Rags of Time
Part 12
by
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it. Claim no ownership and make no money. I just like to play with them. Sorry!
The Governor's smile had not hidden his awkwardness. Of course it was just procedure. There were people and policies he had to answer to also, and the commodore's recent performance of his duties had fallen short of what was expected from both. The man even had a list. James had caught a glance at it—seen Gillette's handwriting. Of course he would understand it was just a formality. Of course he knew that even the best of us fall short of the mark under certain circumstances. Even the best of us is not immune to heartbreak.
The Governor's eyes had grown deep at that, with a kindness mixed with some form of guilt or sense of responsibility. James realised he was referring to Elizabeth—though he himself had not thought of her in months, it seemed the Governor assumed his recent shortcomings were due to her spurning his proposal. James felt very much like Jack as he dropped his gaze as though pained, realizing that the Governor had provided him with a better excuse than he could think up on his own. Swallowing his pride to accept the man's sympathy had been easier than he'd anticipated, though the fatherly slap on the shoulder was a little more than he could bear without grimacing. Thankfully the other man didn't see his expression as he was leaving to fetch the necessary paperwork, cursing the clerk for bringing the wrong documents.
James turned to watch him leave and saw through the slightly open door the slip of a shadow—Elizabeth had been hiding in the hallway, eavesdropping on the conversation. Her face was shaded by the doorframe, but he caught the glint of her eyes, sharp and full, humble with guilt. He realised then, as she scampered away upon hearing her father's footsteps down the corridor, that it had been many months since she had been in his thoughts, and even longer since he had seen her. Not since her wedding, which seemed a long time ago. Her shadow was the last he saw of her, stretching against the wall as she retreated. Like a shadow he might see behind him in a mirror when there is nothing there to cause it. That was what she now was, he realised, a reflection of something past.
And this was how he found himself, Commodore James Norrington, walking home with a very neatly written Leave of Absence order in his pocket. He could almost feel it there, as though it was burning a hole. Of course, the Governor had said, he mustn't see it as a negative thing. Two weeks away from the stresses of work would no doubt do him the world of good—just don't think of it as something that was being forced upon him, as it really was nothing of the sort. Of course not. He was simply obliged to take it. It would simply be better to accept it—see it as a holiday. Not for what it actually was. A last-ditch attempt to shake him into returning to his former self.
His dark expression sent the housemaid skittering away from him when he got home. Having retrieved the key to his bedroom door from a pocket, he clenched it tightly in his fist when he noticed the door ajar, a small length of wire protruding from the lock where it had been picked. He felt a rage the likes of which he hadn't known in a long time peak within his chest.
James flung the door open and didn't wince as the handle smashed into the furniture behind it, inevitably causing a dent. The door shook on its hinges, reverberating the force through the wood.
The odd sound of it hung in the air as Jack's head snapped up to see James standing there, still and bristling with anger.
Jack half sat up from where he'd been laying on his front on the bed, and turned to face the door. He saw James's chest rise and fall with heavy breaths, his eyes flaring with intensity.
"Bad day, luv?" he asked quietly.
Without looking away from him James caught the door and slammed it shut behind him, the noise shaking the wall and causing the length of wire to drop from the lock to the floor. Jack looked down at it, then back up at James whose eyes were still unwavering. James reached down suddenly and grabbed up the wire, walking slowly towards the bed and gesturing it in Jack's direction.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, much too quietly.
"It's a lock pick, luv. It's for picking locks." Jack kept his voice blank, trying to get a measure of what was going on inside James's head.
"Why did you pick that lock, Jack?" his voice edged between sarcasm and something dangerous.
"Don't like being caged, luv. Can't breathe right in a locked room. Not unless I'm the one with the key, that is." Jack paused, watching the anger dance in James's eyes as he came closer still. He suddenly became aware that, sitting as he was on the bed, James towered over him somewhat. Which he realized was quite unnerving, given the air of something nasty that seemed to be about him.
"I didn't go out, if that's what you're worried about. None of your girls saw me." He reached out towards James's hand to take the wire, but James threw it across the room suddenly without looking away from him. Jack let his hand fall to his lap.
"What happened, luv?" he asked, gently.
James continued to glare at him for a moment, before something in his eyes seemed to soften slightly. He sighed angrily and snatched the order from his pocket, throwing it at Jack's chest so that his fingers fumbled with it. James stalked away, removing his coat and tossing it on the back of a chair, tugging roughly at his cravat and wig, kicking off his shoes.
"You're in a piss cuz they've given you a holiday? What's wrong with that? I love holidays! Ooh, you could come to Tortuga with me—or I could get a little sloop and we could go sailing around the little islands, then—"
"Are you really that stupid, Jack?!" James shouted far too loudly as he threw his sword belt to the floor with a crash. "You think they just gave me a holiday?!"
"Bloody hell, James, shut up, for Christ sake, you'll have the whole household up here," Jack hissed, glancing towards the door as he jumped up and rushed to stand in front of him.
"Let them," James said blankly, his voice a rasping noise in his throat.
"James, what the hell has gotten into you?" said Jack in a whispered rush, flickering fingers trying to grasp at James's waistcoat in an attempt to pacify him.
"You, apparently," James growled, pushing him away with enough force to send him stumbling backwards. Jack found his footing again with the affronted grace of an annoyed cat.
"What are you on about, mate?" Jack demanded curtly.
"Do you not see?" said James, his tone tense and rising with anger. "They are trying to force me out. An 'order of leave'?" he said, dripping sarcasm, striding to the bed and snatching up the document from where Jack had left it. "They think me mad—which no doubt I must be to have allowed you of all people to have affected me so badly that I've lost sight of what actually matters and put my career and life and everything else in jeopardy."
Jack frowned, his lips forming the beginnings of words to retaliate with, but which were lost in his own confusion.
"Or," James continued, gesturing his arms out widely. "They think me so far gone already they want me out of the way long enough to prepare my replacement—"
James continued ranting, circling the room as Jack stood still, occasionally rolling his eyes. On the third rotation Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
"James, shut up and tell me what you're talking about!"
James's face shot through with anger, his eyes narrowing. When he spoke his voice was low, deep with threat and heavy with sarcasm.
"The Governor thinks I am heartbroken, that his fair daughter is the cause of my grief-induced distractions from attending to my duties and responsibilities with my usual care and attention." James's eyes only darkened further as Jack barked out an unintentional laugh at that statement. "Little does he know that it's you!" he shouted, pushing Jack away again.
"Jamie-luv, I have absolutely no idea what you're talkin' about. What distraction from your duties?"
Jack saw something like despair and frustration fade the anger in James's face. James turned away from him, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to rub at them. Why would Jack know what he was talking about? Embarrassment had prevented him from telling Jack exactly how affected he had been by their odd arrangement. Fear had prevented him from showing Jack exactly how much he had come to depend on his visits. Pride had prevented him from admitting the extent of it to himself.
"Christ. I must actually be mad. It's the only explanation." He walked towards the bed and sat down, propping his elbows on his knees and covering his forehead with his long fingers. Jack joined him, sat beside him. He put his arm around his shoulder, pulled him closer and perched his chin on James's head.
"James, love, what's going on?"
James sighed, spoke quietly after a pause, still covering his eyes.
"I suppose I have been—distracted of late. My mind has not been as focussed as it should. It's just that—when you're not—when I'm... oh, what does it matter now." He pulled himself away from Jack and lay back on the bed, still covering his eyes.
Jack watched him narrow-eyed for a time, trying to figure out what was worrying him so much. And he concluded that he had no idea. It was unlike James to make such a fuss over something as simple as an enforced holiday. Perhaps he was fragile from the lack of sleep the previous night. Perhaps he just needed a little cheering up.
"What's got you so riled, love?" he asked, running a flat hand firmly over his stomach stretched out on the bed. James flinched at the touch, but then relaxed into it, sighing. Jack took this as a good sign.
He moved to sit on James's stomach, pulled his knees in tight against him and spread his fingers out over his shirt front.
"Jamie-luv..." he coaxed, sliding his hands up to tug gently at James's arms, pulling them away from his face. James met his eyes, looking sad and distant. Jack took his hands, leaned forward to press James's wrists into the bed above his head. Leaned forward to kiss him, kiss his sadness away. James sighed, the breath hitching in his throat.
"What's wrong, love?" Jack whispered into his mouth. "Tell me."
James turned his face away, breaking the kiss abruptly. He stared into the distance, frowning slightly as Jack tried to read his expression.
"It's nothing, Jack. Really. Perhaps I am just overreacting somewhat."
"You're lyin' to me, James," Jack said quietly, gently pulling his face back round to look at him as his other hand kept James's wrists above his head. James met his eyes again, looking even sadder still. Green eyes thick with misery, holding back more than they contained.
"Yes, I am," he said quietly.
"And you're not going to tell me either, are you," Jack said, after a pause.
"No," he whispered.
Jack held his gaze for a long moment, dark eyes meeting moss-damp ones. James could almost see the thoughts flying through Jack's head, feline brain trying to determine what was troubling him, trying to work out this puzzle as he did with every other.
Jack smiled suddenly then, all gold and teeth and lips.
"So," he chirped. "Where are you taking me on holiday?"
James sighed and tried to smile.
"I was actually thinking of spending some time on my own," he said quietly.
"Is that so?" Jack asked mischievously, rolling his hips back to sit and press against James's crotch. "I wonder if there's some way of persuading you otherwise on that account?"
With that Jack winked and slid his body down James, parting his legs as he slipped towards the floor like a seal through water, pressing his hands to run the length of James's front and pulling his knees further apart as he knelt between them.
"What say you to that, luv?"
James looked down at him. And suddenly the idea of two weeks with Jack seemed like a good idea, as if that bewitching smile actually did rob him of all his sense. Jack was a thief, after all. Perhaps he had stolen more than James had been willing to give him.
"I think you are too persuasive for your own good, Jack Sparrow," he said with a weak smile.
"James, please," said Jack, with mock reverence. "It's Captain Jack Sparrow. Best to address a man correctly when he's about to do all sorts of wonderful things to you."
Jack returned to Tortuga to tell his crew they had a two week holiday of their own to enjoy. They'd not long accosted a pretty little Spanish ship and each had their pockets lined with enough coins to keep them busy.
"You back off to Jamaica then, Captain? Port Royal, is it?" Gibbs had asked when told he'd still be in charge of seeing to the repairs.
"Yes, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied, smiling too sharply. "And just what would you be implying with that little question there, mate?"
"Nothin'," Gibbs replied too quickly. "Nothin' at all. Just noticed you been spendin' more time there of late, more than usual. Which is more than I'd have expected anyway, is all."
"Mr. Gibbs, do you know what happens to sailors who double-guess their captains?" asked Jack, leaning in towards him, much too close.
"No, Captain..." Gibbs leaned backward stiffly.
"Their rum, Mr. Gibbs. It vanishes."
"What?" Gibbs laughed, relieved Jack was not actually about to reveal some secret superstition he'd been up until now unaware of, and was actually pulling his leg.
"It vanishes, mate," Jack continued, walking fingers up the man's front and quickly nipping into his hidden inside pocket. "From right under their noses."
He pulled out the hip flask and drained the contents in three heavy swigs, returning the empty flask to Gibbs's hand, then spun round and sauntered off back toward the harbour, leaving Mr. Gibbs to watch him go and frown at his current state of rum-lessness.
James stood on the beach in the small bay by the fishing hut waiting for Jack. He thought about the first time he'd waited here. How he'd scuffed his boot in the sand with such a deep dread in his chest, the fear that something awful was about to happen, but disturbed to realise he wanted it to. And then later he'd convinced himself that he could somehow be in control of this situation, could carry on being The Commodore while sleeping with the pirate. It was most likely his own stubbornness that had enabled him to maintain it for this long. Stubbornness that was making him refuse to acknowledge the damage already done, and the stupidity of this next phase of madness—allowing the damn pirate to stay with him in his enforced exile from duty and honour and purpose and everything else he'd thought the sole point of his existence.
Though those things now seemed to leave him hollow. Feeling as though there was so much more he didn't have. Before Jack—it had been enough. As a blind man is happy to live in the dark, having never known the colour of the sun. Jack was like the sun, he thought—rich and warm and unrelenting. Changing the world around him and the people in it as though he were the seasons.
He saw him then, rowing his way into the bay. James stood still and watched as he splashed out of the boat and began to haul it up the beach. James remained there, leaning against the rock as Jack made an exaggerated fuss about shifting the boat.
"Are you going to help or what?" he called out to James irritably.
"I'm on holiday!" James shouted, cupping one hand around his mouth to let the words travel further, and laughed at Jack's reaction as the other man spread his arms indignantly.
"Holiday my arse! Get yours down here and give me a hand."
Back in the hut Jack produced a bottle of rum from an orifice of his coat and landed rather unceremoniously on James's lap with a thud.
"So, luv," he began, spitting out the cork in an arc across the room while James rolled his eyes, "what do you plan on doing with your lovely holiday? Aside from me o'course."
"Well, I had thought I might put this place to the use it was intended for."
"Ay?"
"Fishing, Jack. I had this place built so I could come here for fishing."
Jack drew his head back slightly, lips pursing as his brow frowned with suspicion, as though James had just suggested they spend the fortnight learning how to breathe underwater.
"I don't much care for fish, luv," he said quietly.
James should have regretted the suggestion. He should have found Jack's impatient and demanding questions about what bait and line and hook meant what to be irritable. Instead he found himself enjoying it, seeing the fun in Jack's frustration whilst struggling to untangle the mess he had made of the rig. He laughed out loud as Jack abandoned it entirely, throwing it to the ground muttering something about fish being only fit for cats and birds to eat anyway.
Jack contented himself to sprawl on the sea-smoothed rock beside James as he fished, listening to Jack's rambling stories. He watched Jack laying there, his head cushioned on his hair where he rested on the rock by James's hip, his fingers dancing above his face, pointing and twisting in the air as he made up stories to go with the illustrations provided by the clouds. Jack would occasionally tug one of James's hands away from the rod to illustrate some fact or place or to put a bound trinket between his fingers so he could feel it as he explained its origin.
"And what of this one Jack, this piece of glass?" James asked, plucking out a braid with a worn crimson bead held tight in it.
"Ah..." Jack began reverently, sliding his fingers over James's to clasp the bead in their hands. "Now this one has a story."
"Where did you get it?"
"Versailles."
"Versailles?" James repeated incredulously.
"Aye. The Palace thereof."
"Really," James said, more a statement of doubt than a question, but smiled at the spark that lit in Jack's eyes as he began the tale, probably inventing the details on the spot.
"You see, luv, it all began with a mix-up between two horses. And when I say 'horses', what I actually mean..."
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