Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 7

Cramped Quarters

by

Hippediva & Elessil

He was just saying "...and there was no way t'stop the great beast.  So Aladdin thought hard 'bout how he could get up to the jewel winkin' from that mysterious third eye in the statue's forehead...," when Wheldon passed by them with a grin.

“You jest keep flappin' that jaw, Spanish.  It'll keep ya in practise once I get hold of you."

Jack's teeth clenched and he didn't dignify the comment with even a look, but Berkely and Bertie both raised their heads like hounds on the scent.

It was past his watch and Jack had descended, lured by the coffee, bad as it was.  He smiled apologetically at the boy and James, and continued.  "An' don't you know, he scrambled up the stone body like young Mattie here in the riggin'.  And he grabs the eye."

James hid his scowl, and after a while, prodded Matthew, who had sprawled back into his lap, and when he didn't react, entranced by the story, James lifted him to sit on the bench. "Excuse me, young Master Matthew, Jack. There is a pressing matter that brooks no delay." He slipped out of the galley.

He headed topside, where Wheldon knelt on the deck, pretending to scrub. James stood directly in front of him and waited.

"Wot d'you want, Norbury?  I ain't touched yer precious mate.  Wot the hell is he, anyways?  Looks half-heathen t'me.  Like them big dark eyes, do you?"

"While it is probably quite the achievement for you to pretend to be even more stupid than you are, stop it. Don't you dare. I warn you."

Wheldon laughed and threw the pumice down.  "You're warnin' me.  That's a laugh.  Although I see yer already lookin' fer a replacement, holdin' that boy in yer lap.  Nice arrangement fer you, ain't it?"  His laugh was nasty. 

James' eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am warning you." He folded his hands behind his back, clasping them in a near-crushing grip. "If you as much as look at one of them askew, I will tie you up in the seediest dockside tavern with your breeches down, and if you somehow survive that, string you up from the topgallant myself. Is that clear enough for even you to understand?"

Wheldon's eyes held his for a moment.  Spanish Jack would sell himself for a shilling, of that he was sure, but everyone on board the Chimaera was fond of the boy, Matthew.  He shrugged.  "Wotever you like, yer lordship.  Get outta my way."  He swiped with the rag and James heard Hamilton's familiar stomp behind him.

"As long as you keep out of mine. Do that, or you will regret it." James' voice was ice-cold, no longer the gentle-tempered sailor who defended rather than attacked. He spun around on his heel and went below.

Jack's hands were flying around like a pair of his caged namesakes as he finished his tale for young Matthew and a few others, a tar-stained Scherazade as trapped on the Chimaera as she in her harem. 

James stalked into the galley, his mouth tight and set.  "Wotsamatter, Jamie?  Gut gripin'?"  Jack tweaked Matthew's ear and produced a monkey's fist knot out of it, to the boy's delight.

James didn't have to force his smile at the display and made a vague gesture. "Tell me this doesn't upset your bowels as well." He made back to their table and sat down, immediately plastered to the bench by Matthew. "Now, lad, you should obviously clean your ears more thoroughly."

Jack grinned as Matthew turned the small bauble of a knot over and over in his hands.  "Here, Mattie, watch.  It's not hard t'do. You know a hitch, aye?  Well, ya do this..." 

James face was still white and strained.  Jack finished the knot and Matthew wandered over to sit closer to the lamp, fumbling with the twine.

"That don't look to me to be your upset-bowels face."

James' face remained stony. He couldn't very well tell Jack about the confrontation with Wheldon. It would only unduly upset him and James had no wish to recall the threats, neither Wheldon's nor his own. He tensed a bit. He'd meant every single word of that. If the bastard touched Jack, he'd pay for it. He hanged such men, always, but the personal anger was something new.

He realised he was pausing for too long and pulled a face, nodding at the trencher, then flinching. "Matthew, that tickles."

Jack grinned at Matthew over James' shoulder and nodded.  "Put it back, you little barnacle. An' he shouldn't be able to feel ya at all."  He bounded up to bounce on the other side of James, knocking into him briefly, then stood to show the rigging knife in his dirty palm.  "Keep yer wrists up an' don't giggle."  Jack handed it back to James, suppressing a few giggles of his own.

James put it back and scowled. "Jack, don't teach the boy such nonsense."

He turned and lifted Matthew back onto his lap to check his pockets, fishing out a spoon. "Matthew, Matthew," he clucked his tongue. "If you do that in Dakar or Bombay, you'll get your hand cut off." He made a swift chopping motion. "If you need something, tell us or Berkely. Promise?"

Jack fiddled with the twine and winked at the boy.  "That's why they mustn't feel ya doin' it.  But Jamie's right, you don't wanna get caught pickin' pockets in foreign ports."  He was looking forward to a nice, long nap in his hammock, still half-dazzled by the stars.  "I'm gonna head below."  He leaned forward, smiling at James.

James punched his shoulder. "If you teach the boy something, let it be useful." Turning, he shook his head and brushed Matthew's hair back. "You don't want to be caught picking pockets at all. You don't have to do it. We're all watching out for you."

"An' who says a bit of judicious 'borrowin' isn't useful?" Jack called over his shoulder, heading down the stairs and nearly colliding with the Captain. 

"Spanish, good.  Come wif me."

Jack rolled his eyes and followed the scarlet coattails back up to the officers' cabins in the stern. 

Topside, there was a loud shout of "Land ho".  He stared at Hamilton accusingly.

"Sorry 'bout this, but I don't trust you as far as I can toss ya.  There's plenty o' rum and food.  Y'won't be here long - two days at most."  Hamilton's voice was brisk.  "Better than th' brig, laddie."

Jack sulked.  "Well, 'fore you lock that door, can I get me carvin'?  Just t'keep busy?"

Hamilton eyed him suspiciously, then nodded.  "Two minutes, bucko."

Jack tore down to the brig and 'his' cask.  Under a loose board near the bulwark, he had stashed a letter, written on a scrap of paper weeks earlier, addressed to 'Pearl Gibbs', care of The Faithful Bride in Tortuga.  He shoved it into his breeches, refilled his flask and spun up the stairs in a mad search for Berkely, who was just finishing his coffee and heading topside.

"Berks, mate.  Ain't got but a moment.  He's bloody lockin' me up. Can you do me a favour, mate?  Please?"  He was breathless and turned enormous eyes at the sailor.  "I can't do nothin' to pay you, not now.  But I must get word to her.  Please, mate."

Berkely raised an eyebrow and studied him for long seconds, perfectly still. There was so much pleading in Spanish's eyes, so desperate, so wheedling. He grabbed the letter. "Her? Sweetheart, ey? Think yer Jamie'd like that none."

Jack shook his head.  "No sweetheart.  Sister.  She raised me.  Don't like wot I am much, but still, 'twould break her heart if she never knew wot happened t'me."  He stifled a grin and tried to work up a tear, thinking about his Pearl and how Gibbsy would look in a frock.  "Thanks, luv.  Promise I'll pay ya wotever when I can.  I swear it on pain o' death."

"Awright Spanish, I'll get that t'yer sister. We've all got folk t'take care of. Tortuga, ey? So the whoring runs in t'family? She as pretty as you?" Berkely winked and made a lewd gesture. "You go get up there 'n' don' let Cap'n wait, afore he has ye flogged on top of no shoreleave. Not that ye'd much need it, havin' rum and company aboard."

Jack laughed, wrapping an arm around Berkely.  "She's ancient an' has three teeth.  Works at the tavern.  I can't thank you 'nuff, luv."  He darted to grab the knife and carving from Cookie and flew back to the cabin.

Hamilton was fidgeting impatiently as Jack sidled through the door and sat on the bunk, looking mournful.  "Sorry sir.  Cookie'd put it 'way."

Hamilton's eyes narrowed.  "There's fresh water in that bucket.  Coupla sausages and biscuit.  I'm sorry, Spanish.  Be a good man an' ye'll get yer leave come Bombay."  He closed and locked the door.

James had rushed topside at the cry of 'Land ho,' and frantically looked around for Jack. They would put into port within the hour, and then, finally, they would have a chance to flee.

Just where was Jack? He was not about to leave him behind. Pirate Code be damned, he was not going to leave a friend behind. Bertie passed by and James grabbed him by the sleeve and hissed, "Where the hell is Jack?"

Bertie shrugged. "No idea. Could be that Ham ain't lettin' him ashore."

James bit back a curse. That made things all the more difficult. He was certain that Jack would know what to do in such a situation. After all, the pirate had certainly faced them often enough, even if it meant leaving another behind. He gulped. No. He'd find a way, but best to keep his calm now.

He kept his head still when Hamilton appeared through the hatch, but his eyes tracked every move.

"Norbury, with me."  He walked briskly and James had to run to catch up with him.  He paused, fumbling with the key.  "Sorry t'do it, but ye'll both be here until we finish restockin'."

James heaved a sigh, aware that anything but obedience was pointless and would only lengthen their captivity. "May I ask a question, Sir?"

"Yes, yes, wha' is it?  Hurry up!"

"We will still get our shares from the raid eventually. Is it possible for someone to buy new shirts in port? This is woefully soiled," he lifted his arm slightly, the sleeve, despite all efforts, still pink, then thought of Sparrow's much-shortened one, "and Jack's! That rag won't serve any use once we make around the Cape." A weak consolation instead of the chance to escape, but better than nothing. He smiled hopefully.

Hamilton nodded.  "I'll tell Bertie.  There's plenty o' food, water, rum fer ya both.  An' neither o' you would be needin' shore leave anyways, would ya?"  He laughed and pulled the door open.  "G'wan, get in there. Don't get yerselves inta trouble.  An' don't bother wi' the casement.  It's nailed shut."

He didn't mention that the watch crew to be left aboard would include Griffin and Wheldon.  If they were stupid and escaped the cabin, they'd both get themselves beaten senseless, but that was their hard luck.  He locked the door and slid the heavy oak bar across it - he'd had it specially fitted for holding important hostages.  Norbury and his pilot slut would be secure.

James threw himself into a chair with a snarl. "Damn it all to hell," he hissed. He was not prone to oaths, but the time aboard the Chimaera had loosened his tongue and he was all-too-frustrated. He had hoped for this opportunity for so long, and now it was gone before they'd even had a chance to grasp it.

Jack lounged on the bunk, turning the small carving over and over in his hands.  He glanced at James with a wry smile.  "Smart bugger.  He knew we'd bolt first chance we got.  Ah well, at least we won't hafta suffer through Cookie's messes."  He pointed at the three dry sausages on the table.  "And there's plenty of rum.  So, Jamie, I suggest we get good an' drunk."  He held his tongue about the letter.

"I cannot believe it!You want to sit it out and wait until we are in open seas again? What about getting back?"

To have bided his time all these weeks, and now that his blood had roiled up at the sheer hint of a chance, to have it taken from him was cruel. He rattled the casements, not truly yanking at them with any force, but the sound helped a bit.

Jack wondered if he should just let James get it out of his system or try to talk sense to him.  "Mate, we couldn't get far in that wretched little port anyways.  We'd have to brave the far edge of the Barbary and haul north to Malaga or even Marseilles.  Chances'll be better in Bombay." 

He was careful to keep the disappointment out of his tone.  He'd fully expected to be torn from the helm before dawn and thrown into the brig.  He only hoped that Berkely wouldn't play him false out of spite, bit his lip and pondered if he should have given over a bit, just for the insurance.  He wrinkled his nose.  "Wot th' hell did ya think he was gonna do?  Escort us to the nearest westward passage?"

James turned and stared at him, eyes ablaze, but then the fire seeped out of them and he sagged a little. "I know. It would certainly be easier if he were stupid, but then, we would probably find ourselves dead or run aground already." He growled and sat on the edge of the bunk, laughing darkly. "Better than bars and straw, at least."

He didn't like it one bit and still scowled.

"Aye, it is.  A bunk, and rum and time by our onesies?  Could be worse."  Jack threw an arm around James and felt how he quivered with suppressed rage.  "Stow it, luv.  Won't help none gettin' into a fantod over it.  Let's just have a drink and enjoy our leisure." 

He tapped the rum cask and filled two real glasses - nice bits of crystal with only a chip or two.  "Well, well if we aren't gettin' the royal treatment!"  He handed one to James and bolted his, refilling it.  "It's a bloody bore more n' anything."

James was still seething and glared at his glass. "I don't think he has another choice. He could not expect a crew to work if they were thrown into the brig as soon as shore was in sight."

Truly, had they been in the brig, James would have fought and struggled and would already be hell-bent on an escape. The almost civil treatment seemed so much more reasonable and made him much more accepting of Jack's - unfortunately, for once sensible - arguments.

"Well, thank the bastard fer a misplaced sense of hospitality."  Jack drank half the glass and settled down on the bunk, nudged against James.  "I'm sorry, luv.  I'd a feelin' he might do somethin' like this.  He's too damned smart.  Just means were gonna have t'be very savvy."  He yawned.  He hadn't had much sleep the day before and the nightwatch had been tense, coming towards the coast and wondering when the shoe would drop.  "Think I could use some shuteye, Jamie.  There's a coupla books over there." He waved towards a cupboard. 

"Can't keep me eyes open."  He finished the rum and the glass drooped from his hand as he curled up on his side.

James plucked the glass from his grasp and frowned at him for a long time. It was amazing how quickly Jack went from babbling to fast asleep, as if he were profoundly incapable of anything else. He now could see when the exhaustion was real, and so he left Jack to sleep, moping and staring until he felt the ship shudder and still beneath them, a loud cheer topside as the crew went ashore. It reminded him too much of the Dauntless, when his own crew made for their shoreleave.

He heaved a sigh and eyed the books, leafing through them quickly. There was nothing of particular interest, a Bible, a worn copy of Paradise Lost. James was not in the mood to be pointed towards salvation and crawled back onto the bunk.

Just as he knew that Jack would now sleep, he knew he wouldn't later, bouncing restlessly until James woke, so it was better to use the quiet for some rest. The Chimaera tilted gently in the waves of the dock and eventually rocked James to sleep as well.

James was inherently incapable of being lazy. He had slept the night and rested the past days; he could not sleep again. Only two hours later, he lay wide awake, keeping  perfectly still.  After another hour, he sat up, careful not to disturb Jack. When he caught himself sneaking around the cabin so as to not make any noise, he stopped in his tracks and looked back at Jack.

Just when had a criminal become a comrade and a pirate a friend? Worse, he knew that without Jack, he'd probably be long dead, his corpse tossed overboard without anyone ever hearing the tale. Jack had shown him kindness from the beginning of their captivity, and now, James slowly began to understand why.  What he should have known long before had become all too clear:  that 'pirate' did not exclude all positive traits. That a man could be a pirate, and still have sympathy and kindness in him.

And innocence. It was a perverse thought, but it was there, in the longing as Jack's thoughts wandered to the Pearl, in his dark eyes, in his smooth face as he slept. In the braids he'd tied into James' hair. James turned one between his fingers, smiled thoughtfully, and pulled a twin braid out of Jack's mouth, where he'd sucked it in while sleeping.

Jack was a friend. He tested the word on his tongue, if only in silence. More of a friend than he'd ever had. The camaraderie among Midshipmen had never reached this far for him, and as he rose in rank, he'd grown lonelier. Certainly, he had men he called friends, but there was always distance, something that separated them from James Norrington, the man.

With Jack, he had talked, had joked, sung and laughed. They'd been there to offer help when the other needed it.  And they'd shared their bodies. Was that what matelot meant? A friend so close that he could also take care of the most intimate needs?  Without embarrassment, without hesitation and without anything but reciprocation asked in turn? It was an elating thought. Free, somehow. And pure.

Jack stirred in his sleep, batting away dream-mosquitoes and muttering.  He twitched like a dog chasing phantom prey, smacking his lips, then opened one eye and sat bolt upright.  "Hullo Jamie."

He beamed a sleepy grin, yawned and headed immediately for the rum.  "Believe I'm a bit stiff from that ticking.  Never have gotten used t'beds, y'know."

For a moment, he looked around the small cabin, then yanked the chair over to the casement and started digging at one of the diamond panes with Cookie's knife.  "Least we can get a bit of fresh air an' see wot th' hell is going on." 

James' face looked odd.  Soft and considering, as if he'd been thinking hard about something that made him smile without realising it.  "Wotsamatter, James?  Cabin fever?"

James' smile became more immediate, a bit wider and just a bit startled. "Bored out of my mind." He stretched and chewed listlessly on a piece of dried sausage. "But then, I should not have expected much entertainment from you after you dropped on the bunk like a sack of flour," he teased gently. "A better chance in Bombay, right?"

He rolled his eyes as Jack filled a second glass of rum in barely a minute. "Jack? There is no need to prove that you can drain the cask on your own. I believe it."

"Nonsense, luv.  Sets a man up fer the day an' chases away the night before."  Jack grinned, digging at the lead.  "Much better in Bombay.  I know it pretty well and it's one big damned place.  Biggest port I've ever seen, except fer Canton or Calecutt."  His grin widened.  "I could dance for ya."

It was well past noon and James decided that he would have at least a drop of the rum before Jack emptied it completely. "Dance. You? What, a minuet?"

Jack gulped down his drink and bounded out of the chair, twirling and prancing up and down, imitating with uncanny skill the fine Court manners James knew too well.  "Or a gavotte.  How about a German?"

He leaped around like a lunatic.  "Or this?"  His hands wavered, suddenly dipped, wrists turning and fingers curled as his arms moved seductively. He clapped out a rhythm, his bare heels pounding in counterpoint.  "Or this?" His body seemed to detach at the waist, hips swivelling in an undeniably lewd fashion.

James was fighting hard to stifle any undignified giggles, then applauded.  "Very well, I do realise that asking was a mistake."  He waited until Jack swayed close, swiftly grabbed him by the waist and hauled him close, looking up with a slight upward twist of his lips. "Is there anything at all you can't do? Apart from thinking by common logic and taking anything seriously in the least."

Jack thought about it, one finger on his chin.  "Let's see.  I can't fly.  Can't make a meringue.  Can't speak Turkostani.  And I can't resist kissin' you."  He leaned forward to prove the last item.  "Y'know, this might not be so bad, luv."

James' fingers found hard and solid proof of that statement, and he continued to examine it, first freeing it of any interfering cloth.  "Certainly a lot more privacy, and Hamilton surely expects no less of us. And the Captain of a ship is always right, isn't he?" He laughed softly and tugged at Jack's collar, pulling him down atop himself.

Jack straddled him, pushing eager hands under the shirt to tease sensitive nipples and caress sleek sides.  James had lost flesh these long weeks and replaced it with hard muscle that rippled over his bones.  Jack leaned down once more.

For once, there was no rush but that of their own desire. They revelled in the privacy, the comparative softness and stability of the bunk, even the light that teased through the windows, and when they finished, they lay, sweaty and entangled, sated.

James was just catching his breath and he laughed softly into Jack's hair. "So much for the clean sheets."

"Deacon'll be shocked, poor bastard.  Don't know wot he's missin'," Jack murmured contentedly, half-dozing.  "Always best at noon."  His lips were fixed in that kouros smile, limbs comfortably tangled with James'.

"If he is as old as he looks and has been shipboard most of that time, I doubt there is much that can shock him. Although I have little doubt that you would manage." The bunk, while comfortable, was narrow for two men, and James almost tumbled out as he rolled over to reach for his glass.

Jack nestled into the pillow and watched the muscles of James' back move and flex as he stretched out his arm.  Hard work had done wonderful things, defining the strength in that long body.  He thought James unbearably beautiful and his eyes closed.  He was still smiling.

The cabin was pitch black, closing in from every corner.  It was deathly silent, and for one petrifying moment, Jack thought he was back on the Pearl, in the middle of a mutiny a decade old.  He shook the dream fragments from his head and slid out of the narrow bunk, fumbling until he found the flint and lantern. 

Instinctively, he poured a glass, then another to send his dreams back to whatever hell from which they'd sprung.  He filled it again.  And again, stifling harsh gasps as he made for the window.

Cushioning the sound with the ragged hem of his shirt, he knocked out a few of the glass panes, pulling the chair close to the casement and breathing heavily.

James rolled over and sighed softly, a low sound as though he were tasting a particularly delicious meal, then his eyes cracked open and he sat up, suppressing a yawn. Momentarily confused by the stability of the bunk, he looked around until he became aware of his surroundings. His gaze fell on Jack. "I know I don't smell of roses at this point, but don't you think this reaction is a little exaggerated?"

Jack's eyes glittered, the light bouncing off them, fire in obsidian.  "Can't breathe, mate.  Bad dreams."  He swilled down his fifth---or was it sixth?—rum, refilled the glass once more and promptly forget he was holding it, guzzling from his flask.

"Should I have worn you out more, so you would not dream?" James stretched lazily and poured himself a glass, sipping slowly. "I really don't think this tastes so bad that you have to toss it back this quickly." His gentle amusement faded into a frown.

Jack scowled and started to pace.  If he'd had a tail, it would have been lashing.  "I woulda preferred the bloody brig.  Least a body can breathe free."  His balance, never suited to less than eight knots, was sloppy and he caught himself against the door.  "Damn the bastard for this. Damn him!"

James' eyebrows shot up. "Only a few hours ago you insisted that this was much better than the brig. Did you decide to eradicate all nearly-sane notions from your mind?"

He rose, standing just behind Jack in the narrow cabin, reaching out, but then dropped his hands again. "I am as angry as you that we can't escape. But wasn't it you who told me that Bombay was a better chance?

"Yes, and the more the fool I am fer thinkin' it!"  Jack snapped, struggling back to the casement.  "For God's sake!"  He pounded out a few more of the panes, his breath harsh and short, then tipped the flask back and threw it across the cabin.  "Damn an' blast and may that bogtrottin' son of a whore rot in hell."  He bolted down the glass he'd abandoned and huddled in the chair.

"Jack!" James knew that he'd been in a temper himself before, but that had been nothing compared to Jack's violent outburst. "Stop it now. We're stuck here, and cursing won't do anything to change that. If anything, it will only make Hamilton decide to keep us locked in during the next shoreleave." He put his arm around Jack's shoulder. "Calm down."

Sparrow started violently at the touch, his eyes wild.  He couldn't breathe.  The chair tumbled backwards and he was panting furiously. Then, just as suddenly, his legs buckled beneath him and he sagged to the deck.  Miraculously, he hadn't spilled a drop.

James wrenched the rum from him and filled the glass with water, urging it to his lips while holding him steady with his other arm. "Easy, Jack. Easy." What the hell was this? Cabin Fever? After not even a day? Despite all his teasing, he didn't think Jack insane... not like this.

"Oh, leave me the hell alone!  And I can't drink that!"  Jack swatted at the glass, shaking his head so hard the baubles clattered. 

He dragged himself from James' grip, clinging to the sill and pulled his hand back.  He would have smashed it through the frame had James not wrenched it behind his back.  He was shaking, sucking in fresh air desperately.

James had him in a tight handlock that prevented him from lashing out, trapped between his body, the casement and one arm. The other he smoothed through Jack's hair again and again. "Easy."

Jack behaved as though he were suffocating, like a trapped, scared animal. Was it that? The fear of being locked in? "We will be out of here tomorrow. On the deck, and in the fresh sea air. Shhhh. Shhhh."

His answer was like a shock of ice water.  Jack sobbed in a breath, pulled his hands free and buried his face in them.  When he looked up at James, his eyes were lost in puddles of streaking paint.  "Where d'ya think she is?  I can't hear her no more."

James knew what Jack meant, without a doubt, without so much as a second's thought. He had seen the longing glances with which Jack had worked on his carving, the near-caress followed by a look of loss at the Chimaera's wheel. "She's back in the Caribbean. Waiting for you and anxious for her Captain to return."

Even Jack Sparrow could imbibe too much, too fast.  His head was foggy and he peered at Norrington curiously, trying to think of how to get topside without alerting Barbossa and his bloody friends.  "Don't know wot t'do, Bill.  He's gonna slaughter the lot of us and I can't let that happen."  He sobbed in another breath.  "Jamie, I can always hear her.  Why can't I hear her now?"  His voice was rising and he choked on a bitter laugh.

"What the hell?" James paused, breathed a sigh and backhanded Jack twice across the face, hard. "Because you are drunk and you don't have the salt water roaring in your ears!"

His voice and demeanour gentled, smoothing a hand through Jack's hair, down his shoulders, hushing him, remembering how patient Jack had been with him when he'd needed to talk.

If only he could make sense of Jack's words. "You are fighting against it. You are still caught in your dream and don't want to hear her."

In an act of desperation, he pulled Jack's head to the casement, where he could hear the rush of the waves, gentle in the docks. "Do you hear that? That's the sea. And somewhere in her, there's your Pearl."

The distraught pirate crested towards the sound, shuddering.  He turned back and gulped.  "She's gone again.  It's just insane, and really, I should know all about that.  How can this be happenin' again?"  His eyes focused on James'.  "Wot in hell did I ever do t'deserve this?  Lose her once, well, but again?  Like this?"  His gaze was distant and he bit his lip, his face contorting into a mask of desperate pain.

His fist slammed against the bulwark.  "Damn it all!" The tide, held back by brute practicality, was crashing through all Jack's hard-learned control.

James crushed him close before he could do himself any more harm. "I know, Jack, I know. Do you think there is nothing I miss? Do you think I would not rather have the Dauntless beneath my feet? But do you know what? We don't, and it is up to us alone to change that. To get home, whether that may be a port or a ship. You'll get her back, Jack. I promise."

Whatever else Jack had been meaning to say was lost in a long bout of outright sobs.  He clung to James, muttering utter nonsense and cursing in a soggy voice. 

It was more than apparent that Captain Jack Sparrow was not above a sensational crying jag if the rum and the moment were right.

James stiffened and stared in shock, hardly registering the dampness soaking his shoulder. Awkwardly, he brought an arm around Jack and steadied him, urging him towards the bed until they could lie down. He didn't know what he could do, and so he just rocked with the waves, stroking gently and singing softly as he would to a crying babe.

Jack drifted on the song, his thoughts as fractured as the light from guttering lantern.  Slowly, his grip relaxed, his eyes swollen shut, and the sobs became muffled snores.

He was still curled in James' arms, uncomfortably close, but James didn't dare move for fear of waking him, all too relieved he'd finally fallen asleep. This was a side of Jack he had never seen, and he'd begun to doubt if the pirate ever felt sad at all. Despite the fear and the hard work, Jack had always seemed content, and James had wondered if, unlike himself, Jack really longed to get home at all, if he didn't feel just as at home aboard the Chimaera.

That was wrong, he knew now. The Pearl was the only place Jack wanted to be, and suddenly James was nearly ashamed of his own selfish ignorance. Jack looked so mournful, even in deep sleep, snoring loudly. Drunken sleep.

He'd seen Jack drink before, drink a lot, but always with enjoyment, not with such haste. The three sausages still lay there, untouched but for what James himself had eaten. No wonder the rum had had such a strong effect, trying to drown out a nightmare that kept bobbing to the surface.

Still musing on sausages, rum, and tears, and sparing a wistful thought for his Dauntless, he, too, fell asleep.

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