Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 10

The Eye of the Storm

by

Hippediva & Elessil

Bertie popped his head up.  "Aye.  Cap'n said t'let him sleep if he did.  Been acting awful peculiar has our Jack."  He lugged himself to his feet and scratched, then went to the basin.

Shadlow winked at James and glanced down at Jack, sleeping so deeply he didn't snore at all.  "Beat ya t'the galley fer first dibs on the coffee, Bertie."

"Y'can have all of the brew if you can stomach it." Bertie laughed and tugged at James' sleeve. "C'mon. Yer still on duty."

James smoothed the blanket's last folds and let himself be led to the galley. He hadn't expected to earn Jack more than half an hour's reprieve, but Hamilton apparently saw more than he had thought. James had a hard time not to feel grateful for that and, in the late afternoon, made for the quarterdeck to mutter his thanks in Jack's place.

Hamilton turned from the helm, his look sour.  Jensen was thick as a  brick and he hoped that Spanish would be fit for duty sooner rather than later.  The weather had calmed but still lowered like winter on the shore of Donegal.  "Norbury, wha's that ya say?  An' how's Spanish doin'?"

"Sleeping, fortunately. And I wanted to thank you for letting him stay asleep."  James' eyes were wondering, searching Hamilton's face for a moment, then he dropped his gaze.

The Irishman's eyes were keen. "He's a good man, I need him up here."  They began to twinkle.  "An' I canna have yer mate wanderin' round me ship countin' every knothole.  Damned queer."  He sniffed at the wind.  "G'wan an' get aloft."

James stared at him for a moment longer, then snapped to attention. "Aye, Sir."

He worked hard until the end of his watch, then went to check on Jack, who was still fast asleep. He remembered his promise and made for sickbay, sharing supper with Matthew, proceeding with further lessons until the boy fell fast asleep.

Jack slept on, long into the next watch.  He blinked himself awake in the dead of night, the hold plunged into darkness save for the thin ribbon of light from the outer causeway.  He peeked to stare at James through his matted hair, listening to the soft sounds of his breathing.  His face was relaxed; open and unguarded, all the lines smoothed away in slumber.  Jack remembered the gentle hands and his eyes closed again.

He roused again with the hold whispering the soft sounds of the men waking for watch, and sat up.  "Hullo!"

James was still asleep and he poked the hammock with a grin, then groaned as he got to his feet.  "Goddamn, I feel like I been tossed from the nest.  Mornin' Jamie."

James looked up, tousled, then blinked and grinned. "Good morning, slugabed. Don't worry, I kept Shadlow from hauling you aloft while you were asleep."

Jack grinned over his shoulder.  His eyes were deeply circled and the paint had all but faded, but they didn't have that leaden, stupefied expression any more.  "So kind o' you, luv, but I only fell 'sleep last evenin'." 

He took the time to do his eyes and glanced at his face in the fractured bit of mirror.  Much better.  It took more than ice water and slam against the hull to keep Jack Sparrow down for long.

"Hamilton will be delighted. I have it from a reliable source that he missed you dreadfully." James hauled himself out of the hammock and shaved, whistling.

Jack turned, his hand in his hair.  "Hamilton?  Missed me?  When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. You slept all day, Jack. You more than needed it."

Jack stopped and padded back to pull on his boots and his shirt.  "You're gaffin' me!  I did, and he didn't have me dragged topside fer a few stripes? Must be mixin' salt water with that whiskey."  Jack took a step forward, smiling, leaning close.  "Thanks, luv.  You've been too good t'me."

He almost stole a kiss, but held himself back in time.

James held his breath, then let it out carefully. "He is smarter than he lets on. Sometimes, that is. After all, there would be no good in your falling asleep over the wheel and running us aground," he teased, then raised an eyebrow. "Coffee?"

"Sounds wonderful!  Even here."  Jack followed him up the close stairs to the galley and raised an eyebrow at the murmured hullos and stares. "Mornin' all.  I am at yer service!"  He made a mock bow and blew on his mug to cool it.

The mock cheers faded into subdued concern, but most were still wary of Jack. They had seen him hang from the rigging like a monkey, wandering around counting lines and planking, muttering to himself, and although they were used to Spanish's oddities, that had gone rather too far.

The course was hard for days, choppy seas and unkind weather tossing in their difficulties to shiphandling. The ropes were cold and stiff and they had to retie most of the rigging, giving it more play so the strain would not tear the hemp asunder.

Jack struggled with the wheel, wrenching it as the Chimaera fought her way through whitecaps and foam. His teeth chattered through his watches and he began to linger close to the galley stove to warm himself before tumbling into his hammock.  He woke chilled to bones that protested more than they had last time he'd rounded the Cape.

James quickly settled into a new routine. When his watch was over, he would continue his lessons with Matthew until exhaustion put an end to it. As Matthew grew healthier, it was often James who had to strike his colours and retire for sleep.

Sometimes, Jack would join them and pull faces at certain passages that sent Matthew laughing. Then both would set upon James and mercilessly tickle him into a giggling fit.

But Jack was not above other touches. His arm would slip around James' shoulder, play with a strand of hair, hot against his cheeks. It was unnerving; the touches not substantial enough to truly warrant complaint, but more than James thought justified after Jack's declaration on a cold deck.

He longed for those touches, missed them when they were gone. It was as if a bit of that warm closeness from before Dakar was back; cruel, as James could not accept them.

He would not again let himself be goaded into believing something that was not the case. Jack had said 'no' very clearly, and James was far too proud not to heed that. It grated at him, to always keep his reactions in check, to always consider what would be improper or what was appropriate among shipmates.

Jack amused himself carving a small plank.  It was hard going--the wood was tough and his joints told him he was definitely no where near as young as he appeared.  They ached with the cold, stiffened from hours at the wheel or aloft.  He'd taken young Matthew's place a few times, and Hamilton figured he was too handy on the topmost yards to overly worry if he was still daft and going to splatter himself on the deck.

He cursed himself to a thousand hells and nursed his frozen bottom in the galley as much as possible.  It wasn't much warmer, but it did keep him near James.  And he wanted that.  He watched James in the lantern's sway and let himself be enchanted all over again.  He threw an arm around James' neck and nestled closer, his lips brushing one ear.

James stiffened and pulled away as far as he could, making no comment but swallowing hard on a bite of salted fish.

Jack's hand slid down his shoulder, arm, then up around his neck.  He was smiling, eyes deep and mysterious over stark bones.

James shivered under the caress, leaning into it, then stiffened and pulled away, words blurting out hastily. "You said you were no cooing strumpet to yield at demand. Neither am I."  He pushed himself up and fled to sickbay.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, cut to the quick and mourning the moment broken.  He hadn't been thinking of a tumble.  Well, not entirely.  The light had been so beautiful, dancing in those amber streaks in the pupils of James' eyes.  It was entrancing, and what right did Norrington have to stand on his dignity, and damn it all, he hadn't meant that at all.

His thoughts confused, he sulked, and slow-burning anger stoked a dangerous kind of heat in him.  He had a double-watch on his back:  Jensen was honestly afraid and well he should be!  Rounding Good Hope in such weather was not any pilot's dream.  He stomped topside and the jumbled feelings narrowed to a quiet fury.  Part of him was glad of it: at least it kept him from falling asleep and freezing.

By the time the sun rose, sullen and pale through another bank of grey clouds and gusts of wind that knocked the breath out of him, he was in a fine rage.  At whom, he hadn't the slightest idea.

When Hamilton came up to the quarterdeck, a fur cloak thrown over this coat, Jack was ready to snap at any provocation.  He listened with half his attention and the provocation became shocked disbelief.

"Wot th' hell did you say?"

Hamilton stared at him.  "Head her in, Spanish.  Closer t'shore."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Hamilton's eyes narrowed.  "Wha' did you say?"

Jack was distinctly aware of two separate but equal reactions to the cold disdain in those eyes.  His unfocused anger found a target and the sinking jab of survival instinct that told him such a course was suicide.  "I said are you outta your bloody bogtrottin' mind?  You head in and this will just get worse.  You wanna get dashed on the rocks? The reefs?"

Hamilton was instantly affronted, angry that he had given the lout time to recover his wagging tongue.  He'd spent a bad night, worrying about the weather himself, and had a fine Irish hangover for his trouble.  "How dare ya speak t'me like tha'?"

"Oh bugger off!  I'll speak t'you like the blitherin' fool you are if ya suggest somethin' so damned idiotic."  Jack was shaking, his eyes fierce.  "Most times, I'd humour you, but this ain't just your funeral.  I will not steer any ship to shore in this kinda weather."

Hamilton looked as though he would explode.  He screamed for Longthorpe, who was right beside him.  "Get this bastard off my deck an' inta the brig.  Remember this, Sbarra.  You'll get wha's comin' t'ya once we're round the Cape.  Lock 'im up and it'll be a hundred, you can depend on that."

Jack stared him down, his lip curling into a sneer.  It had been a very long time since such threats had made a dent in Captain Sparrow's hide.  "Go right ahead, luv.  Dash yeself t'pieces.  I only hope ya manage t'hang yerself when the riggin' comes down around yer corked Irish ears."

Hamilton's fist flailed out and Jack ducked it easily.  "For shame, Captain.  Can't even strike a man proper, can ya?"

Longthorpe stepped between them before it got any more heated.  "You.  With me, now.  Aye, Cap'n.  Shaddup, Spanish."

Jackson and Griffin already had hold of Jack's arms and dragged him down the stairs to the hatch.

"Good luck, Captain Hamilton.  Let's hope your Irish saints haven't been pilferin' that whisky," he called over his shoulder as he skidded across the deck.

James heard the shout from the causeway and hurried topside, but they only hauled Jack past him without a word.

He saw Hamilton, face scarlet as his coat, and his eyes narrowed, but before he could take more than one step, Bertie roughly hauled him back.  "I don't know what's off, but if ye don't wanna follow below, don't as much as look at the Cap'n now."

He didn't relent, staring at the quarterdeck gloomily.  "G'wan James. If ye go up there now, I swear I'll whack ye over th'head and claim it were a fallen yard."

Eventually, Bertie managed to pull James amidships, where they had to replace torn ratlines, knotting them to the shrouds. Whenever James' gaze wandered astern, Bertie punched his arm, hard.

Jack was so outraged he barely held onto his wits and kept from shrieking out his name, provenance and pedigree.  Goddamn bloody idiots trying the Cape without knowing if the pilot could navigate it?  He paced the cell like a tiger, cursing at the top of his lungs in five languages.  Worn out and disgusted, he tried the door, and was horrified to realise they had locked him in the second cell.  He was trapped.  If the Chimaera foundered, he was a dead man.

He leaned against the flat bars, getting more chilled by the minute until he sagged to the deck and swilled from his flask.  It was already half-empty and that prompted another tirade, an elaborately-worded rant about Hamilton, the weather, the Cape, the Irish, pressgangs, Africa and especially James bloody 'Norbury's' delicate sensibilities.

Finally, the watchbell sounded and Bertie very nearly hauled James below by his collar. After supper, he trailed James like a puppy, until he thought him safely settled in sickbay.

James smiled grimly and ruffled Matthew's hair. "I'm sorry, Matthew, your lessons today will have to wait. I will return as soon as possible."

The boy stuck out his tongue and only brightened when James encouraged him to read alone and stayed for a few moments longer, before slipping a deck lower, greeted from afar by Jack's curses.

"Goddamned bleedin' idiot.  Wot's he got?  Rocks in his bloody Irish head!  Chupame, chingado hijo de puta. Y'hear me, fils d'une salope! Moron!"

James stifled his grin and leaned against the bars. "I doubt he does, no matter which language you use. The brig is deep in the hold, and the weather is deafening." He shook his head. "How is it that you always end up in brigs? What happened?"

Jack's anger was worrying. James had rarely seen him in such a temper.

Jack stopped mid-imprecation.  "Matter?  Oh, nothin' much, except that blasted fool of an Irish ass has us too close t'shore and wants t'get closer.  He'll dash 'er to pieces, the damned whoreson."  Jack was shivering in his corner, spitting like a captive snake.

James' eyes shot wide. "Closer still to the shore? The currents will tear her apart, and if they don't, the reefs will." He stared at the bars, then spun around on his heel, rushing topside.

Jack shrieked after him and groaned.  James' face had registered more than the stark terror any sensible man would feel: it had been that awful, icy anger he vaguely remembered.  "Shite."

Jensen was at the wheel, and they were headed east-nor'-east. James was on the quarterdeck in the bat an eyelash. "Sir, this is madness. Rounding the Cape this close to the shore is a death sentence to ship and crew alike. I will not stand for this."

Hamilton wheeled on him, shouting above the wind. "You, too, Norbury.  Not satisfied wi' lettin' yer bloody whore talk back?"

James staggered with a violent toss and gripped the rail tightly, leaning against the wind. "He is not my whore, but he is your pilot! He's been around the Cape before. This is insane! You are putting the lives of the crew on the line for your personal vanity."

Hamilton leaned down, his tall body blocking all view of anything but his enraged blue eyes. "You won't stand fer it?  On my deck?  Get him down t'the brig wi' his Spanish molly."  He glared at James.  "Hold yer tongue 'less ya want the hundred he's gonna get."

James pushed himself to his full height. "Do you think that frightens me? I took seventeen lashes for pride. I would gladly take a hundred for the miracle it will take to save this ship if this madness continues."

"Get him off my bloody deck!  NOW!"  Hamilton roared, and Longthorpe dragged James down the steps before the threatened flogging was ordered.  "Shut yer trap, Norbury.  Just be quiet and come along.  We've 'nuff trouble up there without you bellyaching."

He pulled open the other cell and pushed James inside.  "Both o' you...."  he shook his head and went topside.

James kicked at the straw. "Bloody stubborn homicidal Irish idiot."

Jack watched Longthorpe disappear with a mournful look and an obscene gesture.  "Jamie, Jamie, you bloody fool.  I told ya not to.  Now we're both stuck."  He thought about being locked here, helpless while the Chimaera fought for open seas, restrained by idiots.

"If there was only the slightest hope he would listen to me, I had to do it," James snarled, rattling the bars like a stubborn child.  "Should I rather have hid and cowered and watch him take everyone down with him? You didn't, either."

"Much good it's doin', isn't it?"  Jack snapped. "Now we get t'wait down here until the keel cracks and we drown.  Not sure I fancy that, luv."  He had exhausted himself and sat back down in his corner.  "Nice mess this is."

"Would it be better to be topside and tossed overboard by a breaker? Or watch helplessly as the bloody ship sinks? Better yet, be caught in a lifeboat that capsizes from a single of those waves?"  James shuddered and slumped to the deck with a hiss.

"Professionally, I'd say it would be better to cut th' bastard's throat and take th' ship,"  Jack drawled, then sat up, shaking his head.  "Half a chance t'get outta this and I can't even get out of this bloody brig."  He kicked at the bars.  The Chimaera was tossing and, though the hold was quiet, the noise of the storm a mere murmur above them, both of them were clinging to the bars to keep from sliding across the heaving deck.

Jack shivered and pulled his coat closer, reaching into the pocket and thrusting the flask through the bars. "Here.  Ain't much, but it'll take off the edge."

James laughed darkly and took half a swallow before handing it back. "Thank you." As time passed and his anger smouldered away, he, too, began to freeze, trapped in a cell that barely offered enough space for three steps, let alone any movement that would provide warmth.

His anger, too, cooled, and his complaints of last night suddenly seemed ridiculous. "I apologise for yesterday. I overreacted. I just..."

Jack was so tired, two watches and the cold singing a dangerous lullaby in his ears.  He looked at James glumly.  "Bastard prob'ly hopes we'll freeze before he's smashed his pretty boat t'pieces."  Huddling closer to the bars, his hands wrapped in the sleeves on his shirt, his lips twitched.  "This is not good."  He looked up again.  "James?"

James sat, his legs drawn up and arms wrapped around them, his sleeves slipping back. He was shivering, rubbing his palms together frantically, and looked up. "What is it?"

Jack took a breath.  "I'm...I'm sorry.  I really am."  His teeth chattered.  "So bloody cold."  When he looked back at James, his eyes were more mournful than that brief moment on the gallows under a blazing Caribbean sun. "I've made a right mess o' things, I know. And seein' how I've not really been m'self...oh...damn."

James stiffened and looked away, careful to keep his eyes in shadow, knowing how Jack could read them. "There is no need to apologise. I am capable of accepting the word 'no' when I hear it." He bit back more words and blinked. "Just do not expect me to cave in when you do feel like toying with your abandoned plaything."

Jack banged his head against the bars.  "Dammit, James, I never meant that at all.  I wasn't toyin' with you.  Well, yes, I was, but that was only t'get you interested, because I was interested, and then there were too many people interested and...I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."

"What did you mean?  It is your right, and I shall not further pursue the matter with you unwilling.  I would never have, had you only said a word."

"I was bloody scared."  Jack whispered. "Scared to death of you.  I wasn't ever unwilling.  Just got kind chokey."  Exactly the way he felt at the moment, huddled into his coat, his hands cramping.

He rested his head on his knees for a moment.  "Didn't you know, you fool?"

James dared a glance, hurt pride, hope and confusion warring in his eyes. "Scared of me? But why? I did not mean you any harm at all."

He flinched at his own sudden relief. It was fear of exactly that, of a practical matter suddenly becoming all too personal, more than for which either had bargained. "No, I didn't." His voice was so low, nearly drowned out by his hissing, rattling breath.

"BLAST!" Jack's exploded, his shaking fingers around the bars as he banged his head against them repeatedly.  "You're gonna drive me mad. I bloody love you, you...you...Navy ass!"

James stared, his mouth falling open, drawn together only by his chattering teeth. Eventually he closed it, but continued to stare, dumbfounded, at loss for words.  "Oh," he finally managed.

Jack winced and looked up, as if waiting for a slap.  "I know this isn't exactly the opportune moment, luv.  Bein' in the brig an' all, but wot did you expect me t'do?  Go down on one knee?"  He sighed. 

Of all the ridiculous things he could have chosen to do, and, being Jack Sparrow, he knew himself capable of more than a few insanities, this he could not have divined.  Jack's whole life was a such a river of insanities, enough to confine him to Bedlam ad eternum.  He was quite used to being called mad when he knew himself to be perfectly sane in his own fashion.

But this?

Even he thought he was daft, and now it was out there, hanging in the cold air for James to mock.  He shrugged.  "I don't happen t'have a ring handy."

James sat in silence, just looked and swallowed. Not five minutes ago, he had been determined not to let himself be played by the pirate again, not to fall for any of the tempting lies, but this just left him frozen.  "I don't think I need a ring," he croaked. "They do get caught in the rigging so quickly."

"I've nothin' to offer at all. Except my neck, which, seeing how it's been claimed several times over..." Jack shut his mouth and looked up quizzically. "Wot?"

James laughed and reached through the bars to seize Jack by the neck and haul him close for a kiss. Their foreheads and chins collided with the bars, their kiss was wet and sloppy, and the Chimaera lurched. "Bloody fool," James whispered, chuckling breathlessly.

"I know."  Jack's hands pulled at his coat through the bars, laughing and gasping.  "You can't say y'weren't warned, mate. It'll be the death of me.  Whoever heard of a perfectly dishonourable pirate fallin' in love?"

"I am certain Elizabeth could provide an adequate example from her enormous tome of highly improper tales." James rested his forehead against the bars, peering through. He grinned wide, his hand hovering between them warily.

"Jamie, do me a favour, willya?"  Jack's grin was crooked, his eyes liquid.  "Don't remind me when you put that rope around me neck, eh?  My reputation will be in tatters."

"I do not see any ropes in the vicinity, or any ropes that I would put around the man that helped me return home." James smiled shakily and reached through the bars to wipe away the single droplet of blood at Jack's hairline. "Bloody fool," he repeated, a sound between a laugh and a sniffle.

Jack pouted, then smiled; he wanted to dance and sing at the top of his voice, then whisper and hug it to himself like a miser. "Tryin' to bang some sense into my thick skull.  And let's not talk about Lizzie.  I'm sure she picked up some very strange notions from them books.  Like burnin' the rum.  The...rum?  Oh, Lord!" 

He started to laugh like a maniac, rocking back and forth, incapable of speech.

James frowned. "Jack, I know it is cold, but I am fairly certain your brain should not be the first part to freeze. Although I do admit a little fire here would be useful."

"No!"  Jack gasped and giggled.  "The RUM, mate.  Yer door is open. I jimmied the damn thing with canister shot.  There's a cask way in the back of th' hold."  He threw back his head and howled.  "God, if you ever needed proof!  I forgot about th' damned rum!"

James laughed hysterically. "So that is the explanation of your bottomless flask." He took it and rose, and truly, the door swung open under just a push.

He refilled the flask and then went in search of anything that would serve as a lockpick. There was no point in escaping just now, but if the ship foundered, they would need to get out, and that quickly. He had just grabbed a large, hard wooden splinter when there was a crack and he scrambled back into the cell.

"Pirate!"  Jack beamed.  "If Hamilton can steal my undoubtedly valuable services fer months, he can't begrudge a bit of lubrication, can he?  Here, gimme that, luv.  I swear, me ballocks are gonna shrivel and me prick's gonna drip ice."

James leaned back and calmly opened the flask, taking a deep swallow. "Are they? That should be interesting to witness." He watched Jack's horrified expression and agitated sputtering for a few seconds before tossing the flask through the bars.

"Wretch!"  Jack guzzled and smacked his lips.  "Now things would be just perfect if we could commandeer her."  He handed the flask back to James with a rueful grin.  "Don't much like the idea of drownin' in here."

The Chimaera groaned, the sound of wood battered by endless waves echoing from the bilges.  She lurched suddenly and both of them were thrown to the far bulwarks. 

"Good God, wot the hell is he doin' up there?"

"Running us aground, or worse," James hissed, clutching at the bars. "Bloody hell, we have to get out of here before it's too late." He scrambled after his makeshift lockpick and forced himself to his feet, fighting against the violent tilt of the deck.

Another lurch tossed him through his cell's door and he crawled to Jack's, hoisting himself up at the bars. Frantically, he tried to cram the splinter into the lock.

"God DAMN it, the fool's tryin' to lie to.  Jamie, listen!"  Jack's hands gripped the bars, his face tense.  "We gotta get outta here." He watched James trying to work the lock, his fingers fluttering. "Good, That's good. Gently now.  Shite.  I've got to get back to the helm."  The vessel shuddered, complaining of her treatment loudly.

Jackson clattered down the steps and stared from James to the open cell door for a moment.  He handed over the keys.  "Cap'n says all hands.  Get topside now.  Spanish, I hope ya know wot yer doin'.  Norbury, we need you aloft.  The wind's bloody impossible."  His face was ashen in the swinging lamplight . 

Jack was up the hatch in less than a half-dozen steps.

James tossed the key to the deck and rushed topside.

The wind tore the hair from his face, hail and rain hammering and pouring down like the Flood. Just as he raced to the mainmast, the weatherside shrouds gave with a snap, loud even amidst the deafening storm. The wood groaned and shuddered.

He cursed and raced to the lee, scaling the ratlines, the wind roaring against him, anxious to pry him from his perch. He scaled high, up to the royal, his nails digging into his palms.

Wind and rain and thunder; it was an uproar of elements, and the royal slipped from his hands again and again, shrieking and bellying as they struggled to reef and tie it fast.

Jack scrambled to the quarterdeck, bracing himself and heaving at the wheel with Jensen's help.  He glanced at the lashing heavens and prayed to the only deity in which he truly believed.  "Pearl, my love.  Help me.  Help me find th' way."  His hand locked on the spokes and he began to slowly wrench the Chimaera from the ocean's grip, crooning gently.  "That's my good girl.  Yes, easy does it.  Just you trust ole Jack, luv.  He won't let you down."

The rain pelted down, mingled with hail that left tiny cuts to faces and eyelids as they fought to control the flying lines. "Easy, my love." He took a breath and gave the ship her head, as a rider might with a spooked mare.  The Chimaera lumbered for a breathless moment.  Slowly, she shuddered upwards, a giantess rumbling to her feet in the maelstrom.  "C'mon girl.  Into it now.  In we go, and the devil himself can drown in yer wake."

Jack's voice rose over the din.  "We're heading in.  Brace yerselves." 

The wind roared around them, men battling in the shrouds as she pitched and tossed. 

Reluctantly, she eased into her new course, a big beast bowing to the will of the men heaving at her lines, the yards snapping into position.

Suddenly, the wind died away and its thunder gave way to an ominous silence.  They were in the eye of the storm.

The seas still tossed the Chimaera, and they quickly managed to reef the remaining sails, bracing the weakened mainmast lest it break under any additional strain. Everything seemed to still in the long, breathless minutes of waiting and hoping, of preparing should it come to the worst.

Those on deck were still thrown to and fro by the force of the waves, and it was a Herculean trial to bail out the water that crashed and broke over the rail. There was an eerie silence on deck, as though everyone waited for the final lurch that would capsize the Chimaera.

The air crackled, lightning flashing around them as Jack held her steady, tracking the storm and praying for a miracle.  Was this what his dream had foretold?  The Pearl's sails lined in flashes of white?  He held to the helm, his arms aching.  He couldn't let her ride too long, lest they dash themselves into the reefs as the tempest made landfall, and he kept easing her to open waters, always sou'-west, away from the treacherous currents. 

The wind began to rise again as they rode out the far rim of the storm, growing wild and eerie, flashes of light dancing around the nest.  It blew one great gust that nearly wrenched Jack from the wheel.

His hands were white-knuckled, eyes trained on the tiny sliver of clear grey, due west and he swore, prayed, promised as he hadn't in too long.

The skies grew lighter, so slowly, as Jack fought towards it.  The Chimaera shuddered and moaned, the wreck of the mainsail whining.  He could feel her heartbeat, thrumming through the depths far beneath them, and he smiled as the rain eased and became soft as a spring shower.

The wind hiccupped a tiny rumble of thunder and died away as a golden beam streaked across the soaking deck.  Jack shook the hailstones from his hair and leaned forward against the wheel.  "Brave lass.  Yer a fine, wonderful girl.  Pearl, my heart. Milady Chimaera, thank you.  Thank God."

James clutched the rail, heavily panting. He'd scaled the rigging God knew how many times, the barely-healed rope burns on his palms ripped open from sliding to the deck rather than risking the climb. He was dizzy and elated.

Silence yielded to relieved laughter, to roared cheers. James merely looked up to the helm and nodded.

Jack was draped over the wheel and glanced up, grinning.  Jensen rose from where he'd braced himself on the deck to help hold the wheel steady, staring at Jack as if he were possessed. Hamilton had crossed himself enough times to earn a plenary indulgence.  Spanish Jack was clearly completely mad.  Only a madman would have tried to race God Himself and win. 

Jack winked at the gaping Norwegian.  "Take her from here, mate." 

Hamilton shook his head.  "Ya belong with sidhe!"

Jack laughed as he hauled himself into the shrouds.  "Hey, Jensen!  Don't forget to turn her 'round, aye?"

Longthorpe trotted up to Hamilton, pointing.  We've had the devil's luck not t'lose the mainmast.  Main forestay an' the starboard rig tore, and so's the topsail.  Lost the bowspirt.  Damned lucky, if I might say so, Cap'n."

"Aye, the devil's own luck.  Bring her around, Jensen, and get us back on course."  Hamilton wondered if the Madonna would forgive a quick nip, despite all his promises not to touch a dram.  His eyes followed Jack into the rigging, wide and nervous.  The damned Spanish bastard had a magic light around him, it seemed.  Who in hell was Jack Sbarra?

Jack shifted along the footropes to join James, checking sails and yards for further damage.  He worked his fingers raw and the whole crew was bustling long into twilight before Hamilton called for them to separate into their watches, allowing those who had fought the storm from the first to take a bit of supper and well-deserved rum rations.

Jack descended and watched him expectantly.  The Irishman almost backed up a step.  "G'wan below, Spanish.  An' don't get too drunk.  I need ya here in four hours."  Jack smiled and nodded his cheerful little bow.  "Dinna look at me like that!  Ye'd scare th' banshees back t'hell.  G'wan."

James had descended right behind Jack and stood there, dripping wet and exhausted. He stood still, as much at attention as his shivering body could muster.

Hamilton gladly looked at him instead of Spanish Jack's deep, unreadable eyes.  The hair on the back of his neck was bristling.  "You too, Norbury.  Take that madman t' the galley and get yerself some rum.  Both of ya, back here in four."

"Aye, Sir." James didn't gloat. He was too relieved that they had gotten through alive. He took Jack by the arm and they went below, shivering.

The stove was hot and all below huddled close to it as Cookie passed out rum and began to prepare a hot stew and tea - throughout the storm, it had been too dangerous to use the stove and open its hatch for even a few seconds.

Jack accepted the rum and drank it down in one gulp.  He was well aware of the silence as he and James ventured near the stove; the way several of the men backed away, eyeing him as though he'd grown three heads.  Good.  Let the bastards learn how a real pirate works.  He grinned at James.  "Nice weather we're havin', ain't it, luv?"

"Bloody idiot," James repeated with another grin, palms gripping the mug tightly as though it were filled with warm liquid. He sipped from it, but when Cookie finished the tea, he took that instead and passed his rum to Jack. He noticed the eerie silence, the half-scared and superstitious glances.

He could not deny a little shiver of his own, one that had nothing to do with the cold. He had barely seen Jack at the helm, only quick glances through wind and weather, but he knew the glint that had been in his eyes, the one that had made Hamilton back away from him.

It had been a mad gamble, worthy of any of Jack Sparrow's tales, and still, somehow, they had been safe, as though all the stories were true and Jack really had a pact with Poseidon, as though he always managed to skew reality somehow.

James shook his head and punched Jack's arm. He was as solid as any of them, that he well knew. "You are a madman, Jack. Mad enough to scare even the finest sailors witless."

The ice broke into protesting shouts and outraged mutters, then uneasy laughter.

"Blame the gods and thank 'em she's such a lovely, brave lass."  Jack's smile was enigmatic as he raised his mug.  "The Chimaera."  His voice dropped to a whisper.  "And you, my Pearl."  The cheer was taken up all around and the stillness eased to nervous conversation.  Jack blinked and shivered.  "Think I could use a bit o' rest, mate."

"If you expect that I shall let you go below with your dripping wet clothes and freeze, you are mistaken. The place here at the stove is fine for now." James shook his head, looked up shyly, then pulled Jack into his arms to keep warm.

Jack nestled against him, then looked up, that smile on his lips, as though he knew the secret that had delivered them from the storm but would never divulge it.  "Everyone's wet.  Can't be hoggin' all the heat, luv."  He thought about pulling off his soaked coat but it was far too lovely to sit in comfort with his arm around James' waist, head drooping onto his damp shoulder.  There was another bout of laughter and a small cheer.

"Glad you two made it up."

"We was bettin' on a good knuckle-duster."

"Or a shag!"

Bertie leaned towards James.  "Get him below and warm him up."  Jack laughed softly and yawned, already half-asleep.

James arched an eyebrow and chuckled, brushing the wet hair from Jack's face, combing the wild tangles with his fingers. They stayed until their clothes were almost dry and Jack was fast asleep.

James carried him below under cheers, relieved laughter and loud appraisal of the benefits of being alive.

With a half smile, James pulled both their coats and boots off before lying down in a hammock, huddled together still.

Jack stirred a little and clung.  The sparrow might not have found home, but he'd discovered a roost that felt like home.  It was enough.

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