Never Say Die

2. Rum Responsibilities

by

Hippediva and Elessil

The black eyes glowered. Jack supposed he probably should tell Norrington something but he was too busy indulging in a full-fledged sulk. His lips pushed out, moustache bristling, he lounged over the tiller while the lamp swayed and the toothpick mast creaked.

"So if I want silence, I only need to douse you? Two birds with one stone. Silence, and miniscule aid against your stink." Norrington shuffled idly, pouring half a bucket of mudded water overboard.

Jack shuddered a little as he realised how easily his fist had curled around his cutlass. His sulk grew blacker: at least the jar of dirt had been quiet. But then again, jars of dirt weren't much company. And Jack wanted company. He'd had enough of his own for a time.

Norrington heaved a sigh and grabbed the bottle, sloshing the meagre remainders absently. Sparrow's eyes fixed on it sharply and Norrington gripped the neck tighter. "Why am I here?"

Jack twitched. "My boat, my rum." He stared at Norrington's face, chiselled by shadows, ominously illuminated by the lamp’s uncomfortably red glow. He twitched again. "How should I know why yer here? Not at peace, that's my guess." His gaze returned to the rum.

"And so I seek out you of all men to find peace? That is priceless." Norrington's eyes narrowed and he pulled the rum closer to his chest. "You have something to do with this, just as with every mess in my life."

Sparrow fumed. "Mate, I cannot be held responsible if you got a flea in yer ear an' went to almost-incredible lengths t'kill me. "

"The flea most certainly came from your infested mop." The plop as Norrington tugged the cork out with his teeth echoed over the waves.

Jack's mouth watered and he stamped one foot. "Sticks an' stones again? Commodore, I thought you were smarter than that. I was rootin' fer you, y'know. " He tried his most ingratiating smile and it glittered weirdly as the sail flapped. "Trim that line, sailor!" His sudden cry raised Norrington’s hackles. "Why?" Jack complained at himself. "Why not? It'll go right any second." he retorted. He blinked and cleared his throat. "WOT?"

Norrington recoiled, then straightened and arched an eyebrow. "No more rum for you."

Sparrow made a face at him. "Norrington, bein' a responsible person occasionally, and the occasion being now, I can responsibly say that while I may have something t'do wif it, I never requested it and I declare m'self utterly free of any responsibilities responsible.". His black eyes glittered. "Wot I do know is that this is my ship—boat—dinghy and yer drinkin' my rum."

"Responsibility is far too strong a word, great Captain. You just admitted to having something to do with it. I can only presume you know." Norrington's eyes glinted. "Besides, if you dub yourself my captain, that makes me your crew; and as such I have a right to my share of the rum rations. Of course, I would be more than willing to give them up to my... respectable... captain, if he would only answer one question."

Jack grimaced at the word 'respectable'. Some inner delicacy kept him from mentioning the obvious to Norrington, a nagging and most annoying feeling that he was responsible. That made his britches itch and he fidgeted. "Wot?"

"Why. Am. I. Here?"

Sparrow huffed. "So I can find the Pearl. There. Simple, really. Not a terrible great story. Just that." He beamed.

"That, Sparrow, is babble, and not an answer."

The itch was insistent, then it was a sharp poke. Jack bounded up with a howl and seemed to charge at Norrington over the bucket, fists flying. He bellowed and scrabbled, fighting to get at the agonising pinch in a rather tender place.

Norrington's eyes widened and he raised both arms. Sparrow's fist hit his chest feebly and he jumped to his feet. Did the wretched pirate think he could take him in a fistfight, and that after Tortuga? His fist connected with Sparrow's shoulder and sent him rolling.

Jack shrieked and twisted, kicking wildly, one hand stuck in his pocket. "GODDAMN! LET GO!" he screamed, his elbow catching Norrington in the solar plexus.

With a hissed huff of breath, Norrington grabbed Sparrow and rolled him around, pinning him down. Jack's knee hit him in the stomach and he groaned as his back hit the edge of the boat.

Jack's right arm flailed, fist clenched around the crab, attached firmly to his forefinger. He hollered and kicked again, sliding into the hull. The little craft teetered past any sensible lie to and started to fill.

Norrington shouted and pushed himself away from the boat, grabbing Sparrow and jerking him away before the dinghy capsized with a creaking moan.

Jack shrieked, climbing up Norrington, his fist high over the waves. "Keep it dry! DRY! DAMN!!"

And if help drown you, Tia will be free too... Jack floundered in black waters.

"OW, Let go of my hair, Sparrow! SPARROW; damn you, help me get the boat upright!"

Norrington's hands were on his head, his shoulders, the inky waves up to his wrist. "NOOOOO," he gurgled, sucking in seawater. He started to choke. There was laughter behind the roaring in his ears.

Norrington struggled and swallowed a mouthful of seawater, coughing, "Sparrow, stop kicking!" He hauled them both against the boat's keel, gasping for breath. "Don't tell me you cannot swim."

"CRAB! Th' crab. Dry!" was the unhelpful response, barely intelligible between coughs.

"Have you hit your head?" Norrington hissed, clinging to the barnacled keel with one hand, holding a struggling Sparrow by the collar with the other. He fought to see whatever trinket Jack was juggling wildly, forgetting to swim or even try to keep his head above water.

With a lunge, he pushed himself a stroke away from the dinghy and grabbed at a bit of glass floating by, glinting in the moonlight. It was the bottle. Snarling, he was back at Sparrow's side and grabbed the crab, stuffing it into the bottle and corking it. "There!" he hissed, "Now swim and help me right the boat!"

"ACCKKK!" Jack kept trying to talk and coughing up seawater. It was dark but the blackness clouding his vision was darker. He was staring down into a pinpoint of light that shifted and grew, then suddenly blinked out. "Boat?" He grabbed hold of a floating line. "Is it safe? Give it t'me." Bottle safely stowed, bulging under his coat, he swam to Norrington. "Ready?"

"Aye," Norrington took a deep breath and dove under, pushing against the tiny boat. It gave, and he could feel the tiny currents of Sparrow struggling next to him, but every time they pushed, it sank back down again. Finally, he surfaced, gasping for air. Only a second later, Sparrow emerged next to him. "The sail," he gasped.

Jack nodded and dove back under, heaving at handfuls of canvas and wondering how one small sail could suddenly seem like a full rig. Norrington's hand met his and together, they bobbed up and down, grabbing air and fighting to make it fast.

The halyard slung around the mast, a giant snake that forced their breath away just as the sea did. They splashed to the surface and nodded once more, diving under to push and heave at their only possible salvation.

Groaning, it fought to keep them down, finally sucking itself free. In tandem, they got it upright, the mast wobbling violently. Jack crawled to find the bucket, tied to one of the lines, and began to bail.

Norrington sloshed through the water, feebly fighting with his hands and watching it slide through his fingers effortlessly. He bent and yanked his boot off, shovelling water with it.

Slowly, they bobbed a little higher and higher until the bucket was scraping the keel. Backs and shoulders aching, both collapsed into the bottom of the fragile boat, exhausted. Jack's breathing was hoarse. "Nice boots, James."

The last bit of water in it was sloshed overboard, and Norrington pulled his boot back on, coughing out a sharp laugh. "Nice bucket, Jack."

Jack sniggered and dug around in his coat and shirt to pull the bottle free. He eyed the scant inch of amber liquid and the small talisman, sunk in its depths. His nose twitched and he looked eastward. "Sun's rising. We'll be dry enough soon."

Norrington grimaced down at his bright yellow waistcoat, then at the depths. "I never liked that coat, anyway."

"I'm glad t'hear you say that, luv. I never liked it on you. If I had seen it on you, I wouldn't have liked it. I mean if I saw it on you wifout bein' drippin' wet an' lookin like sumpthin' th' cat dragged in, mate." Jack fussed the cork out of the rum bottle and took a longing sniff.

"I take it back. If you didn't like it, it must have had some merit."

Jack suddenly sat bolt upright, then grinned to himself and checked his coat again for the chart. Really, it was too difficult to keep track of things he couldn't attach to himself bodily. He decided that he deserved a drink and tipped the bottle back.

He bellowed and kicked again, madly.

Norrington lounged back and shook his head. "I will not fight anymore. I don't want to end up naked on a boat with you."

"GE' IT UFF!" Jack clawed at the crab attached to his tongue. "UFFFFF!"

After displaying quite an interesting form of early morning stretches and making the most ungodly sounds, Jack got the small thing off of his person and safely back in the bottle. He corked it with a smack and glared at James. "Is yur fawt."

The tiny boat was shaking with Norrington's laughter as he watched Sparrow's swollen tongue wag between the pouting lips. "I gladly take the blame."

"Iss not fuddy. Ruint da rum. Ow!" Jack was shivering in the morning chill, his face growing more distinct with each passing minute. It was also getting longer. He sulked at Norrington, his tongue throbbing. "Bludy hurs."

Norrington grinned brightly, watching Sparrow's eyes go even darker. With a sigh, he reached into the single pocket of his waistcoat, cleverly sewn to conceal the contents. His fingers touched cool metal, and indeed, it was still there. His flask. A trial for himself, a reminder how close the abyss lurked.

He closed his hand around it and pulled it out. With a sigh, he threw it at Sparrow. What irony, to see the gleam of joy in his eyes. "This one won't bite. Just burn."

Jack stared at it, then back at Norrington. A rumpot wot takes orders from pirates? No, the flask was was full. A testament to some kind of inner strength? His tongue gave another sharp throb and he nodded. "Fanks." It burned like all hell but it helped.

He toyed with it for a moment, then took another swallow and handed it back to Norrington. "Thank you."

Norrington screwed it shut and pocketed it. Thoughtfully, he eyed the bottle, now empty save for the tiny silver crab bobbing around in its last golden drops. "Now, I realise why I could be fond of the little thing the way it torments you, but why would you be?"

"Long story. Sentimental attachment. Consider it a shipboard priority." Jack grabbed the bottle and secured it against the side, then stood to check the sodden sail and busied himself with it for a moment. When he looked back at Norrington, the poor sod was shivering. "Sorry 'bout yer coat, luv."

Norrington's head jerked up, then he stood and helped to untangle the sail, silent for as long as it took them. "There are upsides to not wearing it anymore," he murmured.

Jack nodded with a jingle, his face very close to James'. His eyes were momentarily ink-dark and serious. "Inescapably. It wouldn't get you much employment anymore."

Norrington let go of the line he had gripped and stared at Jack. "Beckett? He is dead?"

"Aye. Along wif a great many more." Jack sat down with a thud. "It's over, James. He's gone an' his whole bloody armada sunk or deserted at Shipwreck Cove. Pity you missed it, mate. Lot of fun." He winked hopefully: Norrington looked incredibly lost and it put Jack right off the rum.

"I wager it was," Norrington whispered in a monotone, his nails digging into stiff and cold hemp to contain a shudder. "Elizabeth. Is she...? Did they...?"

Jack's eyebrow quirked. "Mrs. Turner is quite alive an' well. Her husband is..." Jack looked past Norrington at the dawn sky, midnight giving way to gold. "At sea."

Not the happiest story Jack could tell. He watched Norrington's face twitch.

"Thank god she is alive." Norrington laughed softly, closing his eyes. One deed that had not lost its purpose along the way, one sacrifice that had not been thrown before the wrong god. "Mrs. Turner?"

Sparrow sniffed and pouted. "It was quite th' weddin', apparently. I wasn't privileged to be present, having been traded off fer the groom."

Norrington brightened and his lips quirked involuntarily. "Yes. That sounds like her. And Jones?"

"Jones is dead." Jack's voice was flat.

"But who...?" Norrington could feel his own heartbeat, and remembered Jack's from before, harsh against his chest as they had fought waves and each other.

"Who's captaining the Dutchman? That would be Mr. Turner these days." He sighed and bit his lip. That had been hard. Hard to watch, hard to do. To hold immortality in his hand and wrap Will's dying fingers around his own broken cutlass. Living forever with that death on whatever mustard seed Jack Sparrow called a conscience? He shook his head to clear it. He had other plans and those plans evidently included the tall man whose green eyes were still sunk deep into his face. "You look scuppered, mate."

Norrington started, one hand hovering over the empty sheath that once had held his sword. "How long was I... how quickly did all this happen?"

Jack scratched his head. "I'm not sure o' that m'self. Felt like years. All sorts of bloody weird weather, too. One minute we're all bristlin' fer a fight off th' Cove, then there was a huge maelstrom and an awful lot of unpleasantness. Then we were back here. Anyways, it was a half-day's sail from Tortuga. That was Thursday..." Jack counted backwards on his fingers. "I'm not convinced of this, mind you, but I think a day or two."

Norrington swallowed. One day, and the world could change. One day, if one stepped forward and acted. "Turner is on the Dutchman now?" His voice shook. "You said Elizabeth was well."

"Aye, she's well. Probably havin' a nice long lie-down. I must say, luv, I am impressed that you were so quick t'take heed of my dubious truth an' run wif it, heart in hand, as it were." He chuckled. "I gather things with the ole Company weren't so rosy. An' you must have had the chance t'get personally acquainted wif Jones. Funny ole world, innit?"

Norrington reached up, one pale hand hovering over his chest, the other still on his swordbelt. How he had longed to receive it back, only to feel soiled by its bright gleam when he did. "Not only pirates are relieved when a tyrant dies." His whisper was soft.

Jack grinned at him. "We've got sumpthin' in common, mate."

Norrington grimaced. "Do not remind me." With a little shudder, he rubbed a tiny salt crust from his hair. It broke off and he breathed a sigh. "But if Turner is the new captain of the Dutchman, is he not... afflicted?"

"No luv. He's a good boy, he is, an' he'll do the job right. James, luv. Don't you know? The Captain of the Dutchman plays Charon to those lost at sea. Jones turned it all upside down, so we had t'make it upside upside down an' it was quite topsy-turvy. But you an' me, luv. We both got stabbed in th' back by Bootstrap Bill." Jack laughed long and loud. "Lizzie told me. I guess he decided t'act before th' mutiny this time. Damned funny, it is! Anyway, yer here an' we've got to find my ship! Any other news I can catch ya up on?"

"You spoke of the dead. Who survived? There were so many on the Endeavour." So many he'd known, so many that had followed the Navy into its red-blue-yellow doom.

"I dunno. The two idiots, they survived."

Jack had already shaken off his moment of memory and was intent on his new venture. "James, that's all done. Over, finished. Them wot survived, survived. Them as didn't, I really don't know. All I know is that my Pearl is gone and I'm gettin' her back." He remembered to take a breath.

"Sounds as if at least one of us has a plan," Norrington flashed a lopsided grin, taking a shuddery breath of sea air as the sun climbed above the horizon. "How long until we make port, Captain?"

Sparrow peered into the rose gold morning sun and stretched. "Another two hours, we'll sight the Keys. Soon." He blinked for a few moments and looked back at Norrington. "Get a bit of rest, mate. The sea's not gonna stay mad at me on a bright sunny day. Is she?" He listened, his head cocked to one side.

Softly, on the fresh breeze he could hear her, faintly. "Yo ho, dey pirates have de rum, yo ho."

He snickered and tossed his coat across the little boat. "Here. Get some sleep."

Norrington held it up and blinked curiously. "You don't have to steal the flask while I sleep. You can have it."

Jack caught it with a look of pleased surprise. "Thanks very much, mate."

Norrington snorted and curled himself into the narrow dinghy's damp bottom and the warmth of Sparrow's coat. His eyelids fluttered, but the rhythm of the sea against his ears lulled him to sleep.

Jack listened to his faint snores and stared into the sun. "Well, if this ain't just the sillest barrel o' pickles I've ever been in! Sun's bright." He sniffed. Land. Closer than he'd thought. He set to weaving the little craft on a river of light, heading east with the wind and promised himself a rummy good breakfast when he found something resembling a port.

The sea spilled a drunken giggle into the breeze and he let the current speed them on, his black flag flapping like a beating wing.

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)

Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)