PV06: Action and Reaction

Rating: XX
Disclaimers: The Rodent Empire owns them. We pilfer.
Originally Posted: 6/15/06
Note: Our sincerest and hearty thanks to smtfhw for her excellent beta.
Warnings: Potential spoilerish appearances for those who are adamant
Summary: James learns a lesson as the true purpose of the voyage becomes clear, and gets a new perspective of his 'mate'.

There is another cast portrait in this chapter.

Jack found himself worrying less about James stumbling and giving away their game. He was Norbury now; a fine sailor, a good mate, and a surprising one. Jack learned quickly to hide any soreness of a morning, not because he feared Hamilton or a tough watch, but because he didn't like to see those green eyes darken with concern and guilt.

No point in souring their stolen moments, not when James would make very sure that the soreness was worth it.

It was a day like most when James sat astride the topgallant, reclined against the furled stunsails and chewing on a string of hemp. It was a rare moment of leisure, and he gave only half his attention to splicing a torn gasket. The seas were calm, the weather was fine, and although the watches had not been shortened, there was less work.

Half-dozing in the sun, he started at the sudden cry of "Sail Ho!". They had passed by other ships on occasion, but always so far away that no thought of escape was possible. He straightened and slid his legs down into the footropes to look, but was unable make out anything without a spyglass.

Jack first reaction was to raise an eyebrow. Now, what, he thought, was so important about this little boat, eh? He watched as the deck exploded into activity at the order, "Set stunsails,' and a slow smile crept across his face. He grabbed the spyglass and took a long look, the ship a faint, wavering mirage on sundrenched waters.

"Get after her!" Hamilton plucked the glass from his hands. "G'wan, move it, Spanish!"

Jack looked up at the sky, checked the compass, then wrestled the wheel a few points larboard

James waited until three more crewmen had made their way aloft and together they unrolled the stunsails and let them fall.

The breeze caught in them and even though the Chimaera already made good speed, he felt her shudder under the additional canvas, straining into the wind.

Jack grinned as the Chimaera picked up speed, the tiny ship on the horizon growing closer, more substantial with every minute. His gaze followed the new flag being hoisted. Spanish. His eyes were glittering with anticipation and below, he could hear the guncrews; the thump of the ports opening, the roll of the cannons into their firing positions. His pulse quickened. James might not know it, but he was about to enjoy his first taste of a real pirate raid.

After a last stare at the horizon, James climbed down hastily. Jack had been right about Hamilton's playing multiple sides, and might also know what this meant. James was no fool. He knew they where about to engage in battle, but with whom and why? He could see the ship now, only a small sloop, clearly not military.

He couldn't accept the only possible conclusion that his mind supplied and rushedonto the quarterdeck, supposedly taboo for him in times of engagement. To hell with it.

Jack winked and glanced around the quarterdeck. "I do believe we're about to take that lovely little boat yonder, mate. G'wan, luv. Get yerself outta here before his Highness sees ya. And Jamie," Jack's eyes had a wild light banked in their depths, his voice low. "Don't do anythin' stupid. Follow yer orders and try not t'be noble. I know it's hard. Hsst! He's comin'."

Hamilton stalked back to the helm, his red coat blazing amid the whirl of activity. "Spanish, how long till we catch her?"

Jack feigned utter nonchalance. "Quarter hour, maybe a bit more. She's not makin' any evasive manoeuvres.

"Good. Keep it tha' way. I want yer feet nailed t'that deck. Don't ya dare leave the wheel, understand?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Aye, sir. Come up on her larboard side and cut her sharp 'cross the bow?"

Hamilton grinned at him. "You know th' drill. Keep her steady. Longthorpe! Arms."

The decks were a flurry of activity, all hands called to attention, half of them clattering down the hatches to man the guns, a small group handing the others swords and pistols. It was tight and organised, obviously a well-disciplined routine. Only James stared wide-eyed at the well-used sword in his hands.

Bertie slapped his back. "C'mon. Ye look like you've never even held one of those. Ain't all that bad. Just swing over and get it over with."

James barely took notice as if still entranced by the sword, then wrenched away and made for the quarterdeck. There had to be some way to stop this madness.

A hand gripped his arm and hauled him back. "Don't do anything that'd make yer Jack a lonely lad, boy," Berkely hissed and shook him.

James stood, frozen and clutched the sword, swallowing hard. The ship, it became more and more evident, was no warship. It was a small vessel, and though it flew Spanish colours, it doubtlessly didn't work for any crown. It was too small, too civilian.

Jack watched the sails grow larger and kept the Chimaera on a steady course. Longthorpe tossed him a cutlass and he caught it without taking his left hand from the wheel. It would not be necessary, from what he could tell. The little ship was no match for the Chimaera's size and strength, not with her starboard guns already run out and primed. Like as not, it would take little more than a few volleys. Hamilton was in full battle-mode, his orders clipped and Jack's approval ratcheted up a bit.

He'd been itching for real action for so long and immediately knew that Hamilton was well aware of what he was chasing. They were smack in the shipping lanes from the East to Europe. From their prey's size, Jack reckoned an African cargo, ivory or amber. She was too small for an Indian merchantman.

They heaved to, and under screams and shouts and the thunder of cannons, the Chimaeras swung over.

James was the first aboard, charging forward as though in blind zeal, fighting those who resisted the boarding. He fought with the flat of his sword or its hilt, disarming or knocking unconscious any opponents.

He was in the hazy rush of battle, kicking and lashing out, frantic to avoid any bloodshed.

It didn't take long. The crew were helpless against the Chimaeras and surrendered. James was shaking as the fire seeped out of him and the only blood was on his shoulder, not his sword.

Jack pouted from the helm. Again, he was missing all the fun: his place was at the helm to steady the assault and cut out sharp if necessary. They hadn't needed more than one broadside, neatly taking down the mainmast. The Rosa de Malaga was a pretty sloop and he was pleased they hadn't had to cause her more damage. He leaned over the wheel with the spyglass, curious to see what cargo she carried, and grinned as the boarding crew began to load box after long box. Ivory tusks, without doubt.

He strained to look for James, indistinguishable amid the smoke, the milling of attackers, and the Rosa's crew. "Keep yerself under control, Commodore. This ain't no Navy picnic," he muttered under his breath.

His brow furrowed as sudden shrieks cut through the din, female screams, and he was of half a mind to tie off the helm, Hamilton be damned, and go fetch Norrington back before he did something stupid.

Aboard the Rosa, James winced at the screams, knowing too well what they meant. He rushed astern to find two women, girls almost, dragged over the deck by several Chimaeras, among them Wheldon and Griffin. Those two bastards were thick as thieves.

James straightened and put himself in their way. "Cease that at once," he hissed, the panic from before yielding to true battle-lust.

He got only another female scream and nasty laughter in reply. He launched himself at them, pushing and shoving, trying to free the girls when Wheldon hit him between the shoulderblades and two more men held him down, wrenching his arms behind his back.

Wheldon laughed and kicked his stomach. "Shut up, Longshanks. Not everyone here's a bugger with no sense of fun."

James struggled to his feet, freeing himself for a second, then found himself pressed up against the bulwark, Wheldon just in front of his face. James spat. "And not everyone is a rapist."

Wheldon punched him hard, still laughing. James struggled and kicked, but couldn't free himself. He knew that sense of dread. Not again. He heard the rip of fabric and another scream, and panicked. He elbowed and bit, scratching when he could, heedless of the pain as his arms were wrenched further back, his stomach and face defenceless against the blows. "Stop!" he bellowed again and again, but he could only watch helplessly as Griffin tore off one girl's shift.

There was a scuffle behind the cowering girls, a flash of red and the flat of Hamilton's sword slapped against Griffin's back. "Belay that and load th' cargo," he snarled.

The tension was almost unbearable as they stared each other down, but no one could have faced those piercing eyes without quaking, and the Irishman was not one to brook any disobedience in the middle of a raid.

He bent down and picked up a shawl from the deck, presenting it to the weeping girl with a courtly bow. "Mis apologias, señoritas. Vuelva por favor a sus cabinas. Le significama ningun daño." His eyes raked over James, the grumbling crewmembers and his lip curled, turning back towards the captain of the Rosa.

Jack watched through the spyglass and smiled as Longthorpe emerged from the Rosa's Great Cabin with a sheaf of papers. "Thought so, you sneaky Irish whoreson. And I'll bet you sell the lot back at a profit, too. Very clever."

James leaned against the bulwark, still shaking, staring at the back of Hamilton's coat until he caught himself and straightened with a wince, blankly escorting the two girls back to the cabin.

Jack had already calculated how fast he could get the Chimaera back on course, with a few alterations to pick up some speed. He searched through the lens for James anxiously.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he wheeled around, fending off a very large and sharp Spanish knife in the hands of an equally large, wild-eyed Spanish sailor. He shoved hard and lifted the cutlass, wavering, eyes narrowed. "Por favor, luv. Trust me, you really don't wanna be doin' that."

The sailor spat and lunged for him, the knife stabbing between the spokes of the wheel where Jack had been standing. He whirled and lashed out with the blade. "Drop the bleedin' knife, mate. Por favor, no me....aww...your funeral." He spun away from the heavy blade, and tried to knock it out of the man's hand.

Jack was forcing him in a circle when the sailor leapt at him like a maddened animal. Jack was so surprised he took a step back, eyes wide, saw his opening and took it, dancing to the stern. He parried another lunge, then stepped aside sharply and watched as the sailor tumbled overboard, leaving the big knife wobbling in the rail.

Jack saluted gravely and pulled the blade free, examining it with a grin. "Told you."

He scrambled back to the wheel and pulled at it hard to avoid a near-collision, watching the business aboard the Rosa impatiently. "C'mon, mate. You got wot ya wanted. Now get on with it!" He stuck both cutlass and knife through his belt, under the short, flapping billows of his shirt and squinted, picking out James' tall figure. He stiffened at the stain on his sleeve.

James was still aboard the Rosa, staring blankly at the Chimaeras hauling away their loot, at the Rosas cowering fearfully on deck, watching their Captain's negotiations anxiously.

He obeyed and swung back over. The crew were busy stashing away the loot and he winced at their cheers, turned and rushed up to the quarterdeck. "Bloody hell, he whispered.

Jack stared at his sleeve, scarlet from shoulder to wrist. "Jamie, yer hurt!" He peered up from under his lashes. "How bad?"

"Not too." James lifted his good hand and dropped it again as he looked over Jack's shoulder, just in time to see the draggled sailor heave himself over the Rosa's rail. "What the hell?"

"I--oh shite!" Jack jumped back the few steps to grab the wheel, stumbling to haul himself upright on the spokes. "Spanish hero. Shoulda got a medal." In that moment, James realised that Jack Sparrow was not an act. He truly was ridiculous, even in the middle of such noise and horror.

James managed a crooked smile. "Just a little scratch, only Wheldon and Griffin seemed determined to make it worse. Bloody bastards," he hissed. "There were two girls aboard the Rosa," he added. "Without Hamilton, they'd...." He gulped.

"Ahh." The dark eyes were searching. "No time to talk. Get that looked at, luv." He pressed James' hand, apparently unconcerned about the raid but most distressed over James' wound.

His eyes crinkled and his grin became wolfish. "Our Irishman isn't gonna have the loss of good Catholic maidenheads laid at his door, mate."

Jack knew it was a stroke of his mad luck to have been left aboard the Chimaera. In action, he would never have been able to conceal his true self. Even now, he was timing Hamilton in his head. "He's lollygaggin', silly bastard. But he's not bad at all."

James laughed softly. "I would rather not ask you to do it better." He didn't leave, sticking close despite the blood dripping from his sleeve. He was strangely apart from the crew now, easing away from the fury of battle and shuddering at the loud cheers that celebrated their successful haul, at the sheer joy he heard in their voices when Hamilton swung back over and ordered double grog rations.

The quarterdeck seemed the best place and so he stayed there considering that, no matter what name, Jack was most pirate of them all.

Hamilton immediately made for the helm and stopped, staring at James. "Wha're ya doin' here, Mr. Norbury? Get off th' quarterdeck. Spanish, get us back on course an' clear o'this mess." He stopped, his coat swinging around his knees and stared from the gash in the rail to the large knife in Jack's belt. "Wha' happened here?"

Jack met his eyes evenly, his smile dangerous. "Damned fool decided t'take on the enemy all by his onesies. Not his best decision, as it were. A bit of a cold shower seemed most expedient. Good haul, Cap'n. My congratulations."

Hamilton's blue eyes narrowed. "Not a drop of blood, eh Jack? Wha'd you say yer surname was again?"

James had been reluctant to leave and was immediately relieved he hadn't. What he had to say was difficult enough, and if it would help to allay Hamilton's suspicions, it might be easier on his pride. "My apologies for the interruption, Sir. I merely want to thank you for your intervention aboard the Rosa. You have earned my respect, Sir."

Hamilton turned, eyebrows raised. His gaze danced between Jack and James. "Did I now, English? I must say, ya took a few blows to protect th' ladies." His grin was a sharper version of Jack's. "Good work. Now get that shoulder checked an' get off my quarterdeck, laddie."

His voice rose as he strode down the steps. "I want this deck spotless, ya bastards. Move it."

Jack exhaled and made a little bow to Fortune, who still seemed to like him. His eyes twinkled at James.

He held the Chimaera steady and sped them back on course, dipping into the heart of the current to take advantage of a sweet little wind that sent her flying over the water. A grand ship, a lovely girl. Not his girl, alas. He patted the wheel gently. "Yer quite the lady, Madame Phantom. An' ole Jack likes you just fine," he murmured.

Under Matthew's gawking eyes and undying admiration, the surgeon stitched James up, cleaned the blood away and bandaged the cut, declaring James' shirt beyond saving.

James laughed darkly and begged thread and needle to sew the tear, although he could do nothing about the faint pink stains that remained. It served to cheer the others who had taken minor injuries. Their mood was good, and the only ‘casualty' had been James' shirt.

The watch bell sounded and Jack patted the wheel again. "Until t'morrow, milady." He headed down to the galley amid an unusual crowd choking the causeways.

On his way from sickbay to the galley, James suddenly found his path blocked by Griffin, Wheldon and one of their friends. "Get out of my way," he hissed.

"I think not, Longshanks. Thought ye'd play the noble hero, eh?" With a crash, James found himself shoved against the bulwark, his head ringing, and then Griffin's foul breath was in his face. "I don't like wanton buggers spoiling my fun."

James spat into his face, struggling violently, until Wheldon punched his shoulder, making him hiss out a strangled gasp of pain.

Jack heard the scuffling and swung over the hand rail to the deck below, grabbing a rope and pulling that lovely Spanish blade from his belt. He crept down the causeway, then lashed out with the doubled rope in hand, slamming backs and necks.

Griffin was on top of James, squeezing the breath out of him and before Wheldon or the others could gather their thoughts, Jack had Griffin's head pulled back by the hair, the blade at his throat. "Sure you want t'be doing that, mate?"

He kicked out at an interfering hand and swung the rope in a vicious backhand. "Stand down."

Jack slammed Griffin's head against the bulwark and whirled to his feet, tossing the knife and catching it with obvious practise. "C'mon then."

He beckoned Wheldon. "Wotsamatter? Shite in yer britches? You were brave enough t' go fer a coupla drabs and an unarmed man, ya gutless swine." Donatelli backed away and grabbed hold of Wheldon, as others rushed from the galley.

James scrambled back on his knees and coughed violently, gasping for breath and shuddering. He reached for the bulwark and sat up, letting Bertie pull him to his feet. He coughed again and spat blood, but when he wanted to put himself between Jack and Griffin, Bertie hauled him back.

Jack spun back to Griffin, his black eyes mad, lips smiling. "Ya wanna play pirate, little man? I'll show ya how it's done." His voice was soft, laughing and chill. "C'mon then. Want the knife?" Jack tossed it from one hand to the other, taunting. "Think I can't take ya down without?"

Cookie creaked his joints faster than he had in a long while. "Spanish! Stow it. Now."

Jack wheeled on him. "Stay outta this!" he snarled, like a cat deprived of its prey.

Griffin shook his head and lumbered to his feet, circling warily in the tiny space. "You bloody foreign bastard, I'll wring yer half-breed neck." He rushed at Jack, thick hands pulling at his hair, scrabbling for his throat.

Jack laughed and danced backwards, slashing at Griffin, when Hamilton roared from the stairs, "Wha th' hell is goin' on here?"

Jack had Griffin pinned against the bulwark, the knife poised at big man's bulging neck again, his eyes seductive. "I'd really hoped fer a longer dance, luv. But if you insist."

James wrenched himself away from Bertie and rushed to Jack's side. His face looked wild: blood dripped from his nose and lips, bruises already staining his throat blue. "Stop it, Jack. He's not worth it." He held out his hand. "Not worth it," he repeated urgently, well aware that Hamilton and half the crew were watching.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Yer a very naughty boy, Griffin." He shook the knife the way a scolding wife wielded a ladle. "Very rude of ya." James took the blade from his hands and he turned to face Hamilton. "Fine bloody thing when you can't--"

The single sensible bat in Jack's belfry flapped just in time. "--Get t'supper without a crowd in the causeway. Evidently, yer little crewmen here's got a bad case o'blue balls, Captain."

Hamilton turned to face the culprits down. "What in Jesus and Mary's name happened? Griffin, I think ye've worn me patience dry t'day. Brig. You too, Wheldon. Rest o' you wanna join them?"

James wiped his lips with his sleeve. The linen was deep crimson once more. "I was on my way from sickbay to the galley when I found myself smashed against the bulwark. I think you know why as well as I do, sir. Jack came in and helped me."

Hamilton nodded grimly. "I want th'whole bloody crew on deck now. And you!" He turned to Jack, who was still standing with his head bowed, hands clasped together like an errant schoolboy. "I'll see you in the Great Cabin after." He wheeled up the stairs.

Jack turned to James. "Yer bleedin' again, luv." He pulled at the stained sleeve and shook his head. "You've gone an' tore 'em." He wouldn't look up from under his hair.

James laughed softly and draped his good arm around Jack. "Thank you," he murmured, the causeway suddenly eerily silent as all the crew rushed topside. "I've certainly never seen you like this."

It was the first time he had seen Jack truly violent, a wild glint in his eyes. For him? He shivered a bit and leaned on Jack as they made their way topside. "I don't know what they would have done had you not arrived. I owe you."

Jack was quivering but he laughed softly. “No, they'd probably have kissed you senseless. Hell, James, yer arm's a mess again." He ignored the first remarks. "Some men shouldn't be 'way from the ladyfolk so long. Can you hold on until His Highness finishes chidin' us? It'll need to be stitched again. Poor luv." Jack's mind was still in a white haze and he forced himself back to the deck. "James?"

It tasted of blood and James gasped into it, clinging for a moment. As they pulled apart, he wiped the red droplets from Jack's lips with his thumb. "I'll be fine. Thanks to you." He bent close for another kiss, parting reluctantly to ease his arm around Jack's shoulders, accepting rather more help than he needed to get up the stairs. "So let's hear what our good Captain has to say and hope you haven't gotten yourself into too much trouble."

Topside, Hamilton was in a fine Irish temper and spent a good ten minutes swearing the air blue before he turned to Griffin and Wheldon. "You two, a dozen each next watch and deck duty. An' yer losin' a third o' your shares fer this. I'll not have such shenanigans on my ship. I've made me terms with you all very clear. No shite, no rapin' and no drunkenness on watch. We're not bloody pirates and that's not so terrible hard t'follow. Now, get back t'work. The rest o' you lot get below and don't ya dare disturb me peace or I swear I'll string up one outta every ten o' ya. Spanish, cabin. Now."

James stared after him, hoping that Jack would not suffer for helping him. The thought would be too ironic. But blessedly, Jack hadn't actually done anything but fought back, with a strength and wildness that had surprised even James. He knew better than to underestimate Jack, but still, he would never have expected it of the lean and generally good-natured trickster.

He went below to have his shoulder stitched once more, earning an eyeroll from Dr. Nevill and another proud stare from Matthew, and then topside again, to wait for Jack.

Jack was still breathing hard and struggling to compose himself despite the tornado of flotsam in his head. He bit his lip and eyed the small chests on the table, his fingers itching. Potential plunder always cleared his thoughts wonderfully.

Hamilton slammed the door. "You bloodthirsty little bastard! Trust a Spanish half-breed t'pinch a good blade. I'm waitin' fer an explanation."

Jack took a breath and wheeled into action. "Came down fer supper an' heard noises below and damn me if the three of 'em weren't settin' on Jamie like a pack o' dogs. Well, I couldn't just stand there, could I? Wouldn't have been proper at all. I grabbed th' rope and just kinda saw red, Cap'n. I mean, it were James."

He swayed closer, his hands moving like a snakecharmer's. "Must gone clear outta my head. Griffin had both hands 'round his neck an' the others were hittin' him. But, all things bein' equal an' life bein' wot it is, I do think it all ended well. I mean, everyone's in good health, no serious damage to flesh or bone--" He stopped to check his success rate. It wasn't good: Hamilton's eyes were icy as he slapped the big blade against his palm.

"Him?" Jack shrugged. "Swung over whilst you were in the midst of your very impressive negotiations on the Rosa. Came up behind me. Can I help it if he tripped himself overboard?"

"Get outta here. An' don't let me catch ya fightin' again or ye'll face th' grate. Understood?"

Jack got himself out of the Cabin and breathed a sigh of relief. Hamilton was suspicious as all hell, and this grace wasn't any kind of assurance, but, for now, it would do.

James stood there, waiting in the shadows. His one arm hung limp, and his face was bruising in various shades of blue. At least all of his teeth were in place as he smiled shyly, reaching out with his good arm. "How did it go?"

"Coulda been worse. I think he's gettin' a mite curious." Jack looked James in the face for the first time since the fight and touched a raw spot on his cheek with gentle fingers. "Poor luv. How's the grub t'day. Don't tell me."

"I wouldn't know. I've been waiting for you since Nevill sewed me up again. Unfortunately, I doubt that Cookie spontaneously developed any sort of cooking skills." James grinned weakly and kissed the inquisitive finger.

Jack's head crested against his shoulder, his hand stroking lazy circles against tense shoulders. "Got a bit carried away, did I?"

For a moment he rested, his fingers light. "Don't answer that. Let's eat. I don't care wot it bloody tastes like although my bowels may not last much longer." He plucked at James' sleeve and they headed down to the galley.

"Do me a favour, Jack. At least try to behave inconspicuously. Yes, I do have an inkling how difficult that is for you. Just do it. "

Supper was eerily quiet, the galley mostly empty. They both ate in silence, James sipping thoughtfully from his grog. A second mug stood before him. The reward of a successful raid. It was still untouched when he rose with an enormous yawn. "It has been a long day. Time for the hammock, I think."

He left Jack sitting there with a smile for an apology, and made for their berth where he tossed himself into his hammock, grimly watching the dark crossbeams sway above him.

The ship groaned and shuddered, his shoulder had begun to throb, but he ignored the pain. What he couldn't forget was that he'd taken that cut attacking the Rosa. A civilian ship, for God's sake!

They'd had women and children aboard, and none of them had been a trained soldier. The one hit had been luck, and only struck home because he'd been unwilling to fight with the deadly skill he possessed. Had he wielded the sharp end of his sword, his opponent wouldn't have stood a chance.

James shuddered. There were softer and louder snores all around, they all slept peacefully, without a worry in the world. Men he'd eaten and laughed and worked with; pirates. Did that make him one, unwanting and unwilling?

It did, he realised. A man aboard a pirate vessel, involved in a pirate raid, no matter how bloodless, was a pirate.

He'd always thought it a big matter, a firm decision. It hadn't been that at all. It had been his own cowardly fear for his safety aboard the ship, and that he'd not killed anyone and sought to protect the women was a poor excuse. It had happened, without any true choice. It wasn't a fundamental decision, he had slipped into it, forced by circumstance.

How many men he'd hanged with as much or as little guilt as his own? He didn't think of himself as a bad man, even now. He didn't feel like a pirate, not in the way he'd always used the word.

Jack looked after James' back and heaved a small sigh, then, never one to waste a drink, dawdled over the abandoned grog. He rather expected that the raid would set the Commodore off on one of his moral tears, and figured it was better to let that dog lie for a while.

Poor Jamie was only just realising how easily one could slip from lily-white to condemned. He thought about the Spaniard and grinned. No sense being unprepared for any of life's less pleasant exigencies. As far as he was concerned, the Spaniard and he? A ducking for a lunge: they were square. And James would get over it.

He toyed with a bit of wood, picked up from the carpenter's stores, thought about the pilfered knife in his boot and decided against having it taken away from him, just in case. "Hey Cookie? Got a small blade I can borrow?"

"Course, luv." Jack settled on the bench sideways and started working the wood, roughly cutting it into the shape of a ship. Not any ship, but his Pearl. He edged her basic lines away and finished a third mug of grog--James' leftovers--before he yawned and handed the knife back to Cookie.

"Yer a funny one, Jack. Go get some shuteye. Ye've get th' day free t'morra and nightwatch. Plenty o'time to play with this."

Jack handed it over and headed down to quarters. Almost everyone was already asleep and he slipped into his hammock, glancing at James. He seemed peaceful enough. A long night and a longer day tomorrow with little to do but whittle and try not to think about the Pearl. The day's raid had made him most dreadfully heartsick for want of her. Really, he thought, someone should write a bloody play. Pearl an' me. Like bloody Romeo and Juliet. Always getting parted by unforeseen circumstance.

James was lost in thoughts, his mind whirling in a circle, acutely hearing even the slightest sound. The rustle of clothing, the small creak of the hooks, even the soft hiss of Jack's breathing. He remained still for a while longer, then turned over and opened his eyes, brushing his hand against Jack's shoulder. "Is it always like this?" he whispered. "So...rushed?"

Jack rolled over to face him. "Wot do you mean, luv?" There was a soft rustling further along the line of hammocks and Jack put one finger to James' lips, standing to stick one leg into his breeches. He beckoned James down to the orlop deck.

It was dank and silent save for Gentile's snoring and Jack slid to the deck against the bulwark, under the swinging lantern. "Now, wot d'ya mean by 'rushed'?"

James chewed on his lip, and after a brief hesitation, sat down, resting his arms against his folded legs. He almost said he'd meant nothing by his words, but there was still that nagging curiosity inside him that would not rest.

It was similar when he'd first killed a man, when his then-Captain had taken him aside for a short word or two's encouragement. And Jack was the only one he could ask. "To engage in piracy. Do something you never thought you would."

Jack's smile was slow and soft. "Life's a funny thing and it tosses breakers at ya. Sometimes, there's no time to think and sometimes you do wot ya must t'survive. Think it's a lot like the sea. Never stops movin' and changin'." He smiled and reached out to fingercomb James' tangled hair. "Now, these lads. They don't think themselves pirates at all. Most that turn to it have little choice. 'Tis all fate, luv. Keep yer wits about ya and you bob like a cork. If not, you sink."

James turned to him, his face drawn with anguish, resignation creeping into his eyes. "Jack, they were helpless. Women, children. I wager that no more than five of them ever held a sword in their hands before." He shuddered. "And they all sleep. Peacefully. What if this hadn't been so bloodless? Would anyone look back even for a second?"

Jack's hand stilled in his hair. "No, Jamie, they wouldn't. Because ev'ry man is out for himself, under all the fancy talk, even judges and kings. If the Rosa ventured out without knowin' how t'defend themselves, it's their bad judgment. Worse if they knew they'd have women and kiddies aboard. You really aren't that naive." Jack's voice was very low. "Did ya never realise how men turn away from those laws and why, James?"

"Not like that. Not like that at all." James shuddered and plastered himself to the bulwark, his eyes closed. "The law... it serves to protect people from just that. Do we really have to act like animals, the strong preying on the weak and nobody caring a whit to prevent it? Do wrong out of the fear of being wronged by another?" His desperation sounded tired.

"Aye, we do because nothin' protects the poor an' weak from those laws. They hang lads of fourteen fer stealin' a shilling when they're starvin', or ship 'em into slavery to th' Colonies. Live that fer a fortnight and anyone becomes an animal. Those laws only protect the rich an' don't do shite fer anyone who don't have two sets o'clothes and a family pew at the parish church, luv. For most, it's a kind of slavery, caught between necessity and the noose. Does the law do aught for 'em? Protect them from fat landowners with greedy hands? From being sold like cattle into 'prenticeships or worse?"

Jack's eyes were serious, any laughter in them almost hidden, and that contemptuous. "Take those women? Would most men have given tuppence if they'd been in rags, drabs with faces old at twenty? Not bloody likely. Folks like me---us---" His hand waved. "We don't mean a thing t'the landed gentry. Any one of us is less valuable than a newborn heifer."

He smiled again, his eyes soft. "You've never been one of us. Y'really don't know how hard life can be, mate. Not really."

"I always thought I did. I don't have to know a man to help him. I want to protect as many as I can, simple as that." James sounded exhausted, not the laughing mate nor the stern Commodore. He looked so sad, his face swollen and bruised, eyes bright with a lament that was worse than any tears. Lost, somehow, as if he had suddenly realised that the task he had set for himself was worthy of Sisyphus.

"James, don't take on so. 'Tis just the way of things." Jack curled against him, an animal seeking warmth. "I'd a feelin' today was hard on you. Lemme tell you a little story and maybe it will help, maybe not. " His fingers wandered into James' hair again, smoothing tangles absently. "Once there was a lad, no one special, just a kid born on the wrong side o' the blanket. Not his fault, aye? He was left alone, very young, middle of a London rookery, if you can credit such a thing."

Jack's fingers tightened, then dropped away from James' shoulders, his eyes distant. "Damn, if that weren't a death sentence, I dunno wot is. Anyways, he manages, with a bit o' very savvy assistance, t'get off to sea on a merchant ship."

Jack stretched out along James' side, his voice low. "He's used t'bein' cold and hungry. He already knows you gotta make your own way. He learns fast and turns into a damned fine sailor."

"Nine years old and he's chartin' across the Indian Ocean. Bloody hell. Ship's taken by pirates and he's got a choice. Join up or the sword. Or worse, an' don't tell me you don't know wot I mean. So....where's the law? The merchant's too greedy t'arm his bloody vessel? I mean, there's choices and more choices, but they don't always lead to wine an' roses, aye? Wot would you have done?"

James touched his shoulder lightly and didn't answer for a while. "The same, Jack. But there are men forcing others to make that choice, and they must be fought. Or it will never stop." He half-curled himself around Jack, reclined on the hard deck, staring at the far corner. "Let me tell you another story."

Jack hissed. If he blushed, knowing he had not told the whole truth, it was hidden in James' shoulder. He'd once taunted young Turner with having pirate in his blood, but no one knew that better than Jack. He'd been born to piracy, spawned in the midst of a gale on a ship filled with stolen goods, himself and his dam included. His arms tightened.

"There is another boy. His parents are married, just barely, but they do right by each other and him. They aren't rich, but the child is always well-kempt, well-fed. It's a day like any other when there is a pirate raid in their home-port. But on that day, the husband doesn't come back. They never find him, only his fishing boat, filled ankle-deep with blood."

"The wife grieves, but she comes to seek help because she cannot find her son. Maybe he's playing with other children by the docks, he's a lively boy. At least that is what she keeps repeating in a low voice, like a prayer."

"The Navy helps. A ship is giving pursuit, and those aboard are relieved, because they don't have to witness the destruction left behind. A Lieutenant... he is young, just barely arrived, commands the reconstruction."

"And then they find him. The boy. He's huddled into a corner, slumped in his own blood. His throat is slit. In his hands, he seems to be clutching something. The Lieutenant, he bends close to see what it is and...," James fell silent for a moment, staring into that corner, trembling. "And they cut off his fingers. His mother said he wore a copper shell, a talisman around his neck. It was gone."

"For God's sake, he was a child, Jack! Not even as old as Matthew. If they wanted that damn thing, they could have just taken it! But no. They slaughtered him like a pig, and left him lying there like one. Is it still a man who can do that, or a beast? I couldn't help the crying mother. No one could. But I will be damned to hell if I don't do everything so that no other mother has to suffer that."

"I know, luv. It isn't fair or right. None of it. Yer tiltin' at windmills." He could feel how Norrington trembled and sighed. Somehow, he always got it wrong and he'd only meant to try and ease James' distress. "You can't change it, least not all at once, James. Or by yer onesies. "

"But I can try," James muttered into the darkness, then lay still. They remained like that for a while, motionless. Then James pulled away, his face like a tousled child's that had seen too much. He rose and held out a hand, attempting a lopsided smile. "Let's get back to the berth. And Jack? Thank you."

It wasn't really better, but even if the words had clawed yet more at him, they had also served to heal a little; to make him understand that there was more than one line a man could cross. That the step to pirate might be smaller than that to monster.

"Why go back, luv?" Jack peeked from under his hair. "Quieter here. Bertie snores like an elephant with quinsy."

James laughed softly, a strange sound hanging in the air between them. But he let himself be pulled down, curling up on his good side, and he didn't protest when Jack settled his head into his lap.

He shuddered a bit, seeing too much behind closed eyes, but then, he shifted closer. Eventually, the lines on his face eased and his breath evened as exhaustion overcame memory and he fell asleep.

Jack was humming softly, a song learned long ago in some forgotten port, his fingers wandering through James hair, stroking gently as though trying to wipe away hard memories and harder reality.

He smiled when James snored softly and lounged back, letting his thoughts wander with his fingers. Poor James, so shocked at such a cruel reality. Cruel? Oh yes, that Jack agreed. But James had never seen two year olds toddling in the Thames mud, amid the sickening flotsam of the city, searching for odds and ends, anything that could be sold. James was like those boys in poems and stories, filled with ideals and passion. Jack envied him the ideals and saved his passion for more personal goals.

As always, while thinking, he'd begun to play with his own hair, tugging at the lovelock. An idea sparked in his head and he pulled at the coin braided into one lock. He picked at the twine, painstakingly working it free until it came loose in his fingers. An old coin, from a place far distant, worn and softened. Some clever blacksmith had hammered a loop through it. His thoughts strayed briefly to his wild boyhood, then to the Turner lad.

Gently, he lifted the lightest, sunbleached lock of James' hair and braided it, sliding the thick loop through and finishing the braid with a twist of hair entwined with hair. Soft, soft despite salt water and sweat, bright as a sunbeam and born of a luxury unknown to the pirate who wove a memory into its strands.

Jack's hands fell still, and he, too, dozed, until he slid sideways, nuzzling James' knee.

They were granted a few hours of peace, the Chimaera rocking softly beneath them. James' sleep was blissfully dreamless, and when he woke, he knew that it was morning, and he also knew he couldn't just lie there.

He carefully disentangled himself to rise and stretch, raking two fingers through his hair. They caught in the braid and he stilled, pulling it to the front.

He saw the coin, looked down at Jack, then at the coin again and smiled, tossing the braid back with the rest of his hair, smoothing his hand over it again. The weight of it was strange, but somehow comforting. Jack was still snoring, curled around the empty space James had left behind.

He folded his coat and carefully slid it beneath Jack's head, then rushed topside.

Jack slept late into the morning, a rare luxury, and Gentile, finding him on the deck, kicked him awake to stagger back to his hammock. He sank into it like a stone, rocking with the heave of the Chimaera, in dream-communion with her, with the Pearl and the deep.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was pitch black but he knew it was late. He could smell it, cutting through the bilge and sweat. Yawning, he stretched and got to his feet like a mechanical doll; lighting the lantern, swiping at face and armpits, touching up his eyes, extinguishing the flame to make his way to the galley.

He was still dozing over a cup of weak tea when the bell sounded and the day crew descended for their meal.

Suddenly, there was an arm on his shoulder and James grinned down at him. "Good afternoon, slugabed."

Jack blinked sleepily. "Makin' hay whilst the sun shines, luv! How's the arm?" He gulped down the rest of his tea.

James winked. "Dreadful. So bad that I can't be put to work, in fact. Cookie was glad of someone he could put to peeling potatoes. " He'd spent an easy day in the galley, helping Cookie when he needed anything, sipping tea and trying to bury his shock under a renewed determination to escape as soon as possible. He set down two trenchers and went to get their grog. "Yet, I refuse any association with... this."

Jack guffawed. "I'm sure it'll be worse than ever. Can't see you wavin' spoons and spits about, luv." The words fell from his lips so easily and he hid a sharp thrill of pain at the sound of their voices, easy and companionable. It had been so long ago he'd almost forgotten...

Jack forgot what he was forgetting and grinned at James, vaulting over the bench to pad around the galley. "Cooks, you got that bit of kindlin' I were workin' on?"

The cook handed it over with the knife. "Careful there, where that knot cuts through, or ye'll have a very short mainmast." His face crinkled into the smile, suggestive of a half-dried prune.

Jack punched his arm and took his treasure back to the table, sending splinters flying as he worked. "Glad Hamfist gave you a day's respite, mate. I do wish you could come topside with me tonight. Stars'll be lovely." His tiny Pearl was taking shape slowly, her stern rising over imaginary waves, her mizzen beginning to emerge from the grain of the wood.

James eyed his trencher warily, as if afraid its contents would jump to bite him, then looked up with a crooked grin. "I'm surprised he did. The second time he's surprised me in two days. Not that I shall complain." It seemed strange, to despise and respect a man at the same time. But then, had his hatred of Jack not given way to a grudging respect first, then to friendship?

Sipping in silence, he watched Jack work, waiting until he paused for a moment to lean closer. "That's a fine bit of work." James' voice dropped lower still, an intimate whisper, and he touched his hand lightly to the carving. "You miss her, don't you?"

He dug at the wood a little more then put it aside and nibbled on a biscuit. "You feelin' better, James?" Jack knew better than to speak in definites so publicly.

"Well enough." Hurt, pain, misery and despair; none of that would help them escape or change anything for the better. James strove hard to remember that. "Even if my hair feels rather heavy all of a sudden." He smiled, almost grinning.

Jack tweaked the braid. "Thought you needed a bit of a present after bein' such a great hero yesterday." He'd given more than James knew in that coin, pilfered more than a dozen years earlier when Bootstrap himself had braided it into his black mane.

The watch bell sounded and he rose from the table, pressing the carving and knife into James' hands. "Give 'em to Cookie. He'd never forgive me if I lost one of his knives." His eyes were dark mysteries. "Mañana, eh luv?" He gave James a swift kiss and went topside to the fresh evening air. Venus winked at him below a crescent moon.

Jack loved being topside at night. He spent most nights on the Pearl at the wheel or lounging on deck, staring at the sky and talking to his favourite stars. It wasn't much different aboard the Chimaera this night, except for James.

He looked up into the spangled sky and winked at Orion chasing the Seven Sisters. He confided in the Little Bear, bowed to Queen Cassiopeia and watched them drop away into the milk white dawn. The odd crewman wavered in and out of his sightline as he steered her eastward. The sky slowly became white, then gold. No red morning sun to cause any worry. When the ship's bell sounded, he was still wide awake.

He turned the wheel over the Jensen, chatted a bit about the niceties of her rudder, then descended to the galley to grab a cup of Cookie's sludge.

He gulped down the coffee, thick and bitter from the salvaged grounds and hoped they would lay in a fresh supply soon. Still half-smiling at the night, he was just heading to his hammock when he ran into Berthot in the causeway. "Hey Bertie, where's James? Thought you lot would be chowin' down by now."

Berthot grinned at him. He was missing a tooth and Jack raised an eyebrow: he must have missed a barney belowdecks. "Still sleepin'. Cap'n's got him off duty fer a day or two. Such a fuss over a scratch." He winked. "Still on nighwatch?"

"Aye. I'm warnin' you about the coffee, mate." Jack shuddered. " 'Tis awful." He faked a yawn and waved vaguely. "I'm fer sleep, mate."

In the endless night of their quarters, the lantern burned like a solitary beacon as most of the men grumbled and dressed in hushed quiet. Three hammocks still hung low. Jack hauled himself into his and tried to find a comfortable position. He rolled to the left, to the right, then lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He almost rolled himself onto the deck.

There was no way he was going to be able to sleep for hours. Curiously, he peeked at James, snoring softly and enjoying the luxury of extra rest.

Jack pouted and spent another restless hour until, in the dead silence of the crowded space, he sat up, reaching out to touch James' cheek.

James sniffed and stirred, throwing off his blanket and hunkering down in another dream. Jack grinned as another of his mad ideas took hold of him.

He slipped out of the hammock and carefully straddled James, his thieving fingers working on buttons until he had his object free.

Whatever dreams Norrington was enjoying were clearly of the less than angelic kind, for his prick rose with the barest touch and Jack shuffled himself back until he could balance between the long legs. For a moment, the hammock swung and he nearly sent them both tumbling to the floor, then he leaned down and sucked.

James' lips, soft with sleep, parted into a sigh, and his bruised face crinkled, then softened again as he gave a low sound, almost a purr. His body stretched and he squirmed closer, the hammock rocking unsteadily.

He sighed again and suddenly tensed, his eyes flying wide open, head shooting from the pillow. "Jack? You are going to wake everyone and I am not washed and oh bloody hell."

His only answer was another long slurp and his head fell back again. A dream, yes, it had to be.

A damned good dream. With a groan, he scrambled up, legs dangling over the side of the hammock to make room.

Jack was so used to sweat and bilge, alleys and backwater ports that a little thing like human stink was but a minor obstacle. James deserved every bit of his attention and he knew more than a few tricks that would open the most jaded eyes. He settled himself between James' legs and let his tongue do the caressing; up the shaft, swirling around the head, down to feel the veins pulse against his lips. His head bobbed, hair jangling and tickling as he pushed it over one shoulder.

James' mouth closed in a gulp, then fell open for a gasp, a long moan, helpless little sounds that only made the soft wet sucking even louder in his ears. No dream could be this...ohh...excruciating.

Only the hammock's wild swing made him notice that he was thrusting, and he bit his lip to stop it. He'd not been pleasured in this fashion in a very, very long time, and the whore who'd done it then had certainly not been capable of that trick with her tongue.

Oh no, he'd definitely have remembered that. He voiced his approval with a groan, bereft of all words by that slick, teasing, maddening and wonderfully deft tongue.

His breath hitched and, after another gasp, he spilled himself out, pulsing into Jack's throat. He thought he screamed hoarsely but, after a moment, realised he'd shoved his hand into his mouth, dimly feeling the pain of his bitten palm.

Jack gave a last lick, the tip of his tongue teasing from foreskin to the quivering head to suck every last drop, swallowed and raised his head with a grin.

Never had a human being so exactly personified the 'cat that got the cream' as much as Sparrow did at that moment, his dark eyes lazy and teasing, lips too ready to part over his anxious prick. Sheer torture.

James slowly pulled his hand from his mouth and blinked at stupidly. "This was quite the way to say it," he laughed finally, still breathless and panting.

Jack gave his prize a final kiss before stuffing it back in James' breeches. "Well, you turned down the extra grog last night. Thought you deserved somethin' fer all yer bravery." He bounced like a restless child, bound for the next game.

"So all you ask for this is a mug of grog?" James teased, a little more himself. "Certainly a lot cheaper than the last time I had it. Not to mention better." He looked up and blinked. Jack had to be visible, and James blushed at the thought that anyone might have watched them. With a start, he pulled Jack down atop himself into a heated kiss, flattening their bodies against the hammock. "Thank you," he purred. "I think I'll keep you."

Jack sprawled and returned the kiss. "You'll keep me? Really? Oh, sir, I am so grateful." He tickled. "Thought you'd be sellin' me off for a proper bunk and a new shirt." His golden grin flickered like foxfire. "Besides, I had a hankerin' for a French breakfast."

"You are a morally deviant rascal, quite possibly as bad as the French themselves!" James laughed, a soft sound rumbling deep in his throat. "That was incredible," he whispered, his voice wondering. He would not even have considered asking for such an act. After all, Jack was his 'mate' aboard the Chimaera, an equal, and surely, it could not have been quite as pleasant as he pretended.

Jack shovelled himself between James and the taut canvas, his head pillowed on one shoulder. "Glad to be of service, milord." He smiled into the darkness. "That's an old trick, mate. A shame it ain't more in practise for 'tis a sweet thing to give. And you shoulda seen the stars, Jamie! The moon lyin' on her back."

"I think I just saw stars barely a minute ago." James grinned and slowly shifted out from under Jack, bending low for another kiss, lingering. He crawled lower, the hammock swinging dangerously. Stopping, he put one leg out to balance himself, perched awkwardly above Jack's legs.

He used both hands to get the breeches open, nearly losing his balance by the time he had them shoved down. Jack was more than half hard already and it required only a little more teasing.

James dragged it out, stroking with his fist. His mouth, there? He gulped. Not to mention that Jack stank.

He frowned for just a moment. They had both had their swim the same day. He certainly did not smell any better, and still, Jack had sucked him with abandon. Was he going about this wrong? It had seemed so easy when Jack had done it to him.

He suppressed his protesting sensibilities and bent down for a tentative lick, unprepared for the lurch Jack gave at it. He pulled back with a start and gripped for a hold, capsizing the hammock and tumbling them both to the floor.

Jack clapped a hand over his own mouth to still his laughter. "Oh Lord, hammocks are the devil's work!" He'd almost moaned for James to stop, but it had been far too luscious to resist. Still, Jack had the distinct sense that the Pearl was laughing at him and he laughed with her. He was in good humour after a night of mooning and coffee on top of his endless diet of rum.

He sat up, leaning against James and giggling into his shoulder. "Don't try it now! I'm not exactly th' freshest bloom and it's a bit tricky to get balanced." His lips moved against the stubble on James' chin.

James' face was crimson, and he hid his eyes from Jack's. "I'm sorry." He couldn't remember having been so embarrassed in a long, long time and he wished he could just disappear into the deck beneath. "So sorry," he repeated, scrambling to get upright.

"Don't be so silly. First time I did it, I bloody puked." Jack pulled him back down to rest against the bulwark, taking his hand and guiding it to his prick. His look burned through the stuffy darkness. "Yes. G'wan. Oh, yes, that's lovely. Such long fingers..." he groaned, stretching out his legs, one finger trailing around the shell of James' ear.

James' hand remained still and he stared at it with a quick, thankful smile. He knelt astride Jack's legs and let his hand move, slow at first, then faster and faster, the need to satisfy in return almost greater than his dreaming need for relief. He put his mouth to a use he knew, lavishly plundering Jack's lips.

"Oh yes, luv," Jack moaned into his mouth, his hips rocking with the hardened palm, sliding down until he was lying with his head wedged to the bulwark. His lean chest heaved with every gasp until his breath hitched in soft cries, his prick straining and emptying in a long jet over James' fingers. "Oh. Yes. Now that's the way to end a fine evenin'." He raised his head and grinned, leaning forward to swipe at his groin with what was left of his shirt.

"Jack? You do realise that it is morning already?" James' voice was soft as he tucked Jack back into his breeches and pressed a light kiss to his chest, then looked up. "But I do believe we both have no work to do, and you seem to be quite opposed to sleep. So, after such a fine awakening, do you have any further plans for the day? Which preferably don't get us keelhauled?"

"Ahh." Jack stretched like a cat. "Let's go topside. It's too damned stuffy down here. If we stay outta the way, at least we can breathe. C'mon." He bounded up and gave James a hand. "Don't wanna wake 'em."

Together they made a detour into the galley, where Jack wheedled Cookie into letting him take his carving, and emerged into fierce morning sunlight, pale and white-gold on the water. They found a space near the bow and Jack settled on a coil of rope to continue coaxing his little Pearl out of the soft wood.

It was a quiet day for them both. James split his time between watching Jack with his whittling and dozing in the sun. It was his first true leisure aboard the Chimaera, and he relished it. The injury was not threatening, but there was no way he could make himself useful without pulling the stitches, and sitting on the deck certainly was more comfortable than scrubbing it.

After the sun had reached its zenith, he moved into Jack's shadow, head rested half against his thigh, half against the coil of rope. They spoke very little, but the contented half-smiles remained on both their faces until it was time for supper.

Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 6

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