Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 21

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Hippediva & Elessil

James tore himself from the helm and went below to their cabin, rummaging through sea chests, discarding piece after piece of clothing to be found in them, cursing softly under his breath.

There was a cravat, tinted with blood, which he eyed with displeasure, and a Spanish Admiral's coat would quite possibly be even worse than just a torn shirt and dirty breeches. He scowled at another scarlet coat and gave in to the urge to toss it across the room.

Jack leaned against the doorframe, watching him with an amused smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  "I've a feelin' I know wot yer lookin' for, mate.  Somethin' dignified, without bullet holes or bloodstains?"

"If you were to pull such attire from your tricorn, I would be much obliged." James was kneeling on the deck in a pile of clothes, neatly ordered into women's clothing and 'too gaudy for a return from captivity'.  Then his hands slowed in their quest and he looked up, and rose, a shy smile on his face. "I'm coming home after more than half a year. I don't want them to see me....like this."

Jack's lashes fluttered at those last two words but he dove into the open chests with a bark of a laugh.  He hefted a few crates and explored one shoved into a corner.  "Let's see wot's in here.  Never did go through it all."  His grin caught at the light, fool's gold and forced.  "Got too distracted."

He poked around, cursing when he encountered something sharp, finally pulling up a coat, the blue very dark and sober.  Spanish, he imagined, and beautifully made, nearly new.  "Would this do?  There's britches, too."

James nodded. "Thank you." He tried it on, and but for a few creases that would straighten, it fit well. "Just one thing." He dove back into the chests, but the only cravat in sight was the bloodied one. He sighed and tied his shirt's sleeve around his neck.

Blue and white, after a proper wash and shave, and his hair tied back into a neat queue, he almost looked the Commodore again, but for the brown colour of his face and the braids in his sunbleached hair.

"Now just wait a minute!  You can't go back with a rag 'round yer neck and a sail needle fer a stickpin!"  All he could see of Jack was the seat of his breeches as he dug around in the chests.  He rummaged through the ladies' garments and held up a chemise of butter-soft white silk.  "Aha!  And a little o' this..."  One hand grabbed for a pelisse, extravagantly trimmed in fine Valenciennes lace.  "Now all we need is a needle an' some thread."

He grinned at James, then it faded, ebbing away like the sun ducking behind a cloud.  Norrington---it was undeniably Norrington---stood a bit straighter, his posture more military than it had been for months.

Jack swallowed hard and pillaged the ladies' unmentionables.

James paused, slipped away to fetch needle and thread from sickbay. When he returned to the cabin, Jack was sitting there, looking utterly ridiculous with fine ladies' garments  all over his lap, but the expression in his eyes did not fit. James bent and kissed his neck, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Pirates do not look mournful or let their lips quiver like deprived children.  Jack told himself countless times to 'buck up' and ‘stop 'bein' an ass' while he threaded the needle.  He slashed one seam of the chemise with his bootknife, measured about an ell, then ripped it from hem to neck.  The sound made him feel a little better and he settled down, cross-legged, under the lamp to stitch the two pieces together.  "So where ya gonna go first, luv?  The Guv'nor?  The Fort?"

"I believe it is not a matter of choosing. There is little doubt Governor Swann shall find me in the Fort as soon as he hears of my return and then besiege me with more questions than could be answered in a week's time. Of course, I have yet to... adjust the tale a little." James sat down and watched, sparing a grin for the needlework. "Will I be wearing a square sail for a cravat?" he teased.

"Don't be daft!  It needs joinin' lengthwise."  Jack looked up and laughed.  "Don't even ask!"  His eyes were playful again.  "Knew we'd made good time the way we raced 'round the Cape."  His head was bent over the work and he shoved his hair back with an impatient hand.

James took the dark hair between his hands, smoothed it back and tied it loosely with the length of green grosgrain that had held his own hair. "Jack Sparrow, pirate and cravat tailor. That sounds fine."

"Only by commission durin' the fashionable season."  Jack re-threaded the needle and began to seam the silk.  "Don't have a flatiron about but you must be turned out proper."  He paused, momentarily serious.  "Jamie, wot are ya gonna tell 'em?"

James hesitated. He had considered the question, often enough, but without reaching a satisfying conclusion, partially because whenever he took on what Jack called the 'broody look', he was teased methodically until it would disappear. "As little as possible, and as close to the truth as I may."

"Yer gonna hafta think.  They'll want all sorts o' details.  Why not tell 'em a great fire-breathin' dragon made off with you and ya ended up in a palace only to return by flyin' carpet."  Jack's grin was glum.  "Really, luv, they're gonna pester you to death."

"What do you suggest I tell them? That I slept with - and collaborated with - Captain Jack Sparrow? That I condoned and even participated in acts of piracy?" James' face softened and his hand dropped. "I am not used to inventing stories to veil the truth."

Jack stabbed the needle through the fabric viciously.  “They'd believe the dragon more like!" he muttered, then sighed.  "No, yer right.  Tell 'em the truth, 'cept fer me.  Just tell 'em I were some Spanish bugger.  And wot d'ya plan to tell them about how you got home?"

Again James hesitated. Lying seemed as filthy and wrong as ever, but the truth itself he could not relate, not that anyone would believe it. "I think I will omit 'bugger' in the description. And I doubt anyone would believe the commandeering. It will inevitably raise the question as to why the crew would follow either of us, and that is a matter I cannot and will not explain to the Admiralty. I think it would be best if I told them I escaped in Bombay and worked my passage home on another ship."

Jack nodded, the needle between his teeth as he fumbled for another length of thread.  He squinted to get it through the eye.  "Prob'ly best.  They'll want names and suchlike.  Make up somethin' foreign they can't check."  He looked up with that mournful expression again.  "Have ya told the kid?"

James bit the inside of his lip and looked down, then shook his head. "Not yet. I didn't know what to tell him. I have no wish to lie to him but I cannot tell him the truth."  He sighed. "They may never know who James Norbury really is."

Jack hummed an assent.  "Yer gonna hafta tell young Mattie somethin', luv."  He stopped and stared at the material on his lap.  "Are you sure of this?  Y'know a lot can happen in so many months."  Jack gnawed on his lip exactly the way Matthew did when unhappy or confused.  "I mean, they likely think yer dead and God knows wot they've done."

James half-smiled, a wistful little grimace as he fetched Jack's flask. "I am sure, Jack. This was my goal all these months, to return home. I won't let that be taken from me by Hamilton. Port Royal has kept its place in my heart, and likewise, they will have a place for me." He said it with such conviction, it was difficult to dispute.

Jack smiled then suddenly leaned forward and kissed James hard.  "Hope so, luv."  He lost the needle and found it by stabbing himself in the thigh.  "Ow!"  He sniffed and went back to his work.

"Do you wish to go back to watching over harems?" James knelt beside Jack's lap and pressed a soft kiss to the thus injured thigh. Then he looked up, the same conviction as before in his eyes, but softer somehow. "That I cannot mention you in any report to anyone does not mean I will forget what happened."

"I know, luv."  Jack's voice was husky and he forced a grin.  "Besides, I told ya I'm comin' back fer you.  One fine day, I'll climb in through a window and shock yer housekeeper."

James smiled. "Of course you will. Please don't scare her away. She is a fine cook, and I have no wish to hire Cookie." He wanted to believe it, all too much, that this was not over when he returned to Port Royal, but even if Jack came once, how long would it last? Until the risk grew too high for both of them? Or worse, until that risk caught up?

Jack tapped the side of his head and shook his own.  "Don't start thinkin' about it, mate.  Bad luck."  His mouth twitched into a smile.  "You'd be amazed at how small the Caribe can be."  He took his frustration out in turning his work inside-out and cutting the lace away from the hem of the heavy wrap.

"After sailing half-way ‘round the world, it will seem small enough," James answered eventually. Suddenly, restlessness possessed him, and he could not sit still and watch Jack sew any longer. "I should speak to Matthew. There is no point in delaying it any further."

Jack nodded.  "I'll have this done and see about them britches."  He didn't glance up but once, after James had shut the door, but that look wanted to drag him back and tie him to the bed with silk and lace until the seas froze.

James found Matthew busy with his trencher in the galley. Andre had produced something obviously sticky and sweet into which the boy dug with appetite. James took a mug of grog and sat down next to him. "Good evening, lad."

Matthew's eyes were the colour of blueberries in high summer, dark and sheened with silver.  "Hullo, James.  What coat is that?"  He sucked the final bit of Andre's dried fruits boiled in sugar syrup and port off his fingers.

"Jack found it for me." James sipped from his grog. Matthew's look was wide, innocent, full of trust, and stabbed like a knife. He forced a smile and waited until Matthew had finished. "Will you go topside with me for a moment?"

"Course!  We're going to fence?  I'm gettin' better at the lunging part."  His small face broke into a grin as he bounded away to bring his trencher and spoon to Andre and bounced up the steps after James.

James beckoned the boy to the bow, leaning against the rail. "We can fence later," he promised. "But first I must tell you something."

"Are you fighting with Jack again?"  Matthew's face was screwed into a teasing grin.  He started to gnaw on his lip at James' serious expression.

"No, little one, and if I were, I would not discuss it with you." James' eyes danced off the bow, into the distance, then returned and focused. "You probably know we are bound for Port Royal now, Matthew. I will go ashore there."

"But Jack says we ain't stopping till Tortuga.  Are we going to make port there?  I've never seen it."  The boy's eyes were wary and curious.  Matthew was no fool:  he knew when adults were trying to say something difficult.  They always looked like they were dying for a chamberpot.

James shook his head and put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "No, I will go ashore alone in a longboat. Jack cannot risk making port there." He paused. "Matthew, this won't be shoreleave. I will stay in Port Royal."

The boy stared.  "Yer not comin' with us to Tortuga?"  His small mouth opened, then closed.  "Why?"

James' fingers on his shoulders tightened a bit. "Port Royal is my home. There are people there for whom I am responsible. They rely on me, and I will return to them."

"But---but what about Jack?  An' Bertie and me and everyone?"  The blue eyes were starting to shimmer.  Matthew reminded himself that big lads who'd gone all the way to Bombay did not cry.  "W-will you come back?"

James wished he could say yes, for the sake of those building tears and the helpless look that reminded him he had a responsibility here as well. But he would not lie, breed false hope he could not but disappoint. "That is unlikely, Matthew."

The boy struggled for a long moment, then simply threw himself at James and held on desperately.  "Please don't go, James.  Please."

James closed his arms around him and rocked him gently. He wondered when he had cried the last time, wondered what he'd done to make a little boy cry for him. "I cannot, Matthew. Perhaps one day, you will understand."

Matthew clung tight, then took a deep breath and straightened the way he'd seen James do when he had to be brave.  He snuffled and swiped at his nose with one sleeve.  "I-I'm sorry.  I h-hope yer kin are well and....and you..."  His eyes squeezed shut and he turned and ran back down the hatch.

James stared after him, itching to follow, to give comfort he knew he could not give.  So he just stood there, a silent statue at the bow looking out over the waves, melancholy and proud.

Jack was awake before the sun and spent more time than he cared to admit watching James sleep.  Silent as a ghost, he slipped out of bed and laid out the fine suit, a waistcoat only mildly gaudy in gold brocade, a pristine new shirt, the cravat and James' worn boots.  He tried to scrub some sort of shine on them to no avail, then dug into one of the small boxes littering the desk and thrust a stickpin with a discreet emerald through the cravat.  Atop it all, he laid James' tricorn

For a moment, he stood, staring down at James with clouded eyes, then pressed a swift kiss to his forehead and fled topside.

At the kiss, James woke, resisting the urge to turn, to stretch and reach. They would approach Port Royal soon, and there simply was no time for dawdling in bed, no matter how pleasant the purpose. He dressed slowly, reverently, as if the careful wearing of clean, gentlemanly clothing was something unknown to him, and, at the same time, precious. He glanced at the mirror.

Tall and straight, the blue almost Navy, like the first simple coats he had worn without gold braid. Only his hair hung untamed, sunstreaked locks with braids amidst them, hanging past his shoulders. He smoothed them back, twisted the braids beneath his strands, then tied them back. When he joined Jack on the quarterdeck, Jamaica's coastline was already visible.

"There she is, mate.  Port Royal soon as we pass that outcroppin' of rock."  Jack stared at the horizon. "Yer sure you wanna do this, Jamie?"

James did not speak, he only nodded. Jack knew the answer well enough and asking again did not change any of the reasons why he returned, had to return. There was anticipation, the joy of returning home, but there was no point in denying the distinct melancholy. "Home," was all he said eventually.

"Aye, luv.  Home."  Jack turned from the wheel with a small smile.  "You look dashin'.  I should get that boat ready."  He looked down at the deck.  "Here.  You hold 'er on course.  I'll be back."  He stomped down the steps telling himself over and over that he was home, too.  It didn't work.

James took the wheel, held it steady. There was a groan from deep in the hull, the wind hissing between the sails in a near-wail. He smoothed his hand soothingly over the wood, then started and returned it to grip the spokes.

He steered her past the rock, the same one from behind which the Pearl had sailed into sight so many months ago. But the waters were familiar, and there, in the harbour, the Dauntless loomed, quiet and proud. He smiled and was looking at her when Jack returned to the quarterdeck.

"All ready fer ya, luv.  Take her in far as ya dare.  I don't wanna have to outrun the gunners at the Fort.  James, listen."  Jack's voice was low and his tongue tripped over itself more than once.  "I'll be in Tortuga fer a while.  I-I gotta see if I can get word of the Pearl."  Beneath his feet, he could feel the ship fighting the slow turn into the harbour, her moans cutting him to the heart.  "If ya need me, leave word at the Faithful Bride, aye?"

"Aye, Jack. And.... thank you." James looked ahead, and barked out the orders to tack. His voice dropped low. "If I read anything of her whereabouts, I will let you know." He passed the wheel to Jack, lips clinging for a moment in a kiss before he turned towards the stairs and the boat waiting for him.

Jack held onto the helm with one hand and grabbed at James' sleeve.  "Tell her you love her, mate.  She'll never behave if ya don't."  He blinked a few times and wrestled with the wheel:  Penelope was fighting him for her Odysseus.

"Most fine lady, I would appreciate it if you allowed your Captain to steer into harbour so that I may leave." James' fingers tightened for a fleeting moment. "Farewell, Jack. Until next time, and may you find your Pearl soon."

It was an earnest wish, and he seemed so sincere and proud as he walked to his boat, eyes fixed on the port they were approaching, then, as the boat was lowered, fixed on the quarterdeck again, hand raised in a salute that had nothing to do with the Navy and everything with respect.

Jack watched him row for long minutes before heading back out to open sea.  He blamed his soggy vision on the wind in his face and beneath him, the ship shuddered.  He leaned forward, his lips close to the spokes of the wheel.  "Hush, luv.  Hush.  He'll be back fer you.  Y'know he will.  Someday. 'Till then, you trust ole Jack an' he'll take good care of ya."

Matthew watched from aloft. He was sitting huddled on one of the crosstrees, staring as James' shape grew smaller and smaller in the distance. He lifted a hand to wave, and if he cried, at least there was no one close to see it.

Jack stayed at the helm for the rest of the watch, silent except for the times he spoke to the ship.  He didn't come to the galley for supper and Matthew found him in his cabin, quietly putting all the strewn contents of the seachests in order.  He looked up from slowly folding James' old, stained shirt and smiled.  "Hullo, barnacle."

Matthew sniffled. His eyes were rubbed dry and red, and he crept close and clung. He didn't speak for long minutes, and his voice was very tentative when he did. "I miss James."

Jack's arms tightened.  "I do too, mate."  He meant to go on; to say that trying to dissuade James from anything was a bad gamble, that the man's sense of duty was bloody impossible.  He didn't.  He just held on to Matthew for a bit and hoped that, with enough rum, he wouldn't feel quite so empty.

They ended curled in the big bed, Jack's face buried in James' pillow while Matthew snuffled.  He promised himself a good long drunk once they made port in Tortuga.

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