up in bedlam if you keep ima... gin... ning..."

"You belong dere all your life, Jack, me boy."

"Least it's a crab. Not a rock. I hate inquisitive rocks."

"Had pretty ship of you stolen again, quick like you steal always?"

Jack pouted and sniffed. "I fail t'see the relevance." His sudden smile was malicious. "You've just gone t'pieces, haven't ya?"

"You too clever for own good, Jack Sparrow. Dat crab is not yours. It belong to da sea."

The wind picked up and hissed against the merrily fluttering Jolly Roger. "Throw it into da sea!" Words low and smooth, the female voice deep and seductive.

"Of course. Throw it in the sea." Jack held the small crab between two fingers, eyeing it curiously. "Why should I throw it in the sea because voices in me head are tellin' me to do it? They always steer ya wrong ways round, y'know? It cannot have escaped you that I'm talkin' to a crab."

"And a crab is talking to you, Jack Sparrow. Throw it into da sea!" A sharp wail in the wind, an impatient hiss.

Jack's lips twisted into a razor smile. "An' the crab is captain?" He set the small creature down, jerking his hand back from the tiny claws. "I could just squash you under my bootheel an' forget all about this conversation. Embarrassin', y'know, having crabs walkin' about, tellin' their friends stories about me."

Jack Sparrow was always two jumps ahead of the mark.

"If I throw you back in there, luv, wot profit is there fer me? I get nothin'. An' I've had a bad bargain of this all round."

Another angry rush of wind, throwing one of his braids to clack against his baldric. Then the voice was back, low again and rumbling with forced laughter. "But what profit dere be keeping it? It no use to you, Jack Sparrow. And it may drink rum."

"Then I'll be talkin' to a drunken crab. I must say I'm not happy about chasin' after my ship, luv. That seems a bit of a scurvy trick, don't you know?" Jack's mind raced from rum to Barbossa, strutting on his quarterdeck! He couldn't very well ask for the Dutchman and her Pirate Turner father and son team; it seemed rude. Besides, trust the whelp to have scruples with a curse. He'd be no help at all! And it might remind her that romance with humans didn't always work out very well either way, which would result in a massive display of female rage with him on his onesies and no other target around.

Unthinkable.

Jack sighed dramatically and tried to buy some time. "I got inta this fer th' Pearl, darlin' and I think I've held up my end. I never breathed a word t'anyone. Cross me heart I never did." He almost believed himself, just the way she always believed him—or disbelieved him with a smile. "Y've always been so good t'me. I was fair scuppered, I was an' I knew you had t' be behind it."

"Tia only give fate little push. Long written before what happens, me Jack, but you charm Fortune same way you do me."

"So I can have my ship back? Pleease?" he wheedled.

A low laugh. " I canno bring back dey ship to you, Jack."

Jack sulked. "Well that's a fine thing, innit? All-bloody powerful an' can't do a little thing like—." His head shot up, eyes narrowed. "How'd you bring old Hector back, luv?"

"He were only dead. Tiny thing, dat. And I won't be woman to take Pearl from him."

He gnawed on his lip and let the wind play in his hair, like fingers against his cheek, insubstantial and fleeting. Barely there. He glanced at the sea surrounding the little dinghy, stretching out in endless waves, currents crossing each other far into the horizon. The little boat was ringed round with mist, so fine it was hardly more than a wet, tantalising touch. Barely there.

Oho! Jack grinned. One piece missin' and the whole thing doesn't quite work as planned, eh? He swallowed his smile and composed himself. "I do beg yer pardon, darlin'. I just thought, you bein' what you are, you could be anythin', really. Crabs is rather... pinchy."

"Crabs be just fine. Dey live in the sea and ashore, and no one know their true nature. Jack Sparrow—my Jack—won't you do Tia well and throw dat thing into the sea?

"Tia, luv, I would be honoured, but y'see I've got a little problem. My bloody ship is gone missin' an' I do think ya might have a thought fer me tender feelin's on that matter. It does seem a bit hard. No ship, no crew save that as has been pinched by that bugger Barbossa. Whom, I believe, you were responsible fer bringin' back from a well-deserved cave. Grave, I mean."

Jack wanted another drink very much, but he wasn't sure enough of the situation to take his eyes off the tiny, pearl-white creature, scuttling frantically from one side of the dinghy to the other.

"Hector were good to Tia, but he failed. Jack, grand lover of freedom, won't you grant it to me? You give Tia her freedom, and she will give you aid to get back precious ship of yours."

Jack preened, twirling his moustache and his erratic memory hopscotched back to that shack upriver. His eyes were gleaming. "Ahh. Pity 'bout that, luv. But Hector never really knew ya until later, aye? You say you'll get me the Pearl back but how can I know that the gettin' isn't going t'be you losin' yer temper wif ole Jackie?"

He squinted. "I want my Pearl! Didn't go through all this just t'lose 'er all over again." He, of course, neglected to mention fountains of any kind.

"We have a deal? I give you help in getting back you precious Pearl, and you set me free? And you know Tia likes you."

"I know Tia likes me. Sometimes, luv, yer likin' can be th' death of a man." He grinned. "Wot say you t'this? You help me get th' Pearl an' then I set you free. Luv, ye've got t'understand my very natural fears that yer gonna hit the water an' get mad. An' ye'll pardon my mentionin' it, but I don't think ye'd fit in this dinghy."

"You set me free once you have back de ship? I give you help. And if help drown you, Tia will be free too." There was a low shriek in the wind, then silence.

Jack eyed the crab sidelong. Now or never, take it or leave it. Just because he came back once didn't mean he couldn't find himself in an endless sea with no dinghy at all. "Awright! awright! We have an accord! Negotiatin' wif women gives me a headache!" Jack noted petulantly that the rum was nearly gone and heaved a sigh.

When he looked back, the miniscule crab seemed to sparkle at him. He bent closer and reached for it.

It pinched his finger.

"OW!" He nursed the injured digit in his mouth, watching curiously as it scuttled a few paces, then stilled and changed colour, fading from luminescence to dulled silver. He picked it up, turning it between grimy fingers. Another talisman?

That made him feel properly himself, as he stuffed it in his pocket and wondered what would happen next. The sun arched overhead and the little sail was not much protection. He tipped his hat over his eyes and waited.

When he cracked one eye open, the sea was deep amber, fading off into blackness. A ribbon of flame ebbed and flowed towards the setting sun.

So much for the promises of dubious shellfish.

Jack's boots were more than a little damp and he began to bail.

He was too busy having a running argument with the bucket to notice anything more than a greenish brightening of light from the corner of his eye.

Jack scowled at the fading light and sparked the lantern with his pistol. It would be a long night, but he assumed he would have plenty of company in his head. He wondered if he should have waited for Gibbs, then looked at the last ruby beams glinting off the woefully-depleted rum and shook his head.

The seas were easy and he had only to nudge the tiller. He took a long look around him at the vast moving waters, gauging the tiny curls of wavelets, marking where they eddied around a bit of flotsam, drifting just outside the dying light. Big bit of jetsam, that, bobbing along with its blue and yellow beginning to melt into the twilight.

There was a splash and it began to movie, steadily towards his dinghy.

Jack scuttled back to the tiller and hugged the rum.

"Can't be the beastie. An' if Cotton's parrot got human legs, I'll eat my hat!" His lips twitched as he guzzled.

A hand, long and shaking, reached up and clenched around the wood, followed by another, then a face, near as white as the tiny crab. Through draggled wet hair and shocked green eyes, James Norrington blinked at him.

Jack shrieked and nearly tumbled himself overboard. He gulped. "Shoo. Go 'way!" He stared at the hoarfrost face with a clutch of terror somewhere deep inside his guts. He ignored it.

"I said 'shoo!'" He clutched at the rum bottle and the tiller, then rolled his eyes and held out a hand. "I don't think this is much of a bargain!"

Norrington did not take it, but after brief hesitation, pulled himself aboard. He winced and stared around himself, strangely silent. With squared shoulders, he marched to the other side of the dinghy and seated himself, only a glimmer in the green eyes and a shudder disturbing his quiet dignity.

Jack thought he smelled peanuts. He looked around furtively and eyed the rum. "I don't suppose you can explain how you got t'be takin' a swim out here?"

Norrington stared disconcertingly, then, finally, slowly and to himself, spoke, "So this is hell." His voice was hoarse and he seemed to start at that, glancing at the horizon hastily.

Jack snorted. "Sixth Circle, Heretics. Don't ask me. Apparently there's something wrong with their filin' system."

"I must say, I had imagined hellish tortures to be somewhat less... profane. But they are effective, I suppose."

"I refuse to be confused wif some Beelzebubblish minion. Last time I looked, I was in the Caribbean and the moon's waxin' gibbous."

"And you are waxing gibberish, it would seem."

"Matey, where I've been, gibberish is better n' scripture." Jack checked to make sure by sticking out his tongue and looking at it until he was cross-eyed. "I thought you were dead."

"Does that mean you have decided to haunt me for all eternity?"

"Me hauntin' you? Why would I do that? I could ask you th same thing, mate. Last night I got properly drunk at the Bride an' now you're here. Wot were YOU doin'?"

"Dying for a noble cause," Norrington drawled.

"I'm sure it was. You won't mind my noticin' that doesn't explain you bein' in my—um—dinghy. You're sure yer not a ghost? Because if you are, I really do not deserve t'be haunted by you. I didn't get you killed. Well, I was involved, I suppose, in a roundabout, innocent bystander sort of way."

Norrington took the rum and stared at it, blinking. He drank. It was warm, and he was warm, still feeling the water run down his neck, tickling and utterly unlike the chill he remembered last. "I am not in your company by my choice Sparrow, that much should be obvious."

"I gathered that. I was wondering why you didn't think t'bring a bottle." Jack was getting distracted, watching Norrington's pale face and wondering why these things always happened to him. Came of talking to fish.

Every scant hair on his body was still on end. Jack had never been gifted with a reanimation and that made it uncomfortably personal. "Seein' as yer here, you won't mind tradin' off at the tiller, will ya?"

"I hear trading with pirates is risky business." Norrington rose and shook himself. "But by all means. You are the captain of this... dinghy."

"It's got my flag on it." Jack retorted, butting past Norrington, fingers trailing over one pale wrist. Pale but warm. He wasn't some sea hant. Jack sank into the prow with a distinct sigh of relief. "Reconnaissance."

Norrington looked down at his wrist, then at Sparrow. "So it would seem," he murmured, his hand resting on the tiller, which the pirate had tied off before. "Quite telling, that you would put your banner on this rather than a proper ship."

"It's part of a proper ship! " Jack sniffed. "I suppose you'll be lookin' fer a berth of some sort when we make shore. Lots of opportunities for pirate hunters with such a remarkable resume," he sneered.

Jack toed the rum towards Norrington. He jingled forward, his eyes betwitching. "Listen, mate. You're gonna need work of some sort, if only t'get back whereever you wanna get to. I need a helpin' hand. Now, technically of course, we should postpone such negotiations until we're ashore over a proper mug, but technically things aren't quite ordinary. Do we have an accord?"

His fingers twitched out towards Norrington's pale hand. "Pirate hunters must be in great demand."

"You misunderstand, Sparrow. Pirate hunters are not a particular type of pirate. They hunt them."

"Like prey, like predator, Admiralodore. Wotever. I get so confused wif Navy titles." Jack's foot tapped restlessly. "I imagine a man like you would want t'make good use of his time. Duty an all that."

Norrington raised one eyebrow. "You cannot remember my title, but you claim to understand my intentions?"

"Intentions? Wot intentions? I don't have intentions!" Jack blustered then stopped and chuckled. "Did you want me t'have intentions? " He fidgeted. "Listen luv. You help me get this tub ashore, aye? Then we'll get you hunting pirates again, present company and all intentions excluded." His smile was dazzling.

"Why would you wish to hunt..." Norrington looked up sharply, glanced at the tiny dinghy, its proud flag, and laughed. "You lost your ship again?"

Jack groaned. "I did not. Much. I mislaid her." Norrington was his jar of dirt and Jack was not going to lose his advantage by being carelessly honest. Or dishonest. Depending on the wind.

Norrington leaned down to take the proffered bottle, raising it in a toast. "Things that never change. The worst pirate I ever heard of."

Jack scowled. "There were circumstances beyond my control." Suddenly, he grinned like a death's head, his black eyes utterly mad. "If I have to steal back my ship from a recently resurrected pirate, I can have an equally—" his nose wrinkled, "undead pirate hunter t'help me do it. Wot have ya got t'lose?"

"To lose? Considering I am here with you, have once again lost my position, my integrity and apparently my life, I would say that leaves only my sanity." Norrington laughed darkly and looked up, a glint in his eyes. There was the wind in his face, and the water trickling down his hand, just lightly cold, and he pressed his eyes shut against the sudden burn.

Jack heaved himself forward, too close. "Sanity is vastly overrated, James. But it's worth the salt in yer face again, innit? "

Norrington smiled and felt his windblown strands tickle the back of his neck. "Would you be saying you need my help to get your ship back, Dinghy-Captain Jack Sparrow?"

Jack's moustache quivered. "I wouldn't say no, Mr. Norrington. " He sighed, exasperated. "Let's just get ashore. Here." He handed over the bucket.

Norrington straightened, shrugged off his coat and laughed hoarsely. "We are in the same boat, Sparrow, just in case that had escaped your attention. Literally." Their hands touched as he took the bucket. As good as any handshake.

"Done!" Jack looked up at the spangled sky. Exactly how a freshly undead Norrington was going to help him get his Pearl back was unclear. Nor was it clear that Norrington was going to approve of charts leading to parts unknown. It was perilously close to shanghai'ing, even with a broad interpretation of the Code, but first things first.

"I think this is gonna be the start of..." He cocked his head to one side. "A beautiful somethin'... worship, hardship, midships... oh yes. Friendship."

Norrington raised one eyebrow and emptied the bucket over Sparrow's head. "Yes, I had noticed an alarming amount of rum was gone.

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