Wish 4

He had taken a moment last evening, after Norrington had fallen asleep, to clean himself and tuck himself away. The last thing he had done before retiring, curled about Norrington once more, was to take another few celebratory swigs of rum and pull the other blanket over James' bare legs. Still, Jack was a little stiff from how he slept, but fine. He was better than fine. He was absolutely, brilliantly dandy. He always felt this grand after a good and proper shag with a very pleasant conquest. Until now, that had been getting the prettiest whores and/or rent-boys in Tortuga to give him a tumble for free. This, however, trumped them all.

He had had James Norrington! Funny ol' world. Jack smiled brightly in the morning sunshine as he brought up the image in his mind's eye of James Norrington in his fancy commodore togs, silk, gold braid, brocade and all, his green eyes flashing displeasure. Then he overlaid that image with the remembrance of last night, holding his hips in his hands as he drove his arousal-heavy cock home again and again. Beautiful creamy white skin, blemished only very sparsely here and there by small pink scars, probably some old battle wounds, all lain before Jack in the purest posture of submission. Lovely.

Jack took a deep breath and sighed. He would make his James breakfast, he decided. The fire had gone out during the night, but the day was dry and sunny. Jack would find dry fuel and put on water for tea. It seemed a wonderful plan and Jack expected his tin cup to be missing. James would have it for his morning shave. Except, it wasn't missing. It was right where they had left it last night. Jack frowned. Then he abruptly turned on his heels, heading into the trees the way James had gone.

James was at the pool's edge where Jack had expected him to be. Once more, Jack hid to the side of the small rock outcropping. He observed from there the man he had bedded last night sitting beside the pool, his knees up, his arms wrapped about them and his face buried in the curl of his own body. The white shirt he wore was still not tucked into the white breeches, which were dusted over with dirt enough to make them a disreputable gray. Jack could hear no sounds, but he knew what he was witnessing as he watched Norrington's tense shoulders and bowed back shake. Jack no longer had a smile for his conquest.

Sometimes a man needs a moment alone.

I've seen men cry before. I know what it takes to make a grown man cry. A man at the end of his rope, looking at the bottom with no way to scratch back up again, that was when a man cried.

What Jamie had said that night, 'I have nothing left to lose but this?' Well, now he had lost that too. It only stood to reason that he would reflect on what he had finally surrendered to. It's a tough realization to come to grips with the fact that you are not what you always thought you were, and your world is not that place your parents and vicar told you it would be. It was bitter medicine to swallow that despite all you have seen and been through, you could be brought lower still.

I reckon that in his eyes, his lot had gone from bad to worse to know that he is indeed the wanton bugger that Beckett accused him of being.

But he's not what Beckett made him out to feel he was. He's not, and I'll swear on the Pearl to that. That lying swine, Beckett, for all his high breeding and fancy ways wouldn't know a truly fine gentleman if he was dropped at his doorstep in a dinghy.

James Norrington was above the likes of him.

... and the likes of me.

A man this low has two paths from which to choose. He can take that single ball to his brain, or he can move on. I have choices too. I could help him by giving him my pistol, or I could help him by showing him how impressively fine a gentleman he really is. Either choice presents problems involving the very possibility of those sticky emotional attachments.

Do I give him the kindness he needs? Is it too late for me and my seriously compromised sense of self-preservation (i.e., my depraved, heartless and greedy ways)? I guess the answer lies in the fact that I wouldn't be giving him my pistol, mate. That was decided as soon as that little solution presented itself to me mind.

In the end, Jack decided to take the chance and ventured in to the trees, following his nose. Fruit trees were usually surrounded by dropped fruit in various states of decomposition. Jack knew he need only follow any aroma of rotting fruit. He found a papaya tree, heavy with the melon-sized fruit. He returned with two before James finally stumbled out of the thicket looking tired and ill-used.

By that time, Jack had one of the paw-paws cut in half. He had used the pot as a tea kettle and poured James a steaming cup.

"Here, mate." Jack passed the tin cup towards James as he came to the edge of their camp. Jack made eye contact with James only briefly, noting the haggard and blood-shot look that was not necessarily directed at him. James looked blankly ahead, taking the cup from Jack unthinkingly.

Jack sat back down next to the fire, taking up a knife to cut a sliver of the papaya's sweet inner pulp.

Instead of answering, James took a sip of his tea. He then looked down into the cup, considering it for a moment. At last, he spoke.

"For a filthy scoundrel and a vile, depraved opportunist, you make a remarkably decent cup of tea."

Jack looked up at the man, smiling and gesticulating in his usual flamboyant manner, knife still in hand. "And that would be the very first compliment you've ever paid me. Could be the start of a new habit. Didn't fancy much that old one of yours anyway."

Jack gestured to Norrington to sit. Norrington looked down for another long moment, but then sighed and carefully lowered himself to the ground beside Jack, hissing sharply but quickly, trying his best to hide the discomfort of his well-used bum. Jack's smile widened, but not unkindly. He passed James the other half off the papaya.

James waved the papaya away, and, with a slight pout, Jack lowered the fruit to set it next to James' knee, if he changed his mind. They sat in silence, Jack eating his papaya half, occasionally scraping out more dark seeds, and James sipping his tea from time to time. The morning was bright and mild, but Jack could tell by the brilliance of the blue sky that this would turn into a hot and sweltering Caribbean day. There was only a hint of a sea breeze, and the ocean sparkled like miles of emeralds, moving and rolling as if alive.

"I owe you my thanks," James said. His softly spoken words took Jack off guard and he turned his head quickly, his eyes narrowing and then widening as he regarded Norrington.

"You said you would be kind... and you were. For that, I am grateful," James continued but he did not look back at Jack. Instead he gazed before him, out to the open ocean.

Jack considered the man. His words, at face value, were polite and spoken with an air of a man trying to square up a debt. That in itself was a little disconcerting. A man preparing to die often tried to make square his debts.

"Mick was a very wise man. He was me Da's first mate on his first ship. I told you about that advice he gave me," Jack said softly. James did not respond in any way.

Jack continued, looking out to sea as well, "He also told me, every storm has an end; every squall has a calm. So you reef the sails and hold the lines. You ain't sunk until you're sunk."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Sparrow?" James' voice cut with that familiar, condescending tone that Jack had grown accustomed to.

Jack felt the smile grow on his face as he turned to look back at Norrington. "Just a bit o' advice... from a scallywag who knew what love is."

Norrington's eyes narrowed as he regarded him. Jack sat up straighter under his scrutiny.

"Advice from you, or anyone of your ilk could do me more harm than good, I'm certain," James said coldly.

"Up on the high horse again, I see," Jack replied, his smile losing its kindness. "I wasn't the blighter who advised you to take Beckett's offer. You know, it could have been you who ruled the sea, mate."

"As if you would have let me. No, Sparrow, without the money and resources that Beckett had at hand, I was no more than another stepping stone to your plans. You would have eventually ran me to ground..."

"Would I? Considering Jones had me in his over-sized claws, I fail to see how I could have been such a threat."

"Then it would have been me that Elizabeth and Will would have eventually come for," James said bitterly.

"Seeing things a bit more clearly then?" Jack asked in a rumbling murmur. "Not that they would have come for you right away, but they would have been... persuaded to... eventually."

"And there you are, still blamin' me for things that were not my fault," Jack said calmly enough, even though the accusation made anger flash through him once again. "I never asked you to join me crew. In fact, as I recall it, I had some rather legitimate reservations, the least of which was the state of hygiene on your person. I never asked you to turn on me and Elizabeth and Will. I didn't ask you to leave us to die at Jones' hand. I didn't ask you to sell your ruddy soul to Beckett, and I certainly didn't ask you to die." Jack stopped, feeling the anger burning in his veins. This was not how he wanted their first morning as lovers to go. He stood up abruptly.

"Do as you please then, Admiral. Blame me and be damned. You'll never be free of yourself until you let go of this need to hate someone other than your own bloody, fool self."

Sometimes a man needs a moment alone. That man is now me.

Give a man a chance. It was that thinking that got me into the mess. Why am I always the victim of my own bloody idiocy, mate? I stood there and reminded myself of every reason why I should just run the ruddy bastard through and take him out of both our miseries. Feculent weasel that he is, to still look down his nose at me, after all that he has caused, I shouldn't forgive him.

Elizabeth shouldn't have forgiven him, too.

...but she did.

It was a good thing. The cooler water took his mind from the heat of his anger and actually made him feel good to be alive once more. Alive, against all odds.

But where would he have been if he had held to the code? Where would he have been if he had done only what was best by him? Would Will and Elizabeth have come to save him from the Locker? For that matter, would Will and Elizabeth have saved him from the noose?

Where would he have been if he had done only what was best by him? Would Barbossa have abandoned him in Tortuga, or would he have been sitting alone and rum-less on that deserted island again?

Yes, he gave a man a chance, but others gave him chances too, and he had stood up to the challenge. Perhaps his solutions had seemed clumsy and ill-timed, but he had worked with what he had. What he had most of all was others' perceptions of him. It was indeed easy to manipulate people who thought they knew what to expect from him. It was the strongest weapon in his arsenal.

Jack swam heading towards the deeper section of the large pool. The water tasted sweet and clean, and it made his skin tingle. He felt like he was shedding an unwanted layer of himself in its clear depths.

Perhaps Jack was over-thinking things. Perhaps Norrington was just trying to hold on to that puffed up sense of self that had helped him feel like he was in control of his own destiny.

Jack ducked under briefly; then came up, letting his heavy mass of hair stream down his back. He began a steady breast stroke back towards the rocky bank. He felt infinitely better.

That was, he felt better until he saw Norrington standing at the water's edge. Jack stopped short of the shallows, his face half concealed by the cool water. Norrington just stood there, watching. Dressed more or less for the day, with shirttails tucked, stockings and shoes, and ornate blue coat with its heavy gold trim put on, he folded his hands behind his back and settled on his feet a little more, as if he was prepared for a lengthy wait.

Jack raised his mouth above the waterline to reply. "Didn't know you had words with anyone of my ilk, mate."

Norrington breathed out and looked down for only a short moment, a strange sort of pained expression coming to his face that was something between frustration and mental exhaustion.

"Jack, please." His voice was softer and there was a genuine note of entreaty. "I wish to apologize."

Jack came up a little more until his shoulders were at the surface. "You can do that from there."

"Rather not. Gives us space to overcome if either of us wants to put hands about anyone's throat again."

James suppressed a small smile that still managed to play about his eyes. "Of course, and there was no consideration of modesty, being you are currently in a complete state of undress."

"Why should there be?" Jack smiled back. "You've seen mine and I've..." he chuckled lewdly, "...seen yours."

"Will you forgive me, my poor behavior and unkind treatment of you?" James continued, straightening his posture with naval poise while still managing to look contrite. "As I sat and reflected on what you said, I came to the conclusion that you may have a few points. I may have actively projected my self-contempt on to you. I suppose it made me feel like there was something, someone I could pursue and punish for all my own shortcomings instead of admitting to them myself. That would have been admitting defeat. But that, it seems in the end, has got me no where else but defeat.

"You done nothing more to me than share your camp and your company, and I have repeatedly repaid you with insults and slights. Old habit again, I suppose."

"Why do you hate me so, mate?" Jack asked; his eyes narrowing as he regarded James warily.

Norrington's eyes moved on from Jack to a point beyond, ahead of himself. "I don't."

Without further explanation, the man turned on his heels and walked away. And Jack stood there, in the water and puzzled, but only for a moment. Suddenly all the pieces fell into place.

He doesn't hate me, to be sure. No. It's more the matter of what he has found in himself to be the object of his adore. Does he fear me then? Perhaps, but not in the general piratey way. He fears the shame of it.

And it makes me wonder... when did it start? How long has he fought it? Could it have been the docks, when he stared down the length of that fine blade at me, his green eyes, cold as the devil's own heart? What it must have been like to have found such a sight? Terrifying moments after the woman you just proposed to falls to her possible demise, to find her rescued on the docks, in the capable hands of a pirate rogue that you find incredibly attractive... possibly more attractive to you than the little missy you had set your intentions on.

Ah, and then that rogue had the audacity to flirt! Like salt in a wound, mate. No, he never really hated me. He hated what I made him feel. He hated it so much that it was easy to turn that need to eradicate the potential sodomite in himself into trying to eradicate the pirate Captain Jack Sparrow!

Life is never that easy, mate.

As I see it, driving himself to the brink as he did, only to find himself confronted with Beckett's tender charms was a rude awakening.

So, what was it inside of James Norrington that drove him the way it did? Guilt, shame, and a need to be what he must have been told he should be, all veiled in a drive for honor? Perhaps he proposed to Elizabeth because it was the one thing he needed to complete the picture of the life he was told he ought to be leading. When Jack entered the picture was when it all began to unravel in a most spectacular fashion.

Jack and his ways, persuading a gullible young man to free him, and then Jack's undead, mutinous former crew stealing away the young lady Norrington had decided would do to make for his perfect match. Jack and his rascally ingenuity, causing those same young people to feel compassion and allegiance to his pirate-self, so much so that they would stand between Norrington's sword and him, thus revealing that all of Norrington's dreams of achieving that pat little life were all puffed-up illusion.

The reality had been the attraction he had felt towards the very pirate who had entered the picture to spell the certain demise of his completely perfect little life and career. No, Norrington didn't hate him.

What seemed like hate was a defense. The fear of falling too far off of that cliff of his own reality and inner nature must have been stifling at times. Was it any wonder it drove him to such a fall after the Dauntless sank?

Then Cutler Beckett taunted him with it! Jack wondered if Beckett really knew that he had hit the mark square. Surely he did. Cutty loved to add insult to injury. It had been a favorite hobby of his. And Jack wondered if Beckett had known just which man Norrington wanted more than he was willing to admit. Irony, that, if he had. They had both wanted the same man, the same cunning pirate captain.

Jack had a picture in his mind: that first day on the docks when Norrington had been cataloging his effects, and he held Jack's compass. "A compass that doesn't point north."

Jack wondered out loud. "Elizabeth was standing to his north side. Was it pointing at me?"

Jack sat and wondered for a moment more as his expression sobered into a thoughtful frown. Fear can drive a man to do many foolish things and James Norrington had feared Jack Sparrow from the day he had laid eyes on him. He had not feared him as a pirate and a criminal. He had feared Jack as a temptation to his repressed heart. He still feared Jack, and that is why he made a point to tell him that Jack could not have his heart.

From the corner of his eye, Jack caught a flash of white scuttling away, but the crab was gone when Jack looked up, lost in the lush growth beyond the water's edge.

That's easy: L-O-V-E. Look what it did to Davy Jones! Look what it did to Elizabeth and William. I remember how despondent Teague became after Mick passed. It was like someone had sucked the soul right out of the man. After that, he didn't give a damn any more.

Look what love does! It strips a man of pride. It reduces him to desperate fretfulness. It steals his will to explore and conquer. It makes him a slave to another's fancy. It... It...

It steals a man's sense of self-preservation! Personally, I like my sense of self-preservation. It's one of my finest attributes. It fuels my charms and adds that witty edge that everyone seems to find so endearing... or is that annoying?

There was something more to love that made it a desirable condition, that made the highs it brought worth the lows it could also bring. It was a condition that called to the very soul of a person. It didn't come easy, but when it did come and it came true and strong it shone in a person's eyes like a spark of pure magic. Love seemed to have a power all its own that trumped any other magic the sky or the sea could cast.

Jack closed his eyes, lifting his head towards the midday sunlight. In his mind's eye he recreated a vision of James: proud and beautiful with eyes like jade from the Orient. But there was more to the man, so much more. He had courage. Jack had no doubt of that. He had watched James head straight into the fray with unblinking daring. His sword bright and sharp, picking up the light of battle reflected in his eyes; he faced enemies with audacity that bordered on impudence.

James also had wit and daring. He was clever. Oh, how James was clever! Stealing the heart and tricking them all, the crew of the Pearl and the crew of the Dutchman! That took some daring, indeed. Jack could not help the smile that spread across his face as he was warmed with pride for James in that one small feat that had only just a day before enraged Jack . So James had double-crossed him, but look how smoothly he had done that deed! A man after his own untrustworthy heart!

James had compassion. Jack had often told himself that this was a weakness until he realized how often he was the recipient of it and how many times he returned it in kind. James could show kindness and consideration at the most surprising times. The man took himself far too seriously, mostly, but he knew when to back up and take a good hard look at what he was doing. It had halted his hand many times when he could have delivered death blows.

James was beautiful, but more than in a physical beauty kind of way. Lord knew, James had physical beauty and then some. Jack licked his lips as he remembered that creamy white flesh and hard body he had held last evening. Nevertheless, there was more. He was just beautiful, the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he hit Jack with that horrendous and unrelenting dry sarcasm. That tongue cut with the efficiency of a Turner blade. He could leave Jack in ribbons and still have him hanging on every word.

And, when James let himself be sensual, when he really let go, like that night Jack first kissed him, James was more than beautiful. James was extraordinary. The way he looked at Jack made Jack feel like something extra special. He felt excellent and exceptional when Jamie looked at him with those fiery green eyes all full of passion.

Jack opened his eyes and looked about himself. His heart felt full and warm, a condition he could not remember feeling much ever in his life. Was this love? There was one true test.

He thought about leaving James behind. Jack was surprised by the lance of emotion that pierced his heart. It was heavy and indefinable. It felt like a mix of feelings that left him confused and disorientated. His first thoughts had been, "How could I? What would I do? How would I replace that joy, that beauty, that insufferable-stick-up-his-arse wit?"

Jack was focused, and that was a good thing. If he remained focused he wouldn't have time for doubts. Doubts were something Jack could never brush aside lightly. When they overwhelmed him, they inevitably changed his course. There would be no course change today. He had to know.

James was standing near the shabby lean-to, tying more fronds into the structure. To his left was a new pair of papayas that he must have just gathered for their midday meal. He turned to face Jack as he heard him marching up the slim path from the fresh water pool to the beach. He looked at Jack with a concerned frown and opened his mouth to address him. James never got a chance to utter a word.

Jack took James' face in both hands and pulled him into a searing, crazy, and desperate kiss. It was the kind of kiss like he had seen his Da share with Mick before they parted to do something particularly dangerous, and they thought they would not see one another again. It was the kind of kiss he had seen Will and Elizabeth share once it became all too clear that they would have ten years between them before they would next touch.

It was a kiss touched with the violence of want and the fear of deprivation. It was a kiss like none Jack had ever shared with another soul. And the most amazing part of it was that James returned it in full measure. James' hand touched the side of Jack's face as his other hand went beneath the mass of hair at his neck to pull him closer. Their bodies pressed together in a desperate need for connection.

The kiss was made of fire and it stole Jack's breath as he felt James' tongue dueling fiercely with his own. Jack's mind was swimming in lust and confusion and sweet joy all intermingled and overlapping. He was tangled in emotions. Was this what he was afraid of?

It felt tremendous and awe-inspiring! It felt like taking a deep breath after holding your breath for an eternity. It made Jack want so hard and so indescribably that he scarcely knew what he was doing. He wasn't sure when they had sunk to the ground, but they lay half on a blanket and half on the sand. James' hands were on his body and his were on James'.

He lay partially on James, nuzzling kisses against his jaw and throat while he listened to the heady sounds of James' passion and pleasure played out in sighs and groans.

James was clawing at Jack's breeches, pushing them down with a growl. Jack was nibbling on his delicious skin as his own hands sought to free James of his trousers as well. The fire of their need blazed out of control when hot flesh touched hot flesh. James' erection moved up against Jack's between their bellies, and Jack threw back his head and keened a ragged groan. They were wrapped in each other's arms and legs, moving in a crazed rhythm of desire.

"Love you!" Jack said it out loud this time, but it came out as a breathless whisper.

"Jack!" James moaned in delight, taking Jack by a handful of hair and pulling him back to his lips. His kiss was bruising and reckless. His body rocked upward against Jack's with unchecked power. It was all Jack could do to hold on for the ride.

Then James was coming, his body freezing in place for a moment and his eyes closing as he mouthed a soundless scream. Jack watched him, tenderness washing through his heart. He laid his lips to James' exposed throat, letting them feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. Jack knew. He knew now that he loved this man and he would do anything to see him so happy and so very free. Jack pushed against James as he convulsed in the after-throes of his orgasm. He loved him and moved against him knowing that he was in love at long last.

Jack came, a wondrous smile on his lips, knowing that his seed was mixing with James'. Together.

Then something breathtaking happened. James smiled a truly happy smile, and Jack thought he had never spied a more magnificent sight.

"So beautiful," James echoed as he tenderly touched Jack's lips with his fingertips.

Jack smiled. "We need a bath, luv." He watched James' smile become playfully in response. This was a James Norrington Jack doubted anyone had ever experienced. Jack rolled to his feet smoothly and offered James a hand. The man allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, crashing heedlessly into Jack with a brilliant peal of laughter and a few quick and gentle kisses. They pulled the rest of their clothing off and ran naked to the surf.

No one had probably ever known a truly happy, playful and free James Norrington, and Jack was proud to have been the one to release this beautiful spirit from within his self-made cage of guilt and fear.

They spent the afternoon splashing and playing like children in the surf. Then they lay on the blankets near the lean-to and shared bites of fruit and swigs of rum for their luncheon. They spoke of friends and lovers past. They spoke of the misadventures they had shared. They made plans for the future.

"You're a cruel man, James Norrington," Jack exclaimed as he grabbed the jug of rum back from his hands.

"You are a reprobate, Jack Sparrow. One can hardly discount that little fact when one figures up the tally of all your best laid plans."

"I've not lied to you about me exploits," Jack replied. "But this... this, Jamie, be the greatest prize ever! And it will not cost us, or anyone else, any pain. This I promise you!"

Jack reached over to his satchel which he had stowed just under the lee of the lean-to. He pulled out the rolled up circle that was the heart of Sao Feng's chart. He moved the outer and inner circles until they aligned to show him what he needed to see, and then he pushed the chart James' way.

James looked the chart over for a moment or two, examining it with a critical eye. He then smiled and turned to Jack.

"Eh?" Jack looked at him confused. It hadn't occurred to him that James shouldn't be trusted, even considering his own experience with the man. He shouldn't trust him, and yet suddenly he did implicitly.

"You really meant it when you said you loved me," James whispered. Then they were kissing again, lying back on the blankets and touching softly and gently until the evening stars shone down on them. The world moved about them but they were lost in each other for a time until, at long last, James sighed as he eased his softening member out of Jack's body.

"Not when you consider that my options are that foul slush and hardtack," James replied.

"Aye, it's been a long day, my James." Jack smiled as he felt James nuzzle a kiss against his shoulder. Jack propped himself on an elbow and took a swig of rum. It had been a long and emotional day, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a new chance to chase the horizon.

It made sense to Jack to seek out his ex-pirate hunter love and join him at the forest pool. Jack didn't bother to dress, and why should he? He was going to bathe in a pool with a man he had made love to countless times only the night before. Jack hummed Elizabeth's pirate song happily to himself as he walked, his mind filled with visions of James: between his thighs, on his back, on his knees, topsy-turvy with Jack's prick in his luscious mouth while Jack held James' in his own mouth. Love was good. It was so damn good. Moreover, James was audacious and adventurous when he was finally set free. Jack could really start to enjoy this condition called love if this was one of its finer attributes.

When he reached the water's edge, he realized that James was not there. He had been there and gone. The tin cup and James' shoes lay by the pool's sand and stone bank, waiting quietly to be retrieved.

Jack took a quick swim, then gathered the abandoned items and went back to their camp. He dressed quickly in shirt and breeches, his curiosity high and his anxiety only just an itch in the back of his mind, waiting to become something large and terrible. He wandered up the beach, heading in the direction he had come when the crab had led him to James.

He breathed a long sigh of relief when he saw his lover's proud form facing the waves, hands clasped behind his back with military poise and bearing. It was in Jack's humble opinion that only James could make such a pose both formidable and sexy at the same time. It was an impressive feat. James watched the morning breakers with a sober expression.

"There you are," Jack began as he came up to the man. James was freshly shaved, and other than being shoeless once more, was ready for the day.

Jack smiled brightly. "We've got a fresh breeze and we could set out as soon as we pull the provisions together. We'll bear north for a bit. Could see land again in three days sailing. What say you to that?"

James did not answer. He continued to look out to the rolling sea. Jack peered into the distance in the direction he was looking but saw nothing but the bright horizon. He looked back at James, noting the sadness in his eyes now. The anxiety renewed itself in Jack's brain with a clawing grip. Jack's smile slipped from his face, and he regarded James with a frown born from mild vexation.

Jack watched him for a moment longer and was prepared to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he spoke. However, James, at last, spoke.

Jack could feel his face fall into a stunned, open-mouthed expression, as he felt his guts fall heedlessly to his breeches. What was it that James was saying to him? What did it mean?

James turned his head to look at Jack. His eyes, sad but dry, were sincere as he looked directly into Jack's own. "I cannot go. I cannot leave this island."

Jack knew he must look like a stunned cod, his mouth moving, but no words issuing forth. He didn't know how to process the words that James had just told him.

James looked back out to the horizon. "I had a dream last night. A dark woman in calico skirts came out of the ocean. She told me that if I left this island, I would go back to being dead and there would be no coming back."

"Dark woman you say?" Jack asked moving closer to James. "Painted lips. Lots o' crabs?" He made scurrying motions with his fingers.

"You know of her," James said softly. "Of course you do. If it is one thing I can expect of you, Jack, is to be in the center of all things unnatural."

Jack's back straightened as the realization struck him. Jack had to go. It was only sheer bloody dumb luck that Barbossa hadn't found him yet. But now, he would leave James behind, and he had no say in the matter whatsoever.

"I can't... I can't leave you," Jack whispered. He hadn't intended to say those words. They just seemed to tumble out his mouth unbidden, and at any other time they would have been foreign and/or untrue coming from him. Nevertheless, as Jack spoke them he felt them to be the unadulterated truth.

"Jack." James turned to face him again, his expression stopping the flurry of words that crowded Jack's mind, clamoring to be released. "You'll have to chase your prize without me. I know you will find it."

Jack's body stilled as did the joy that had so recently held his heart. "I'll be back for you."

James smiled that small half-smile he had perfected so well in the face of heartbreak. "Then I shall have a reason to remain clean shaven."

Jack left James the tin cup and brush and his few slivers of soap. Jack then gave him his boot knife.

"You've given me more than anyone else before," James replied softly. He then touched Jack's face tenderly. "So beautiful."

And that was when Jack truly knew it was love. He knew it because he could feel his heart breaking inside him.

Together, they pulled the boat from the shore to the surf. Jack was ready to sail. They shared a last desperate kiss, once more so like the kisses Jack remembered witnessing from desperate lovers in the past. Jack pulled the onyx ring from his pinkie and took James' hand. Reverently he pushed the ring onto James' pinkie finger.

With a final soft kiss, Jack let go and took his first steps towards the surf where the boat sat rocking in the shallows.

It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him. And even as his heart was breaking, it swelled with emotion. Yes, this was love. He would return for his James.

Jack looked out to the horizon as the ship caught its first live wave and began to surge its way back out to sea. It was his habit to look forward and never look back. Nevertheless, Jack's head turned. He watched the lone figure on the beach until the white sands and the island had shrunk away in the distance.

James stood waiting for him, freshly shaved. He wore only his shirt and breeches. Jack smiled when he saw him, his heart swelling inside his breast. He wanted to shout out his joy, but he held himself under control.

They walked to each other on the beach, meeting just yards from the camp that now looked well lived in. James seemed a little thinner, but well.

Jack laughed as he freed himself from the amorous attack, but he wrapped his arms about James. His joy was boundless.

"Aye, you missed me," Jack said in a roughly purring voice. He let James attack him with more kisses.

Jack's smile softened and he ran a tender finger down James' cheek. "I have now."

Before James could say anything more, Jack unwrapped himself from James' arms and began to fumble in the pocket of his topcoat.

"Wait," he said, lifting a finger. "wait... AH!" he pulled a small flask from his coat pocket.

James gave him a suspicious glare but uncorked the bottle and took a healthy swig. Jack smiled at the trust the man had showed him.

Almost immediately James' cheeks became flushed and he blinked. "What was it, Jack?"

"I feel fine, now. I felt a tingle before, something of a rush, but it is gone now."

"Sparrow!" James bellowed to get his attention again. But Jack smiled, nearly dancing as he took James' hand.

"Jack, have you gone totally mad... or at least more so than when I last saw you?" James asked dryly, but he planted his feet where he stood.

"Aye, grab your gear! I almost forgot!" Jack rushed back to the camp, grabbing James' coat and shoes. He grabbed the cup and brush, all the while mumbling to himself. "Oh he won't need that... he'll definitely need that... now where is that bloody knife?"

"Jack, what is this all about?" James asked as he watched Jack ransack his little home.

Jack looked up and smiled at James. He came over to James and placed a small kiss to his lips.

"That was the water of life from the very fountain I was searchin' for, luv. You can leave the island now. You're free."

"Won't know until we try, eh? You trust your ol' Jack?" Jack reached out his hand to James.

James hesitated, but only for a very slight moment. He took Jack's hand and Jack beamed with pride at his sweet, brave James.

Jack took the bundle of belongings he had wrapped in James' old admiral's coat and led James back to the dinghy, his smile bright as he looked beyond the shallows where the Black Pearl awaited them. Home.

So now this is me and my James, mate. I knew before I even found the fountain that I would find a way to bring James home to me. The fey mousy creature that guarded the fountain told me that I had a choice. I could drink the water and gain everlasting youth and immortality or I could take the water to bring back one from beyond, but it was either one or the other and not both.

Now, you can clearly guess which choice I made. That means that me and James get our happily ever after until death do us part. No eternal life for us... at least not until we both sit in hell together.

Was it worth it, mate? Aye, James Norrington is worth dyin' for.

What's more, there are still all manner of interesting and mysterious prizes to find out there, and we still have the chart. Me and Jamie, we could be chasin' that ol' horizon until the world comes to a bleedin' end.

One Silly, Bloody Wish Later

Part 4