Passages
Chapter 6
by
Rating: R, most like, maybe verging on NC-17
Disclaimer: Hello Mouse? Hello Johnny? Hey, mind if I borrow a few pirates and a ship or two and tool around the Caribbean with em a little while? I promise to feed em rum and play nice with em and return em with barely a scratch on em. Well, mostly.
Originally Posted: 6/4/04 - 6/16/04
Disclaimer: Hello Mouse? Hello Johnny? Hey, mind if I borrow a few pirates and a ship or two and tool around the Caribbean with em a little while? I promise to feed em rum and play nice with em and return em with barely a scratch on em. Well, mostly.
Originally Posted: 6/4/04 - 6/16/04
***
Jack held the man long after he'd finally dropped off into a fitful sleep, probably more to due to exhaustion and pain than any slight meant to his own ability to tell a rousing good tale, and only then gave in to the very regrets he would disavow if pressed about it. Not that he'd done what he'd done, nor even that he'd promised what he'd promised, but that his path would so soon part them. Not that there was any help for that even if they weren't currently Barbossa's ever so reluctant guests. After all, James Norrington was a Navy man through and through, sworn to uphold the law and King's authority, and he himself was... well, a pirate through and through, sworn to naught but the Code and answerable to no man, let alone a King. Jack certainly couldn't fault the Commodore for giving into his own desires, though—for the sake of honesty, if not modesty, what man or woman could long resist him should he choose to bend his attentions to them—but he would have much preferred a trifle more comfortable surrounds, and a chance to sample at his leisure whatever delights Norrington cared to offer him. No, not Norrington... James... James... It was a rare pleasure to be sure to call the man by his Christian name, and to receive both approval and that ever so rare smile in return. He was going to miss that; the glimpse of the warm, kind, and even generous man who hid behind the uniform. The man who had looked up at him, those tidal green eyes of his as intensely piercing as the man's prick within the depths of his own body. And something deep inside him clenched at just the thought of that moment, of the shocking clarity of pain and pleasure which had rocked through him until pure pleasure had spilled out at the last. He had always known that fire lay beneath the cool reserve of the other man, but the sheer tenderness of him had been unexpected, welcome but unexpected. He sincerely hoped that James would never lose that side of himself, for that would be a shame indeed. For all concerned. Jack traced his fingers ever so lightly across Norrington's face. The other man stirred a little, but only to turn his head even more closely into the bend of Jack's arm. He was still pale and his forehead was lined by pain, but Jack found he couldn't help but smile at how much like a little boy he looked curled up in his arms like this. All for as if he routinely snugged up to pirates. But his smile faded as he touched the man's face again and realized that he was warm, too warm. That the heat of his wounds was spreading itself through the rest of his body, and only time would tell if a more grievous fever might well follow. He had seen two men die of such floggings and had heard tell of many more. It was a common enough practice aboard Navy vessels to instill proper discipline and to thwart man's more rebellious nature, far more common than aboard a buccaneer ship if truth be told. Where punishments tended to be a little more inventive, if no less effective. But well he could believe Norrington's insistence that he had never taken his pleasure from such things. Though that would not stop him from doing his duty as he saw fit, of course. Which begged the question that should he ever find himself in the Commodore's good graces again would the man see him to the noose a second time. Not that there would be much use to hanging him, or any of the others for that matter, at the moment. Unless, of course, he wished to make a spectacle of them—string a different pirate up each and every morning, perhaps two for special occasions, and with time off on Sundays so that the good folk of Port Royal could attend services instead. The man in his arms made a soft sound of protest, then subsided again. Jack smoothed his fingers across Norrington's face anyway, as much for his own comfort as the other man's. Barbossa was not known for his patient nature, so he wanted to make the most of the remaining time they might have together. Even if all James was capable of this night was a kiss or two. It was enough. It was more than he had ever anticipated receiving from the man. Norrington shifted again and the line between his eyes seemed to deepen. Jack leaned over him a little more. "Shhh..." he breathed. "Sleep now. Ol' Jack has got thee, an will be keeping thee safe enough." Aye, that he would. That he would. Until the other man was set free to return to his own world. Leaving him to what remained of his.
***
The clouds parted and the moon shone through, full and round and bright, but as he walked around the ship he found he was alone. The sails rippled and the shrouds groaned softly over his head, the dark waters rushing by, but there seemed no other sound. As if the night had swallowed up all else. He called out for Lieutenant Groves, but there was no response, and even his own voice sounded oddly hollow. So that the answering sound, when it did finally come, seemed almost over loud, over sharp. The sound of a man's laughter. The rasp of a blade clearing its sheathe. He spun around, his own sword coming clear readily enough. As he moved into position to take on whatever threat might present itself. And found himself staring at a dreadfully familiar sight. Pirates. Their clothing as rotted away as their flesh, white bone showing through tatters of skin and cloth, but yet their eyes fixed entire to him. Their teeth flashing ivory and yellow with the moon and their blades silver where they weren't stained and tarnished a suspect black color. They reeked of the grave and of decaying sea wrack as much as of salt and tar, and they looked at him as if he were the last meal any of them would have. "'Member us, gov'nor," one of them said, a skeletal hand coming up to pluck at the remains of a ragged rope about his neck. "'Member this?" "'Course, he remembers," another one replied, as if it were an honest question. "His proudest day that was. To be hangin' us all." "Nay," the first pirate replied. "Methinks his proudest day be the day he hung one Jack Sparrow. Ain't it... Commodore." And that laugh came again, deep and rough, even as he caught sight of a tall man standing at the back of the crowd, a worn hat with a sheered feather upon his head, and his own eyes glittering darker still than the night. Before a tiny figure slipped down from his shoulder and through the legs of the gathered pirates and scampered almost right up to his own feet. A small monkey, its own clothes stained and torn, and its face half-gone to bone. A small monkey which pointed an accusing finger up at him and, as if that had been the signal, the gathered pirates moved almost as one and were upon him. He brought his sword up and defended himself, knowing at the very least that he could hurt them, if he couldn't actually succeed in killing them. But they kept on coming no matter how many pieces he sliced them into and their hard bony hands finally took hold of him, twisted his arms up high behind his back and ripped the very sword from his hand. Before the combined weight of their rotting bodies bore him to his knees and then finally to the deck below. To timbers damp with blood and covered with bits of their own bodies and clothing. And as he was pressed hard and harder into it, their weight driving the very breath from him, the blood suddenly seemed to well up, to become thicker and thicker, so much blood, more blood than he had ever seen in his life. He struggled, but it was too late. It was already pouring into his nose, his eyes, his mouth, and he was choking on it. Drowning in it. In the dark tide of a thousand lives. But then the deck was giving way beneath him, swallowing him down, and he was falling. Falling through impossible blackness. Down and down until he thought there was no end to it, that he just might fall forever. Until, suddenly, a light spun out of nowhere, small at first, but growing steadily. Growing into a moon, pale and swollen. And he was suddenly standing, standing at the edge of the sea with cooling sand beneath his feet and an even colder feeling in his heart. As he glanced up at the rocks before him, stark grey and white stone coated with the droppings of countless seabirds. As he stared at the body hanging there, the rope it hung from creaking softly as it slowly twisted in the wind. A body that was bone by moonlight as well, made up almost entirely of tattered bits of cloth and flesh and faded bead and braid, all ever so slowly unraveling. Even as black eyes looked down to fix upon his, a gaze that was pleading and accusing in one. Even as that naked jaw creaked slowly open at the last to display a worm-rotted tongue, and a voice whispered his name. A voice like death, like all the desperate things that lived at the bottom of the sea and called the dark home. "James..." "James? James? Commodore?" Norrington started up, only to find strong hands catching him, warm living hands that drew him back to an equally warm, equally living body. Still, even as he turned his head to look at the pirate next to him, he flinched a little as he saw that self-same skull for one moment beneath the solid flesh of Jack's face. And saw the same bleak accusation in those pitch-black eyes. And Norrington shuddered and couldn't stop himself from stiffening in response as Jack's arms further tightened themselves around him. "James?" Jack asked again, uncertainty in his voice. As he frowned at him, his eyes expressing naught but concern now. He swallowed hard, then tried to speak, but only ended up shaking his head in mute response. But it seemed enough for the pirate, because the corner of his mouth curved up. Just before he laid a most sincere, most gentle kiss on his lips. "There," he said. "If a kiss may not salve a bad dream, at least it shall serve to make the waking all the better." "Promise?" Norrington asked, his voice sounding hoarse. As if he hadn't used it in centuries. "Oh, aye," Jack replied easily enough. And then settled him back against him even more closely, taking especial care not to jar or put pressure upon his back. As if the other man was well aware of what it was like to bear such an injury. He felt a cup then at his lips and took a sip of water. It was warm and not especially clean, but it tasted like Heaven. Slowly, Jack fed it all to him and then kissed him once more. "How long?" he asked, his voice a bit clearer now. "But a few hours ye have slept, an ye could stand more than a few more. Tis the best sort o' healing." Norrington nodded; truthfully, he was exhausted and, despite the lingering shock of his dream, he could barely keep his eyes open. And Jack's body felt so very comfortable against his. It was against his nature to simply give in, but... So very comfortable. And warm and strong, with those hands keeping him ever so carefully. Making him feel oddly safe, when it should have been the last thing he could consider himself to be. His eyes sank shut once more, but he managed to hold on for a moment more. "Jack?" "Aye?" The answer just as soft as his question. And there were words he wanted to say, questions he needed to ask... perhaps even a pledge he desired to make... but the darkness gathered him up again before he could rouse himself to say anything. A darkness that was gentle as those arms about him and that sweet gruff voice.
***
He must have slept as well at the last, because Jack found himself awakening to the sound of the lock giving way on the cell door. He winced away from the lantern as it was swung up, casting dazzling spears of light into the room, their own lantern having long gone out. Even as a sour sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach. Had night come so soon? Clearly so, as two pirates appeared in the doorway. "Cap'n sent us to get ye," Pintel said, while Ragetti nodded next to him. Jack looked up at the two of them and said nothing, though he could well see the sly pleasure in their eyes. Pleasure that turned to faint distaste as they watched him ever so carefully move out from beneath Norrington, who thankfully did not wake. Ragetti's lip curled as he gently guided the other man's head to the floor. He glanced at his companion, as if seeking both reassurance and explanation there, but Pintel eyes were full on the sleeping Commodore. "I wouldna thought it," he said. "Even o' ye, Jack Sparrow. This be the very man who sent ye to the gallows, as if being one o' the King's Navy weren't bad enough." "I know exactly what he's done," Jack replied, getting to his feet. "An who he is. More than ye ever will." Pintel glared at him, then spat on the floor. "I know what I need to know. About the both o' ye." "Oh, aye?" Jack said, moving towards them. "Then naught we may do will surprise ye, I imagine. And where's the pleasure in that?" "Ye tell me," the burly pirate responded, taking him hard by the arm and hauling him bodily out into the passageway. "After the Cap'n's had done with ye." And, as if that were the last word on the matter, they hurried him up the ladder to the upper decks, Ragetti chortling nearly the whole way.
***
When Norrington woke again, he was alone in the cell. His first impulse was to call out Jack's name, but as he had but rarely been a man to follow his impulses, he ever so slowly eased himself up instead. Clenching his teeth at the raw pain in his back, he forced himself at last to a hunched over sitting position all the same. The pitcher lay a little away, and he gasped as he reached for it, only to find it empty. But then, now that he thought on it, he vaguely recalled Jack feeding him water off and on throughout the day. The last time sealing the gift of the precious liquid with an even more precious kiss before he had subsided back into sleep again. For a pirate, Jack certainly seemed capably of an amazing amount of affection. But then Jack had never struck him as being the typical pirate, not even when he'd first met him—still dripping wet and charmingly insolent even in the very teeth of his own death. The man had been an insult to his very sensibilities that day and he had indeed relished the thought of seeing him captured and brought to justice. Except that the reality of such had proved far less satisfying than he had once imagined. In fact, just the opposite. And, most certainly, not nearly as satisfying as buggering said pirate had been. It took three tries, but Norrington finally managed to get to his feet. He kept one hand on the wall as he half-shuffled, half-stumbled towards the front of the cell, each movement feeling as if the lash were being laid upon his back for a second time. He was breathing hard by the time he curled his fingers around the iron bars and peered out, glad to see that their captors had for once left the window open. Not that there was that much to see beyond the confines of his cell. The passageway beyond was empty and dark. The lantern hanging next to the stairs was the only light, and it created nearly as many shadows as it conquered. He pressed his forehead against the coolness of the iron for a moment, then raised his head and angled a look down the other way. The windows on the other cells were all closed, all but the closest one. "Leftenant?" he called, briefly remembering his dream, but then putting it aside as he called out a second time. A hand appeared on the bars a few moments later, followed by the flash of an eye as the other man pressed his own face up against the window. "Sir?" Groves asked. "Are you all right?" "Yes," he replied, even though it was actually all he could do to stay on his feet right now. It seemed he didn't sound very believable either, as Groves blinked at him. "Are you badly hurt, Commodore? Please, sir..." Norrington stared back into those concerned eyes as directly as he could, then somehow managed to raise a ghost of a smile. It was brief, but it did seem to reassure the other man a little. "I'll live, Leftenant," he said. Only to feel something devilishly cold slice sideways in his head, followed by a wave of sickly heat and dizziness. He hung onto the door until it passed, but his back was really hurting now and his vision was turning grey at the edges. "Sir?" He managed to nod this time, but already felt himself beginning to sink down under the weight of his own body. Dimly, he could hear Groves shouting his name, but was too tired and sick to his stomach to consider answering the frantic summons. Instead, he found himself curling up at the foot of the door, something wet trickling down his back now, burning and burning, and his eyes were closing again despite himself. Finding himself a little frightened at just how much he longed for a pair of familiar arms to close around him just then, to give him the illusion of safety and comfort if nothing else. "Jack," he whispered, just before the darkness and the pain took him away again. "Jack... where are you?"
***
"Aye, ye be no longer the smooth-faced lad I once knew," Barbossa commented. "But clearly tis not had any bearing upon the flavor o' yer charms." Jack wandered across the floor of the great cabin to the half empty bottle of brandy set in the middle of the table. Without looking at the other man, though feeling his gaze on him the whole time, he poured himself out a glassful, then sampled it. It was quite good, and he downed half of it in one go. "Easy now," Barbossa said chidingly. "Tis the last o' the Captain's private stock, and we've little chance of replenishment for a good week perhaps, thanks to our little bargain." "Aye?" Jack held the glass up before him, but he gazed over it to the other man. Barbossa's eyes narrowed at him. "Aye. Three days or more to Jamaica and, from there, another two day to Tortuga, where the lads are already itching to let loose. An can't say as I blame them. Ten years be a long time to do without the pleasures o' a lady's company." Barbossa walked over and poured himself a glass as well then, as if to prove his generosity now that he had gotten his way, he topped off Jack's as well. "Glad am I to share a glass with thee," he said. "Brothers before the mast once more and companions o' the coast. What say, Jack Sparrow, that we two drink to the immortality of our names, as much as of our own good selves. For surely, men shall speak of us in one breath with the likes of Morgan and Roberts. No greater pirates who ever sailed these seas, let alone put a town to torch and blade." "As ye did to Santa Rosita?" Jack asked, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. "An what sort of name shall such slaughter tender us, Barbossa? For if ye ask me to be drinking to the murder of innocent babes, then I would rather pour it out than take but one more taste." "Innocent?" Barbossa shook his head. "We are all the guilty here, Jack. Babes or no. An the Spanish most of all. They who destroyed an entire people all in the name of conquest an gold. Well now, the earth be hungry for the blood it were long denied. The lord of darkness be not appeased. For so he has told me and I see little enough reason to doubt him, seeing as he has brought me own flesh back from death itself to set a seal upon our accord. Tis not murder, Jack. Tis justice." "An since when does a buccaneer bow to the will o' any man, let alone that of some god?" Jack challenged. Barbossa shrugged. "A wise man follows the wind, and I have heard the voice of the wind. Down in the dark where it cries for blood, an blood it will have. Blood it must have." The other man's voice had grown as hard as his gaze, and Jack forced a smile as he stared into those pale blue eyes. Remembering himself the darkness that he had fallen into when Barbossa had touched his heart, the crunch of bones beneath his feet and the smell of decay all around him. The sense of something crouching there in the black with him, something that wanted to have him. That wanted to suck the very life out of him. And as if the other man could see what he was seeing in that moment, Barbossa stepped forward and tapped the tip of one long finger against his forgotten glass of brandy. "Drink up, Jack," he said. "An never forget—the dark be always hungry." Jack watched as Barbossa finished off his glass, then drank his own down in one go. But it couldn't seem to warm him inside, no matter how it burned, especially once the other man took the emptied glass away and then drew him to himself, kissing him hard on the mouth.
***
The first indication that he wasn't alone was the hand that settled on his forehead, followed by the brush of feather-light lips across first one closed eyelid, then the other. "James..." The voice was soft, and he opened his eyes to see Jack's face but a few inches from his own. So close, he could see the fine lines around the other man's mouth and eyes crinkle into being as he smiled right at him. A rather suspiciously too pleased with himself sort of smile. "I've brought ye a surprise," Jack said. "I don't much like surprises," he replied, but allowed himself to be helped up. His back still hurt, but the pain had dimmed a little. And though his head felt light upon his shoulders, as if it might drift away at any moment, Jack's grip on his arm seemed ready made to counteract it. "Ye'll like this one," the other man said. And he leaned over and knocked with his free hand on the door of the cell. It swung open and the scowling heavy-set pirate entered. He was carrying a small low table, which he set down on the floor next to them. A fine lace cloth was pulled from within the depths of his coat and he shook it out with a flourish, before letting it settle over the table. He snapped his fingers then and the thinner pirate immediately stepped into the doorway of the cell, this one holding a large cloth-covered tray in both hands. He handed the tray over to his companion, who set it down on the readied table. The two of them then backed away and the door slammed shut and latched tight again. Norrington looked at the closed door, then at Jack, who only smiled beatifically at him. As if he had just performed a most blessed miracle. He whisked the covering cloth off the tray with an expansive gesture, then tilted his head expectantly at him. "What do ye think then? To break our fast with early this fine morn." But Norrington found himself momentarily speechless as he stared at the contents of the tray. It was full of food—freshly baked bread, several kinds of apples, a few ripe bananas, a round of cheese, half a roast chicken with the skin crisped to a honey-gold color, and even a small pot of what looked like real butter. A pitcher and two cups sat in the very middle of this unexpected bounty, and as Jack knelt up and poured a cupful and handed it to him, he realized that it was wine. A rather good Madeira at that, he thought even as he began to gulp it down. "Slowly, slowly," Jack chided, and made as if to take the cup from his hand. But he shook his head, closing his eyes as he breathed slowly and carefully for a little while just to keep down what he had just drank. "Tried to warn ye, mate," the pirate said. "Tis not going anywhere. I promise ye. An before ye ask, your men are being fed and watered as well. Though not by me own fair hands, it must be said. That privilege is for you alone, love." Norrington swallowed hard a few more times, then ventured to open his eyes again. He took a smaller sip of the wine, then smiled a little at the look of solicitude on Jack's face. "I assume," he commented. "That this sudden bounty is part of the deal you struck with our captor." Something flickered in Jack's dark eyes, something that he couldn't quite catch, but the other man just shrugged as if the question was of no matter. "An if I told ye twas simply a change of heart on his part?" Norrington shook his head slightly. "Even you're not that good a liar, Jack." The pirate picked up a banana and began peeling it almost delicately. "Eat, if you please," he said serenely. "Ye need to get your strength back. For ye are all to be set free within but a few days, though a goodly walk still from Port Royal. Being that even I could not convince him to sail this here ship back beneath the fine cannon o' Fort Charles." "Admitting to losing your touch, are you?" he asked wryly, reaching for a piece of bread himself. The very smell of it was making him feel weak inside, and he was thankful he was sitting down already. Jack took a bit bite of banana, then smiled at him again. All gold teeth and generous benevolence. As if that was answer enough. But, even as Norrington began to eat—taking careful bites this time, taking the time for his stomach to accustom itself to real food again—he realized that something was rather off about the other man all the same. For though Jack was acting his usual self, good-humored to the point of annoyance, teasing him a little with those black eyes of his even as he poured himself a cup of wine, it did seem an act all the same. The good humor and teasing nothing more than skin deep. Still, he hadn't the strength to concentrate on that until after he had eaten a fair portion of the feast laid out before him, and had drunk another cup of wine, finding it more acceptable this time. During which, Jack himself had seen fit to finish off yet another banana, several pieces of chicken, and one perfect red apple. Savoring it the whole time as if it had indeed been plucked straight from God's own garden. And maybe they had been at that, he thought as he picked up one for himself and inspected it, finding not a single blemish. Still, after he'd taken but one bite, he realized that he was no longer in the least hungry and suddenly so weary besides that he could hardly keep his head up. Jack must have realized his dilemma, because he plucked the apple from his hand, then steered him down to the floor until his head lay pillowed on the pirate's thigh again, which had turned out to be a far better pillow than he had supposed. Careful fingers pushed the hair back from his forehead, then traced across his skull. An ever so soothing touch, that made his eyes sink shut despite himself. But he couldn't let it go. He had to know. "Jack," he said, a whisper all that he could manage for the moment. "Aye?" the pirate responded, equally softly. "Tell me the truth, Jack. Besides the obvious... what's wrong? And don't tell me that it's nothing." There was a long silence, though those fingers never stopped stroking through his hair. And, finally, Norrington managed to rouse himself enough to turn his head, to crack his eyes open again. Only to find Jack staring off into space, his face clearly a mask of itself. His eyes full of shadows. "Ye claim that ye are but a fool," the pirate said quietly. "But I no less than thee am also fair a fool. For I would that I not let ye go, having become unduly fond of ye, King's man or no, James Norrington. No, I would not let ye go, but that I must. For your own life, if naught else. Ye canna stay and I may not go. An there it tis." "Jack..." The other man's eyes narrowed, then he finally looked down at him. "The truth is it? Well, plainly put, I do not trust the man and though the agreement we set between us is that ye and your men are to be set free, an are not to be harmed in the meantime, I fear there be harm and then there be harm. Barbossa will keep to his word, aye, but he is all that holds the others back from taking their own vengeance on ye." "He can't control his own men?" One of Jack's eyebrows rose and the corner of his mouth curved up, though it was not a smile. "Tis a buccaneer ship ye be on now, mate. An a buccaneer captain is only captain so long as his crew allows him to be. Tis by their own good will, such as it is, that he commands them an he canna command them in all things. If he wishes to sway them to mercy, then I have little doubt he may, but his word only be law during the chase or in the midst of battle, an we are at neither. Still, they fear him. Now, more than ever, it must be said. Mayhap, the fear may prove stronger than their anger with ye and your lads." "You have done the best for us you can, Jack," Norrington said. "More than was even asked of you. Don't imagine I don't know that. As well I know what it must have cost you." That garnered a reaction, far more than he had expected. For suddenly Jack's eyes became flat and the last lingering traces of anything kind or familiar or friendly fled from his face. So much so that it unnerved him, as if he had suddenly found himself in the arms of a stranger rather than the pirate he had come to think that he knew. And though part of him had always suspected that Jack Sparrow could be a dangerous man if cornered, if given little other recourse, he had never before seen such clear evidence to that fact before. And though he did not truly fear for himself, he felt fear trickle cold through his veins all the same. "Don't speak of what ye know naught about, James," Jack said, his voice flat and hard. "I will not see the Pearl in his hands again. No more than I would let him keep ye. What's mine is mine, and though I may be moved at the last to forgive, never think that I may forget." The pirate glanced away then and his jaw clenched and released, before his shoulders slumped a little and something seemed to run out of him. Leaving Jack looking abruptly as weary as he himself felt. "My apologies," he said quietly, raising a hand towards that tired face. "Jack..." But the pirate caught his hand out of the air and tucked it back down, though those long fingers closed around it tightly all the same. "Don't worry yourself so," he said. "Sleep now, if ye would. I'll look after ye. Me own word on it." And, though he wanted to pursue the matter more, he found his eyes sinking shut all the same. As if what the other man commanded, he had little other choice than but to obey. Still, he found Jack's words echoing through him even as he gave himself over to his own lingering exhaustion, his stomach almost uncomfortably full for once in what seemed like forever. What's mine is mine... Did that truly mean that the other man counted him as his own? A thought which both warmed and worried him in equal measure. For he belonged to no man, let alone a pirate. And, God forbid, another man besides. But, yet, if he had to pick someone he wished to be with... if it could be anyone, not just someone suitable, someone reasonable... then there was far worse choices out there and it wasn't as if beggars could be choosers, after all. Not to mention that his heart had never paid all that much mind to what was considered reasonable—after all, if a good match had been all that he had expected or wanted then he would have been married long ago. But that his obstinate affections had settled on a woman he could love as well as one who was eminently suitable. Except that she had never loved him, nor ever could it seemed. And not, when it came right down to it, that he could blame her for that. For seeking love where and with whom she could and damn the consequences. Dimly, he felt a kiss laid upon his exposed brow, then heard Jack sigh. And couldn't help but wonder for a moment what Elizabeth would have thought to see them like this. Though, if truth be told, he was probably better off not knowing. But then he felt himself shifted, being gently laid to the floor, and a warm solid body moved to fit itself tight up against him. One arm winding itself about his stomach and legs tucking themselves familiarly into his longer ones. Making him feel oddly small and secure despite the fact that he was by far the larger of the two and both of them still prisoners if it came to that. Albeit, temporarily well-fed ones. But, even as he was drifting off at the last, he knew that, even if Jack hadn't out and out lied to him, he hadn't told him the entire truth either. And that would have to be remedied. The sooner the better.
***
Jack leaned against the taffrail of the ship and watched as their wake slowly disappeared back beneath the waves. Leaving naught behind but the perfect blue of the ocean once more. Twice now, he had paid the passage for Norrington and his men and only one more day remained before, winds and fortune willing, they would see the mountains of Jamaica rise up before them. It wasn't so much the pain that gave him pause, nor even the fact that of all the men in the world he would never have chosen Barbossa—neither for the pleasure of the moment, nor for matelot—but that that he could well imagine Norrington's reaction should the man ever find out about the full price being paid for his freedom. Bad enough that James thought he'd sold his own pride, a commodity that the other man clearly held dearer than he himself did or ever had, let alone that Norrington discover that Barbossa's interest in him extended far past simply wishing to see him installed as captain of the Pearl and sworn to himself as commodore of a grand pirate fleet and Pirate King in the offing. Which was never going to happen, if he had anything to say about it. Not for him was life, if you could call it a life, of the bending of knee and the preying upon Spanish towns and Spanish ships for the amusement and satisfaction of some angry old Aztec god. Not that he couldn't understand and even sympathize a little with that anger, but that didn't mean that he would let himself or his ship be used at the same time. His life was his own and always had been, since he had first escaped to the sea and the freedoms that she offered. For freedom, true freedom, was not just an idea, but the very thing which made his heart beat, his soul fly, the very blood burn bright within his veins. Ah, for that matter, freedom was his heart, his soul, his life's blood. And well he had known that since the very first time he had set foot upon a ship, seen the wind fill her sails, and take them to where the sea met the sky, where anything might happen if only a man dared to try for it. Jack glanced down at the rail beneath his hands, as black now as the Pearl. Though, it would have been just as well to have re-painted the Dauntless red, scarlet as all the blood he doubted not would be soon spilled upon her. Innocent blood, indeed, not that he had much love for the Spanish. And not that they hadn't spilled blood enough of their own in their conquest of the Aztec people. In their pursuit of gold. But for that was ages ago now, and the true offenders long dead. And no man alive today deserved to be sent to that dark place, to what waited for them there. To that thing upon its bed of bones. "Cap'n says to keep him company," a voice muttered somewhere behind him. "An we keeps him company, but still I says he should go where we wish him to go and not t'other way round. I mean, who do he think he is?" Jack turned around slowly and gave the stout man and his thin companion his second best smile. Reserving his first best for those more deserving of it. Or more discriminating. "Why, Captain Jack Sparrow o' course," he said. "An best ye be remembering that, the both o' ye. For mayhap ye may be two who end up serving aboard the Pearl again, gents, an would be best to keep to me good side in that eventuality. Savvy?" The two men exchanged glances, then Ragetti scowled, even as Pintel stopped forward, his hand coming up a little as if he was seriously considering offering him injury. The same sort of injury he had sometimes been freely given during those days when Jack had been bound to the mast. "I'll not serve willingly beneath the likes of ye again, Jack Sparrow," Pintel growled, while his matelot nodded agreement behind him. "Well I remember what it were like before." "Do ye now?" Jack asked. Ignoring the other man's threat, he stepped right up to him and looked him square in the eye. "An were it worse than serving beneath a captain who may take a man's soul from him if he be less than pleased with ye? Tell me that." Pintel swallowed hard, then took a half-step back as if unable to stop himself. He exchanged another look with the thinner pirate, who also suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. "But no matter," Jack continued, poking a finger right into the other man's chest. Making him recoil a little, then scowl all the worse for it. "For I would not have ye aboard me ship if ye were the last two tars upon this good earth who had a mind to plunder." The scowl deepened if that was possible. "Here now," the other pirate said. "There be no cause for that." "No," Ragetti echoed, a matching expression on his face. "No cause at all." Jack raised his head, putting the same finger to his own chin thoughtfully. "Oh, aye?" he said. "Then twasn't the two o' you who brought that Swann lass to the good captain, mistaking her for a Turner. An twasn't the two o' you who lost us that fat Hollander in the Leewards not six month before we set off after Cortez's ever so bonny treasure." "Was not!" Ragetti burst out. "They all took her to be a Turner. An was not us upon the deck that night, not as lit a light anyhow." "Ah," Jack replied. "Then must have been two other fools entire. An ye were both falsely accused and falsely fined for it, then." "Aye, most falsely," the thin pirate muttered, though Pintel said nothing. Though the sudden sideways slide of his eyes spoke otherwise. Bo'sun stalked by and all of them fell silent for a moment, though Jack gave the huge black man a pleasant enough smile. A smile which the other man pointedly ignored. "Though, tis true," Jack said, lowering his voice a little. "An if I will not have ye aboard me Pearl, it leaves ye free and away to serve the Captain ye liked o'er me own good self, anyway. Or some aspect o' him, whatever were brought back from the dead upon that cursed island." Pintel frowned. "Ye be tryin' to tell us that that Cap'n be not the Cap'n." Jack shrugged. "I only be saying what's already been said, that's all. As for what I've seen..." He let his voice trail off and gave a sidelong look to the right and the left, as if Barbossa might himself be even now creeping up upon them. Or some other dark creature venturing out even into the bright light of day. Both the other pirates echoed his actions, trepidation crossing their faces. "Can ye tell me, lads, that ye have not seen the shadow which comes o'er his eyes upon a time? Have ye not felt it as if a cold hand were placed upon your shoulder, one that would drag ye down to the depths with it?" Pintel's frown deepened, but Ragetti was nodding slightly now. "Who may know," Jack went on, fully aware of how much any sailor—let alone a pirate—loved a tale of mystery and woe, and loved even more so to talk about it to any who would bend an ear for but a moment. "What came with him out o' those depths. What whispers in his ear even now. Calling for blood and yet more blood. Not swag. Not gold nor silver. Not what may buy ye a fine meal and a warm bit o' flesh to comfort your nights. All that ye missed these ten long years. No. To my mind, tis as much a curse as before ye be under. But that ye be beholden now, now and forever most like, to what commands the Captain. That ye never be free o' that. That we never be free. An what sort o' life is that... for a pirate." Their eyes betrayed fear and fascination both, and though Pintel snorted and shook his head, Jack knew his words had sunk deep. After all, he was only voicing what they were already thinking. So, it was not surprising then, as they escorted him back below and returned him to his cell once more, that they were more subdued than they were normally wont to be. Even to the point of forgoing their usual pleasure of making some snide comment or threat at the good Commodore's expense. But then there were other, far more reasonable, ways to win the minds and hearts of a ships' crew than through fear and intimidation. And, barring that, there was always the promise of copious amounts of swag and rum and willing doxies aplenty to tempt a reluctant buccaneer into throwing off the rule of a captain reluctant to provide them with their fondest desires. Most especially for men who had already gone and mutinied the once and had the knowing of it.
***
The past couple of days had passed in a haze for him. Jack was solicitous—almost overly so—when he was awake, making sure he had food and water aplenty, holding him close when he could, affectionate touches that made the pain fade away long enough so that he could sleep. Though, sometimes, when he woke again, the other man would have gone from his embrace and he would see him sitting in the corner opposite. His legs pulled up tight to his body and his head resting on his knees. The fall of dark hair hiding his face from the world. Norrington very well knew there was something amiss—and that that something most like had to do with the deal Jack had made with Captain Barbossa—but every time he sought to bring it up, to question the pirate, Jack would smile, almost as if to himself, and quietly withdraw. In spirit, if not necessarily in body. Those black eyes would turn flat and unapproachable and he would find the words dying in his throat. Of course, those dark eyes would soon warm again and Jack would kiss him and tease, but there was the slightest hesitation to it now, as if he feared his welcome was about to run out. And Norrington was still in too much pain part of the time to argue or to pursue the matter the way he wished. His back had stiffened, bruised where it wasn't torn, and though he could feel his strength returning—served no doubt in part from regular food and drink, Jack surreptitiously attempting to give him the lion's share when he could—he found himself nigh on exhausted by end of day. Still, he would force himself to move, to take a turn around the small cell whenever he could, attempting to ready himself for whatever the future might bring. He had never been one to stand by idly, and if the cost of that was more pain, then he was more than willing to bear it. At least, in addition to better victuals, their captors had taken to leaving the small windows of the cells open now, which meant that he could check on his men. Lieutenant Groves seemed most relieved by this, speaking to him several times a day if they were able. Encouraging words for the main part, clearly meant to benefit the rest listening in, and Norrington echoed them, keeping his doubts to himself. They had been told they were to be set free, though little more than that. Not even that it was because of Jack, a smallish detail which neither Jack nor himself was willing to part with for the nonce. Though he suspected Groves knew more than he was letting on. For the lieutenant had made a point out of conversing with Sparrow, as well, and had grown tellingly silent whenever Jack had turned noncommittal about his own future prospects. The younger man was not a fool, but neither then was Jack, despite how he may play one quite freely when it suited him. Norrington opened his eyes a little, just enough to observe the man in question. Jack was standing near to the door at the moment, as if waiting for something, one wrist in fact hanging out the small window, tucked between the iron bars, and his shoulders slumped. His head was pressed to those same bars. From the back, he could have been any smallish man in stained and ragged clothing and bare feet, but for the beads peeping out from beneath that red silk scarf. But that he was not as any man and Norrington could have sworn he would know him anywhere, in any guise, and that even before they'd shared a night together. Slowly, carefully, he got to his feet and set his back as straight as it would go. It was growing late and his tolerance for pain was at low ebb. He walked towards the other man and either Jack was so deep in reflection that he didn't hear him approach, or he simply didn't much care. Norrington glanced out over his head, watching the lantern hanging in the passage swing slightly with the movement of the ship, but other than that there was no movement without. They were alone, or as alone as they could get being that his men were just down the passageway, though most of them likely to be asleep or nearly so at this time. Their suppers settled in their bellies and thoughts of freedom soothing their dreams. While the man who had bought them both stood there, alone and suffering it seemed. He slid one arm about the pirate and pressed full into him, leaning down a little to lay the side of his face against a tangle of that rough hair and smooth silk. "Jack," he said softly, ignoring how the other man stiffened a little. Then clearly forced himself to relax again. "Do you not trust me?" The pirate drew in a deep breath, then let it out again, but gave no other answer than that. Norrington lifted his head and glanced at Jack's hand where it dandled out the window and saw that it had clenched tight. And that it was trembling ever so slightly. Jack, himself, was perfectly still now, but it seemed a thin composure. "Aye," he replied at long last. "I do trust ye." "Then... Jack..." "One more night," the pirate said. "Ye shall go free on the morrow. Are ye not glad for that, Commodore?" "Of course," he replied. "But, Jack... how... I can't just leave you here. I know you want your ship back, but to be at his command like that. You know what he'll ask of you. You know that it is wrong." "I've given me word," came the quiet response. "What would ye have of me?" In answer, Norrington drew the other man around until he could look into those dark eyes. Eyes that stared challenge at him, before Jack got his somewhat rueful look on his face and his gaze warmed again. "Would it be better then?" he asked. "If I so swear to thee, James Norrington, that no woman nor any child... aye, an any innocent man either, shall come to harm by me own hand." Norrington shook his head slightly. "And how do you intend to honor that pledge, Jack? You know as well as I what Barbossa intends..." Jack actually went so far as to smile at that, his teeth flashing briefly white and gold in the half-light. "Well, my love, for that I imagine you'll just have to be trusting me." Norrington found some part of him succumbing that smile as readily as ever, but he drew himself up the next moment, much as his back would allow, and let out a soft breath. He put a hand to Jack's face and gazed into those dark eyes, knowing he could trust the man, knowing he should trust the man, but yet... "James," the pirate said quietly. "All shall be well. Ye'll see." And, with that, he leaned forward and kissed him, gently and carefully, as if he might break otherwise. But Norrington would have none of that; he pushed against the smaller man until Jack was pressed up against the door, half held there by his own weight. And he took his face in both hands and kissed him hard. Thoroughly. With no nonsense at all about it. Jack tensed for a moment, but then surrendered to his touch, his lips opening beneath his, allowing him the tender haven of his mouth. Letting him take charge of both the moment and his own body, as if to prove that he did trust him with all that and yet more. The pirate moaned ever so softly, one hand moving up to cup the back of his neck, and his knee slipped like a thief between his legs, pressing lightly against him. And Norrington felt himself grow hard. Then harder still as Jack's other hand slipped down between them, warm fingers sliding down across his stomach before creeping into his breeches. There to circle round what they found within. Jack laughed, a dark, breathy sound. "Commodore..." he whispered. "Yes," he asked, pulling back a little to look at the other man. Jack's eyes were intent on his. "If we two never chance to meet again after the morrow, I would but ask that ye remember these past days with a fondness. An not berate yourself o'er any lack o' judgment, o'er me own character or your own. An if we do indeed meet again in the unknown future, then I would but ask one favor of ye." "Which is?" "A kiss like to the one ye have just rendered me. For even if I may go to the gallows after, an betimes find an ending there at the last, at the least I shall have that to take with me into the greater unknown. Is that not too much to ask?" Something hot and painful twisted inside Norrington at those soft words, at the look of mingled uncertainty and demand in Jack's eyes. "No," he said, and his voice broke a little. "No, that's not too much to ask. But, Jack..." The pirate shook his head slightly. "Shhh... James. Be still now. For they be coming for me." And, with that, Norrington heard footsteps heading downwards towards them and that hot and painful thing wound itself up even tighter. He lowered his head and kissed the other man quick and hard, but Jack broke away from it before he was done. Slipping that clever hand from his breeches as quick as it had entered, and turning again to face the door and the small window there. "Jack," he said, putting one hand to the pirate's shoulder. Which tightened and then released again under his touch. The other man turned his head slightly, gracing him with one of those brilliant sly smiles, before he looked back to the door. Towards two of their captors as they appeared down the ladder, one shoving playfully at the other, both of them looking heavily into their drink already this evening. "Don't go anywhere now," Jack said quietly, almost cheerfully, back to him, even as they sauntered up to the cell, one tossing the key at the other. "For I be thinking we have unfinished business to attend to yet this night." And, even as they hauled him out of the cell and away, Jack Sparrow looked back once more and smiled, close-lipped this time, almost shy. Those dark eyes catching his from beneath half-lowered eyelids that left very little to imagine what the other man might be imagining in turn.
***
Despite the lingering smile on his face, Jack felt his heart dragging more and more with each step he took as he was pushed and shoved up the ladder and across the deck. It was a quiet night, damp and overcast, and the deck was heavy with shadows. Candlelight flickered from the open door of the main cabin and he thought he saw more shadows moving up the wall, long and twisted shades that bore little resemblance to anything living he'd ever seen. And then that damned monkey came scampering out, a dark spindly haunt itself, with a bone white face. It paused and stared up at him and Jack could have sworn that the tiny animal had the most knowing look in its eyes. "Tsssst," he said, and flicked his head in the opposite direction of the door. The monkey blinked up at him, but amazingly enough took its cue for once and ran right through his feet and out across the deck. Bad enough to do what he did with the man, but to know that his own namesake was there, was watching them... He was hustled right up to the door then, where they left him. To step across the threshold by his own power. Only to be caught by hands that drew him close, strong, knowing hands. A rough laugh sounding in his ear, the breathy rush of his name sounding almost pleased, as if the man hadn't known full well that he would come. "Jack," Barbossa said, guiding him across the room to the waiting bed. The coverlet already turned back and dozens of candles providing a soft, welcoming light. One thumb stroking across his face, before he was turned to the light, as well. Blue eyes staring down at him, looking for a moment almost warm, before his own lack of reaction, of instant welcome, made them become cold again. Cold and hard and demanding. And he knew this last night would be the worst of all.
***
Norrington blinked as the bright sunlight struck his eyes. To one side, he saw Groves doing the same and heard the mumbling of his men. They all looked worn and wary and he could not fault them for that. Especially with the looks in the eyes of the pirate crew surrounding them, a sea of waiting pistols and cutlasses and ill intent. He was weary, too. But part of that was a pleasant weariness. For Jack had returned but a few hours short of morning and woke him with a kiss that was not to be denied. After which, despite his mumbled protests that it was his own turn to be the one to give, the pirate had not denied him anything else. Not the usage of his mouth or of his body, all offered to him in mute silence except for a quiet breath or whispered plea. The intensity of the brief coupling had been almost frightening, and Jack had writhed beneath him as if he could not take him deep enough to satisfy whatever burned inside him. He himself had not been able to last long, which had been a blessing in disguise since even that tender exercise had made complaint of his injuries. And, oddly enough, Jack had seemed even more content to simply be held afterwards, almost as if it was that which he had truly wished all along. The comfort of his flesh, of his arms, of the silence between them. A silence that even he had feared to break, knowing that if he said anything in that moment that it might very well end in accusation or in some declaration of affection that he would thereafter regret. So, instead, he had held his pirate, listening to him breathe, knowing in his heart how he had once stopped that breath, both fearing and anticipating the coming day. When he would be set free. And Jack... would not. But he must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he woke again, he was alone in the cell and the passageway was full of pirates and soon he found himself and his men being pushed and dragged topside. To the bright day of their release. A day which did nothing to touch the dark painful spot in his heart. A pain which only deepened as Captain Barbossa himself came stalking across the deck towards them. Looking jovial almost. As if he had slept and breakfasted well. And dressed with greater care than usual, as if to make one last jaunty impression. The silver of his buckles and the pistol set into his belt very well gleamed in the morning light, both looking freshly polished, and his beard even looked combed. He was wearing a new pristine white linen shirt, lace cuffs spilling out of the hem and neck of his coat, and his shark's tooth earring looked even more yellowed by comparison. Yellowed as his own teeth, as he smiled and then took up a tall stance, glancing briefly upwards at the sails and masts of the Dauntless, almost as if he had never truly seen them before, before looking back at his waiting men. His waiting prisoners. The monkey in its own tiny vest and blouse sat upon one shoulder as always and stared at them as well, a slice of apple clutched in its small hands. Its mouth working away at its own breakfast. "Well, well," the pirate captain said. "Sad to say, this be the day we shall see the last o' ye. Our ever so grand company. An most sorely missed ye'll be, I must say." Norrington drew himself up as best he could, but then the ship began to make a ponderous turn and the pirates surrounding them pulled back a little so that he could see a dark shadow to his right. Land. And not only land, but a familiar looking range of mountains and low hills. A thin strip of white sand and a high cliff beyond, where the land curved out into the sea, the jagged rock alive with seabirds of all shapes and sizes. "Aye," Barbossa said, following his gaze. "The Raven has brought ye all home again. Now, aren't ye well pleased by that. By our own willing kindness to ye." It was the island of Jamaica, yes, but yet a goodly distance from Port Royal as far as he could reckon. They were slowly sailing along the far edge of a small cove and, even as he shrugged his way free of the hands holding him, he heard an order barked from the big black man and half the pirates fell out from standing about being idly threatening to take in sail and drop anchor. "Ready a couple o' jollyboats, lads," Barbossa said, reaching up to scratch at the monkey's ear. The creature arched into the touch, half-closing its eyes, its mouth opening a little to reveal half-chewed apple. "For I am sure that the Commodore an his men be most eager to get ashore an back to their former lives." From out of the corner of his eye, Norrington saw Lieutenant Groves furtively looking around the deck and, with a sharp twinge deep inside him, realized that the man was, in fact, looking for Jack. Almost as if he expected some miracle to occur at the last moment and for the pirate to be able to join them in a clever bid for freedom. Honestly, he half expected it himself. Except that one look into Barbossa's face, into those pale blue eyes, made him realize the penalty should such an attempt fail. A penalty that they all would pay, with their lives if not in even colder coin. For, though he may not entirely believe Jack's story about the pirate captain attempting to take his soul from him, he very well knew that their captors could and would cheerily torture them all to death if given half a chance. "Aye," Barbossa went on, looking on as his men began to lower the boats to the waiting sea. "Just a week's walk from this lively little cove, lads, and t'will see you close to home again. In the meantime, there be fresh water here and victuals enough for the finding. Generous, indeed, we have been. Though I doubt ye be much appreciative of it. Not as ye should be." Norrington swallowed the snide remark that came to mind, knowing that until they were well to land, that the man before him could still change his mind and decide to keep them, after all. To murder them there they stood. But he couldn't just leave. Not without seeing Jack. Not without... But Barbossa was stepping up to him, holding out his hand as if he honestly expected him to grasp it. A sharply appraising look in his eyes, a polite smile upon his lips that would have been right at home in any well appointed drawing room back in London. The hand being withdrawn with a small bow as he refused it, as if the insult was of no real matter. "Aye, tis been much of a pleasure, Commodore" the pirate captain said, as grandly and politely as if they were meeting at some court function rather than on the deck of his own stolen ship. "Though I imagine more for me and rather less for such as your good self." Norrington drew himself up to his full height despite the pain it caused and gave the other man the coldest look he could muster. Feeling the other pirates watching, and his own men, as well. "No matter the cost," he said. "I shall see you and every man who serves beneath you brought to justice at the last." "Justice?" Barbossa laughed, and his crew eagerly laughed with him. He made a grand gesture of dismissal, as if he had never heard of the beast. "Don't ye know, man. There is no such a thing as justice. For one man's justice may very well be another's vengeance. No, Commodore, if ye insist upon this course, then paint it for what it really is and don't be claiming any higher calling than that. Tis not duty which makes ye hate us so. Or, if was, I fear tis not anymore." Norrington compressed his lips. The man was insufferable, even more insufferable than Sparrow at his worst. Speaking of whom, the man himself was finally sauntering over towards them as if he had all the time in the world and had been but waiting for the opportune moment to make his grand entrance, a familiar brace of pirates trailing in his wake. His smile was as wide as you please, gold flashing brilliant in the sunlight, but his eyes were made all the darker for it. Eyes that were fixed directly to his face in that moment, as if there were nowhere else in all of God's great creation that he wished to look upon. It made his heart beat faster to see him, even as he schooled himself to a greater show of sternness as a result. Oh, Jack... "Ah, Commodore," he said, stopping just in front of him, his head and hands both doing that ever so curious ebb and flow. Acting the fool for him one last time. Acting as if none of this mattered. "So glad to have caught ye before ye take your leave of us at the last." "Sparrow," he said, enunciating the word carefully. Lest it reveal more than he wished to be revealed, at least with so many eyes upon them. Not to mention, the knowing gaze of Barbossa, himself. Jack swayed back a little, this tiny stitch of a frown gathering between his eyes. "Eh," he said in a purely offended tone of voice that Norrington didn't believe for an instant. "Ye very well know by now, mate... that's Captain Sparrow. Or have ye forgotten me own lovely Pearl." "How could I forget her?" he replied, and it wasn't really a question. "How could any man... forget?" "Rum," Jack responded instantly. "Lots and lots of rum. That's the ticket." "And if one does not drink, Captain Sparrow?" Black eyes narrowed at him and Jack leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. One finger trailing down the line of his tattered shirt, a pale whisper of the intimacies they had but recently shared. "Then entertainment. Of a lewd nature, o' course. Does wonders for the constitution. Not to mention the memory. A'fore ye know it, ye've forgotten yer own name, never mind anybody else's." "Ah," Norrington said. "I see." Jack drew back again and his eyes suddenly turned serious, an expression crossing his face in that instant, an expression that Norrington realized would haunt him until the end of his days, if not a good deal longer. A look of such sadness and hunger and resignation and fond indulgence that it was all he could do not to gather the other man into his arms in that moment and the consequences be damned by it. Let alone what remained of his hard-won dignity. But he couldn't and he didn't, and then Jack was turning away and going to stand to one side and slightly behind Barbossa, and the moment was gone. And he regretted it already.
***
Jack watched the jollyboats pull away, heading towards that pleasant shore. Or, more to the point, he watched the back of one man's head where he sat in the stem of the lead boat. Willing him to both turn around and look back and to not do anything of the like at the same time. Truly, they had shared but a momentary indulgence in each other, and far far less than he would have liked, but yet he had to admit that he felt as though part of him were leaving with the other man. Perhaps, even the better part of him. For he had never before felt so alone as he did now, so at odds with the world and his place in it. He looked down at himself and felt acutely, even more acutely than he had at the very first, that it was but dead flesh that he was inhabiting. That only by the grace, if you might pardon the expression, of that heathenish thing in the dark did he move and speak and still draw breath. Not by God as Norrington had imagined, not a thing of heaven at all. For, though, Barbossa imagined this a gift—fair exchange for his soul, black as it may be—Jack knew it for what it was. He knew it was but another shade of the same foul curse that had been laid upon them before. Wrapped in gilt this time, perhaps, and seeming to promise true immortality, but with the same odor of the grave about it. The same wicked flavor of spilled blood and broken dreams. For cert, his blood was cold within him now, all his dreams flown. For there was but one road remaining to him and, though he did not wish to take it, he knew there was little other choice that he could see. He had promised Barbossa, but he had also promised Norrington. And Jack Sparrow was a man of his word. Even if that was the only thing left to him. Especially if that was the only thing left to him.
***
Norrington stood straight at the edge of the sea until the Dauntless had dropped over the horizon. Disappearing into a shimmer of fading light and distant cloud. Only then did his shoulders slump a little and he passed a hand over his face, giving in to the feeling of loss and mute despair that was knotted up tightly inside him. Jack had freely done this for him, for them all, but it was almost more than he could stand to be parted from the man. Especially knowing the price he had paid for this, and the one he would pay in the future. "Sir?" Curious and concerned at the same time. Norrington closed his eyes for a long moment. "Captain Sparrow bargained for our lives, Leftenant. At great cost to himself, it must be admitted to. It is him and not myself you must thank for our freedom, for I had nothing to do with it." "Did you not, sir?" He opened his eyes again and looked over at the other man. Who still maintained a fine dignity, despite his stained and torn clothing and a mottled bruise upon his cheek. Dignity enough to match the calm of his gaze, and the odd clarity of vision that told Norrington right then and there that Groves knew. Not suspected, not wondered, but knew. As if he had somehow always known. "Jack Sparrow is a fine man," Groves said quietly. "Pirate or not. And, I warrant, that we shall see him again. In fact, I would wager upon it." "Would you?" he said softly. The other man gave him a rueful smile, then held out a small wooden cup, the top cracked and stained black. It was partially filled with water. "Sir, Mells has found a small spring back in the rocks. Very slow, but the water seems good enough. There are a few nut trees as well, so we shan't go hungry. Tonight, at least." "Thank you, Leftenant," Norrington said and took the proffered cup. He drank half of it and the water was cool, though it did taste rather of moss. Still, he would have sworn it was the best he had ever had in his life. He held the cup back out to the other man, but Groves shook his head. "I've already had my share, sir. Please, drink the rest." Norrington nodded, taking him at his word. Still, the lieutenant watched until he'd finished the last within the cup, and only then took it back. "Get a fire going," the Commodore said. "And set a watch. We'll stay here tonight and then set off for Port Royal in the morning." Groves glanced around the small cove. "Do you know where we are, sir?" "Not precisely. However, I do believe that if we but follow the coast a good ten miles or more that way," and he pointed off towards the east, "we shall come at the last to the Brookes Plantation. And they should be able to provide us with a swifter means of transport back to the fort." Groves moved slightly closer and his voice dropped. "You intend on returning then, sir? It's quite possible that Captain Reade took the Endeavor straight back and you know as well as I that the first thing he would do is have you arrested." "Yes, I am aware of that," Norrington replied. The sun was going down to the west now and the sea had turned to gold, a match for the sky. Black birds wheeled against it, the mingled cries of gulls and teal. "Then you can't return, sir. Please. Most especially since we did not succeed in retaking Dauntless. Do you understand me, sir? He will have you court-martialed and imprisoned, possibly even hung." "Undoubtedly. And will most likely be awarded my commission as well." Groves stepped even closer and his free hand settled on Norrington's arm once more, in full sight of any who might be watching. "James," he said softly. "Please, I beg you. Do not go back to Port Royal. At least, not until you know which way the wind lies. Not until you have gathered some support. An assurance from the Governor, perhaps." "Thank you, John," Norrington replied, just as quietly. "But these men are my responsibility and I intend to see them safely home. It is, after all, the least I can do." Groves looked as though he wished to argue further, but then his eyes suddenly seemed to warm even more and he nodded. His hand fell away. "Yes, sir," he said. "But I would speak for you if it comes to that. You cannot deny me." And Norrington couldn't help but smile a little, a very little, as he heard what had gone unspoken in that promise—that Lieutenant John Groves would do far more than that if he had to in order to keep him safe. It both warmed and chilled him in turn to know that. He appreciated the depths of the other man's loyalty, but all the same he didn't wish to see him brought low by his own mistakes and ill luck. "Then let us both hope that it does not come to that," he said.
***
Jack threw his head back and gazed up the full length of the mizzenmast to the unfurled black skies above. The moon was on the rise and near to full, but was misty with lingering clouds and ringed by a soft glow of its own making. The night was damp and tasted of distant rain. The sea soft and rhythmic beneath the ship's hull. The only sound, besides that of his own slow breathing. "Bad luck, that," a gruff voice from over by the portside rail commented loudly. "Whas back luck?" another voice answered. "That." "What that?" Jack rolled his eyes. He should have known the moment wouldn't last. "The moon, silly," the first voice responded. "What'd ye think I was talkin' about?" "Well, you wasn't pointing at the moon now, were you?" "Was so." "Coulda been the tops'l for all I knew." Grumbling now. "Or even a passing gull." "It's nighttime." "Whas that got to do with it?" Said slow and was if it was something everybody, but most especially the man standing directly to his right, should know. "Gulls don't fly by night." "'Course they do." "Do not." "Well, I've seen em fly by night." Somewhat exasperated in turn now. "Them was bats." "Was not." "Was so." There was an abrupt thumping sound, followed by a curse. "What was in aid of, then?" The answer was in all innocence. "Wasn't me, mate. Musta been a low flyin' bat." "Coulda been me throwin' me boot at the both of ye," Jack said, then paused. "Or it coulda been a gull." Two pairs of eyes turned to look at him, neither of them particularly friendly. Or rather, one set of matching eyes and one that gazed both at him and into some blind space probably full of gulls and bats and goodness knows what else. "You be quiet," Pintel said. "Captain says we gotta watch ye, doesn't mean we gotta listen to ye." Ragetti nodded, in full accord now with his matelot. "Ah," Jack said, levering himself up now. "But that's where ye be wrong, mates. For if ye would do more than watch, or perhaps make the watching an all the more pleasurable pastime, then ye must listen, for if a man listens then he may learn an if a man learns, he may learn things which others would keep secret, even from those who watch." The other two exchanged looks, then gazed back at him. "What are ye on about?" Ragetti asked. "Why rum, good sirs," Jack replied in a whisper, stepping up close and lowering his head, forcing them to lower theirs as well. Forming a conspiracy. "As in, I know where the last of it be hid. Some that such as us may share, if we could but find a secluded spot to be sharing it in. Safe from other watchful eyes an thirsty gobs. Savvy?" For a long moment, Pintel just continued to frown at him, then ever so slowly that frown smoothed over. "I know where we could go," he replied. "I rather thought ye would," Jack said.
***
Norrington waded out into the water, the darkness of the ocean and sky before him and the fire at his back, casting luminous shadows across both sand and wave. Despite the fact that they had been stranded here, it was a lovely night. Warm, with enough of a breeze to keep it from being too warm, and the scent of some night-blooming flower mingling with the smell of salt and sea brack. The moon just beginning to rise, dodging in and out from between soft clouds. A perfect night, indeed. He felt guilty to be enjoying any of it, however. Despite how good it felt to be free again. Well, for the moment, anyhow. On the morrow, they would have to start making their way back to Port Royal and, once there, these men would be returned to their duties and he... Norrington let out a soft breath. He would most likely find himself placed under arrest again. Perhaps even placed in a cell in his own very fort. All of which, even if he was proved blameless at the last—doubtful, at best—would still leave a black mark upon his formerly glowing record. That is, if he avoided being locked away entirely. Or perhaps even been taken back to London to be paraded before the medical community there as a prime example of what exposure to the fevers and agues of these tropics could do to a man. Even one of good English stock. Still, the sand was cool and comforting to his bare feet and he waded out even deeper. Until the waves were washing up around his knees. He could just keep going, of course—just walk out until the land dropped away, and then swim until the tides took command of him. To drown was a less demeaning future, it must be imagined, than what awaited a man judged a lunatic. But he owed allegiance to his men, and his life—and theirs, it must be argued—had been bought at a dear enough price that to consider wasting it was unthinkable. Besides, that was a coward's way, and one thing he had never counted himself as being was a coward. Betimes, a fool perhaps, but then all men were fools on occasion. A fool, indeed, to have loved a woman who would not have him. And to want a pirate who would. Though, it must be said that Jack had more than proved his mettle these last days, and then some. For the price of their freedom had all been his. In the distance, Norrington heard the cry of a bird and turned his head up to gaze at the sky. By habit, he fixed the polestar, then picked out the constellations he knew the best. If only he could have had the Interceptor back; to steer her by starlight and compass, to find himself sailing to those distant shores of Jack's, traversing unknown waters. Well, he knew that freedom which the other man put so much stock in. Or, a taste or two of it, anyway. For, unlike the pirate, his had always been the life of a tamed bird, one trained to return to the glove no matter how far or furiously he flew. A hawk amongst pigeons, perhaps, but still called to whistle and bell. Speaking of hawks, he heard a man making his way towards him. A slow passage that spoke of Groves' own state of exhaustion. But then, they were all on their last bit of strength after their incarceration; he could see it in the eyes of his men, hear it in their muted voices. They were all glad to be alive, make no mistake of that, but they were beaten down by what had happened, both aboard the Endeavor and the Dauntless. Unsure of their own welcome home and unsure of him. Their mad commander. "Commodore?" The man's voice was soft, as if unsure of his welcome. For a moment, he thought to correct him—after all, he had no right to the title, even under the present circumstances—but then he just turned his head and gave a small smile to the other man. Groves' own answering smile was pleasant, though tentative. "How's your back, sir?" he asked. "Tolerable," he replied. One raised eyebrow and he amended that to "barely tolerable," and the other man moved closer to him. "If I may?" For a moment, Norrington considered outright refusal, then realized he was just being stubborn. Besides, what remained of his shirt didn't exactly cover very much anymore. The other man's touch was careful, gentle even, but not as gentle as Jack's had been, oddly enough. And, certainly, it did not move him in the same fashion, for which he was grateful. Bad enough that he had begun to fancy one man, let alone that he find himself becoming a completely unredemptive sodomist. Grove's hand moved to his upper arm, then squeezed a little. "Sir?" "Yes?" "I still wish you would reconsider. About returning." "Yes," he replied. "I understand your trepidation, Leftenant. But, if it was, in fact, a choice I could choose to make... I must ask then, where is there for me to go? I would be an outlaw, a wanted man. No better than those I have spent my life in pursuit of. No better than those I have sent to the block." Groves' voice was soft, but his hand fell away as he turned to look up at the moon himself. "Pardon me, sir... but I believe that there are good men who are, yet, to be considered outlaws and..." "Pirates?" Norrington put in. "Well, now that you mention it, sir. Yes." "You know as well as I, any protestations of Captain Sparrow notwithstanding, that there is no future in that sort of life. Whether one is a good man—a good pirate, or not. It's not exactly an upstanding, let alone promising, career move." Mild eyes caught and held his. "Perhaps, sir... there is more to life than one's career." Norrington turned his gaze back out over the sea, but he found no comfort there. Nor any answers. Not to the sudden pain that he felt in his heart, or to the uncertainties that were beginning to plague him. Had he truly given up what made living worthwhile, in exchange for a life of duty and privilege. Certainly, what had happened in regards to Elizabeth seemed to speak to that. She had chosen love over both. And bedamned what anyone thought of her for it, for her choice of life and husband. As for himself... He had imagined that his life was full, and all that it yet lacked was a proper marriage to a good woman. A son to carry on the family name. Perhaps a daughter with Elizabeth's own lovely eyes. But all those things had melted away, like the mist before the dawn, and now he wasn't sure any longer that the ache in his heart could have been filled by a wife and family. By yet more duty and more responsibility, no matter how well intentioned. And yet, what else was there? What else was there, when all you had ever worked for was about to be taken from you? When there was no hopes left to the future. "Sir?" He nodded, then turned a mild gaze on Groves. "Go on back to the fire," he said quietly. "I'll be there in a moment." "Very good, sir," the other man responded immediately, but then softened his tone once more. "But, if you would... please consider..." "I shall," Norrington replied. "Consider every eventuality." Groves looked only slightly mollified, but he turned back to shore all the same. Leaving him to the ocean and the moon and to the thought that, despite all his bravado, that he truly did not wish to die. Or, even worse, spend the rest of his life locked up as a lunatic. A man who had once been a Commodore of His Majesty's Navy. A man who had once loved the Governor's daughter. A man who suspected that he might very well love a pirate.
Chapter 5 ::
Chapter 7
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