PV19: Discipline and Sacrifice

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: The Rodent Empire owns them. We pilfer.
Originally Posted: 6/23/06
Note: Our sincerest and hearty thanks to smtfhw for her excellent beta.
Warnings: Potential spoilerish appearances for those who are adamant
Summary: Tension and temptation follow the Chimaera around the cape as she sails westward.

There is another cast portrait in this chapter.

He hunched into his coat, easing her with the current and the wind picked up from behind to blow his hair into a tangle.

"You cannot see where you are heading us, Captain," James said with a chuckle as he took the wheel from him. He had steered her 'round the Cape and was used to the sly, knowing grin that Jack always wore when giving the helm to him.

The wind caught in his hair, tied back into a tidy queue and tickling at his bare neck, making him smile. The currents were easy and he held fast with only one hand, the other resting on the smooth wood, warm in the morning sun.

"Don't need to now, do I?" Jack watched him under his lashes. "She loves you, that's fer sure, Jamie." He lounged back against the rail and slid to sit on the deck, digging in his coat pocket until he remembered that his whittling was down in the galley. "You belong to her now, y'know."

James barked a laugh. "Jack, she is a ship. I realise you hear strange voices in your head, but blaming the ship is unfair. She's far too fine a lady for that."

Jack smirked and pulled out a clay pipe, biting a bit of tobacco from a twist and shoving it in the bowl. "Got a flint? No?" He used his pistol, which, fortunately for everyone on deck, was not loaded. "Yer foolin' yerself. She does love you and you love her right back. It could be wonderful. Think of it, luv. Yer very own ship."

"I have a ship, Jack. The whole point of this is to get back to her and all she entails. Certainly, the Pen--Chimaera is a fine ship and her Captain a lucky man, but that does not mean that she can love." James' second hand slid up the spoke at a little shimmy, holding her steady as the cross-currents pulled at her.

Jack shushed him and sucked at the pipe, puffing like Mattie's dragon with the soup. "Don't be cruel to her. I mean it. Wot say you stay with this lovely lady?" Jack gnawed a little on the pipe stem. He might have need of the Chimaera---Jamie's Penelope---should the Pearl be in the wrong hands or worse.

He sighed out a cloud of smoke. He would know if something had happened to her. Deep in his bones, of that, he was sure. Whether or not he would have to chase her for another decade was much less certain. He could only hope she was still in Gibbs' hands.

For the first time, James really looked up from the wheel. "I have a home to get back to, Jack." His voice was low, and a little bit cold; firm. "My place is Port Royal, the Dauntless, my duty as protector of those people." His gaze dropped again to the Chimaera's deck, and he could not say he was not tempted. His ship.

Truly his ship, not a loan from the Crown that could be taken from him at any time, even by means of a so-called promotion. He straightened and shook his head. "I do not have the makings of a pirate, Jack. I will not spend my life running from the same law I once protected. I have a duty and an obligation to return."

Jack smoked in silence for a few minutes. "James, y'think everything'll be the same back there? We've been gone more than half a year, another month, maybe two, before we make port. Far as anyone knows, we could be long dead."

James' brow drew tight, and he shook his head, violently. "Perhaps they think me dead, yes. That does not mean Port Royal is no longer my home."

Jack grunted an absent agreement and wondered if Gibbs had ever received that letter. He certainly could not have written Governor Swann and had not been about to let Gibbs know that Norrington was with him, lest old Navy attachments make him do something stupid like try for Port Royal. That would have been unthinkable: to put the Pearl in danger of capture. Still, he wondered, stifling his uneasy conscience, and hoped, for James sake, that his place at Fort Charles awaited. For himself, all he wanted was his Pearl, although the thought of having no James around was distinctly melancholy. The Penelope seemed to echo his thoughts with a creaking groan.

James returned his attention to their course without another word. Two months. It seemed almost short now that a clear destination was set. Home, actually within his grasp. Would it feel as if there were something missing? Jack had once said he would return for him. But even if Jack dared, James was not sure.

Jack reminded himself to confess the letter to James sometime and promptly forgot about it as that broody look crossed the green eyes. "Y'know, there's a lotta ways of sneakin' around t'see someone, Jamie." His gaze was innocent and he petted the deck with one hand. "She's gonna need a good careenin'. Best to see if I can fit her keel with copper. Really helps with the worms."

"So you are going to keep her? Commodore Jack Sparrow?" James called for Van, passed him the wheel and sat down next to Jack. "Do me a favour. Don't be twice the nuisance you were, else it will be difficult to avoid chasing after you."

"Let's just say I'll take care o'her for you." Jack grinned and tapped his ash over the side. "You look lovely standin' there." He pulled James close for a quick kiss. "I gotta get below. I'm gettin' chilblains on me bum it's still so cold!"

He clattered down the steps, turning once to watch James. On his way down to the galley, he paused, fingers stroking the handrail. "Don't you fret, luv. He's just a bloody stubborn bugger. I know he adores you." He continued to talk all the way down the steps.

James caught up with him at the hatch. "Let's see if Andre has some of that coffee left." Jack laughed and threw an arm around James' shoulder, glad of any reason to grin away the clouds.

There was an enormous crash from the galley and Jack looked up at James, his eyes wide.

"Goddamn, ya heathen son of a dog, I'll slit yer gizzard!" Griffin's voice boomed as Matthew ran right into them.

Ivan leapt to knock Griffin over the upturned table, fists like hams flailing. The broad sailor grabbed hold of his beard and slammed Ivan into the waiting crewmembers who shoved him back.

Jack's voice cut through the din like an icy wind. "Wot in fuck is goin' on here!"

Berkely rushed forward to try and separate them, butting Griffin aside with one shoulder. "Damn the two o' ya! Get clear! Bertie, Vorst, get 'em apart."

It was never clear who got hold of a blade or how, but there was another crash as they fought, then a yell and Berkely went down.

Jack had his swordbelt off and slammed it across Ivan's back, elbowing Griffin out of the way. "STAND DOWN! NOW!

James knelt above Berkely, pressing both hands hard against the bleeding wound in his shoulder. "Andre, hot water, quick. Matthew, bring bandages, needle and thread."

The two scurried off, glad to escape the eerie silence that followed, Griffin and Ivan glancing at Berkely, then Jack, suddenly wordless.

Jack wheeled on them, his eyes like fire. "Damn you both. I swear I won't stint the rope myself if ye've killed him." His voice was deadly soft. "Get 'em both in the brig. I'll deal with it later. Berks? Bertie, Jan, get that table right. MOVE!"

Berkely groaned as James ripped his shirt to examine the slash, then pressed it hard against the wound to stem the bleeding. "It's long, and deep where the knife entered. " Matthew came running back, breathless and fearful.

Jack knelt beside James, his jaw quivering, anger still sparking from every pore. "Get him on the table. Cookie, get me rum." He took a shaky breath and stood, glaring as Vorst and Jan hustled the two combatants out of the galley. The silence was tense. "I need light here. Get some lamps." Fully half the watchers bolted to find candles and lanterns.

It took four men to get big Berkely laid on the table, blood still pouring from the wound, leaving puddles that dripped onto the deck. "Jesus Christ! James, keep a hold of that. Don't let up the pressure until I'm ready. Berks? Berkely, can ya hear me?"

Jack forced himself to grin. "Y'know, if ya wanted extra rum rations, ya coulda asked, mate. Mattie, hold the mug for him." Jack turned his attention to the wound, probing around James' hand gently. "Jamie, how deep is it? Can ya tell if it hit anythin' vital?"

James shook his head. "Not the lung. Three inches where the knife entered, maybe more. It gets shallower down his chest."

Andre brought over a big basin of hot water and Jack worked swiftly, washing away the blood and gingerly parting the ragged edges of flesh. "Hold that lamp higher. Over a little. More light, dammit! Shite. Berks, luv. Yer gonna have a nice pirate scar, mate." He looked over at James. "Keep that clear and get as much rum in him as ya can. I've gotta clean this out. Can't see wot I'm doin'."

James cleared the blood away as Jack worked, pressing tight to stem the flow. Berkely began thrashing, until Bertie grasped his hand, coaxing him to drink rather than fight.

Jack grimaced. "Hold on, Berks. Just you hold on, mate." He splashed a full mug of rum over the wound and Berkely screamed, the sound piercing to the bilges. Thankfully, he passed out and Jack flamed the needle, then doused it in more rum.

He worked methodically, his fingers quick and careful. The gash was long, deep where it pierced dangerously close to the armpit and slicing up over Berkely's broad arm. Five times, the injured man roused and went still by the time Jack had finished stitching and blood still oozed from the wound. He glanced at Matthew whose small face was turning ghastly white. "Mattie! Someone catch him."

James made a grab for the boy when he fell, leaving red handprints on his shirt as he cradled him securely. He hissed a curse under his breath, passed Matthew to Jan, then helped Jack to yank the bandage tight.

It took another hour for them to finally staunch the bleeding and get Berkely wound in more bandages, secured with strips torn from the finest, cleanest shirt Jack could find. When he regained consciousness, they were able to settle him in his cabin. Jack had ransacked the medicine chest and applied plenty of some Chinese potion to the wound and he stank of it, sharp and green. He looked at James with tired eyes, every line in his face showing starkly but couldn't seem to make himself talk.

Once Berkely was fast asleep, they retired to their cabin. Without a word, James pulled both their shirts off and soaked them in a basin, then fetched a rag to gently mop the blood from Jack. "What now?"

"Jesus." Jack's brow was furrowed and he took the rag to wipe a streak of red from James' face. His lower lip was caught between his teeth and he lowered his eyes. "I need a bloody drink."

James fetched him the bottle and for a little while, they passed it silence. "Seems as if Matthew will not be the new ship's surgeon."

Jack laughed softly. "Poor little bugger. Don't think he's ever seen such a wound before. He's lucky."

"Yes. So much blood." James did not mention that the crew likely was out there, waiting for their captain's reaction, expecting it. "What now, Jack?"

Jack sighed heavily. "Suppose I'll have t'do somethin' fast. I meant wot I said, James. If Berks don't make it, I'll kill 'em both m'self."

"Right. But if you tell that to the crew, they will say you are courting bad luck. You have to punish them, and you have to do it now."

"I know." Jack's face twisted painfully. "Suppose I gotta use the cat. God, I hate it. But yer right, it can't wait." He swallowed more rum and suddenly, buried his face in his hands.

James laid an arm on his shoulder and squeezed. He knew Jack did not like punishments. He was like a child, wondering why it could not be all sweets; his reaction to anyone interfering with that fun was a pout more often than not. "I will do it," James said, "but you have to be there."

Jack pulled himself up and smiled at James, only a shadow of the pout visible. "I know. Thanks, James." James was kind enough not to notice that he took another big drink before they descended to the brig together.

Jack eyed the culprits through the bars and wondered if Ivan had tried the door, suppressing a smirk. "I'm not a hard man and I don't interfere in yer bloody quarrels, but I won't have such shite on me decks, both o' you."

It was funny, he thought. The words were almost the same as Hamilton's over his knife-fight with Griffin. Maybe James was right and they should have left him in Bombay. Jack stood a little straighter. "I don't hold with such nonsense and I should just toss ya both overboard." He let that sink in, watching both faces sharply. Ivan looked like his hangover was already starting. Griffin just glared.

"I should gut ya both fer makin' this necessary. Fifty each and I don't have t'tell ya wot I'll do if the worst happens."

James could feel how Jack was quivering. "Get off yer arses." He drew his sword and nodded to James, his face a mask.

He unlocked the cells. "Do not think I will hesitate for a moment to run you through if you attempt anything stupid."

Griffin stared at him in fury, then bent his head and dragged up the stairs after Ivan.

James had ordered a grating rigged and most of the crew had assembled around it, parting as he stepped forward and tied Ivan to it.

Jack watched from the quarterdeck and looked down at the faces, his own set and strained. "I promised you all a square deal. We keep to the Code, we share the profit. I've led you all to the kind of plunder most take years t'get in a mere two months. Have I not been good as me word? You lot put yer faith in me and I've given all ye asked and more. But I will not let anyone in this crew put his mates in jeopardy. I'm a sailor and a pirate an' the Code asks blood for blood."

He swallowed hard. "If there's anythin' I hate more than the lash, it's bein' forced to use it. Ivan, Griffin. You both let yer little quarrel put every single man aboard in danger. Far as I'm concerned, ye've been left behind. Consider this a warnin' because I won't hesitate to toss the next man who does such a thing off this ship with me own hands. Do I make m'self clear?"

No one stepped forward to their defence. The answer was a resounding, "Aye, Captain," a chorus much more grim than the usual cheerful carousing. James stepped forward and took the Bo'sun's place, swinging the cat.

He had never exacted a punishment himself and had ordered only few. A captain required respect, and the lash could not create that. But respect demanded discipline, and sometimes, the cat was the captain's last means to enforce it. His eyes wandered to Jack's, hidden under the brim of his tricorn, but watching, still for once.

After two dozen strokes, Ivan sagged against the grate, after the third, he hung from his bindings, shuddering as his blood dripped to the deck. James swallowed hard but kept his gaze and arm even as he let the last lashes fall.

Jack forced himself to watch, drawing some kind of grim strength from James or perhaps from the ship herself. Whatever angry disappointment lingered only served to stiffen his spine.

James jerked his head and Vorst stepped forward to untie Ivan, letting him sag to the deck as Griffin took his place.

Griffin, who had committed more crimes than James was willing to tolerate, who had attempted to ravish a woman, beat Jack, himself; who deserved the noose. The first blow crashed hard and Griffin screamed.

James took a deep breath and steeled himself. This punishment was for what they had done to Berkely, what both of them had done. Justice meant to punish them the same way, not to let one charge govern the punishment of another. The lash cracked again and he wielded it evenly, keeping anger and vengeance tightly locked away.

Griffin stood when Vorst untied him, stumbling against the rail and gripping it hard. Ivan was standing next to him and sneered.

"Griffin, you work the day, Ivan, the night. When you are not on watch, you will be in the brig. Each of you is responsible for the other. If one of you is not at work or in the brig when he should be, you will both answer for it. Any more fights, and you will find yourself here again. Is that clear?" James' voice was harsh, cool with Naval discipline, brooking no questios. "Now get yourself cleaned up and out of my sight."

Jack held up one hand for silence. "I don't want anymore of this sort of thing. Now, back t'work. Van, take the wheel. I'll be below." He stalked off the quarterdeck and into the Great Cabin.

"Jan, Karl, clean that up, then get fore and move the yards up. We're low in the water." The bloody cat still in his hand, James followed Jack.

Jack doubled over the basin, retching and rushed to empty it out the casement just as James opened the door. He gulped and pressed one hand to his mouth, struggling to keep himself calm.

James brought him a wet rag and a glass of water, leaning against the casement with a sigh, hovering close.

Jack coughed, tried to choke down the water and leaned far out of the casement as his stomach refused to be quelled. He took the rag and wiped his mouth, sinking into a chair, then sat silently, his head bowed.

James stood still, watching him sadly. So this was what Captain Jack Sparrow could not do. Discipline his crew, even when there was no other resort, no loophole through which he could slip. "It was necessary," James said softly. "The crew would have lost respect if you let this happen without reaction."

Jack nodded and fished in his boot for his flask. Reinforced by near-draining it, he looked up at James miserably. "I hate floggings."

"A man who likes floggings should never be in the position to order them." James knelt before him and with one hand, brushed a strand of hair away, then lingered over the tension in his shoulders.

"I know. I shouldn't be so yellow 'bout it. Honestly, Jamie, I've never had to do this much. Pirates know the Code. They know ya don't steal from or fight yer crewmates onboard. These--" his usual gesturing was subdued. "They don't know. They expect it." Jack blushed under James' eyes. "I know I don't have much of a stomach fer it, luv."

"I am glad you do not," was all James said for a while, until he rose, kissing Jack's forehead. "I will check on Berkely."

"Let me, luv. At least let me show me face again. I feel a bit of a fool, y'know." Jack still looked pale as he gave himself another swipe with the rag and grabbed a bottle. "If he's awake, he'll need a nip, aye?" His grin was strained.

"I do not envy him his hangover," James teased, slipping an arm round his waist, squeezing. "I will go with you."

Jack clanked into the galley and wandered from corner to corner, sprinkling a liberal amount from the bottle in hand to the deck. "And I jus' know yer gonna be so much happier back in the West Indies, luv. Now, let's get all them nasty whisky fumes offa yer decks. Damned Irish swill! Shouldn't be 'llowed shipboard if ya ask me." He paused to gulp down a generous swallow of his libations and continued into the causeway.

In the two weeks since the fight, the days had grown much warmer, but Jack had his donned coat to accommodate another two bottles. He was of the opinion that the bad blood between Ivan and Griffin was all the fault of not properly exorcising the Chimaera's former captain, and, with Berkely on the mend, had set about correcting that omission, to the stares and guffaws of his crew.

"I don't much hold with spilling good rum anywheres but down me gullet, luv, but you deserve the very best. I know, me sweet. He's as obstinate as Will Turner's bleedin' donkey. A lot prettier, though. He'll come 'round, you'll see. Now, aren't ya feelin' better, m'dear?"

"While I appreciate that you are not drinking it yourself, what, precisely, do you hope to attain by soaking the decks in rum?" James was leaning against the bulwark, arms crossed, smiling faintly.

Jack looked up from his non-stop 'conversation' and grinned, taking advantage of the pause to swill down another inch of liquid. "Just a precaution, luv. She needs a good overhaul, she does! And I'm terribly sorry, darlin'. I shoulda done this a lot earlier, but you know how 'tis. There, now, let's get in here an' take care of the crew too."

When Jack finished in the hold where their hammocks had hung on the voyage out, he left a strong fragrance of rum and a few damps spots on the deck.

James followed, shaking his head. He smiled fondly, hard pressed to remember the cold there when now it was unbearably hot in the narrow hold. "Are you speaking to the ship again?"

"Course-hic-course-hic-course I am! Who'd ya think I was talkin' to? Me shadow?" He patted the rail in the causeway with a lopsided smile. "She's such a lovely girl, isn't she, Jamie? An' I know this'll keep all them ugly whisky fumes at bay. Hic."

"Whisky caused delusions of grandeur, but rum obviously causes different delusions. Once and for all, Jack. The Chimaera is a ship. She cannot hear you, speak, or love. She is well-built, yes, a fine ship, but she has timbers and sails, not ears and mouth or heart."

James shook his head and crashed it hard against the lintel as the Chimaera lurched.

Jack giggled and leaned close to the bulwark, his fingers caressing the wood. "Shhh! No need t'beat it inta his head, is there sweetling? He's jus' bein' rational. Or is that rationale?" He looked up at James with an innocent, if faintly foggy, gaze. "Poor luv. Here. Hic. It'll help." He handed over the bottle and managed to press a sloppy kiss to James' shoulder.

James rubbed the back of his head, scowling. "Of course, if she were alive, this would indubitably prove that ships are women." The Chimaera rocked again, leaving Jack clinging to James' shirt for balance. James sniffed. "And you, my fine Captain, belong in bed to sleep off those rum fumes."

"Not done yet, luv. Gotta get th' orlop an' th-hic-bilges. Must finish it proper or I gotta start all over again. Whoa!" Jack wavered dangerously on the edge of the steps, then the Chimaera gave a little shimmy and righted him. "C'mon. Le's do it proper...jus' like you said. Do it once an' do it hic-proper."

James sighed. "Very well. Do you promise not to waft about the ship all night if I let you finish your valuable mission now?"

"Cross me heart, luv." Jack fumbled to get the second bottle open, leaving a dribbling trail of liquid behind him, making James' tiptoe to avoid slipping on little puddles of rum. He continued his bizarre 'blessing' all the way through the bilges, finally emptying the rest of the bottle in the very centre of the ship, knee-deep in water, to the extreme confusion of the rats.

James grabbed him from behind as he threatened to droop, the ends of his braids already miserably wet. He hoisted him up. "Done?"

Jack wheeled around in a grand gesture, his arms spread wide, slipped and fell backwards on his arse in the water, taking James with him. He laughed and threw an arm around James' neck, nuzzling. "Think we're done now, luv."

"Done here. Back in the cabin, you will need a wash." James maneuvered him up the stairs, the waves shaking the Chimaera so that Jack always tumbled against him. Back in their cabin, he tugged at the sodden clothes.

"Y'know, ya really should b'lieve me. She needed that! An' Berks'll be up on deck in 'nother week. Well, he will 'less I tie 'im t'the hammock." Jack swayed in James grip, smiling sweetly and plucking at his pocket for the final bottle.

"Whatever she needed, you definitely do not need that." James snatched the bottle away and locked it in the liquor cabinet, pocketing the key.

Jack managed a thunderous pout before falling over in a heap with an equally thunderous snore. Somehow, he managed to grin in his sleep and the Chimaera's shudder could only be construed as giggling, even to James.

Jack was back on deck before dawn the next morning, as always, leaving James to shake his head and wonder at the state of his liver. He'd shed his coat once more and was just peering at the endless horizon around them when something caught his eye, northeast of the Chimaera's position. He squinted and paused for a long moment, gnawing on his lip. Without a word he handed off the wheel to Van and bounced down to the galley to fetch some coffee. When he banged open the doors to the Great Cabin, James was just finishing shaving.

James scraped away the last bit of soap, washed, then threw himself into the chair with a sigh. It was hot, and even this brief time had reminded his body that there were places on earth where one was not constantly drenched in sweat. "Thank you." He poured them both a cup.

"Y'know, we're just south o' the shippin' lanes to New Spain, luv." Jack peeked over his cup and quickly shoveled a bit of hardtack into his mouth. The fresh flour was long-gone but Andre had taken to sprinkling ship's biscuit with leftover sugar by way of breakfast. It always kept the Captain in a cheerful mood.

"I am well aware of our course, Jack. What of it?" James frowned at the biscuit, then bit into it, swallowing it down with coffee.

"Just saw a nice little ship bit north of us, that's all." How Jack managed to look as though he were up to his neck in devilment and completely innocent at the same time, only the angels knew. He watched James carefully for any reaction.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, saw James' cup freeze half way to his mouth, which was thinned into a line. "So?" James' voice was sharp.

"Just thought I'd mention it." Jack shrugged and grinned at him. He did not mention the British Ensign the 'little ship' flew or the fact that it was headed towards New Spain, which meant it was likely loaded with cash for trading. James' chilly demeanor stopped him in his tracks and he bolted down the coffee. "Gonna check our currents, luv. It's gettin' a bit choppy."

He bounded back to the quarterdeck and watched the ship carefully, barely a pinpoint in the spyglass and swiftly disappearing over the horizon. If he wanted her, he'd have to make a swift decision but he had a very bad feeling his decision was already rendered by a pair of startled green eyes and a wide mouth that did not laugh.

James came to stand next to him, leaning heavily against the rail, staring out at the distance. "Don't." His voice was harsh, monotone; a warning wavering with the faintest hint of plea.

Jack gave him the same look that Matthew did when caught playing with his sword belowdecks. "Don't wot, luv? Just lookin'."

As James stomped down the steps, the lookout, one of the new Dutchmen, yelled "Sail Ho!"

Jack snapped the spyglass shut and rolled his eyes. "Shaddup, Fritz! She's too far off and are you tryin' to scuttle us? We've no room fer th' rats!"

He looked at where the ship had disappeared and for a moment, his right palm itched furiously and his nose gave a little twitch. He stared at the horizon until he was seeing spots and grimaced at the wheel, turning the Chimaera a bit further south and bellowed for Van.

"Keep her west-so'-west. I'm makin' a few course adjustments." His hands flew around aimlessly. "She's awful low in th' water and all." He disappeared into the Great Cabin and checked his charts, then sneaked a look at those prized and tempting shipping routes.

His smile twisted ruefully. "You'll never know how close ya came, little Englishman. How very very close." He penciled his sudden detour lightly on the chart and went topside, whistling.

James flinched at the sound, and yet dreaded its cessation, when Jack would call all hands, would call to run out the guns. He forced himself to keep his attention on little Matthew and his sword, leading him on a few steps, then chasing him until he fell over a coil of ropes, neatly demonstrating the importance of footwork.

The call never came. The noon-sun burned down, the day crept into a heated, stuffy afternoon, but the only shout was Matthew's when he tackled James to the deck. They tussled for a while, then James retreated to the Great Cabin to wash.

The chart lay unrolled on the desk and he crept closer, looking down at it with a frown. His eyes widened and he rushed to the hidden compartment to take out the shipping routes.

He stared at them, then at the map, back and forth, until a smile crept over his face. He stowed the charts away methodically.

That night, after they had retired to bed, Jack holding his arm captive as a pillow, James mentioned it. "I see you have changed our course, Captain."

"Takin' advantage of the currents, luv. She's so loaded she needs every l'il bit o' help we can give her." Jack looked up from under his lashes at James' chin.

"Of course she does. She deserves it." James bent to kiss his forehead, then nuzzled close to his ear. "Thank you."

Jack didn't answer but he was quite sure he deserved a halo. It wasn't easy to be the best pirate anyone had ever seen and pass up such pickings. He hid a sigh in James' shoulder and decided that a kiss would take the sting out of such selfless devotion.

Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 19

Discipline and Sacrifice