Never Say Die

5. A Change In The Wind

by

Hippediva and Elessil

Well, well, who would've thought Norrington would be some kind of beacon? Or perhaps the lure of their venture was contagious. Jack didn't care, as long as the winds were fair and the sea kind.

He swung himself on the yard and laughed as Gibbs chased James from the wheel. He could just hear them below, voices melting into the cacophony of the wind.

"Now ya get some sleep, sir! Mr. Norrin'ton. I may be an old salt but I can still steer. Get yerself a bit o' rest, ye've been glued t' this spot all day."

James sighed and reluctantly let go of the spokes, trudging amidships to sit on the deck, where the wind, fine on the quarter, still tousled his hair. He looked up and called, " If you fall, Sparrow, do tell me, so that I may skewer you on my sword."

"I never fall—" He swung himself down quite impressively and was disappointed that Gibbs was too preoccupied to have noticed. "I land suddenly."

"You fell. Off the parapet," James drawled. His glance wandered from the sails, to Gibbs at the helm, the compass, back to the sails, then to the top of the mast and its tiny flag. "Wind has turned. We'll make better speed if we gybe."

Jack nodded, his eyes starting to sparkle eagerly. "Gibbs!"

"She's coming up!" James hollered, pushing himself to his feet. "Fine on starboard quarter!" Gibbs looked up, grinned broadly and turned the wheel, nudging the Calypso's stern through the wind.

The crossjack strained with the wind and James' arms quivered under the effort of holding the mainsheet. Jack's hands joined his on the hemp, and, laughing into the wind, they eased it about, bracing the crossjack round.

Jack wound it swiftly around the belayin' pin, fingers flying until they touched James' again, and he grinned. He could have sworn they'd been shouting at one another, yet not a word had passed between them. Just smiles. Jack only realised he was holding his breath when he hiccupped.

"Provin' t'yerself that I actually know wot I'm doin', luv?"

James looked up, their hands still touching on the belaying pin. He wrapped the sheet around it one more time. "I'd be most impressed, if you didn't forget the jib." Their shoulders aligned as he pushed past to rush forward.

Jack ran after him and once more, their hands met on the sheet. This time their eyes met, too, and Jack's face split into a laugh. "I haven't forgotten how t'gybe, luv. Catch hold."

It was both duel and delight as they bounded and heaved, skill and exhilaration speeding through once-stilled blood twice over.

The jibsheet was quickly belayed, and James felt the thrum of the waves and his blood as he leaned against the bulwark, eyes fixed on Jack, barely a hand's breadth away.

Black eyes alight, Jack was flying again, the wind singing to him as it rushed through his hair. He was enjoying himself much too much to notice anything but the way James' eyes danced like the sun on the sea. Almost the same colour, too, and not so dreadful stiff anymore.

The irony of thinking a formerly deceased individual stiff was not lost on him and he chuckled.

James dragged his gaze up the length of Jack's body, catching sight of a glint of teeth. He showed his own, just as his eyes flicked towards the hatch of the cabin.

Jack's gaze held his for a moment longer than necessary and he gave the briefest of nods. He headed below and waited the half-second for James to follow.

They shared another glance, another nod, before James pushed Jack towards the bunk, one hand on his shoulder, the other fumbling at the front of his breeches.

Jack had one hand working on James' buttons, the other slipping back to spring the backlace of his own breeches. They sank to his boottops and he laughed softly at James' gasp. Green eyes and hard hot flesh were a potent combination and Jack's hair jangled and clacked as he inched closer.

"More tackin', luv?"

"I'd say we're right on course." James' voice was a low rumble. His hand tensed on Jack's shoulder and he shoved, sending them both tumbling onto the bunk.

Jack's brain was burning up in a volcanic eruption of every dirty thought he'd ever entertained about Admiral Commodore Captain James Norrington since first laying eyes on him at sword's point. It was a considerable library.

Every breath tasted of their smell, close and sweaty, salty and free. James would have spared a laugh, but there were Jack's fingers, calloused and sure around him. He would have been appalled at tumbling with a pirate, but there was Jack's thigh, lean and tense, twitching as he thrust against it.

Jack grabbed at James' shoulder as they found some kind of pace, grinding and shoving against each other, belly to belly. James' fingers were bruising on his hip. The wind's roar filled his ears, the same song whispering as he bit back a growl and jerked violently.

James felt Jack's jaw press against his collarbone, felt the damp gasp against his skin. Another shudder, another wave, and he gasped a curse, head still bowed against Jack's neck.

Heat trickling down his leg, Jack glanced up and, as he did, James moved his head and their lips brushed.

James parted his, unthinking, leaning in for a taste. His hand slipped from Jack's shoulder up into his sweatdamp hair, grabbing hold.

Eyes round as saucers, Jack stared at the tip of James' nose, then melted. He did love kisses. Never could resist 'em, even if they had a regrettable habit of getting him slapped. He hoped this one didn't. It was quite delicious, if unorthodox in the midst of sailors' fumblings.

James' lips left his, for just a moment. He could feel the soft sigh before they caught his again; damp, a hint of teeth melting into tongues.

The need for breath parted them, and James' eyes snapped open. He almost whispered an apology, but instead just pressed his lips closed.

Jack dragged himself away, and for the second time since arriving back among the living, he was utterly speechless.

Bit o' slickleggin'? Nothin' unusual, lovely sail, blood all up. Understandable, really. But kisses? He fumbled with his breeches.

James shuffled to sit back on his heels, bowing his head. His lips tasted salty and he swallowed hard. So much for a clear course. He glanced around the cabin, anywhere but at the man under him in the bunk. Finally, he reached for a rag and cleaned himself, then handed it over wordlessly.

Jack took it and handed over his private rum bottle, the one he'd been siphoning into the crab's bottle a dram at a time. It was an opportune moment, of that Jack was certain. It was what kind of opportunity that was worrisome. He tossed the rag against the bulwark and smiled at the sunlight, streaming through the open hatch.

How ridiculous. I feel wonderful. He's gonna slap me, I know he will. But right now, I feel damned good. He grimaced.

James hastily buttoned his breeches, fighting back any lethargy. The narrow cabin smelled of them, impossibly heavy, every breath a reminder, every breath a suggestion they do it again. Right now. He took another deep breath and straightened. Fumblings were over the moment they were done, no mentioning, and most of all, no lingering. One lapse in protocol did not mean there had to be another. "I'll check our bearings." His voice was hoarse.

Jack's face crinkled into an irrepressible grin. "Aye." He took a long drink, watching under his lashes as James fled topside. "Think you already did, mate," he muttered.

From deep inside the bottle, stowed in its sling, there was a laugh. "You got no idea, pretty Jack. Be glad it were not da goat."

As James emerged from the hatch, the wind tousled his hair, hissed around his ears and underneath his shirt, wrestling the linen away from where it was glued to his skin with sweat. He took a deep breath, and the wind buffetted him, the sails above bellying hard and straining against the masthead.

He grimaced at the halyard, then the hatch, wondering if reefing was really necessary. Specifically, if it was really necessary to fetch Jack. His sweat had barely dried and he could still smell Sparrow on every breath.

An unpractised fumble, as though they were budding midshipmen incapable of controlling their urges. And still, it had been equal to the vivid thrill of their sail, had sped his heart and his blood as much, had made him feel alive as much.

Sparrow was now probably busy laughing over a foolish ex-Admiral who was still green enough to consider kisses part of a shipboard's bargain on relief. He sighed.

So did the masthead, and he scowled at it, then the halyard, finally climbing below again. "Jack. We need to take in sail."

Jack had dawdled below, fingers pressed to his lips, his mind a curious blank. The moment he heard James call his name, he bounced to his feet with a grin and followed topside. The wind tore at his hair, sending trinkets carolling and the little ship's sails were bellied to bursting. Without a word, he climbed into the rigging.

It was the oddest wind he'd experienced in his lifetime on the seas; warm as a summer breeze and fresh as early dawn, but pushing them with the force of a squall. He worked swiftly, fingers flying as he inched his way along the yard.

James was next to him, perched precariously on the footropes, and together, they reefed the main course, hauling at the heavy canvas and securing it with the halyards, hands inevitably touching only to jerk away.

Below them, Gibbs was singing at the top of his lungs, scraps of song blowing into their ears. He grinned and tugged James' sleeve, pointing.

James leaned close. "Don't you dare think about joining in."

Jack just laughed. "Musichater!" He knew they should climb down but he didn't want to. He wanted to stay and look at the sea, turquoise frothed with whitecaps like lacy festoons on a silken gown. He didn't want to move his hand either from where it was pressing against James'.

Reluctantly, he swung down and headed forward to check the jib.

James watched from his perch, lingering in the fresh breeze as it cooled his face, but finally he slid down the stay, landing on deck with a thump. Jack had the jib well taken care of, but James still joined him at the bow, helping to belay it more securely against the racing wind.

He heard Jack hum and snorted. "If that is music, I do hate it. With reason, I may add."

"I think Josh is enjoyin' himself!" Jack laughed. He made a point of joining in the last chorus of Gibbs' song, wandering around the small bow; sitting on a barrel, then bouncing to his feet and lighting on a chest.

Even with less than half her canvas hoisted, the Calypso sped over the waters, unearthly fast. The spray flew over her bow, showering them in a rain of salt water. "You stand there. Arms up. Maybe it will help the smell."

Jack scowled. "Speakin' of smells, I can recall a time when ya rivaled Gibbsy here."

"Your memory is impressive, Sparrow. Do you also remember how to wash, or is that too far in the past?"

"Only wif paprika." Gibbs snorted a laugh and James just looked confused. "Never mind. Long story. Y'know, mate, wif all the junk they got stowed below, maybe ye'll be lucky an' we'll find a bathtub."

James snorted and huffed an annoyed breath, hands folded behind his back. "Oh yes, brilliant and decorative. A bathtub. I suppose that would be a blessing considering your body odor if only we had sufficient water! But I suppose we do have enough rum to fill it. Which would lead to an endless debate on why the rum was gone, except it wouldn't be, because the entire ship is full of it."

He barely kept himself from kicking against the bulwark, surprised at his sudden rush of blood. "Rum in the cabin, rum in the hold, rum in your bloody coatpocket. Victuals? Who needs victuals? Maggot-infested hardtack will do as long as there is rum. Tell me, Sparrow, did you pick this ship because of the stocks?" He waved at the ship accusingly. "Swill, no food to speak of and debauchery. This is Tortuga in ship-form!"

He took a deep breath and bit his lip, eyes narrowed, looking down at his boots .

Gibbs applauded at the helm and they both turned to glare at him. Jack sidled next to James and leaned close. "Tortuga is my fav'rit port! An' seein' as you've got debauchery on yer mind..."

James' fist hit him square in the jaw and sent him reeling.

Jack staggered backwards, holding his chin and seeing stars. Or maybe it was sparrows. He blinked twice, grinned and promptly fell over backwards.

Gibbs nearly bit a hole through his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. God knew how Jack deserved that a hundred-times over, although he couldn't quite understand what debauchery Mr. Norrington was on about. Assuming he meant drink, Josh stowed his flask.

"Um... Mr. Norrin'ton, sir?"

James spun around on his heels. "What is it?"

"There be some pemmican below. If yer hungry, that is." Gibbs quailed before James' fierce look. He remembered it far too well. "Sir."

James cleared his throat and swallowed, staring at the tips of his boots for a while. Embarrassing, to lose his control like that. Even more embarrassing that he'd wanted to grab Sparrow instead of laying him out. Rotten pirate ship and its rum fumes. "Thank you." His voice was calm once more, and he smirked as he stalked over and doused Jack with a bucket of seawater.

"AAAAGH!" Jack sat up, spitting water and looked up at James with the most ridiculous pout. "Knew you'd slap me!" Dripping, he got to his feet, heaved a sigh and removed himself to the bow, far away from any more blows.

"Fine bloody thing! Worse than Tortuga! Least I didn't have t'pay fer th' privilege," he grumbled, hunched on his barrel and sulking as hard as one wet pirate could sulk.

Not like he didn't start it. Mebbe that's what they DO in the Navy. Oww! Bugger's got a fist like iron, too.

The wind laughed itself silly at him.

An hour later, as the sun began to set, Jack relieved Gibbs at the helm and spent the first quarter-hour wallowing in his pout. He knew he should do something, but his jaw ached and he could think of much better ways James Norrington could use those hands of his. His nose was still out of joint when the stars began to wink.

The wind had not died away at all. If anything, it was steady and the Calypso fairly danced across the waves. Jack thanked the gods for all that 'junk' in the hold: much faster and they would need its weight to keep her steady.

The deck creaked as James approached hesitantly. Even in the fading light, he could see the purple bruise on Jack's jaw. He nearly stopped in his tracks to stare at the abrasions on his fist, but instead padded closer, holding out a bottle over the wheel. "Thought you might want to help make sure there's not that much rum aboard."

Jack eyed him cautiously, then took the bottle with muttered thanks. A good long swallow went a long way to restoring his high spirits and he grinned. "I thought yer idea about a rum bath quite int'restin', luv." He was careful not to ruffle any more of the ex-Admiral-Commodore's feathers. "Lookit those stars, Jamie! Whole bloody world of 'em."

"Especially if you see them double." James eased himself down on the deck and craned his head up, then blinked. "Sparrow, do we have enough rum aboard to get the stars drunk, or are your navigation skills even worse than I could fathom?"

"Wot are ya talkin' about, we're right on... oh bugger!" Jack stared at the night sky in dismay. Nothing up there looked right. He sought Polaris, but it seemed to have disappeared, along with Orion, the Pleiades and any other constellations he knew. He checked the compass by lamplight, eyes stealing sideways to watch James. "We're gettin' close."

"Did you read that in the rum bottle, or do you simply say it because it usually works to silence any questions the crew might have?"

"Nah. Fortune cookie." Jack smiled at him over the wheel. He saw no reason in continuing to sulk. It wasn't as if he hadn't been slapped a hundred times before and James had the dubious distinction of being the only one to have knocked him senseless.

"Ah, so you are holding out on other victuals." James laughed softly and held his hand out for the bottle.

Jack chuckled as he passed it and their hands touched. Again. A tingle like the sting of a jellyfish or the shock of an electric eel ran up his arm and settled in lower parts.

For a moment, neither moved, staring at each other by the light of the lamp.

James' tongue darted out, wetting his lips. As he pulled himself to his feet, the ship shuddered and sped, a shape appearing in the foggy distance.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, when a massive jolt ran through him into the wheel and sent James sprawling on the deck. The Calypso creaked and groaned, a sickening grinding noise coming from below them. "GIBBS!" Jack shouted. "James, you al—" Another jolt knocked him off his feet and tipped the entire ship fore.

Jack slid down the deck into James. Together, they struggled to rise as Gibbs staggered on deck and grabbed a line to steady himself. "GET THE WHEEL!" James' long legs were tangled up with Jack's, and they had to haul together to get to their feet. "Wot the BLOODY hell!" Jack stared ahead.

A murky half light hid the night sky, like a miasma over a swamp. Dead ahead, all three men stared at what looked like an island, plopped down in the midst of a nowhere sea. No, not an island. A sand bar, a gigantic sand bar rose in front of them, full twenty feet in the air, splitting the horizon. Jack's mouth hung open and he shut it.

You're Captain Jack Sparrow. It's only a sand bar. Awright, it's the bloody biggest sandbar I've ever seen. He heard a gasp beside him.

James dug his heels into the deck to hold the helm, if not the ship, steady. "Sparrow. That ship you are missing, would it be a dark galleon with black sails?"

"Wot?"

James nodded. "Just off the starboard bow."

Jack looked and his mouth fell open again. There, perched like a roosting gull on top of the enormous barrier, was the Pearl.

"I'm gonna gut that bastard! AND his little monkey, too!"

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