But From Thine Eyes by Teardrop69

Title: But From Thine Eyes or, Between Love and Hate
Series: Complete. Chapters One to Eight.
Author: Teardrop69
Feedback: Teardrop69@msn.com
Pairing: Jack Sparrow/James Norrington
Rating: NC-17 for slash m/m & violence.
Archiving: Let me know where it goes. :)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just can't resist playing in someone else's sandbox.
Beta: Webcrowmancer
Warning: May contain content disturbing to some. Heed the rating.
Summary: When Norrington is marooned, he is discovered by the most unlikely rescuers - the crew of the Black Pearl. But can the pirate captain and the commodore come to a reconciliation, or will their differences remain unresolved?

But From Thine Eyes or: Between Love and Hate
by Teardrop69

Chapter 1

* * *

Staggering to his feet in the froth of the surf that playfully rushed back off the sandy beach, Commodore James Norrington cradled his useless right arm. As soon as he caught his balance, he shifted so he could watch the Myrmidon as she sailed away. Grimly he noted the mocking salute of the newly self-promoted Captain of the vessel, formerly known as the cox'n, Cooper. And then he turned his back.

Bloody pirates. Granted, a few short hours ago, they had all been men of His Majesty's Navy. Now, the lot had cast their fate to a different wind. Oh, of course not all of the men had thought it wise to join the mutiny, but those who disagreed with the plan were now either keeping company at the bottom of Davy Jones' locker, or had decided that life as a fugitive was preferable to no life at all, and prudently, if cravenly, kept their silence. His lieutenant was one of the former, and though he'd only known the man a short while, he felt the loss as if they'd worked together for years. He had been a loyal man, and his loyalty had earned him a sailor's burial, premature though it might have been.

The mutineers hadn't even had the decency to challenge him to a fair fight. A sharp blow with a stout cudgel, a broken arm, and a night locked in the brig of his own ship, and suddenly, it was no longer his ship. He was morbidly certain that they'd had this planned for weeks. The convenience of this particular island... he cursed himself for his own inattentiveness, because he was also certain by now that they'd been off the well traveled route for several days.

Why didn't I realize? We hadn't seen another ship for how long? That's the last time I sail with a crew I haven't hand picked, Norrington thought, and then choked on a bitter laugh. If his current predicament was any indication, this was probably the last time he sailed with any crew. The Myrmidon, on her maiden voyage out of London, had been commissioned to replace the Interceptor. She was sleek and fast, and no longer a ship of the Navy. As for himself, he was glumly certain that the title of Commodore meant very little on this tiny island.

Most of his men had returned to Port Royal earlier aboard the Dauntless. He'd stayed behind to wait for the Myrmidon to be readied for the voyage, wanting to be aboard her when she sailed into port the first time. The price one paid for pride. It certainly wasn't the first time that pride had caused him trouble. Was he ever going to learn that lesson? He wondered.

Norrington walked up the spit of sand, taking note of his surroundings. It was a small island, similar to any number of other small islands in the Caribbean; no obvious sign of fresh water, a small copse of palm trees, and ominously free of any sound other than the chuckle of the waves still chasing each other on the sand. No wildlife, then.

Intolerable. A scant day or two out of Port Royal and he was going to die on some miserable, no-named piece of godforsaken dirt. For the first time in months, he thought of Elizabeth Swann - make that Turner, and for the second time since she and Turner had left Port Royal, he was glad she wasn't his. At least she'd be spared wondering what happened, why he'd never returned.

Oh, get a hold of yourself, James. You're starting to sound like some ridiculous self-pitying imbecile. What a parcel of dramatic, indulgent tosh. He rolled his shoulders, and then swore as he jarred his injured arm. He looked down at it, and was relieved to see that at least the flesh hadn't been punctured, although he was fairly certain that at least one of the bones there was broken clean through.

He prodded the arm gingerly, and hissed with the flash of pain. Definitely a break there. He struggled to remove his waistcoat and shirt, knowing he'd never get them off over a splint. He could put the shirt back around his shoulders after. He sighed. His wig and hat were long gone anyway, although there was no telling whether they might yet wash up on his shores. Not that he had to worry about propriety; no one was going to see him out of uniform anyway.

Very well. Norrington walked towards the trees, and began to search. Finally, he found what he was looking for. Lowering himself to the sand next to his find, he pulled the cravat from around his neck. Clumsily, between teeth and his good hand, he managed to tear three strips of cloth, and set them aside. The rest would work as a sling. Glancing around, he noted a few palm leaves that would have to do as splints. Nothing left but to try and set the arm.

Gritting his teeth, he wedged his hand in the V of the two trunks he'd searched out for this purpose. Merciful heaven, just that movement caused white spots to swim before his eyes. Hopefully he had wedged it tight enough; at this point, he could no longer feel his hand, and the numbness worried him more than a little. Sitting in front of the trees, he braced his feet against them, and pulled back on the arm, and then let out a howl. Quickly he tried to set the bones straighter, but his left hand was not his dominant hand, and before he could be certain he'd accomplished his task, a dark wave rushed up to claim him.

*****

The miserable throbbing in his arm finally dragged him up out of the blackness. He'd slumped over to his left side, and as he sat back up, he cursed his stupidity. Norrington hadn't taken into account that he might pass out, and counted himself lucky that he hadn't broken the other bone in his arm when he'd fallen, for his hand was still wedged in between the two trees. He was fairly sure he hadn't been out for long, as the sun was not much farther along its path, and if the night had passed, he was certain he'd be hungry or thirsty by now.

Alright. Second try. Again he braced his feet, and again he pulled. This time he could see the darkness swirling at the edges of his vision, but before it swamped him, he felt the bone grind under his fingers. The breath he'd been holding escaped with a small explosion, and the dark swirliness of his vision was replaced by a pulsing red haze.

Sweet bleeding Jesus on the cross. Don't let me ever have to do that again. Norrington warily tugged on his hand, pulling it free from its trap. Slowly, with care not to jounce the injury, he bandaged the arm. Tying knots with one hand was another challenge, and he was very nearly ready to throw the whole mess into the ocean and take his chances by the time he'd finished.

Now then, to take stock of his prison. Oh yes, no doubt about it, he was incarcerated on this islet, no different than if he'd been sitting in a cell in his prison back in Port Royal. At least in a cell, he'd have three squares and a cot. He didn't figure that Cooper would be bringing him meals any time soon. He began to explore, meticulously combing every foot in case he could find anything that might be useful.

Finally he had to admit that his first gloomy assessment of the isle had been accurate. There wasn't a freshwater spring to be found, and though there were several abandoned nests among the rocks near the dry center of the islet, there was no sign of any birds, or any other wildlife for that matter. Discouraged, he returned to the shade of the palms, and sank down against one of the trunks. He let his head fall back against the tree, and closed his eyes.

Where had things gone so terribly wrong in his life? Oh, of course it was easy to say that yesterday evening, after his evening meal, and before the watch changed, his mutinous crew had set him on a new path. But even before that, he'd been dissatisfied. He'd taken this last voyage back to London to bring the Myrmidon back with him, because he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. He remembered thinking at the time that if the Interceptor hadn't been destroyed, he'd have had the fastest ship on the Spanish Main, as well as the hardiest ship, the Dauntless, under his command. He could have been on his way to his coveted goal of ridding the Main of the brigands who preyed along the trade routes. He also could recollect that he'd been convinced that a replacement for the Interceptor was the answer to this problem.

He'd returned to London, and with the skill of oration and sheer determination that had helped him to be promoted to commodore at the age of twenty-nine, he'd convinced his superiors to put the Myrmidon under his command. He'd had visions of an admiralty, or even governor. And now - mirthless chuckle - here he was, governor of his own island, as the saying went.

Norrington's thoughts continued to spin. So when did things change? Elizabeth? Not really. If he were honest with himself, he'd been relieved. Not at first... not when she'd first chosen Turner over himself. Why don't I blame Elizabeth? He pondered. He'd never let anyone see how much he'd grieved after she'd made her choice. In public, he'd always been the consummate military man, not a stray emotion would ever cross his face while he was in front of his men. But he'd grieved. How many nights had he paced his floor, sleep not coming as he'd tried to figure out why Elizabeth would have chosen the life of a poor blacksmith's wife over that of the wife of a commodore?

In the end, he realized that it wasn't the blacksmith she'd fallen for, it was the pirate. Oh, James knew that Turner would never be a pirate in fact, not the way Sparrow was a pirate. For all the things Turner was, he too was a good man. But it was his ability to crave adventure that Elizabeth needed, because it matched her own. Had he realized that, remembered the look on her face as a child when she'd spoken of pirates with more curiosity and awe than fear, he'd have saved himself the heartache. But his pride had been certain that everything he could offer her was worth more than her dreams of adventure.

But later, when he'd seen the harried look in the young blacksmith's eye as she'd convinced him to sail to London as well, a month or so before Norrington himself had left. He'd had his plans in place for a month or so before then, but his own trip had been delayed with one thing or another. Long enough to have watched Elizabeth use every weapon in her not inconsiderable arsenal against her new husband to get her wish, which was to travel. He'd been relieved, to be honest, not to have had that headache. As much as he'd once wanted her for a wife, he was at least candid enough with himself to admit he would have made her miserable.

So not Elizabeth. Before that? Sparrow? No, damnit. That's not it. His thoughts skittered away from that particular subject. But... With a sigh, and he opened his eyes. As he gazed across the water, absently noting the sun dipping towards the horizon, he forced himself to look that idea in the face. Jack Sparrow was out there somewhere, and though he'd heard no stories in the year and a half since he'd nearly hanged the man, he knew that the Black Pearl was still in the Caribbean somewhere. He knew it with a certainty that shook him with its unwavering strength. A day's head start. I think we can afford to give him one day's head start. One day had stretched into a month, then six, and though the men under his command had never brought the subject up in his presence, he knew that they wondered why he had yet to give chase. As he'd wondered.

The main goal he had set before himself. The job of protecting the trading vessels between Jamaica and Mother England, protecting them from the human predators who would stalk, cripple and savage their prey without a thought for mercy or apology. He'd even had visions of sailing into Tortuga, and cleansing that lair of larcenous cutthroats. And first and foremost, top of his list was the Black Pearl. Or had been, before the course of events that had thrust Jack Sparrow into his life, and torn Elizabeth Swann from his grasp in one fell swoop. Lost the swan for the sparrow, and then lost the sparrow as well. How morbidly poetic. He snorted.

"He's a good man," Will Turner had said. And as much as I wanted to deny it, as much as the man was a pirate, and without a question still is, I knew he was right. I despise Jack Sparrow for being a pirate, but somehow, he's still a good man. This paradox lay at the core of Norrington's restlessness. Because if a pirate can be a good man, what's to say that a commodore can't be a bad one? He'd let a criminal go free. Not actively, no. But as they said, a lie by omission is still a lie. And a crime of passivity is still a crime?

Norrington shifted, wincing as he negligently leaned on his injured arm in the process. It's a moot point, anyway. I'm fairly certain that Cooper won't be coming back to place a tombstone that reads "James T. Norrington - Commodore of His Majesty's Royal Navy, and a Bad Man" above my head. With a snort of dry laughter, he closed his eyes, and wearily willed himself to sleep.

*****

He awakened with the sun. Three days. Norrington ran his parched tongue over cracked lips. He'd managed to stay mostly in the shade, and so his skin wasn't too badly burned. But he was covered in small insect bites, and was convinced that he was the new host to a legion of sand fleas, to say nothing of the veritable ton of sand weighting down his clothing. He'd made a meal of a turtle he'd found sunning on the sand, but that bonanza hadn't lasted past the first day. It hadn't been a very large turtle, after all. The hunger pangs came and went, but his thirst was ever present. He stood and moved away from his sleeping spot to relieve himself, regretting the need. It was not like he could spare any of the moisture he had left, but the body would continue its processes, whether he liked it or not.

He didn't bother to walk around his domain this time; he merely returned to where he'd slept, and sank back down, closing his eyes against the sun. He was weary, the little energy he cared to expend was merely to ensure that he didn't have to sleep in his own waste. What a cheery thought. How did I come to this, again? Jack Sparrow? Yes, that's it. His fault. He'd gone over the argument innumerable times already, and though his logical self realized the illogic of this viewpoint, his emotional self irrationally pinned this whole debacle on Captain Jack Sparrow. He didn't have to be logical. He was going to die on this miserable chunk of rock, and no one would know that his final hours were spent blaming his unfortunate end on a bloody pirate. And not even the pirate who had stranded him here.

He shook his head, as if to throw off this line of thought. A breeze ruffled his hair, and he rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. A breeze was good. The Myrmidon could perhaps have pulled into Port Royal today. Not that he was under any illusions that she'd actually headed there after stranding him. Even so, he couldn't hope for anyone to be looking for her; expected she may be, but timetables on the ocean were less than precise.

The wind was picking up, and a loud rumble of thunder startled him into opening his eyes. Bloody brilliant. He was about to get very wet. Bloody brilliant, indeed! Fresh water! He attempted a smile, but only succeeded in causing his dry lips to crack. At least he'd been granted a small reprieve. He grabbed his shirt and set it out beyond the edge of the trees.

Watching the purple and grey clouds approach, he also noted with a bit more concern the lightning flashes. The storm approached rapidly. Although the wind was whipping the palm branches around in a wicked dance, the rain had yet to fall. Rain, damn you! At least give me one chance! He scowled at the clouds above him, roiling darkly.

But it appeared that his plea was not only going to be denied, but denied vehemently. With a crash, a bolt of lightning hit one of the palms a few feet to his left. He could smell it, he felt the ground shake with it, and the sound nearly deafened him. He dumbly regained his composure, and stared up at the tree, which was smoldering. Bits of charred bark were lying around the base of the tree, and several still had tiny tongues of flame. He watched one flicker out, the thin trail of smoke rising from it. Fire. He scrambled over to the other burning shreds of tree, and scraping at the ground, he added bits of old palm branches.

The wind kept taking his breath away, both with its force and its constant threat of extinguishing his small fire. But he persevered, and felt a little thrill of satisfaction. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd wanted this fire so badly, because he certainly didn't need it for heat, and had nothing to cook. Perhaps just the idea of it, a bit of civilization, the need for something he could actually control. He continued to build up his fire, using his body to shield it from the wind. He'd barely gotten it to a respectably sized blaze, when the rain began to fall.

Rolling his eyes at the complete irony, and working as quickly as his useless arm would allow, he gathered palm fronds. He held several together with his left hand, trying to keep as much of the downpour from drenching his fire as possible. The warm rain began to run in rivulets down his back, and he looked over at the formerly white shirt that lay not far away. It was getting quite soaked. Excellent.

Despite the shelter he tried to keep over his fire, Norrington still heard the occasional hiss of water splashing onto the burning scraps. But as he'd hoped, the storm was moving quickly, and though he was entirely drenched, his fire was still burning as the rain tapered off. He tossed the branches aside, and went to grab his shirt. Picking up the soggy mass, he raised it to his lips, and began to suck the water out of the cloth. It was warm, and tasted faintly of sweat and sea salt, but it was still fresh, and in his opinion, damn near the best thing he'd had to drink in his lifetime.

*****

How many days? Six? Seven, or more? The brief rainstorm and the one the following day had kept him going, but he'd been unable to figure a way to store any water. He hadn't been lucky enough to find another turtle, either. Now he moved mechanically, putting all his will into just keeping his fire burning. It had become his focus, the one thing that took all his concentration. Somewhere along the way, his mind had merged the fire and his survival. As long as the fire burned, he would make it, he could endure this.

He didn't notice that his breeches were hanging loosely about his waist; he didn't think about the growth of beard on his face, and he didn't care about the swelling of his injured arm. He finished throwing more fuel on the fire, and then sat back against his tree. He stared blankly out at the waves, his thoughts circling back over the same subjects repeatedly. The Myrmidon, Elizabeth Turner and Captain Sparrow chased each other in his mind, driving him near to madness. Jack Sparrow, if he hadn't come to Port Royal, the Interceptor would have never been sunk. Elizabeth would be mine. We'd sail aboard the Myrmidon... wait. That's wrong. The Interceptor. Yes, we'd have sailed with the Interceptor, and Elizabeth and I would have rid the Caribbean of pirates. He closed his eyes. That's still wrong. Elizabeth thinks pirates are romantic. And women aren't allowed to sail with the Navy when they are on a mission.

He sat there with his eyes closed for a while, not sleeping, or at least not that he could remember. He listened to the roar of the waves, and the crackle of the fire. He listened to Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Turner arguing with each other in his head. He didn't think much of it when the sounds changed to the whisper of the waves, and the roar of the fire. He didn't bother opening his eyes when Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Turner turned their raised voices at him, shouting at him ... to move his blasted arse?

*****

Captain Jack Sparrow scowled at AnaMaria. His corded hair fluttered in the sea breeze, his earnest eyes scanned her face. Leaning against the rail of the deck with one hip jutting out at an angle, one slim hand absently caressing the dark wood, he tried again.

"It's just not the way it works, darlin'. Ye don't buy a pirate ship. Ye commandeer one. It's beyond reason." He waved an arm flamboyantly at his beloved Black Pearl. "Ye can't possibly think that me lovely lass would 'ave the same reputation if I'd just pranced into a shipyard and plopped down a chunk o' cash for 'er?"

AnaMaria's eyes flashed.

"Jack..." she began.

"Captain! Captain Jack," He insisted, his dark-rimmed eyes giving her the usual soulful-puppy look she always received when she left off his title.

"Jack. You don't have to sail on the ship. You don't even have to see the bloody thing very often. If buying a ship for Elizabeth and traveling hither and yon with her, playing pirate, is what makes Will happy, why in Neptune's name does it bother you so? After all, you're the one who fronted them the blunt in the first place." It was definitely to her credit that she'd managed to say this with a straight face, and it spoke even more highly of her that she managed to turn to the rail before the huge grin broke across her lovely face.

"That's entirely beside the point, luv. All that swag were just going to waste sittin' there in that cave, after all. I thought they'd take an extended honeymoon, perhaps a jaunt down to Singapore, just for educational purposes, ye understand, and then return to Port Royal, lettin' their good friend Captain Jack Sparrow take excellent care of their fine vessel." He actually looked a mite sheepish at this admission.

"What could you possibly want with another ship, Jack?" AnaMaria looked at him curiously. "The Pearl is your one love; you wouldn't leave her for another."

Jack gave her one of his sweetly innocent smiles. The one that generally earned him a slap in the face at a later date, once the maid... or whore... he'd shamelessly bestowed it upon realized she'd been duped.

"Why, ye were going to captain 'er for me, o' course. I still owe ye a ship, do I not?" He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes. "You were going to give me the Turners' ship? Isn't that just a bit contemptible, Jack?"

He just looked at her, and tilted his head slightly to one side, setting the baubles in his hair to tinkling.

"AnaMaria, luv. Pirate." He tapped his chest.

She laughed helplessly, and gave him a shove.

"And what would I be wanting with a ship named the Sparrow's Song?" She snorted.

He tapped his forefinger against his chin. "That at least shows an exceptional depth in taste, it does. I'll wager that I couldn'a come up with a better..."

He stopped as he noticed a smudge on the horizon. In an instant, his playful manner was gone, and he began shouting orders.

"Who's in the crow's nest? Why didn't they be shoutin' out there was smoke just there?" he growled at his second in command.

AnaMaria looked around. "It were Gunn on duty, Captain. Apparently he's adrift again, sir."

Captain Sparrow grunted. "Find 'im, and toss 'im in the brig. I'll be after wantin' words with 'im once we get an eye on what's what over yonder."

"Aye, cap'n."

Jack was at the helm of the Pearl with a few quick steps, and Gibbs was already there with a telescope. He handed it to Jack, and then waited while he peered through the spyglass.

"Nothin' out there but that little spit o' sand and rock... we've been by it a time or two before, Cap'n", Gibbs stated.

"Aye, but then why the fire?" Jack glanced at his bo'sun. Raising his voice, he called out, "Where is Gunn? I want to know if there's another ship in these waters, and if so, why I don' know about it!"

Gibbs gave his captain a look. "Aye, cap'n."

Jack looked through his scope again, and then swore. "Gibbs! Take a look, there be someone there."

Grabbing the wheel, he sent the Pearl gliding towards the small island. Even as he did, he kept a wary eye on the horizon. If there were a poor swab out there, he didn't get there by himself.

"There's someone there, alright, but if 'e ain't dead now, 'e will be soon. 'E's got flames lickin' at 'is bootstraps." Gibbs looked at Jack gravely. "What be the orders, Jack?"

"Drop the longboat. Hop to it, mateys! If that boat ain't in the water in a trice, some o' ye will be!"

*****

When the boat hit the beach, Jack was out of the boat and running towards the figure leaning against the tree. They were none too soon, for most of the deadfall on the ground was already burning, and a few of the dead trunks in the center of the copse had ignited, guaranteeing that the rest of the palms would soon follow. The flames had just barely reached the unconscious figure, his breeches catching fire. As AnaMaria caught up with Jack, she kicked the man's feet. Both shouted hoping to rouse the fellow, but Jack began kicking sand at the flames, before he grabbed the man's shoulders and rolled him on the ground.

When the flames were extinguished, Jack, with the help of one of his crew, pulled the man down towards the boat, out of the immediate range of the fire. After drenching the burned part of the man's leg with a jug of water they'd brought along, Jack knelt next to the man, and began to take stock. Broken arm, by the looks of it. He ripped the charred pant leg up to mid thigh. Some nasty burns. He looked at the looseness of the clothing, and noted that he could count the fellow's ribs with little trouble. He pinched lightly at the flesh on the uninjured arm, and noted that it didn't slide back to its previous position readily. Starvation and dehydration, as well.

He slipped a hand beneath the chin of the unconscious fellow, and gently turned his head to get a look at the poor sod's face. And then he let out a groan, and AnaMaria gave a soft gasp.

"Put 'im back! Put 'im back!" Jack shouted. He stood up and took a step back.

"What are ye goin' on about?" Gibbs had been standing behind Jack, and hadn't gotten a clear view.

"That's 'im. The Commodore. Norrington. The lad who is bound and determined to 'ave me swingin' at the end of a rope, decoratin' 'is harbor. Put 'im back!" Jack was pacing back and forth between the longboat and the newly rescued, newly identified Norrington. He began to mutter under his breath and gesture with his hands, clearly arguing with himself, and every so often would turn and shake a finger at the commodore. While this was going on, AnaMaria tried without much luck to get some water into him.

"Captain, he's in dire need of some attention, and he ain't gonna be getting it here," AnaMaria stated. "And since we both know you wouldn't be leaving him here, no matter how you might like to, can we get about the business of getting back aboard the Pearl?"

Jack closed his expressive eyes, and let out a dismal sigh. He walked over to the commodore once more; taking in again his haggard appearance, he threw both hands in the air.

"Fine! Fine! Take 'im aboard me ship. And when 'e comes to, and hangs every last one of us, I'm tellin' ye, it'll be on your 'ead, it will!" He didn't even blink at the patent absurdity of this half dead man taking over a full crew of pirates, putting them in custody, and hanging them all from the yardarm, single-handedly.

AnaMaria rolled her eyes, and barked a few short commands at the other two men, as Gibbs pulled Jack aside and tried to calm him down. But Jack's eyes never left the limp form his crew was putting into the longboat. He was fairly certain this was a Really Bad Idea. He was also glumly aware that AnaMaria was right, he'd never have left the man to die here, no matter who he was. Well, I suppose if 'e were Barbossa, I might see my way to forget I found 'im. Jack sighed mournfully, and climbed into the longboat, and began his argument with himself all over again, hands fluttering to punctuate each point he made. A commodore on a pirate ship, and with his permission. This had to be against the Code, he just knew it.

* * *

Chapter 2

Jack stood sulking, one hip jutting out and his arms folded across his chest, as he watched his men place Commodore James Norrington on his bed. In his cabin. On his ship. The man hadn't regained consciousness on the passage from the island to the Black Pearl, and despite his better judgment, he knew that the only cabin with adequate room for the man to be tended was the captain's. He grudgingly let AnaMaria push him out of the way and chase the two crewmen back out the door, but when she followed them out, he turned and charged right after her.

"Where do ye think yer goin'?" Jack bellowed after her.

AnaMaria turned and looked at her captain, her eyes wide with surprise. "Going down to the galley to get some supplies, of course. You ain't planning on letting him just lay there a complete mess like that, are you?" She continued on her way.

Jack grumbled, but went back into his cabin. He ignored the bed, and crossed instead to the table in the center of the cabin. He sat, tossing a booted foot up on the table in front of him, and proceeded to drum his fingers on his knee. Not me job to tend to the bloke. The wench can do it all by 'er onesies, that she can. He sat there for another handful of heartbeats, then grumbled and got up again. He walked over to the set of shelves next to the cabin door, and began to rummage through the various trinkets that filled one of several small chests. It's not like she ain't taken care of injuries before, after all. Although she's always a mite rougher than is strictly called for. I think she believes ye don't heal without the proper measure of pain. He tossed a small silver cross back into the chest and turned towards the bed, took two steps and stopped.

Growling, Jack shifted his focus slightly and walked to the large trunk at the end of the bed. Tossing up the lid, he began digging through the contents. The jawbone of a small shark was (carefully) tossed to the side, along with a small flask. A bolt of deep blue silk was also passed over, and a sheaf of multicolored ribbons. His slender hands continued to quest, then his eyes lit up as he found what he was looking for. He held up a small jar, filled with a clear, viscous liquid. I imagine that lass don't have this at 'er disposal. It's only fair that if 'e's gonna be on me ship, 'e should have a fightin' chance.

Jack had picked this up just recently, on Aruba. The locals there swore by it, an extract from an odd looking plant that was indigenous to that island. They claimed it would cure any wound faster than without, and hadn't been willing to part with it but for a very high price. 'E's gonna be owin' me a fair bit when 'e wakes up, 'e is. He returned to his foraging briefly, and grabbed a few small squares of cloth to be used to clean the burns.

Shutting the trunk, Jack moved to the side of the bed, finally looking at the figure lying there. His stomach lurched a bit, as he took in Norrington's lean appearance. The man's sandy hair was matted, and his face covered by a surprisingly full beard. There were dozens of insect bites all over his chest and arms, and he imagined there were more bites covering his back as well. Finally he looked at the burns on the man's leg, and knew they'd have to be cleaned before anything else. At least the poor prick is unconscious, 'e won't be enjoyin' this much.

Jack set the jar and cloth on the floor beside him, and then went to gather the wash basin and a pitcher of water. He set these next the bed as well, and was just about to begin removing the charred remains of cloth from the burned leg, when he heard a knock at the door. With a glance at Norrington to assure that he was still out, he left his cabin and pulled AnaMaria with him as he exited.

"What are you doing?" AnaMaria asked. "The longer you wait, the less chance he's actually going to recover, you know." She turned and tried to get around Jack and back into the cabin, but he caught her arm.

"Just get us movin', luv. I'll take care o' the lad. We still don' know who left 'im out 'ere, and I'm not wantin' to stick around to see if they'll be wantin' to check up on 'im." Jack wasn't really concerned, but he knew it would catch her attention, and he was right. She gave him a look that plainly said she suspected he was up to something, but she didn't argue.

Jack waited until she was calling out his orders to the crew, leaning against the wall outside his cabin. He knew AnaMaria wondered why he was insisting on playing nursemaid for the good commodore. Since he didn't have an answer for her, he did the next best thing, and a thing he was supremely adept at - he distracted her. Jack had never let things he couldn't explain lose him a wink of sleep, but when it came to his own actions, he was much more comfortable when he knew what was what. Not to say that he hadn't surprised himself a time or two in the past.

Jack walked back to his cabin and went inside. Closing the door behind him, he turned and took several steps towards the bed before he realized something was amiss. Unfortunately for him, it was at least one step too many. Just as he was turning back toward the door, and something crashed down on the side of his head, the thought flitted through his brain that he probably should have remembered that Norrington was as stubborn as a poorly bred mule. Then the sparkling lights behind his eyes went black, and he slid to the floor.

*****

James woke to the pain in his leg, and the feel of the ship rocking gently under him. He groaned softly, and opened his eyes, staring straight up. The dim shadows above him confused him; there were no stars, and no rustling branches from palm trees blocking the night sky. He turned his head sharply and realized that he was in a cabin, and the door to said cabin was just swinging closed.

James sat up, but then fell back. Nausea threatened to pull him back under, but he forced himself to sit up until the dizziness had passed. It felt like hours, but as he sat there, his eyes searched the cabin. He noted a heavy tankard on the table, and grimaced. Managing to push himself to his feet, though stabs of pain shot up his leg with every step, he limped to the table and grabbed the tankard, thanking the fates that it contained only water. He swallowed rapidly, before his stomach protested with a savage cramping. Voices sounded outside the door, and he shuffled over with the tankard still in hand, placing his ear against it.

I'm hallucinating. That's it. I'm still on the island, or maybe I'm dead and this is Hell. But I am NOT aboard a ship with Jack Sparrow on the other side of this door. He could hear footsteps getting closer, and he back up to the wall, pressing himself up against it. The door opened, and sure enough, in slipped Jack Sparrow. With his curiously seductive swagger, he moved towards the bed that James had just vacated minutes before; without conscious decision and with more stealth that he'd have imagined he would have in his condition, Commodore Norrington coshed Captain Sparrow over the head with his pilfered tankard.

Sparrow slid to the floor without a sound and James didn't waste any time, but slipped out the door that Jack had just come through. Considering he'd been unconscious only a few minutes before, the fact that he neglected to think things through could easily be overlooked. Because as he stepped out the door, it occurred to him that since Sparrow was here, he was most likely on a ship filled with pirates. Regretfully, this thought sunk in just as he ran full force into one of those very pirates. Who, without any regrets, quite promptly shouted an alarm, and grabbed James by his broken arm.

In an instant, several pirates surrounded James, and he prudently dropped his tankard and stood very still. Another pirate pushed through those surrounding him, but his mouth dropped open when he realized that this particular pirate was a woman. He'd heard rumors of such women, but this was the first he'd seen. He was pondering just what her rank was on this crew, when she barked out a command.

"Hold! The one who harms him will be in the brig faster than you can blink." She glared around, and he was surprised to note that the crew obeyed without question. No mere strumpet, then. The woman's eyes scanned the group then locked on his. "Where's the captain? I thought he'd gone back inside to take care of you."

James's eyes skipped from hers for only a second, but that's all it took. She nodded at one of the men. "Gunn, go check on the cap'n. He be wanting a word with you, anyway." The man scratched one ear and looked uncomfortable, but nodded and knocked quickly on the cabin door in front of him. When there was no answer, Gunn opened the door a crack, and peered inside. He pushed the door wider, and saw the figure lying on the floor, a trickle of blood running down his face. Concerned, he leaned nearer, and touched his motionless captain's throat.

Gunn let out a holler, and stumbled back out of the cabin. "'E's killed 'im! 'E's killed the captain!" An ugly murmur went up from the group surrounding the commodore, and they surged as one towards him. Several of them grabbed him by the arms again, and he winced as they roughly twisted his broken limb. James gasped in pain, but realized that the fact that his arm would need setting again was probably the least of his problems.

"Hold, blast you!" The woman shouted again. The gang of cutthroats fell back again, but this time Norrington didn't count himself lucky. He saw the look in her eyes, and he knew that he would receive no mercy from this member of the fairer sex. He was proved right with the next words out of her mouth.

"Tie him to the mast. Bring the cat." Her voice was as cold as ice. "And make sure there be water handy. He'll feel the lash until he's dead." She leaned close to him and spoke softly. "You had to see him dead, did you. Well, you won't live long enough to gloat about it. He should have let you burn. And more the fool I, for insisting he patch you up, you black-hearted bastard. Jack Sparrow would never have repaid a kindness with murder."

James couldn't help but shudder at the loathing he heard in that voice. She was most likely right. He also realized that this wasn't the first time, nor even the second he'd repaid Sparrow's assistance in a reprehensible manner. Even when Sparrow had rescued Elizabeth Swann from drowning, and James had thanked him with shackles and the promise of a morning hanging, the man hadn't harmed anyone during his escape. And again, when stranded on an island himself with Elizabeth, with no obvious rescue in sight... well, he'd heard the story, and knew that he and Jack Sparrow had something in common. Both had been rejected by the same woman, and both had done the honorable thing. James couldn't deny either, that had Turner not saved the man the morning of his hanging, Norrington would have indeed let him hang, although he'd saved Elizabeth again, along with Turner and most of the crew of the Dauntless from the cursed men who had shamed the Black Pearl for more than ten years.

Had he really killed the man? A cold chill skittered down his back. He didn't try to fight as two of the pirates pulled him roughly toward the mast. They cuffed his wrists, and he let out a moan as they pulled his arms above his head to attach the shackles to a hook up on the mast. His broken arm felt as if it was being pulled off, and his burned leg threatened to collapse out from under him, but when he heard the crack of the lash behind him, he stiffened.

"Make yer peace, Commodore," said Gibbs from near the captain's cabin. "And pray for a quick end." AnaMaria raised her arm and let the first lash fly, and as it hit the commodore's flesh, he swore it licked at his skin with fiery tongues. He choked on a breath as his body slammed forward into the mast, and had barely caught it back when the second lash hit. And then it happened. His damaged leg refused to hold him any longer, and when he slid to the end of the shackles and his entire weight pulled cruelly on his broken arm, he cried out and blackness swamped him, and the last thing he heard as his cry faded was a familiar slurred voice call out "STOP!"

*****

Jack held his throbbing head in one hand and watched as every head turned as one to stare at him in utter awe. Every head but one, that is. He stared back at his crew, and then took a couple of staggering steps towards his second in command. "AnaMaria, luv, ye'd better have a 'ell of an explanation for this...", he gestured with his free hand at the scene he'd literally stumbled upon.

AnaMaria shot a filthy glance at Gunn, who turned a pasty grey, and she hurried over to Jack. "Aye, Cap'n. We thought you were dead, and this one had killed you." She motioned at the mast behind her with her head, but her fingers were already on the nasty cut just above his left temple. He pushed her hand away and fluttered his hands at her, then pointed at Norrington.

"Not me! 'Im!" he rolled those brown eyes at her then wished he hadn't as his head gave an extra-special flash of pain for his effort. She ignored him and steered him back into his cabin, but Gibbs was already at the mast. With the help of Cotton, he released Norrington and for the second time in barely an hour, James was carried into the captain's quarters on the Black Pearl. Jack was sitting at the table, his head still cradled in his hand, and AnaMaria was still trying to get a better look at his wound. Jack watched Gibbs and Cotton bring the unconscious man into the cabin, and without a word, he pointed at the bed, ignoring AnaMaria's scowl.

"You're not serious? You'll let the snake take your bed? After he nearly bashed your brains in?" She spluttered. She was very fond of Jack. They had shared a brief affair shortly after Jack's reunion with his Black Pearl, but both of them had known it wasn't meant to be. Where as she'd known that Jack's heart wasn't in it, she'd also known Jack had never intended for his heart to be. She'd known before he had that it was over, but hadn't had the heart to end it, and so when Jack's restlessness finally took him away from her, she'd let him go gracefully. But although she wasn't in love with him, not anymore, she still cared for him. As family, and she was quite frankly irked that he would care more about the other man's comfort than his own. But that was Jack, always doing the unexpected.

"It'll take more than a conk on the noggin to do me in, luv. Now quit fussin' and let me see what damage ye've done to our guest." He pushed away from the table and returned to the bed, noting that the pitcher, basin, cloths and jar he'd placed next to the bed were still there. "Alright, all o' ye, out."

AnaMaria folded her arms and watched Gibbs and Cotton leave, but made no move to do so herself. Jack looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head. "I'm not leaving you with him again. You'll just have to take care of him while I'm here."

He gave her a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, fine. Yer stayin'. Just ... go sit down or somethin'."

Sitting on the bed next to Norrington, he took stock of the injuries all over again. That arm was going to need to be reset, and now in addition to the burns on his leg that had started to weep, there were at least two cuts across the broad expanse of back that were already seeping blood. Jack looked at these silently, and reached for the pitcher and basin. Pouring the water, he picked up one of the squares of cloth and began to clean the cuts. His hands moved carefully, pulling the cloth across the wounds just enough to remove the blood. Once he finished, he picked up the jar, and applied the thick liquid to the open cuts. He used a few more of the pieces of cloth to bandage the wounds, and then rolled the commodore to his back.

Pulling a knife from the sheath attached to the belt at his waist, he began to cut away the charred breeches around the burns. After rinsing out the cloth he'd used before, he started again. The flesh was red and blistered, but not charred itself, and covered the lower part of his thigh, across his knee and the upper part of his calf. Finishing the task, he slathered the burn with a good amount of the aloe from the jar, but didn't bother to apply bandages. As an afterthought, he cut the breeches completely away, reasoning that these were ruined beyond repair, and he'd either let the man borrow a pair of his trousers, or commandeer some from a member of his crew.

Now for the arm. He was going to need help for this, and he looked over his shoulder at AnaMaria. Glancing back at the now-naked commodore in his bed, he grabbed a blanket from the bed and covered him carefully, before calling her over. Jack didn't look too closely at why he would bother. Being the only woman member of a crew of pirates, AnaMaria had certainly seen her fair share of naked men. Though there wasn't a man aboard who had the nerve to force his attentions on her, and any man who would have tried would most likely have been dead at her hand or Jack's, modesty was often at a minimum aboard the Pearl. Likely she'd seen every man aboard pissing off the side of the ship at one time or another. That's different, though, ain't it. He wasn't really certain it was AnaMaria's modesty he was thinking of.

Jack called AnaMaria over, and with her help, had the arm set with little fuss. Once they'd finished and AnaMaria had left the cabin, Jack glanced around his quarters, looking for something to keep himself occupied until such time that the commodore awakened. His gaze skipped across any number of amusements; a pile of rolled up maps, a small bit of driftwood he'd picked up on some beach or another and had started carving with the knife back safely in its sheath at his belt, a dozen or more pieces of parchment that each consisted of a sketch or two, sometimes more, done with a charred stick. Instead, he wandered over to another group of shelves, this one covered with several books. He browsed, and pulled a slim volume from the lot, then returned to the table, sat and began to read.

Several hours, and another book later, there was a soft knock at his door. Setting his book aside, he got up and answered the door, letting AnaMaria enter. She gave him a questioning look, but he just nodded at the bed without saying anything. She went to the bed, and checked the man's wounds. Jack followed, and helped AnaMaria clean the burns again, and apply more aloe. Just as they were finishing, Norrington groaned and tried to push their hands away. James's eyes fluttered open and it took him a few moments to focus, but then his eyes shot straight to Jack. AnaMaria tensed, but stepped back when Jack motioned her back with a flip of his hand.

"Bloody hell. I really am doomed to spend eternity with you, aren't I." James glared at Sparrow, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Jack gave him a quick grin. "Aye, mate. I reckon that's the truth. We're both dead, and wouldn't ye know it, I made it to the pearly gates. Since this 'ere be me idea of 'eaven, they sent me back to me beloved Pearl. But I'm afraid ye went the other way, luv, and since this be your idea of 'ell... well, 'ere ye are."

Norrington just stared at him, but AnaMaria couldn't resist a laugh at that one. James looked over at her then, and his eyes widened. A wild feeling of relief streaked through him, but was gone in the next instant. "Well, since you're here, and he's here, I assume I didn't kill him after all. More's the pity."

AnaMaria's eyes glittered and the only thing that stopped her from leaping on the injured man is the memory that she'd flogged him for a crime he hadn't committed. Granted, it had been two lashes, and the man undoubtedly would do the same or worse to her if their positions were reversed and she were in his custody instead, but pirate though she might be, she never had the stomach for causing pain to others. Only her temper could move her to violence, unlike some of the other crewmembers.

"AnaMaria, be a luv and go see what Mort 'as to eat down below. Bring us up something to eat, savvy?" His eyes silently asked her not to fuss, and with a low grumble, she turned to do his bidding.

James watched her leave, and then his eyes flew back to Jack's. He flinched away from the question he saw there, and instead let a sneer twist his dry lips. "Really, Sparrow. Do you treat all your captives this well?" He started coughing, and Jack got up from the bed to retrieve a tankard from a shelf. He filled it with water, and offered it to Norrington without a word. A flush creeped up James's throat, but he took the tankard and sat up carefully. The blanket across his stomach slid to his waist, and Jack's eyes followed, gazing at the too-sharp hipbones that appeared. James drank deeply, this time without his stomach protesting. He thrust the tankard back at Jack.

"Why?" He looked suspiciously at Jack.

"Why what?" Jack gave him an innocent look, but that question still lurked in the depths of those liquid brown eyes.

"Don't give me that. Why did you bother to pull me off that island? Why did you stop your bloodthirsty wench from finishing? Why bother to tend to my wounds? Not typical pirate behavior," Norrington sneered again.

"Really, mate. Would ye prefer I throw ye back overboard, then? No? I thought not. Very well then. Perhaps I felt sorry for ye. Lord knows I've spent me fair share of time marooned. Well, granted, not nearly as unpleasantly as your little holiday seems to 'ave been. Perhaps it were just the right thing to do." He raised an eyebrow.

James snorted. "Spare me your tales, Sparrow. Just tell me what you bloody want." He shifted and winced at the pain in his back, but with barely a blink, his eyes didn't leave Jack's.

Which is why he saw them grow cold, although Jack flashed him one of his incorrigible Jack Sparrow grins. "Not goin' to buy it then, 'ey. Very well then, 'ow 'bout this. Ye'll bring a fine ransom, ye will." He shrugged, waiting for Norrington's response. Not that he had long to wait.

James smirked, and nodded. "That's more like it. Alright then. You'll be needing what, a lock of hair, a finger? You're the expert, not I."

A quick flicker of hurt, so quick that James couldn't be sure he'd seen it at all. Heavens, but he has expressive eyes, James thought. Sparrow's grin, however, just got bigger. "Maybe yer thinkin' too small, mate. After all, I've seen ye in the altogether, I 'ave. Maybe we'll be sendin' another part o' ye along." He seemed to consider the idea, and then gave a mock sigh. "But no, we couldn't be sure that anyone would be recognizin' that part o' ye, fine upstandin' gentleman that ye are." He looked pointedly at Norrington's lap.

The flush that had heated Norrington's face was nothing compared to the one that graced him now. "You really have no decency whatsoever, do you." He sighed and lay back down. "If you're about finished, I really am having a horrid week. If you're not going to throw me overboard, or pitch me back on the island, or have your ship's whore finish the beating she was so eager to perform, might I at least sleep for a while longer?"

There it was. He'd managed to make Sparrow angry. The glint in those lovely - lovely? What the bloody hell? - eyes was the only reaction he was going to be gifted with, however. Sparrow stood up and crossed to the door, his gait fluid and his footsteps silent. "I'll be back when your supper is." He opened the door and was nearly out when he turned back. "Think what ye want about AnaMaria. I can tell ye' she's a good lass, and a good pirate. And make no mistake; she would have killed ye without remorse. Perhaps that's all ye'll really believe. But she is also the only other aboard who probably gives one whit what 'appens to ye, for reasons beyond me understandin', so I'd be very careful about what ye say to 'er face." His eyes caught James's again; then he gave him an oddly respectful nod and stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

James closed his eyes and swept his uninjured hand across his face with a weary sigh. Keeping Sparrow irritated was a Good Thing. Otherwise, he knew that eventually Sparrow was going to ask him what had happened, how he'd ended up on that island. Hell, he'd already asked the question, it had been there in those warm brown eyes, as clear as if he'd spoken the words aloud. That man could say more with his eyes. The black that rimmed those cinnamon-colored eyes only added to the depths. Enough with his eyes, you bloody idiot. He wondered how long he'd been unconscious, and looked out the nearest portal. The sun was still up, but he could see that it was low in the sky, and realized that the only reason the cabin didn't seem overly dark was because his eyes were used to the shadows. He also suddenly remembered the fact that he had no idea where they were, or what their heading was.

The commodore was concerned at the way his emotions were swinging so wildly from one extreme to another. He'd felt such an utter hatred tinged with fear when he'd first realized that he was Jack Sparrow's captive. He'd reacted with violence and cunning instinct when Sparrow had walked through that door, and he'd surprised himself. But when he'd thought he'd killed the pirate, he'd had such a feeling of emptiness and despair; he'd been willing to let them take his own life without a fight. And then just now, when he opened his eyes and realized that Sparrow was still alive, his first thought was taking the man into custody and seeing him get what all pirates had coming: a short drop and a sudden stop.

There was a soft knock at the door, and before Norrington could say anything, the door swung open, and the pirate lass entered with a covered tray. She looked in his direction, and saw that he was awake. She crossed to the table and set the tray down. Turning his way, she placed her hands on her hips, and regarded him with wary curiosity.

"Will you behave yourself if I bring the tray over to you?" AnaMaria asked.

He gave her an appraising look, which was spoiled by the loud grumbling of his stomach as the smells wafting from the tray reached the bed. She sighed and picked the tray back up, and carried it over to him. He attempted to sit up, and then stared at the arm she offered him, as she balanced the tray deftly on her other. James accepted her assistance, and then stared hungrily at the tray. AnaMaria didn't smile, but set the tray on his lap, and removed the cover.

"The broth is for you. Jack will be joining you, but he said to tell you that you're going to want to start slow; your stomach won't be able to handle it if you overeat." She turned to leave, but Norrington caught her arm. She turned back in an instant and gave him a silent snarl. He instantly dropped her arm, but said "I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask where we're headed." He hesitated, then... "Please."

AnaMaria rolled her shoulders and seemed to consider whether telling him could possibly cause any trouble. She apparently came to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt, for she shrugged. "We're going to Port Royal, of course. That's the closest place to get rid of you, isn't it? We should be there in less than a week, if the weather holds."

"A week? That's impossible. The Myrmidon couldn't have been..." He stopped. James wasn't ready to tell that tale yet. She looked at him curiously, but didn't push. It was nearly a part of the Code: Ask no questions. It made things much simpler.

Just then, Sparrow entered the cabin. He nodded at AnaMaria, and she nodded back. As he approached the bed, she took her leave. Sparrow stopped long enough to pull a chair with him over to the bed, and then plopped down and grabbed a piece of bread from the tray. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, and silently began to eat. He watched Norrington take a drink from the thick mug full of broth. Jack quirked a smile at the proper way Norrington consumed his first meal. The man was starving, surely in terrible pain, in the bed of a pirate captain, on a pirate ship, and he paused to blot his lips after every drink he took. Norrington glanced over at Sparrow, and Jack quickly pretended that he'd not been watching the commodore drink his broth.

Jack had to admit that he found the man exceedingly entertaining. He wasn't all that surprised by this, since he'd been going out of his way to taunt the commodore from their very first meeting. What did cause him some wonder was the fact that he also admired the man as well. He had no use for the king's navy, nor the men who sailed for the king. But Norrington was different. Now if he could just figure out why.

* * *

Chapter 3

Jack looked up from the map he was perusing, glancing over at the bed out of habit before he remembered that Norrington wasn't there. The commodore had been confined to bed for three days, before he'd insisted that he couldn't take it any longer, and would throw the next bloody nursemaid through the door if they didn't let him get some fresh air. Jack had raised an eyebrow at that proclamation, but gave the commodore a grin and a mocking bow before calling Gibbs in to assist Norrington to the deck.

But a sail on the horizon could mean friend or foe, and Jack was fairly certain he didn't want to be found with the commodore aboard the Pearl; at least not until he had a better idea of how to proceed. Regardless of what he'd told Norrington, he had no plans to ransom him in Port Royal. Oh, not because of any twinge of moral conscience about such activity. He did however have plans of another sort, and they didn't include being chased all over the Caribbean for the next six months.

Jack left the cabin, and crossed to where the commodore was standing against the port rail. "I'm afraid, Commodore, that ye'll 'ave to step below. We wouldn't want ye to overtax yerself, what with ye bein' an invalid an' all." Jack swallowed a snicker at the offended look that crossed Norrington's face, but with a firm hand on his uninjured arm, casually led him back to the quarters they'd been sharing.

That had been another battle, when Norrington had realized that although the captain had been willing to give up his bed for an injured man, he had no intentions of giving up his quarters. Norrington wasn't entirely sure why he'd made an issue; the cabin was large, and even with the large table, bed, three armoires, and a desk, there was still plenty of room in one of the corners for a hammock to be strung.

That first evening there had been nothing but tense silence; Norrington had not been in a frame of mind for idle conversation, and Jack had been content to roll himself into the hammock and watch the commodore through his long-lashed, smudged eyes. He'd left a lamp burning on a shelf nearby, and he knew that the commodore had a better view of him than he had of the commodore, but the commodore merely closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. Jack had been a trifle put out over this, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had a guest in his cabin that had fallen asleep without being pleasantly exhausted by love play beforehand. This was definitely going to put a crimp in his reputation.

Gradually, however, over the next two evenings, there had actually been exchanges that might have qualified as conversation. They'd tossed a few insults back and forth with little effort. Then a hesitant question, a stilted answer; they'd gradually loosened up, right up until last evening, where they'd had a rather heated debate on the policies of the king towards his Caribbean colonies. Jack had spent the rest of the evening watching the commodore from his hammock, and had Norrington been able to see his eyes, he would have been fascinated by the fire he'd have seen there. But he hadn't seen, and he spent a dreamless night, while Jack followed his wayward thoughts over the seas of his mind far after the watch changed up on deck.

So as Sparrow ushered Norrington into his cabin, then shut him inside, James chafed at being so coddled. He hated the perceived weakness, and he hated more the implication that he was a prisoner. You are a prisoner, James. You just forgot that. He felt his temper rise, for he had enjoyed the friendly argument he'd had the previous evening with Sparrow. He'd been forced before to change his opinion of the man that day when Captain Jack Sparrow had swiped the Interceptor from literally beneath his nose, when he'd had to agree with young Lieutenant Groves that Sparrow might be the best pirate he'd ever seen. He'd had to revise his opinion again last night, for though he still considered Sparrow as rash, impulsive, and a threat to civilized society, he'd seen that the man had a very keen mind for politics as well as a knack for strategy and an eye for opportunity. He wasn't happy to realize that though he grudgingly admired Sparrow, in return he was considered nothing more than an asset to be traded accordingly.

After seeing the commodore tucked safely out of sight, Jack returned topside to appraise the developing situation. He reached the helm of his Pearl, but Gibbs was already there with telescope in hand. He tossed it to Jack with a grin on his face. Jack tilted his head to one side and then pressed the glass to his eye.

"Yer lad and his lady out there, Cap'n. That there be the Sparrow's Song." Gibbs nodded toward the ship closing with the Pearl. He tensed when the sloop's colors were raised, for running up the mast was a match to their own Jolly Roger. Then he swore and relaxed as he recognized the pair on deck, each with a mischievous grin. "That whelp is going to land his arse in deep water with that trick one of these days," Gibbs grunted.

Jack just laughed and waited for the sloop to pull close enough to allow the Turners to board. Will Turner flipped Jack and Gibbs a jaunty salute, and pulled the young woman beside him closer to his side. Jack was amused to note that Elizabeth Turner was dressed in a pair of breeches and a long white shirt belted at the waist. He imagined that her father would likely have a fit and crawl in it if he could see her at this moment.

"Jack!"

"Will! Ye scurvy dog!"

Will left his bride's side and took the steps two at a time, reaching Jack and pulling him into a rough hug. Jack just grinned and slapped him once on the back, then pushed him away. Making her way more slowly, but with just as much excitement, Elizabeth followed her husband up to where Jack stood.

"Jack, it's great that we caught up with you! We didn't think we'd catch you this close to Port Royal." She gave him a knowing smile. "What could possibly bring you back to these waters this soon?"

Jack had been looking at Will as Elizabeth was speaking, and Elizabeth was sure that he didn't realize the unspoken words that were in his eyes. She raised a hand, intending to place it Jack's arm to get his attention, when a commotion on the deck below caught her own. She and Will both turned, and their jaws dropped when the recognized the surly face of Commodore Norrington heading their way. Elizabeth glanced back at Jack, and then stepped to the top of the stairs.

"Oh, yes, we have the privilege of escortin' the good commodore back to Port Royal," Jack mumbled.

"Commodore Norrington, this is a pleasant surprise," Elizabeth smiled down at him.

"Likewise, I'm sure, Miss... Mrs. Turner." He gave her a chilly nod. "Perhaps you or your husband could possibly convince Captain Sparrow that I can take passage with you the rest of the way back to Port Royal."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and then narrowed; she turned to face Jack. "What exactly is going on here, Jack?"

Will, having learned a bit about his new wife by now, prudently stepped back a pace. Jack, being Jack, just leaned back on his heels and flashed the lass a golden smile. Elizabeth, knowing Jack and Will both, turned back to Norrington. "There are rumors that you and your new ship have gone missing, Commodore. We've come looking for the Pearl in hopes that maybe Jack would know something. And coincidently, perhaps, here you are." She raised her tawny eyebrows and gave Norrington a questioning look.

"Mrs. Turner, while I'd certainly be pleased to tell you the whole story, perhaps I can negotiate with your husband first, regarding my passage home?" Norrington gave her a polite nod that nevertheless was still a dismissal.

Elizabeth's eyes lit with an irritated fury and she glanced at Will, who in turn gave her a sheepish shrug. He pulled her close and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, and whispered something to her that apparently calmed her somewhat; then he turned to the commodore and with a respectful nod, indicated the cabin Norrington had just come from. Jack remained curiously silent during this exchange, and Gibbs fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Jack, would you catch Elizabeth up on events, please? We've been away for a while, and could use any current news you might have," Will called over his shoulder as he followed the commodore, who had begun walking slowly back to his temporary quarters. The burns on Norrington's leg were healing nicely, with no sign of infection, but the bandages covering the burns still caused him pain. This being the first day he'd worn breeches since he'd been burned, he was still learning which movements were likely to hurt.

Once the two men had disappeared, Elizabeth turned back to Jack, only to realize that he too had followed their departure. She walked over to him, and tucked her hand under his arm, and steered him towards the rail of the ship. She smiled at Gibbs as they passed him, and he nodded at her. Jack avoided her eyes until they'd reached the railing.

"Jack." Elizabeth waited until he turned to look at her, and then continued. "I wanted to thank you. I know what he means to you, and I know what it cost you to let him go." She smiled kindly at Jack.

Jack was silent for a moment, and then gave it his best shot. He grinned at her. He put an arm around her shoulders. He sidled up to her. "You've got it all wrong, luv. 'E means nothing to me. Perhaps it's yerself I'm pinin' for, savvy?" He tilted his head to one side, the trinkets adorning his hair jingling merrily at the movement. And for a moment, he thought he had her.

Elizabeth snorted. She snorted. "Don't bother with that rubbish. It's your eyes that give you away every time, Jack. I've known since before the wedding. It's in your eyes every time you look at him. He loves you too, you know. As do I, because I know what it must have cost you to give him up. But you did give him up, and now you need to stop torturing yourself over him. Perhaps things might have been different if you'd have fought for him; you might have won. But you love him even too much for that, too much to risk that it could have torn him apart. You need to let go, and find someone to make you happy."

With every word, Jack's eyes grew more haunted, and his face became more and more still. Elizabeth had never thought to see Jack Sparrow defeated, and a little part of her own heart broke. Jack didn't say a word, just leaned close to her, and kissed her cheek, exactly where Will had earlier. He removed her hand from his arm and nodded to Gibbs; he stopped to pull a bottle of rum from under a pile of rolled maps, and then disappeared below decks. Elizabeth sighed and went to get the latest news from Gibbs, instead.

*****

The Black Pearl and the Sparrow's Song stayed at anchor for the next two days. Norrington had told Will about the mutiny aboard the Myrmidon, and Will had told his wife that evening in their own cabin aboard their ship. Norrington had planned to tell Sparrow that night as well, but the pirate had been conspicuously absent. After waiting until the small hours of the morning for the wayward captain of the Pearl to return to his quarters, he'd given up and fallen asleep.

He wasn't sure what time it was when he next woke, but the sounds of someone stumbling into the cabin immediately told him what had roused him. He carefully lit the lamp next to the bed, and then watched with resigned curiosity as Sparrow tripped over a line in the floor that had apparently sprung up to monstrous proportions. He continued to appraise the captain calmly as he stumbled past the table. He started to become a tad concerned when the captain staggered towards the bed instead of the hammock. Norrington let out an alarmed croak and clumsily scooted to the side when the clearly drunken pirate fell upon the bed, sprawled on his back, and then ceased to move.

Stunned, James lay there for a full minute before his wits returned. Then, with a disgusted sigh, he gave Sparrow a poke. "Sparrow. Wake up." No answer. Another poke. "Sparrow! Move!" This earned him a grunt and the man rolled towards James. Clearly, this wasn't going to work. "JACK! Get UP!" A muttered curse, and a golden arm snaked out, pulled James near and then Sparrow was kissing him. Caught completely unaware, James froze with shock. When his thoughts began again, threatening to spin hysterically out of control, the one that shone through was 'Rum and coconut, naturally,' which caused a frisson of delight, quickly buried. The second thought to surface from the vortex was 'I'm being kissed by a drunken pirate!' which precipitated the violence with which he thrust his uninjured arm against said pirate's chest, and caused him to tumble to the floor.

A loud thump and another curse signaled that Captain Jack Sparrow was at least awake, if not in full possession of his senses. One hand appeared on the side of the bed and as the dark hair and shadow-edged eyes filled with injured dignity rose above the edge, James managed to pull one more thought from his addled brain. The bloody man knows how to kiss. James squashed that one ruthlessly.

"What the bloody 'ell did ye do that for, mate?" Sparrow slurred. He'd managed to pull himself up to lean one arm on the bed, and was glaring at Norrington reproachfully.

"What do you mean, what did I do that for? You were bloody well manhandling me!" Norrington gave him an Extremely Offended Look.

"Well what do ye expect when yer in a bloke's bed and wake 'im? It's practically an invitation!" Sparrow was looking quite put out by this point.

Norrington sputtered. "I beg your pardon? Are you completely barking mad?" His face was turning a lovely red color, Jack noted. "Sparrow. Hammock. Yours. Go." Norrington hoped that if he used enough simple commands, the man would just go sleep it off.

His wishes were granted, as Sparrow managed to pull himself to his feet after a false start. He was muttering under his breath as he reached the hammock, and after trying and failing for the third time to climb into it, he managed to invoke the goodwill of the sea gods and settle with a grunt into a tangle of hair, clothes and hammock. Norrington watched this entire process, and despite all that came before, had to stop himself from laughing once or twice.

James wasn't laughing hours later, when Sparrow was sleeping like the proverbial baby, and he was still lying awake, thinking about just how those warm rum-drenched lips had felt on his, and the skill with which the man used them. He was still awake when the cabin started to lighten, the darkness sliding silently into soft grays.

Several hours later, after he'd washed and then checked his leg, he was up on deck once again. He'd had some breakfast brought to him by AnaMaria, though generally she and the rest of the crew avoided him, to the point of not looking at him when he was on deck. So he was quite alone at the railing when the door to the captain's quarters opened and Sparrow appeared. James had been looking forward to this, hoping to see the man damned well suffering with the mother of all hangovers, in some small recompense for waking him, mauling him - It was a kiss, let's not get dramatic, shall we? - And then leaving him sleepless.

Therefore, James was bitterly disappointed when the man sashayed through the door looking as if he'd just slept the sleep of angels. Sparrow had that outrageous grin on his face as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the sea air.

"Beautiful mornin', ain't it?" He nodded at Norrington.

Norrington bared his teeth at Sparrow.

Sparrow had the audacity to wink at him, and then crossed to where James was standing.

"Did ye sleep well, then?"

James counted to ten. Then he counted to twenty. Finally, he just ignored the question.

"I tried to find you earlier last evening. I wanted to talk to you about the rumors the Turners brought with them," James said.

"Aye? So yer finally ready to talk about it, then?" Jack accepted a banana from a passing crewmember, then leaned on the railing and began to peel the fruit.

"Precisely. You see, I was on my way back from England with the newest addition to the fleet to sail out of Port Royal. She's called the Myrmidon. A few days out of Port Royal, at my best guess, the cox'n decided that military life wasn't really agreeable with him, and he convinced the majority of the crew to his way of thinking. As far as I know, nearly thirty good loyal marines, including a newly promoted lieutenant, were murdered outright. I wasn't offered that option, and instead was marooned on the isle you rescued me from." James had been watching the activity on the sloop anchored next to the Pearl as he talked.

Jack had been watching James. He could see that the loss of the ship had been an insult, but the loss of the men had been an injury, more personal and more painful than those he currently wore on his body. Jack continued to gaze at Norrington until he turned, and then brown eyes met green. James watched something spark in Sparrow's eyes, but couldn't define it. He didn't think it was pity; he didn't want to think it was.

Sparrow rolled his shoulders, and took a bite of his banana. Then, with mouth full, he allayed James's fears. "Ye done what was right by you, mate. Ye survived. Don't let the guilt eat at ye that yer alive and kickin'." At that moment Norrington could read what it was in that frank stare, and he wasn't sure what surprised him more, that it was respect, or that Sparrow offered it unconditionally.

"Besides, luv, look at it this way. It's just another group of pirates for ye to apprehend." The half smile was back, and the respect had shifted to something else indefinable.

Not long after, the Turners boarded the Pearl once more, along with their first mate, a man with the questionable name of One-Eyed Pete (questionable owing to the fact that the man had both of his eyes). The three of them, along with Sparrow, AnaMaria and Gibbs, retired to the captain's quarters. James made to follow, but just then a shirtless dwarf accosted him and spun him around, offering him a silver flask. His back turned to the retreating group, he didn't see the wink that Sparrow sent winging to the small man. Finally he managed to convince the diminutive pirate that he wasn't interested in any rum, but as he walked toward the cabin, a scruffy older man pulled him by the arm towards the upper deck.

These interruptions continued, until James realized that he was being kept out of the way of whatever conference was taking place. His eyes narrowed, and he didn't bother to excuse himself from the sixth, or was it seventh, pirate who had pulled his attention from that closed door. He walked as fast as his injured leg would allow, and when he opened the door he saw... exactly nothing. Sparrow was in the process of rolling up a map, and the rest of them had turned expectantly when the door opened.

"Ahh, Commodore, so good of ye to join us! We'd wondered what kept ye." Sparrow smiled at him, all innocence and courtesy.

"Sparrow..."

"Captain Sparrow, if you please," Jack interrupted.

"Captain Sparrow," Norrington said through clenched teeth, as Will and Elizabeth exchanged an amused glance. "Exactly what deviltry are you six up to in here?"

"Deviltry, Commodore?" Sparrow gave him a crushed look, yet again Norrington could read his eyes, the sly amusement lurking.

Norrington sighed and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. "Never mind. You're all obviously plotting against king and country, and I'm here as you're hostage."

At this Elizabeth laughed outright. "Really, James. I am still allowed to call you James, aren't I? Or have you rescinded that privilege and I must continue to be so irritatingly formal?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

James swore silently. He'd known that his overture of friendship to the Turners the year before at their wedding would come back to haunt him. At the time, he'd merely wanted to quash the rumors that had been running rampant, but his gesture had bloomed into a sort of friendship, until the Turners had left Port Royal for England.

"It's James, of course." He noticed a little light appear in Jack's eyes, and had a feeling he'd granted permission to more than just the Turners to use his given name.

"Excellent! Now, James. You know full well that neither Will nor I would ever consider an act of treason against the King. You're just being surly." She gave him a sweetly innocent smile, and James realized with a sinking stomach that it was identical to the one Sparrow had given him when he'd entered the cabin.

James just groaned and walked right back out the door.

*****

After the evening meal, served at the Captain's table, the Turners returned to their own ship again for the evening. The atmosphere had been relaxed, yet James had noticed that while young Will couldn't keep his eyes off his bride, Sparrow had had trouble keeping his own eyes off of Will Turner. Oh, it wasn't anything glaringly obvious, just a lingering glance here and there. James didn't realize that to have noticed, his own attention had had to have drifted to the pirate captain far more than was probably wise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had noticed the various one-way staring, and as her mind analyzed, she began to have a Sneaking Suspicion.

Shortly after that, she feigned an enormous yawn, and then the devious young lady insisted that the day had been far too taxing for her, and she would really feel much better if she could just go back to the Song and get some rest. Will regarded her with a look that became more and more skeptical as she continued to make her apologies. Sitting around the better part of the day had tired her out? When on most days when they were at sea, she was as likely to be crawling around the ship's rigging as any of the crew? He didn't argue, however, once she gave him The Look he'd long since interpreted as "Just shut up and play along." He loved his wife to distraction, but after a year of marriage, he knew she was at least as cunning as Captain Jack Sparrow. So after offering his own farewell, he and Elizabeth retired to their ship and their cabin.

Jack and the commodore sat in silence for a while, before Jack got up and retrieved a bottle from a shelf near the bed. He pulled the cork from the bottle, and took a drink, then offered it to James. James glanced up at Sparrow, but shook his head.

"Oh, come now, James me lad," he tilted his head to one side, the medallion attached to one long twist of hair swinging with the motion. "Just a nip won't 'urt ye."

James grimaced at the use of his given name, but wasn't surprised by it. He'd known it was coming. "That's Commodore Norrington, or at the very least Commodore." He gave Jack his best haughty look, but it didn't seem to faze the reprobate.

"Whatever ye say, James. Now come on, that's a good lad, drink up," he pushed the bottle into James's hands. He placed one hand on either arm of the captain's chair, which he'd so generously yielded to the commodore for the meal, and leaned down towards James. "One little drink."

Fascinated by the nearness of Jack, catching the smell of rum on the warm breath that wafted over him, James unconsciously brought the bottle to his own lips and took a healthy swig. Seeing the smile break over Jack's face was like seeing the sunrise after a midnight thunderstorm. Bloody everlasting hell, I did NOT just think that. James shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was just in time to see Jack close his own, and those clever lips captured his.

This time, James knew there was no excuse. He wasn't half asleep, and Jack wasn't drunk. At least no drunker than he usually was, which James was beginning to suspect was a ruse the majority of the time. Jack brushed his lips across James's mouth, just the barest touch. When there was no overt objection forthcoming, he claimed those lips again, gently teasing, tempting, coaxing James to let him deepen the kiss. James unthinkingly obeyed, parting his lips and then groaning when Jack's tongue slipped inside his mouth. His own tongue flicked briefly against Jack's, a tentative yet questing encounter. When he felt Jack quiver, James fumbled with the bottle of rum, finally finding the table and setting it down. When his hand was free, he reached and put his hand against Jack's shoulder, with every intention of pushing him away. And then Jack's own hand tangled in James's hair, and James was lost.

The passage of time was unnoticed, and James perhaps would have been content to live forever in that instant. But it wasn't to be, because the knock at the door brought him to his senses, and though Jack would have ignored everything up to his precious Pearl burning down around him, James remembered the hand on Jack's shoulder, and gave him a push. This of course resulted in nearly the same ending as previously, for Jack was taken off-guard, and stumbled backwards. He managed to keep himself on his feet, however, and with a dismayed look at James, he stalked to the door and answered it.

James took the opportunity to gather his thoughts. Alright. This is not happening. He wasn't at all na�ve about men who enjoyed the attentions of men; no man who had chosen the career of sailor, whether military or civilian, could go for long without picking up at least the knowledge that such things happened. James had never been one to let his passions rule him, however, whether emotional or physical, and had never even considered the possibility for himself.

Jack finished his business at the door, and returned to stand in front of James. "I suppose it's too much to be hopin' for that we can just take up where we left off?" He gave James an appealing smile.

For one brief moment, a moment of clarity, a moment of insanity, James was wildly tempted to say yes. "Absolutely not! And you can just move right on over there to your own side of the room."

Jack sighed a little forlorn sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "Another drink, then?"

"No, Jack."

"Ye just called me Jack." Jack's face lit up.

"Captain Sparrow."

"Too late. And now that we're on a first name basis, as it were, I think we should be drinkin' a toast to the beginnin' of a beautiful friendship!" Jack thrust the bottle back into James's hand.

"Oh for God's sake. If I drink a toast, will you let me get some sleep? I want to be up early; the Turners will be taking their leave at dawn." James tipped the bottle to his lips and took a much smaller drink than he had before.

"For certain, luv. We'll be makin' sure ye get on the Song before she sets sail for Port Royal." Jack gave James a hearty nod, and accepted the bottle of rum to drink his own homage to the toast.

James was much less certain, but he was generally up before the sun. Since Jack had said no more about ransom, and it was the Turners who would be his passage home, he was at least beginning to believe he'd make it there in one piece. Well, more or less. He restlessly scratched at an imaginary itch on his broken arm.

Although not getting exactly what he wanted, Jack still felt that he'd won the battle, and so he graciously let James retire to bed. James removed his borrowed shirt, and with a glare at Jack, he motioned for him to turn around. Jack complied, although not before giving James a rather warm look. James removed his breeches awkwardly, and then crawled onto the bed and covered himself with the blanket.

"I'm finished." He turned to look at Jack's back, and then met Jack's laughing eyes in the mirror mounted on the wall next to the armoire, opposite the bed. He felt himself blush, and then cursed under his breath. This man was intent on driving him mad before he left in the morning.

"Very uncouth, Jack."

"Pirate, luv."

"Indeed. Are you going to sleep, or are you going to ogle me all night?" James said sourly.

"I thought I might read for a smidge. It's still early, after all, and since ye put the kibosh on other, more interestin' forms of entertainment, I figure education is a worthy goal." He ambled over to the shelf and after a brief examination, picked one and returned to his hammock. He settled himself into a curled up heap, and began to read.

James closed his eyes. He lasted for all of two minutes before curiosity got the best of him. "Alright, I'll bite. What are you reading?"

Jack looked up from his book. "The works of Christopher Marlowe." He turned his attention back to the book.

"You expect me to believe you're reading poetry." James gave him a skeptical look.

"Of course not. I'm readin' 'is plays, too" Jack didn't look up.

"Very well. You're reading Marlowe. I should have expected no more. The man was a sodomite."

Jack did look up at this. "Aye, if ye believe the tales. 'E was also a spy and a scoundrel, accordin' to some. Ye'd have gotten on well with 'im." He grinned at James.

James rolled his eyes. "Good night, Sparrow."

"Jack."

"Oh for... Good night, Jack."

"Sweet dreams, James."

Jack read for a bit longer, until the even rise and fall of the blanket covering James told him that he'd fallen asleep. Then he put the book down on his chest, and folded his arms behind his head. He wondered how angry James was going to be in the morning when he found out that the Sparrow's Song had left without him.

* * *

Chapter 4

Commodore James T. Norrington was livid. At some point during the night, the Sparrow's Song had raised anchor, and set sail without him. There were no words to express his disappointment with the situation, but he gave it a damned good try.

"Sparrow! This is your doing. You had absolutely no intention of letting me get on that ship, and sailing to Port Royal. Admit it!" James fumed at the cheery countenance upon Jack's face.

"Now James, that's jus' plain untrue. Ye couldn't sail with the Song, as she weren't bound for Port Royal just yet." Jack thought this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. "I have no intention of breakin' me word to ye, and I did say I'd make sure ye were on the Song before she sailed for Port Royal."

"You're a bloody liar." James stalked back to the cabin and slammed the door behind him.

Jack sighed and watched the door moodily for a few minutes before walking up to the helm. He gave AnaMaria a half-hearted shrug, and she nodded, then gave the command to weigh anchor and set sail. Once they were moving, and AnaMaria had them on the correct heading, she turned the Pearl's wheel back over to her brooding captain. She had overheard the commodore's portion of the earlier exchange, and she knew that although Jack might have bent the truth a bit, as Jack saw it, he'd been as honest with the commodore as the situation would allow.

AnaMaria waited until Jack was deep in conversation with Gibbs, then she went to have a word with the commodore. She knocked on the door, and when there was no answer from inside, she squared her shoulders and entered anyway. Her eyes searched the cabin warily, and she found the commodore at the windows, watching as the water began to slide by. He turned when he heard her footsteps; he'd been expecting Jack, and the lighter step had surprised him. He watched her approach, and then turned back to the window.

"What do you want?" he asked churlishly.

AnaMaria bristled, but her voice showed no sign of it. "You're mad at Jack for something he doesn't really have any control over, you know."

James harrumphed. "So he's a compulsive liar. That shouldn't come as a surprise."

AnaMaria kept a tight grip on her irritation. "Jack actually doesn't lie all that often, to be true. He usually relies on other folks to disbelieve the truth." She gave him a rather pointed look, wasted on the back of his head. "What I meant was, Jack is Jack. He wasn't about to send you into Tortuga with the Turners. You'd be dead before you left the docks. You do have somewhat of a reputation among pirates, after all. He can't control that fact, and he can't control that it's in his nature to protect those that end up in his care who need protecting."

James had had no intention of listening to explanations, but when he heard the name Tortuga, his head had snapped around to stare at AnaMaria. "What in heaven's name did they go to Tortuga for? And by all that's holy, why did they let Elizabeth go?" He looked outraged.

"First of all, you should have seen by now that there's very little of 'letting' Miss Elizabeth do anything. She's turning into a fine pirate." AnaMaria couldn't help tweaking the commodore's nose with that statement. "Secondly, they've been there any number of times, or so I've heard, and there are rumors that they have made quite a few impressive contacts there. Thirdly, their reasons for going to Tortuga are not mine to tell, so if you're wanting to know, you'll have to ask Jack."

She paused for a moment, and then asked, "Do you want me to send Jack down? Or did you plan on sulking for a while longer?"

"Sulking? I am not sulking. I'm merely concerned that there are people unnecessarily worried about me back at Port Royal, and want to return there with all haste so as to put their minds at rest." James crossed his arms, and looked down his nose at the pretty pirate lass. "And by all means, send your treacherous captain along. I suddenly find myself having more words for the blighter."

"Never mind, then. If you're just going to do your best to make him feel worse, then you can just sit here and stew in your own juices for the next little bit." AnaMaria gave him a charming smile, and then left him to his own devices. As she walked out the door, she couldn't resist one last parting shot. "Oh, and we'll be stopping for a few days at a quiet little cove Jack is fond of. We've a need to refill some water casks and the boys want some fresh meat. You might as well enjoy your holiday, Commodore, because it's not quite over yet." She closed the door behind her.

Oh yes, I'm definitely going to hang the man. James gritted his teeth, and turned back to the window. He struggled to get his anger under control. Why has this made me so furious? I wasn't this angry when Cooper threw me in my own brig. His eyes followed the pattern in the water created by the passing of the Pearl. I suppose it could be because even though I didn't know the man was a traitor and a murderer, I'd never given him my trust. I barely knew him and it was my own inattention that ended me on that island. And I trusted Jack? Why would I ever do something so stupid? He tapped his fingers on the sill of the window, and a tiny voice inside his head piped up. Because he's a good man. "Oh shut up, you." James huffed a sigh. He felt some of his anger draining away. If what AnaMaria said was true, then he grudgingly admitted that Tortuga was the last place he should be going in his condition, or maybe at all. And if it wasn't true? I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

James was still angry, however, and instead of going to confront Jack, he decided that he'd wait until he'd calmed down a good deal more. He turned to the shelf of books, and chose a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets. Jack was probably going to keep on surprising him; he'd not expected to find the Bard's works on a pirate ship. Then again, he hadn't thought Jack would know how to read, either. Wondering if Jack had learned informally or he'd had any kind of formal schooling, he pulled the captain's chair over to the windows, and sat down to read.

Later, when James heard the ship's anchor being dropped, he returned the book to its shelf. He'd regained his temper quite some time earlier, but had found himself enjoying the luxury of just sitting alone, with nothing pressing waiting for his attention, and reading for hours. Now, however, he crossed the cabin and walked out on deck, getting his bearings. He was a bit amazed by the sight he saw, however, and wondered exactly where they'd dropped anchor.

They were at rest in a cove; a small river emptied into it, and in the distance, above the foliage, he could see a waterfall that splashed down a cliff face. And I couldn't have been marooned here, why?, he thought with wry humor. Several members of the crew were already in the process of lowering the longboat, and Jack, Gibbs and AnaMaria were standing not far away, talking quietly. Jack looked up as James appeared from the cabin, and with a word to the other two, he squared his shoulders and rather warily approached James. James frowned at the cautious look in Jack's eyes; he wasn't sure why, but it bothered him that Jack was hesitant to approach him.

When Jack drew near and began to speak, however, his tone was conciliatory, if a bit restrained. "Are ye goin' to be bashin' me over the 'ead again, mate? Or can we skip that bit o' foolishness and jus' go ashore?" He gave James a small smile.

"I'll make you a deal, Sparrow..."

"Jack?" Jack coaxed.

"Jack. As I said, I'll make you a deal. If you will tell me exactly what we're doing here, and why you didn't tell me the Turners were going to Tortuga, I'll go ashore with you. I will even try to restrain my violent tendencies." James gave Jack a level look.

Jack sighed. "All right, mate. But that be two requests, and ye'll 'ave to ante up another concession if ye be wantin' both."

James had a feeling he was stepping into a trap, but what the hell. For whatever reason, he did trust Jack. How bad could it really be? "Very well. Name your terms."

The sparkle that leapt to Jack's eyes, and the smile that broke over his face both gratified and worried James. "Ye'll get drunk with me tonight."

James groaned. "Surely you're not serious?"

Jack nodded emphatically. "Take it or leave it, mate."

"I'm going to regret this. I know I'm going to regret this." James ran his hand through his hair.

"Splendid!" Jack flashed him a smile of gold, and his eyes were dancing merrily as he ushered James over to where the longboat waited.

When they reached shore, the pirates began to take the water casks further into the trees to fill them from a spring that emptied into the small river. Jack pointed up the beach, and started walking, which left James to follow. Once they were away from the beached longboat, Jack let himself sink to the sand and sat cross-legged, motioning for James to join him. James set next to him, and then waited for Jack to begin at his own pace.

"So, what do ye want to know exactly?" Jack picked up a handful of sand, and let it slowly sift out from between his fingers.

"Why did the Turners head off to Tortuga instead of Port Royal? They didn't mention a side trip, and I was under the impression they were on their way back to visit Governor Swann." James picked up a shell, and began to turn it over in his fingers.

Jack sifted another handful of sand. "They're goin' to find some information on your Myrmidon," he said quietly.

James looked at him sharply. "You're serious? Those two aren't really well equipped to be taking such chances by themselves."

Jack laughed. "Luv, they've been in and out of Tortuga any number of times. I didn't like it much meself, when I found out, but there it is. They are a savvy twosome. They complement each other." He glanced at James. "Jus' like any good couple should."

James remembered Jack's glances at young Turner and the previous evening's meal, and figured Jack was remembering the times he and Will had worked side by side to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. He sighed. "You believe they'll be alright." It wasn't a question, so much as a hope.

Jack nodded. "Aye, I do. So, your next question?"

James was still fiddling with the shell he'd picked up. "So why are we here?"

"That's a question for the ages, mate," Jack grinned over at him.

"You know what I mean. Why did we stop here? There was enough water to get us to Port Royal, if we're only two days out. And for that matter, where is 'here', anyway? I don't remember an uninhabited island within two days' sailing of Port Royal." James had just realized this fact.

Jack leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. He'd removed his boots back at the longboat, and his bare feet were covered in sand.

"I wanted to 'ave the information before we returned ye home. Ye never know when a piece of information ye don't 'ave can cost ye dearly. As for where we are... well, it occurred to me a while after I'd got me Pearl back that if there be one island that can't be found by ordinary means, there might be more. Yer lookin' at one o' them. I call it La Isla de los Sue�os. The Isle of Dreams... fittin' ain't it? Compared to Isla de la Muerta, this be a dream. Jus' don' ask what I 'ad to do to find this one." Jack tilted his head back and closed his eyes, basking in the afternoon sun.

James sat quietly digesting this bit of news. His gaze kept being drawn to Jack, reluctantly admiring the pagan way Jack seemed to be worshipping the sun. After a while, Jack began to get restless; they stood and James dropped his shell, brushing the sand from his clothes. He didn't notice Jack pick up the shell he'd dropped and tuck it safely into a pouch that hung at his waist before they made their way back to where the longboat was being loaded with casks.

*****

The bonfire crackled on the sand, glowing embers rising on the heat as if trying to join the stars shining brightly overhead. Several pirates had chosen to remain ashore once most of the water casks had been filled; AnaMaria, Cotton, the occasionally AWOL Gunn, and others were sitting around the fire. Gibbs had stayed aboard the Pearl to keep watch. An impromptu party had sprung up, with several bottles of rum making the rounds. The occasional song broke out; several unfamiliar versions of songs James recognized, the pirate song that Elizabeth was so fond of, and songs that James had never heard before provided the entertainment.

When the stories started, James let his mind begin to wander. He sat across the fire from Jack, but he kept his part of the bargain, and when the rum was passed his way, he'd take a swallow before passing it on. He had to admit, once the bottle had been by a few times, he was beginning to enjoy himself. He leaned back against a fallen tree trunk that had been pulled over for just this purpose. He was still rather surprised that Jack had been so candid with him earlier, but he was feeling far too mellow at this point to dwell on it.

James wondered how long they'd be staying at anchor here, this island that for all reasonable purposes was hidden from the world. The real question was how long it would take the Turners to hunt up the information they were looking for. He was in the middle of these musings when a burst of laughter pulled him from his reverie. He pulled his attention back to the party, and AnaMaria who was the current storyteller.

"...and of course, Jack couldn't just let the dog go, and the next thing I knew I was on my arse in a pen full of pig shit. And by the time I got myself cleaned up, Jack had returned the dog, and taken off with my boat." She gave Jack a glare, while the rest of the men were slapping their knees and howling with laughter.

"And I'll get ye another boat, a better boat, ye've my word on it," Jack swore with a grin and a flourish of his hand. This only caused another burst of laughter, and a wry grin from AnaMaria.

James reckoned he'd have to get the beginning of that story sometime in the future. But now, the party started to deteriorate into random talking and jokes and laughter, and his head was pleasantly spinning. Jack had come over to James, and offered him a hand up. James took it without thinking, not even stopping to wonder where they were off to. Jack grabbed the bottle of rum that had been sitting beside him, and after tugging on James's arm, began walking up the beach in the direction they'd gone earlier. AnaMaria watched them go with a slight smile on her face, and then turned back to Gunn, who was telling her a joke about a shepherdess and a knight errant.

Jack, meanwhile, was leading James past the spot where they'd talked earlier in the day. Strutting up the beach with his usual swaying walk, he reached a strand of boulders that jutted out into the water and began to climb over. James watched him scramble over the rocks, a faintly doubtful look on his face, but since Jack didn't stop, and James had consumed just enough rum to make night-time rock climbing with an injured leg and a broken arm seem reasonable, he carefully picked a path along behind him.

Once they reached the other side, James took in the new scene; a small lagoon with a tiny beach waited here, sheltered by the rocks they'd just climbed on one side and another larger arm of rock on the other. The barest sliver of moon was just beginning to rise up out of the sea, and the gentle hiss of the waves on the sand added a counter-point to his slightly quickened heartbeat and breathing, thanks to the brief climb. Jack had already settled himself in the sand, and was casually taking a pull from the rum bottle.

James silently followed suit, sitting next to Jack. He watched the moon sail higher, accepting the bottle from Jack when it was offered. He just held the bottle, though, not taking a drink. James wasn't a fool, and he had a pretty good idea of why Jack had brought him here; that wasn't really in question. The real questions were much less black and white. How did he feel about this? Should he go through with it? Would he regret it? Could he blame it on the rum tomorrow? And why was Jack just sitting there, making no move?

Maybe I've got the wrong idea altogether. Perhaps he just was tired of the noise, and wanted a bit of quiet. James glanced at Jack. Jack was still watching the moon rising, his fingers tugging and twirling the two braids that decorated his chin. James lost himself in thought again. How do I feel about this? It's not something I can just undo later on. And for that reason alone, I need to be sure. Another glance at Jack, who had leaned back on his elbows, assuming the same posture he'd had earlier in the day while soaking up the sun. James's pulse quickened at the sight. The man is a bloody sensualist. He drinks up the sun and the moon with equal delight. He's a pagan to the core, a creature of desires and boldly determined to fulfill all of them.

James continued to ponder. If I do this, it would be idiocy, not to mention cowardly, to try and assign blame later on. The rum is no excuse; I may be a bit more ... relaxed ... than normal. But hardly drunk, and definitely not impaired enough to claim I didn't know what I was doing. He hadn't stopped watching Jack, and when Jack rolled to his side, propped his head up with one arm bent at the elbow and his soulful eyes met James's own, James caught his breath. He knew. There was a challenge there in Jack's eyes. He's waiting for me. It's my choice. What kind of pirate does this? He already knew the answer to that one. It had become his mantra. A good man.

Something warmed inside of James. He reached out; put his palm on Jack's cheek, rubbing his thumb across that full bottom lip. His mouth twitched in a half smile, and then he leaned forward and claimed Jack's lips with his own. Jack let out a small growl, but didn't move; his lips parted as James sucked on the bottom lip he'd traced just moments before. James took advantage of Jack's yield, and let his tongue explore Jack's mouth. He noticed the addicting taste of coconut and rum once more. Jack captured his invading tongue, sucking gently; James's cock leapt to attention at the sensation, and he could hear his own breathing quicken. He tangled his hand in Jack's shirt, pulling him closer.

Jack had no objections; quite the opposite, in fact, and let himself be drawn towards James. Their tongues met and retreated; an erotic dance, a sensual fencing match that neither cared who won. Both men were panting with shallow breaths when Jack drew back to look at James. He seemed to search James face for something, and apparently satisfied, his brown eyes seemed to warm even more. Something James couldn't name had crept into that gaze, something he wanted to keep there.

"Alright, then, mate?" Jack asked.

"Actually, I don't think so." James gave him a look. Jack held his breath at that, until, "I think we're wearing too many clothes."

Jack's eyes crinkled with the beaming smile that lit his face. "That be easy enough to fix, luv."

Jack began to remove clothing, piece by piece, and James watched with fascination as each piece was discarded. He was enthralled by the fact that Jack seemed to be golden all over; in addition to the sparrow swooping low on his arm, the tattoos here and there didn't so much mark his body as they decorated it. Several faded scars were also scattered across his torso; though the branded "P" below the sparrow tattoo caught James's eye, he noted it and then ignored it. A more recent scar ran from just under his right arm and across his chest, barely missing his nipple as it angled downward, ending dangerously close to his abdomen. James ran his fingers down that scar, causing Jack to pause; he noted with pleasure that Jack's cock was as hard as his own.

"Yer also a bit over-dressed, I'm thinkin'," Jack pointed out.

"I suppose I am, at that." James finished tracing that scar, and began to remove his own clothing. He was rather surprised at the lack of urgency; he'd expected that love play with a pirate would be all flash, like a lit pile of gunpowder. Instead, the heat grew gradually, and he was rather pleased it was so. There was time for more adventurous play later. He realized that this also was Jack's doing, giving him every chance to change his mind.

Jack removed his breeches, and moved to kneel in front of James; he helped James with buttons, as James's splinted arm still made this an awkward activity. With each button he opened, Jack pulled the shirt open, and leaned to kiss the exposed flesh. He continued in this way until he could push the shirt off of James's shoulders; he gently pushed James back into the sand, and removed his boots. James was dimly wondering why he wasn't a mewling mess by now.

And then Jack started the process over again with the buttons on James's breeches. A button opened, a matching nuzzle with those talented lips. James was sure he was going to go up in flames. He put his hand on Jack's head; his fingers skimming the red cloth band Jack wore to keep the hair from his eyes and finding the many baubles and trinkets there. Jack reached the last of the buttons, and then with hands on either of James's hips, pushed those breeches away with a decisive growl.

Jack crawled up James's body, stopping to lick and suck at one of the hipbones he'd admired days before, then continuing upwards until he reached his lips; James inhaled sharply when he felt Jack's erection slide across his, and then Jack claimed him for another of those heated kisses. James's good hand moved to the pirate's hip to grasp it firmly, and he awkwardly thrust upward to grind against him. He groaned into Jack's mouth as their cocks rubbed across each other again, a twin groan answering him. The pirate reached to grab James by the wrist and pulled it up above the man's head, and he pinned it there; James's other arm effectively trapped by the splint still in place there.

Jack slid his lips down to lick at the other man's collarbone; a quick lick and then a nip. James tilted his head to one side, silently requesting more of the same. Jack's low growl thrummed appreciatively, and he proceeded to lick, nip and kiss a maddeningly slow trail down James's body. A minor detour to each nipple, another nip and swirl of Jack's tongue, punctuated with a gasp. When he heard James moan deep in his chest, a yearning, pleading sound, he released James's wrist, and brought both hands to the man's hips. Another lick, nip, this one on the inside of James's thigh, and James spread his legs; Jack gave a pleased chuckle, and then James felt a warm puff of breath on his cock. He raised his head just in time to see, and feel, a warm, wet, velvet tongue swipe up his length, from base to flared head. His back arched, and he gave another moan, but his eyes didn't leave the exquisite sight of Jack between his legs. He nearly shattered when that warm wet mouth encircled his leaking cock, and with the first greedy, sucking pull, he was clutching at the sand.

It was all too brief a moment; James trembled as Jack's slim, calloused fingers stroked and cupped his balls, that warm swirling inferno moving up and down his cock. Every few strokes, Jack would stop to trace the head with his tongue, running along the underside before beginning the pattern all over again. When Jack's fingers began to massage the smooth skin behind his balls, James could feel them draw tight, and he tensed and clutched at the sand once more.

"Jack... not yet... please," James wasn't sure he was coherent, but Jack's talented, velvet mouth left his organ, and he retraced his journey back up James's body to kiss him deeply. He could taste himself in Jack's kiss, and this only enflamed him further. Jack fumbled briefly with his own pile of clothes without breaking the kiss; then he placed his hand in James's hand. He squeezed James's hand briefly, and when he brought his hand back to tangle in James's hair, he left behind a small metal flask.

Jack raised his head to look into James's eyes, and he saw the question there. "It's your call, luv. Yer in control 'ere."

The trust implicit in that statement stole James's breath away. He rolled, bringing Jack beneath him; moving down Jack's body, he imitated the journey the pirate had made down his. He trailed his tongue down the scar he'd traced with his fingers, and when he reached Jack's erection, a few drops of clear fluid leaking from it, he stopped. He sent Jack an unsure glance, but when he saw the heat in those eyes, his hesitation was gone. He took Jack's cock into his mouth, and was rewarded with a low moan. His tongue swiped those precious few droplets, tasting, considering, finally treasuring. Jack's hand fisting in his hair encouraged him, but after only a few moments, Jack's low moans begged him to stop.

James spread Jack's legs, sitting between his thighs; he opened the flask, and poured some of the oil inside into his uninjured hand. The whole process was clumsy, but only until the flask was discarded; with well-oiled fingers, he explored the Jack's cleft, running his fingers across the small opening hidden there. Once, twice... with each pass, Jack's cock twitched, until James pressed a finger firmly, slowly inside. Jack closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them, locking them to James's green ones.

"Alright, Jack?" James asked, finger pressing slowly deeper.

"Oh... aye, luv... gods, yes." Jack's voice was low and fervent.

James thrust a few times with that slick finger, and then carefully added another; marveling at the look of longing on Jack's face. He scissored his fingers as he thrust, stretching and preparing. With one of these movements, he grazed a spot; a small hard spot that caused Jack to arch his back, his eyes feverish, his teeth worrying his lower lip. James watched this reaction with utter fascination, and with another slight thrust, he grazed that spot again. Jack groaned loudly then started to babble, or so it seemed to James. Hot words, love words, dirty words. Begging words.

"James... Do it now, luv. Inside me, now." Jack's face was flushed, his warm cinnamon eyes pleading with James. A request James couldn't have denied if he'd wanted to. He slipped his fingers from Jack's warm body, and with all the speed he could manage, covered his own erect cock with more oil from the handy flask. The slick sensation of the oil excited him; the sight of Jack's hungry eyes, those sweet, hot words -- they made him doubt he'd last for more than an instant. But he was going to pleasure them both or die trying.

James pressed the head of his cock against the opening to Jack's body, slowly driving forward. Jack whimpered, urging James on. A drop of sweat rolled down James's back, the effort of going slowly more difficult than anything he could have possibly imagined. Until Jack raised one leg, putting it up on James's shoulder.

"More, James," Jack nearly purred this request, and James complied. Sliding deeper, deeper, until he was fully sheathed.

"Oh God, Jack..." James closed his eyes and held his breath for just a moment. "Oh God..."

Jack bucked, and James's eyes flew open, and he saw the frenzy in the other man's eyes. Gripping Jack's hip with one hand, he began to thrust; slow, deep, penetrating thrusts. James hooked his elbow under Jack's other leg, putting this one on his shoulder as well. This changed the angle; now, with each thrust, he hit the spot that had Jack calling for the gods. He slid his hand down to Jack's weeping cock, and with oil still covering his hand, began to stroke in time with his gradually quickening thrusts. Jack wrapped a hand around the one that enclosed his hard length, letting James know what pleased him. James began to plunge with a wicked urgency; each nudge of James's cock drove Jack closer and closer to the edge of his world. And then he was falling; Jack rode the waves of his pleasure with a keening moan, the pulses of warm, pearly white roping to land across his belly. The rhythmic clenching of muscles around his own erection was too much for James, and his release was heralded with a wrenching groan, torn from the fabric of completion.

James was paralyzed for a brief, seemingly endless moment, held immobile by the exquisite ecstasy coursing through his body; and then, letting Jack's legs slide from his shoulders, he lowered himself onto Jack, seeking out his lips for an unhurried kiss, all the previous urgency spent for the time being. Jack wrapped his arms around James, content to let him catch his breath. After a while, Jack started to squirm, and James chuckled. Oh so slowly, he withdrew from Jack, earning him a protesting hum from the pirate. He rolled onto his side, and pulled Jack back against him.

"James, lad, ye have an absolute callin' for this sort of thing, that ye do," Jack proclaimed huskily.

James gave a snort of laughter. "I think that might be sacrilege, Jack. You're on the edge of blasphemy, I'm almost certain."

"What a load of tosh. Ye made me eyeballs spin, ye did. No shame in bein' good at somethin' me mum always said." Jack grabbed his shirt and breeches and wadded them up for a makeshift pillow, then laid his head on the edge, leaving enough room for James.

"I'm not sure she was talking about someone buggering her son," James answered in a dry tone. "I think I owe you, by the way."

Jack looked over his shoulder at James. "What do ye mean by that?"

James shrugged. "I didn't exactly get drunk with you, now did I?" He tried to sound casual.

Jack considered what James was telling him. "That's all right, luv. I think I came out ahead in our negotiations, all things considered." He grinned at James.

They lay there, tangled together, forever. Not nearly long enough. James snaked an arm around Jack's waist, as they lay spooned together. Jack shifted slightly, and gave a delicious purr. James pressed his face forward into Jack's mixture of tangled and corded hair and grinned. Jack would have been utterly charmed to see this expression; he'd seen the mocking, sarcastic smile on James face, he'd seen duty and responsibility, perhaps with the faintest flicker of distaste, and he'd seen passion. But he'd yet to see true delight, and it was a shame that he missed it just then.

Content, James was mostly asleep when he heard from the other side of consciousness a voice quietly murmur:

"A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love."

James struggled towards consciousness to listen, but if there was more, it was lost in the whisper of the waves and the mists of Morpheus.

* * *

Chapter 5

James awoke as the sun rose, the light and the calls of the birds pulling him to consciousness. The very next thing he noticed was that he had an armful of naked pirate. This rattled him for a moment, until his memory woke up as well. His memory had picked this morning to be a late riser. Once James and his memory were finished with their morning greetings, James's jumpy stomach calmed a bit. And when his memory reminded him that he'd made his choice the previous evening in sound mind, his stomach desisted with its antics, settling for merely being hungry.

James stretched, taking care not to wake Jack, who was still soundly asleep. He sat up, and then yelped. Yes, he was very certain the sound he'd just made was a yelp.

"Bloody buggering hell!"

Jack jerked awake and rolled to a crouch, swatting his bare hip in search of his pistol. "Where be the scurvy dogs?!" He looked around wild-eyed. Seeing no horde of screaming madmen descending upon them, he turned his narrowed eyes on James.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Troubles, then?"

James was caught between laughter and more swearing. He tried to casually stand up, and settled for more swearing.

Jack just stared at him.

"Oil and sand do not mix well. In fact, I would go so far as to say that oil seems to attract sand. And if you'll recall exactly where I was covered in oil, which has now attracted sand, perhaps you'll begin to understand my swearing." James thought he was being very reasonable pointing this out.

Jack turned around. To give him full marks, he did not even crack a smile until he'd done so. James noticed handprints on Jack, one on his hip, another on his thigh, that were nicely matted with sand. My handprints. James rather liked that thought. Jack began to quiver. And then make sounds. Disturbingly squeaky sounds. Sounds much like someone trying with questionable success not to burst out laughing.

James took a step towards Jack, and yelped again. "Damn you, Jack." He clenched his jaw, and headed for the lagoon, instead. Jack looked over his shoulder to watch James, and began to chortle as he watched James walk bow-legged towards the water with the occasional grumble or curse. By the time James reached the water, Jack was gasping for breath and holding his sides from laughter.

James strode into the water until he was waist deep, then crouched down, letting the water cover him. Jack managed to get himself under control after much effort, and after rummaging through his clothing, then through the pouch that usually hung at his waist, he came up with a grey lump of soap. He then headed for the water himself.

"Don't typically wash in salt water, but I'm thinkin' ye wouldn't make it to the stream walkin' like that." Jack was rather proud of himself for not snickering again. He tossed the soap to James.

James caught it, and began to remove the oil from sensitive places. He finished, washed the rest of himself, and headed back out of the water, handing the soap to Jack on the way by. When he got to his clothes, he spread his shirt out and sat down, pulling off the wet bandages from his leg. It was healing nicely, the burn not as bad as it had originally looked. The skin was still red and even weepy in small spots, but James had been lucky, and there had been no infection. He covered the injury back up, and then pulled on his breeches. The lashes on his back were also nearly healed; with any luck, there would be no scarring.

Jack finished bathing, and was headed back up the beach by the time James managed the buttons on his breeches. He bent down and grabbed his shirt, shaking out the sand. As he slid it on, his eyes met Jack's; Jack tilted his head to one side, but merely picked up his own clothing and began to dress. James didn't bother to try all the buttons of his shirt. He was going to give the informal look a try today.

"Regrets, mate?" Jack's voice was neutral, his usually expressive face still.

James looked at Jack, his own expression unreadable. "Not really."

Jack nodded.

"Well, one..." James frowned.

"Aye, and that would be?" Jack raised that eyebrow again.

"Not washing that oil off last night." James gave Jack a half smile.

Jack's eyes warmed. "Aye, I'll believe that for the truth." Jack grabbed the flask from the sand, and tucked it and the soap into a pocket. "Let's go see what the buckos found to break their fast, aye?" He led the way back over the rocks.

James was much more cautious on the rocks than he'd been the evening before; but they made it back to the longboat with no mishaps. The sand around the extinguished bonfire was littered with sleeping pirates, a few wrapped together under a shirt or topcoat. AnaMaria was asleep in the longboat, but at their approach, she sat up. She didn't look particularly worried, but James got the feeling she'd only been dozing. She confirmed his deduction with her first words.

"Ahoy, cap'n. Been wondering when you'd show up. I decided to snooze here, so I didn't miss you."

"There be trouble?" Jack asked.

"Nah. Just figured you'd want to head back to the Pearl, and I'm ready to head back myself. I sleep better with water under me." AnaMaria shrugged.

"Well, since all the other swabs are still abed, we won't be gettin' any food 'ere anyway. Let's make for the Pearl; Gibbs and some of the other lads can bring the longboat back." With that, he gave the boat a push, and shortly they were on their way.

*****

Over the next several days, James spent quite a bit of time reading. Jack had a rather interesting collection of books, and once James realized they weren't going to be going anywhere for a while, he forced himself to be patient. It wasn't something he was extremely good at, and he knew it, but he did think he was making a good effort. Sometimes they'd sleep ashore, enjoying the stories and other entertainment that would inevitably develop. Other times, they'd stay aboard, and Jack would be off doing any number of things; he took the opportunity to check his beloved Pearl from stem to stern, making any minor repairs that needed to be taken care of.

Several times during the day, he'd make his way over to James, and they'd sit for a while and talk. Sometimes he'd ask James for his opinion about different methods used to make repairs, other times they'd have personal conversations. Jack was always fascinated with any details James would tell him, though Jack was more reticent with his own. James wondered sometimes if Jack was being deliberately vague.

They would spend the nights in Jack's bed or the smaller beach, sometimes indulging in love play. Jack always let James lead the way, and James understood without being told that Jack was doing this for James's benefit. James learned the many little sensitive places that made Jack whimper, and Jack spent hours just exploring James's body. But for the culmination, James always, always was given control.

Sometimes, they'd just talk some more. James had nearly given up getting details out of Jack, when he stumbled upon the secret to getting Jack to talk, purely by accident. During one quiet conversation, James gave a tug on one of the many baubles adorning Jack's hair. "What are all of these, Jack? You've quite the collection all tied up here." He'd asked the question with only idle curiosity; he assumed that they were mere trinkets.

Jack's smudged eyes grew distant. "They're people, mate."

"People?" James turned the object in his fingers. It was a carved white die, a hole running through the pip of the one, through to the center of the six pips on the other side. Bits of hair and thread ran through that hole, attaching it tightly to the cord of hair it hung from.

"Aye, some. Some are memories," Jack's voice was quiet.

James turned the die once more then went still, as the significance of this revelation hit him. "Each one?"

"Aye. That die yer holdin', that's the time I escaped the boys of the East India Company. It brought me good luck." Jack smiled at the memory, but James's eyes flicked to the brand on Jack's arm.

"And this one?" James gently tapped a small tarnished button.

Jack caught the button with between his finger and his thumb, and looked at it, a bit cross-eyed due to its location. "That one be me mum. I swiped it from the sleeve of the dress she were buried in. She wouldn't 'ave minded, I think."

James's throat tightened. Memories. Jack carried his memories with him, physically. During the years he'd been separated from the Black Pearl, he'd still had his history with him. Somewhere in that tangle of beads and hair and other objects, James was certain there was a small piece of the Pearl. James spent the next few hours pointing out objects, mostly beads, but for each Jack had a story. There were always more stories, as well. James figured there would always be one more story than he'd already heard.

James spent some of his time alone thinking about the changes in his life. He was growing quite fond of Captain Jack Sparrow, and this could lead to nothing but trouble. He also thought about the Turners; as far as he knew, they were still strictly within the law, but he knew they skirted the edges of it. No one had to tell him that to sail the Caribbean, there were times where there was no other choice but to kill or be killed. James was pondering this very thing one afternoon after they'd been anchored in the cove for about a week, when Jack approached him where he sat on deck.

"We're about to set sail, mate. The Turners will be waitin' for us; shouldn't take us more than an hour or so to get to the rendezvous," Jack told James. "Ye want to take the helm?"

James was surprised, but agreed. He was also surprised by the responsiveness of the Pearl; The Dauntless was larger than Jack's ship, but was like steering a pregnant whale. Even the Interceptor, and the Myrmidon as well, which were smaller than the Pearl weren't as easy to captain. Jack's estimate that they'd meet up with the Turners within an hour was optimistic, however.

While they waited, a shout came from the crow's nest. Gunn had turned over a new leaf (again), and was taking his duties seriously. He shouted down that there was a sail on the horizon, and it wasn't the Sparrow's Song. Jack's face lit, a wolfish grin appeared on his lips, and before James could protest, he'd ordered the Pearl's colors raised and took command of his ship. James grew alarmed; he'd never expected Jack to actually participate in piracy with him aboard. The smaller ship spotted the Pearl, and quickly put on more sail, obviously hoping to outrun the pirate ship.

James knew that they had no chance, however. He'd seen the speed of the Pearl, and if Captain Sparrow wanted that ship, that ship was his. James tensed; he waited for Jack's signal to pursue the fleeing vessel. But for some reason, none of the crew showed any sign of haste. James watched the ship grow tinier, and just when he thought that Jack had only had the flag raised to scare the other ship, he gave the order to chase. Now the crew snapped to attention, sending the Pearl after her quarry. James was completely baffled by this; what was the point of letting them run, only to chase them down?

The Pearl sprinted after her prey, and on Jack's face was a look of utter joy. They chased the other ship for nearly thirty minutes; they were gaining. James was so caught up in watching Jack, he failed to notice that the smaller ship, although not able to outrun the Pearl, had reached the safety of a reef of shoals up ahead. Jack laughed, and ordered the Pearl to desist, and return to the rendezvous point.

They still reached the rendezvous ahead of the Sparrow's Song, and had time to spare. Jack turned the helm over to AnaMaria, and swaggered over to the rail where James had been standing since the short chase had begun. Jack's face still wore a happy grin, and several other crewmembers were whistling, or laughing with their fellows.

"What was that all about, Jack?" James scowled at him.

"Which?" Jack gave a short laugh.

"You didn't have any intention of catching them, did you?" James asked, his temper slowly draining away.

"Make no mistake, luv. I meant to catch 'em. I just gave 'em a 'eadstart, is all." Jack was still grinning.

"For what purpose? What if they'd fought? What if you'd caught them, then?"

"If they'd have fought, they'd have lost. And if we'd caught them, we'd have grabbed a trinket or two, and let 'em on their way." Jack laughed with delight.

James looked completely baffled. Jack leaned on the rail next to him, and considered. He decided he'd give it a go, trying to explain.

"James, ye remember that cave, the one with all the lovely swag?"

James nodded.

"Ahh, good. So do I. So it stands to reason that me an' my crew, we're 'bout as wealthy as a person could want, aye? That's where the funds for the Turner's ship came from, ye savvy?"

"Then why harass them?" James furrowed his brow.

"Well, for the thrill of the chase, mate. And for me reputation, and that of me Black Pearl. She deserves it, don't ye think? Tell me, luv, when is the last time ye 'eard that Captain Jack Sparrow destroyed a ship, or dispatched a crew, or stole an entire cargo from a captain workin' 'imself to an early grave just to make ends meet?"

James thought about that. "Not for more than a year."

Jack met James's eyes.

"Alright. So how often do you actually board another ship?" James asked, genuinely curious now.

"Rarely. When they foolishly fire first, or they surrender without a fuss. And then only to teach 'em a lesson. It's the journey that's the draw, aye? It's always what's beyond that horizon. Not all treasure is silver and gold, luv. It always comes back to that."

James became lost in thought. It's a game of cat and mouse, then. He thrives on the freedom, the adventure, not the kill. He watched as Jack went over to one of the pirates on deck, and they laughed together at something the other man said. None of the others seem to be disappointed that the ship got away, either. He stood there, lost in his thoughts for quite some time, until again a shout was heard.

"Sail ho!"

This time it was the Sparrow's Song, and as she pulled along side, Jack made ready to join the Turners on their ship. Soon they were anchored side by side, and as a plank was run out to the other ship, James watched Jack nimbly sway his way across to hop down on the deck and pull Will and Elizabeth both into a quick hug. They talked for a few minutes, Elizabeth glancing at James at one point; he was surprised to realize he didn't feel the dregs of bitterness he'd felt when he'd seen her just a scant week ago. After a few more minutes of conversation, Jack came back aboard the Pearl, and came over to James.

"Do ye 'ave anything ye want to grab before we board the Song, luv? I don' remember ye havin' much in the line of possessions, but if ye want anything, ye should grab it." Jack nodded at James.

"We're sailing with the Turners?" James asked, surprised.

Jack had turned and was heading towards Gibbs and AnaMaria, but at James's surprise, he stopped and came back. "Aye? I told ye they'd be takin' ye back to Port Royal, didn't I?" Jack sounded genuinely puzzled by James's surprise. When James said nothing, Jack shrugged, and made his way over to his first mate and bo'sun.

In the end, after some more discussion, they all agreed to leave the next morning. Jack and James would travel with the Turners, and the Pearl and crew would wait somewhat beyond the sight of the fort itself. James was rather glad that Jack was going to join him on the last leg of the voyage; he wasn't sure how things would stand between them once he was back at Port Royal, and Jack returned to the Pearl, to continue on his adventure. Jack had alluded to future plans, but he'd never offered any details, and James realized that all things considered, the less he knew the better.

James had been a study in avoidance on the topic of his feelings for Jack. He admitted to himself that there was very little chance that he'd be able to bring himself to see Jack as nothing more than another pirate to bring to justice, but beyond that, he refused to think about it. He reasoned that he'd have plenty of time when he was settled back at home. Home... why doesn't it really feel like going home then? It's been quite a while since I've been there. I've spent more time in barracks in London and aboard ships the past year than in Port Royal. He sighed.

The Turners joined Jack and James aboard the Pearl for supper. They talked about their trip to Tortuga, and Jack told them about the little ship he'd chased before they'd arrived. Elizabeth smiled while James repeated a story he'd heard from one of the pirates while they'd been back at La Isla de los Sue�os, but she was only half listening. She was back at her favorite pastime, which was watching people. And what she saw had her mentally crowing with delight. Although Will was still watching her, it seemed that Jack's attention had found a new target; and during James's story, James's eyes kept touching back on Jack, as if to make sure Jack was still there. Elizabeth was thrilled, and her smile practically glowed. She was fond of Jack, and of course of James, and figured they both deserved a chance to be happy.

Later that evening, Elizabeth said as much to her adoring husband. "They just couldn't keep their eyes off of each other!" She laughed delightedly and sat cross-legged on the bed in their cabin.

Will gave her a doubtful look. "Are you sure, Elizabeth? After all, it's Norrington. Confirmed pirate hater. You know the fellow." He raised an eyebrow at her. She loved that affectation; she knew that he hadn't really used that form of expression before he'd met Jack. "Besides," Will went on, "I thought Jack was mourning over me." He sounded vaguely put out.

"William Turner, you are not jealous?"

Will recognized that look. She was going to laugh at him. He just knew it. "Well, not jealous, exactly..."

She laughed. Loudly. "Oh come now, love, don't be selfish. You stole me from James and yourself from Jack. Quite the pirate, you are. It's only fair that you let them have each other. There's other treasure out there waiting, after all." She smiled fondly at her husband.

Will sighed. "You're right, of course." He walked to the bed, and leaned over and kissed her, leaning her back onto the bed. "I have all the treasure I want right now, anyway."

*****

Jack lay tangled in a sweaty heap with James in a hammock they'd appropriated in One-Eyed Pete's cabin. He'd agreed to give up his cabin for the remainder of the trip to Port Royal, at Elizabeth's request, ostensibly for James's use. Jack shifted a bit, the bone spine in his hair poking him in the shoulder. James gave a quiet grumble at the movement but settled back down when Jack ran a slender hand down his chest. Jack smiled to himself; he knew James was very much looking forward to tomorrow, when they'd arrive in Port Royal. James hadn't said much about it, but Jack could see the way his thoughts traveled ahead of the Sparrow's Song. Jack was a bit nervous about the whole thing; he'd decided he'd accompany James as far as the dock. Probably a risky move, but he was feeling a bit superstitious. As long as he knew James made it safely ashore, he wouldn't worry as much until he could see his commodore again.

His commodore. There was one for the history books. Jack Sparrow, Pirate Captain of the Black Pearl, carrying on with a Commodore of His Majesty's Royal Navy. Jack rather liked the sound of that. Perhaps it was time to make a better effort on his dreams. It appeared that having a friendly port he could call home within a few days sailing of Port Royal was going to come in handy sooner than he'd thought. Now he just had to convince James that this could work out. He wasn't altogether sure that James would agree to keep on seeing him. In fact, he wasn't sure at all why James should. But he was Jack Sparrow, and he wouldn't give up without a fight, not when there wasn't any reason not to fight.

The next morning dawned as perfect as a day was likely to get. There were no clouds in the eggshell-blue sky, and the breeze toyed with the Song's sails, pushing her along. Small waves were also tossed up by the wind, sprinkling the air with sea-spray. Jack stood at the railing, watching the Black Pearl fall behind; she'd wait for his return here. Jack figured there was no sense in getting all the lads at Port Royal in an uproar for nothing, and seeing the Black Pearl sail into port was likely to do just that. He leaned on the rail, and smiled, admiring the way his ship settled gracefully to anchor.

Elizabeth approached, and leaned on the railing next to Jack. She was dressed again in breeches and a large shirt, but he had a feeling she'd be changing before she went to visit her father. She didn't say anything for a bit, and Jack was starting to suspect she was here to advise him again to find someone else besides her husband to pine for from afar. He gave a little laugh. Elizabeth looked at Jack; neither noticed James approaching, his bare feet silent on the deck.

"So, Jack. Are you and James...?" She let the question ask itself.

Jack gave her an appraising look, his head tilted to one side. "I suppose we are."

Elizabeth gave him a brilliant smile. "I knew he wanted you. I could see it before."

Jack puffed out his chest, and arrogantly winked at her. "Of course 'e does. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, luv."

Elizabeth replied to that with one of the unladylike snorts of disdain she had picked up from somewhere. "Well, if anyone could steal his heart, Jack, I suppose it would be you. So what next, then?"

James had tensed and stopped a few feet away when he'd realized what they were talking about. Now he waited, unthinkingly holding his breath, interested beyond measure in Jack's response to this question. Maybe if he knew, it would be easier to figure out his own feelings for the proud pirate.

Jack's eyes skittered back out to where the Pearl was shrinking into the rising sun. "Take what ye can, give nothing back."

James narrowed his eyes, turned, and walked away.

Elizabeth sighed. "That's not really how you feel. I can read you, Jack, remember?"

Jack turned away from the rail, leaning with his back against it, searching for James among the crew of the Song. Finding him walking towards the ship's helm, he thought for a bit before he answered. "I suppose yer right. 'E means more than that. But it's not likely to work, now is it? 'E's a commodore. One none too fond o' pirates, at that, which I jus 'appen to be."

"Don't count on that, Jack. I believe he cares for you too. Why not just take it as it comes, and give him a chance? I know you have other plans... not piracy forever." She brushed a hand through her hair, and tilted her head to the side, looking up at him.

"Elizabeth, I'll always be a pirate. Even if I never sailed again. And ye don't see that happenin', do ye?" His liquid brown eyes locked onto hers.

She shook her head. "Still, don't sell him so cheaply. He could surprise you." She paused. "Why piracy, then? You have all the riches you could possibly want."

"Ye know the answer to that, luv. It's not the riches, it's the treasure. And the freedom. It's the same thing ye 'ave 'ere with yer Song" He rubbed a hand along the railing. "It's what's beyond that horizon."

"Well, you were right about that, weren't you. She's freedom." Elizabeth was silent for a while, her thoughts on the horizons she and Will had yet to chase. Finally she looked back at Jack. "So what's really next, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess I'll be goin' where 'e goes. It's not that 'ard to stay near Port Royal. Until .. well, until we can come to an accord."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "You'll compromise for him?"

Jack gave a little grumble. "Aye, I suppose I would, at that."

The stood there in silence for a while, each lost in their separate lines of thought. Finally, Jack couldn't stand the inactivity any longer, and he went in search of James, who had disappeared from the deck. He found James, only to have him make a quick excuse and go off in another direction. Jack wondered if James was more nervous about their impending parting than he was letting on. This thought calmed Jack somewhat; perhaps he wasn't the only one who was unsure about how to proceed. Jack concluded that he'd ignore James's nervousness, and let him know that Jack would be back to see him as soon as things calmed down. Jack knew that events were likely to get quite hectic when Port Royal's own commodore showed up out of the clear blue, without a Navy ship.

James was furious. The bloody pirate is just using me. And he doesn't even bother to try and hide it from anyone. Elizabeth didn't even seem surprised. Was she in on this as well? Off to Tortuga, to get information on the Myrmidon, indeed. That's twice she's played me for a fool, and I just make it easy for her, don't I. And Sparrow? James ignored the little twist of hurt in the pit of his stomach. He's a pirate. He's never pretended to be anything else. AnaMaria told me herself, he doesn't lie; he lets everyone else disbelieve the truth. I won't make that mistake again. James consoled his bitter heart with the thoughts of first chasing down the Myrmidon; if he had to go to Tortuga to get information on his ship, then there he would go. And after, well, there were still pirates in these waters.

James spent the rest of the morning avoiding anyone who was likely to want to talk to him. He also tried to ruthlessly squash the feeling of betrayal he felt; betrayal was being marooned by a crew of men who were paid to work for you. Betrayal was letting your own men die because you couldn't see the duplicitous actions of others before the fact. Betrayal wasn't fucking some treacherous pirate and then going home alive and returning to your normal life. James refused to listen to the little voice that insisted that it had been more than just sex, and that he should talk to Jack before jumping to conclusions.

The Sparrow's Song reached Port Royal shortly before sunset that day. Elizabeth was a bit bewildered by James's rather cool farewell, but when she asked Will, he persuaded her that both Jack and James were probably trying to figure out what this farewell would mean for them. Will helped lower the Song's longboat, and Jack had a quick discussion with the Turners, letting him know he was planning on coming right back to the Song after making sure James was safely on shore.

As they were rowing, Jack thought this would be the perfect time to let James know that he'd be nearby. Trying to catch James's eyes in the fading light, he wondered where to start.

"It's not the end, ye know," he said softly. Then a little louder, "I've been thinkin' about it, and I'm thinkin' that stickin' around nearby might be a good idea." He gave a half-smile.

James gave him a smirk. "Undoubtedly."

Jack continued rowing in silence for a while. Puzzled, he tried again. "The Pearl don' 'ave anywhere to be jus' now, so if ye don' mind, I'll just stay close to Port Royal for a while."

James said nothing, just turned and looked at the torches that were being lit up on the fort. Jack frowned. As they reached the dock, Jack could see several men in uniform paroling the shore. James reached for the ladder, and climbed up slowly, keeping his injured arm out of the way. When he was at the top, he turned and watched Jack climb. When he too was at the top, Jack glanced over James's shoulder, seeing the soldiers that had been keeping watch coming down the dock towards them.

Jack stepped close to James, and said softly, "Yer safe, luv, and I'll be back to see ye. Ye won't 'ave time to miss me." He gave James a quick smile, and turned to shimmy down the ladder back to the boat.

James heard this and his anger boiled up inside him. Jack really thought that he'd just be able to use him whenever it was convenient? His good hand snaked out and grabbed Jack's arm, spinning him about. Jack turned with a look of surprise on his face, but it was replaced by one of complete shock the next moment when he heard James call out, "Seize this pirate!"

The soldiers rushed up and surrounded both Jack and James, and when they recognized Commodore Norrington, they quickly grabbed Jack, and forced him to his knees. Jack was in such a state of disbelief that he didn't struggle; his shadowed eyes never left James's face, though, and he searched for some sign of what James was thinking. James eyed him for a minute, and then turned away, seething.

"Commodore, it's a surprise to see you, sir. We'd thought you lost." One of the soldiers offered James his coat.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Please escort the prisoner to his cell." James shot Jack a look over his shoulder, then walked away.

* * *

Chapter 6

Jack didn't sleep that night. He was still staring out of the window at the harbor as the sun rose; the fact that the Sparrow's Song was no longer there didn't surprise him. He knew the Pearl would be long gone, as well. Even though it was the Code, and one of the 'guidelines' he insisted upon, he still felt a bit lost not seeing his ship, or that of the Turners.

Though he hadn't managed to get any sleep, Jack had done quite a bit of thinking. At first Jack had thought that this was just some poorly thought out plan for James to keep Jack nearby. But the more he thought about it, he discarded this idea. There was no real way for James to keep Jack in prison for any great length of time and not see him hang, and James was smart enough to realize this.

Jack tried to think of any other reason James would have done this, but came up blank. He wasn't ready to believe that James had betrayed him so thoroughly. He'd spent a great deal of time with the man in the past days, and he knew that James was a man of honor. James was indebted to Jack and the rest of the Pearl's crew, and he wouldn't repay that favor by taking advantage of Jack's presence to take him into custody. Jack conveniently overlooked the fact that James had done so on any number of other occasions. He hadn't forgotten, no. Jack didn't forget; but he did overlook. So Jack decided to wait until the good commodore came down to the prison to explain things to him before he did anything rash.

Three days later, Jack was starting to get concerned. James hadn't been down to see him, nor had he sent any sort of message. The only person Jack saw was the prison guard, who introduced himself as Thom Cullen. The guard made Jack uncomfortable; Cullen would often stop and stare at Jack when Cullen would come by to check up on him. Jack hadn't seen this man before; the last time he'd been in this prison he'd been guarded by a soldier from the fort. The previous guard had been killed in Barbossa's raid, and when Jack had been brought back after saving Elizabeth and Will, there hadn't been a replacement. By the looks of things, Cullen had no soft feelings for his prisoners, and Jack eyed the guard warily when the man brought Jack his meals.

Jack spent a great deal of time pacing. Sometimes he'd sing the pirate song Elizabeth taught him; he was very fond of that song. Finally, he was ready to pull his hair out due to his enforced inactivity. He started fiddling with the beads and baubles in his hair, and he remembered the shell he had picked up back at the island. He reached into the pouch he still carried. Though the soldiers had removed his effects when they'd locked him up, they'd left the pouch, probably thinking it was empty. They'd been nearly right; the only thing left in that pouch had been this shell.

Jack dug around in the detritus near the edges of the walls, and finally came up with a fairly pointed rock. Rubbing it against his finger, he tested the strength of that point. Satisfied, he sat with his back against the wall, facing away from the barred door. He began to work the shell with the rock. While he worked, he told himself that James was merely extremely busy; after being away for months, and the loss of a navy ship, there were certainly details that needed to be attended to. Besides, if James had meant for him to hang, he'd be decorating the harbor gibbet by now.

Off and on for another day, Jack worked at the shell. Finally, he'd worked a small hole through the top part; once he'd smoothed the edges, he attached it to one of the long locks of hair that contained other memories. He made sure that the shell was tightly bound to him with bits of thread he pulled from the sash at his waist. Satisfied, he was just about to move to the window for a look at the harbor, when he heard a noise at the door of the cell. Turning, he saw Cullen standing there with his food. The man gave Jack an odd look, but shoved the bowl of food through the bars.

"Don' suppose ye 'ave anything of a fermented nature to wash this down with, mate?" Jack asked, as he had a time or two before. He gave the guard a half smile, and moved to sit down when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The guard stood there smirking, but he also had a nearly full bottle dangling from his hand. Jack's eyes lit up, but he was also a bit wary. The guard didn't say anything, but his smirk widened. He took the stopper from the bottle, and took a healthy swig.

"If you don't want it, I'll drink it. I'll thank Commodore Norrington in the morning, as well." The guard shrugged as he put the stopper back in the bottle.

"Now, don't be hasty, mate. Jus' pass that right on over 'ere." Jack returned to the cell door and accepted the bottle. He ignored the food; instead he pulled the stopper back out of the bottle, and took a long pull. The guard gave Jack an unreadable look, and then walked back up the steps. Jack walked to the window uninterrupted, and took another long drink from the bottle. No ship out there; no sign of James, either. Jack was starting to get discouraged. But a bottle of rum... from James? So it would seem. Another drink and Jack began thinking about how company had made the rum much more appealing the last few times. Soon, Jack was brooding, but after a while, the rum had eliminated even those melancholy thoughts.

Jack awoke to a sharp crack across his cheek. He opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the rum haze and the white sparks that zipped in front of his eyes. He managed to focus just as a fist came at his face again, but when he tried to duck the blow, he realized that it wasn't going to happen. His hands were shackled, and pulled tightly above his head; his shirt was torn down the front, and hanging in tatters from his belt. Jack shuffled his feet, trying to get them under his body. Once he had his balance, he also dimly noted that he had hardly more slack than he'd had before. He was strung up, no doubt about it. And the fist came again, this time to his ribs.

When he'd caught his breath, he tried again to focus; this time, the guard's face slowly swam into view. "Wha's this all about, mate?" Jack slurred. But the man just drew back a fist again, another blow catching Jack across the face. "A'right, we won' be talkin' then, aye?" The one clear thought Jack could pull from deep in the rum was that perhaps he should have offered to let this fellow share the bottle.

The guard's eyes narrowed; from a sheath at his waist, he pulled a dagger. As he stepped closer, Jack tried to kick the blade from his hand, but the guard merely stepped back, and delivered a fist to Jack's stomach. As Jack gasped for air, he felt the sting as the blade slid down his chest. The guard laughed as the shallow cut bled; with a look Jack recognized, the other man raised the blade and made another shallow cut down Jack's chest. Jack knew hatred when he saw it; he could feel the other man's fury with every new, shorter slice. A smile played about the guard's lips, and he swung his empty hand in a back-handed arc.

Jack's vision rolled sickeningly; he tried to find something to pull into focus, but everything just slid out of view. Then he heard the sound of the door to the prison open, and his heart leapt. He only hoped that the person who came down those stairs would care enough to get this madman away from him; he was out of rum, and this man was going for his knife again.

*****

As Lieutenant Groves entered the prison, he noticed that the guard, Cullen, wasn't at his desk. From below, he could hear the sound of a low voice. He knew that at the moment, there was only one prisoner below, and he also knew that Jack Sparrow had escaped from these cells once before. Quickly he descended, just in time to see Cullen's fist connect with Jack Sparrow's face, obviously not for the first time.

"Cullen! What in the name of heaven are you doing?" Groves was dumbfounded. He couldn't tell if the pirate was conscious or not, but the slow rise and fall of his chest at least proved Sparrow still alive.

Cullen turned and faced Groves, his face wearing a twisted grin. "Just following orders, Lieutenant. Doing the Commodore a favor, as it were." His eyes were feverishly bright; Groves shuddered inwardly at the insanity that stared out of that gaze.

Groves noticed the pirate's head lift for a brief moment, but then his chin fell back to his chest. Lieutenant Groves knew that Commodore Norrington would have never ordered the torture of this man, or any other. But the madness on Cullen's face made him suspect that he'd never get him away from the pirate without very careful manipulation. "I see. I will just go assure the commodore that you're following his orders. I'm sure he'll want to thank you personally; would you care to join me?"

Cullen considered, for a moment then turned back to Sparrow. Groves tensed, knowing he'd never get through the door in time to stop Cullen. Another heavy-handed blow to the pirate's abdomen; then Cullen casually reached up and pulled the shackles from the hook where they were pinned. Jack Sparrow fell to the ground in a heap and lay there unmoving. With a vicious kick to the pirate's ribs, Cullen turned and calmly walked out of the cell.

With a sickened glance back at the man lying in the cell, Groves didn't even bother to close the cell door; instead Groves hurriedly ushered Cullen up the stairs and out of the prison. Groves quickly led the guard across the square to the commodore's office, and knocked on the door. When permission to enter was received, he opened the door, and motioned Cullen to enter first. Groves nearly sagged with relief when he saw that there were already two other soldiers present in Commodore Norrington's office.

James gave his lieutenant a mildly curious glance, which turned to an openly questioning look when he took in the presence of Thom Cullen. However, when Groves paused to talk quietly to the two men that James had been meeting with, and they proceeded to each grab one of Cullen's arms, James frowned.

"See here, Lieutenant. What is the meaning of this?" James stood and came around his desk. He had a sinking feeling that it had to do with Jack Sparrow. As if the entirety of his spare time hadn't been pondering that very subject; a sexy, duplicitous pirate captain languishing in his prison, and not a bloody clue as to what to do with him. Well, maybe one idea. Already there were questions as to why Sparrow hadn't been hanged straight away.

"Sir, there's a problem with the prisoner. You're going to want to come right away." Groves was already on his way back out the door. Behind them, he heard Cullen swearing and struggling, but James also heard the urgency in the lieutenant's voice, and his stomach clenched. What has Sparrow done this time? But that little voice in his head asked James why he hadn't been down to the prison before now, to make sure that all was well.

James pushed past Groves as they reached the prison, and took the stairs with more speed than grace. When James reached the open cell, his first thought was that Jack had somehow convinced Cullen to help him escape, and he stopped.

Then he saw Jack.

James stood frozen there long enough for Groves to catch up to him and brush by him into the cell. The lieutenant had dropped to one knee next to the pirate, when James finally managed to make his feet move. James's stomach had twisted when Groves had told him there was trouble, but now it was roiling horridly; numbly he moved into the cell. Groves put a hand on Jack's shoulder, and rolled him onto his back. Groves was mostly prepared for what they saw, but James's blood chilled when he got a good look at Jack. The lieutenant began to assess the pirate's injuries.

"NO!" James shouted. "No. Go get the surgeon. Now."

Groves nodded and got to his feet; to James it seemed like forever before he heard the door at the top of the stair open and close. James was already on his knees next to Jack, and he quickly removed his coat and propped Jack's head upon it. Jack groaned, and the one eye that wasn't already swollen shut opened to stare up at James. James felt a flicker of panic.

"Com... Commodore," Jack slurred.

James tried to read what was in that cinnamon brown eye, and he saw a spark of something he'd come to think of as purely Jack flicker, then fade. What he saw there instead just terrified him more. No, it's not what's there... it's what's missing. He lost track of that thought when Jack winced. There were so many bruises; one eye was swollen shut, his lower lip was split, and a large purple swelling on the left side of Jack's chest told James that there were ribs that were at the very least cracked. Jack was bleeding from at least two long slashes and maybe a half dozen shorter cuts.

"Christ, Jack, what did he do to you?" James had no idea where to even start to make sense of this. He pulled his cravat from his neck and began to clean the blood away from the deeper cuts, then applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.

Jack was still looking up at James, but the one brown eye that stared up at him was hazy with pain. "The rum... rum's gone, Commodore..."

"What rum... Jack?" James glanced around, and saw the empty bottle. None of this made any sense, but James was damned sure he was going to get to the bottom of this. If only that damned surgeon would hurry! James continued to work at the cuts, relieved that at least Jack was conscious.

James brushed a tangled lock of hair from Jack's face; as he did, his fingers ran across the familiar beads there. He stopped when they brushed across a shell he didn't remember there before. He turned it over in his fingers a few times, before he realized that the action felt familiar. James looked closely at the shell; it looked familiar, so perhaps he had seen it before. Jack had probably told him about this shell.

"Why did he do this?" James tried to remember what he knew of Thom Cullen. It had been months; he couldn't think of any details at the moment.

Jack had let his eye drift shut, but at the feel of James's fingers in his hair, he opened that eye again, and licked his split lower lip. "'E followed... your orders, mate," Jack's gaze skittered away from James's. "Ye win... ye win, Commodore." Jack closed his eye again, missing the stricken look of shock that seized James.

The door to the prison opened, and Groves practically dragged the surgeon down the stairs. James stood and moved out of the way; he knew there was very little he could do to help the surgeon. The man hurriedly set his bag next to the pirate, and kneeled, quickly beginning to work. James pulled Groves out of the cell.

"What the bloody hell happened in here?" James's stomach was still jumping wildly, but his voice was calm, nearly cold.

"Cullen, sir. I came in and he had Sparrow strung up, and this is how I found him." Lieutenant Groves was distressed, James knew. He'd admired Jack Sparrow, not above telling anyone who would listen about the pirate's legendary exploits. Groves was a good military man, and as such would follow any orders that his superiors would give to him; but he also had a yearning for adventure. He wasn't above satiating that craving with stories of pirates, and so Jack Sparrow was something of a celebrity in Groves's eyes.

James sighed, wishing he had the luxury of removing his wig. The weight was annoying, after several weeks without. "What can you tell me of Cullen?"

"He's been in charge of the prison since shortly after we left for England, sir. There'd been a bit of a brawl at the Goose and Goblet, and Governor Swann had the two lads tossed in a cell for a few days. He appointed Cullen as guard, since the soldiers were needed for other duties. He's a widower, if I remember correctly." Groves was watching the surgeon out of the corner of his eyes.

"Alright. When we're through here, I want to talk to Cullen. I want some answers." James turned to watch as well, clenching his fists helplessly.

Groves cleared his throat. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

James spared the lieutenant a glance. "Granted."

"If you're just going to hang Sparrow, why bother patching him up?" Groves sounded hesitant.

James's stomach flipped again at the question. How can I possibly answer that question? The answer is too complex, and the only answer that matters would have us both in the noose. "Because no one deserves to be treated with this kind of torment, Lieutenant. I won't allow a person to be mistreated, just because he's a condemned man." Oh God.

Lieutenant Groves nodded, greatly satisfied with the answer. He hadn't believed that Cullen had been following Commodore Norrington's orders, but breathed easier to hear his beliefs confirmed.

Just then, the surgeon stood and approached both men. "I believe he can be moved. It would be best if he were brought to the infirmary, Commodore." The surgeon had bandaged the cuts, but James suspected that he wanted to get Jack to the infirmary and clean them before any stitching would be done.

James nodded, and sent Groves to bring several soldiers and a litter. It wasn't long before he returned with soldiers and litter in tow, and shortly after that, Jack was safely settled in the infirmary. James didn't want to leave without knowing that Jack would be alright, but he still had to deal with Cullen, so he and Groves returned to his office.

Cullen sat in a chair next to James's desk, his sullen eyes flicking angrily at the two soldiers still guarding him. When he saw James, however, his face broke into a smile.

"Commodore Norrington, please tell these two lackwits that I can go about my business." Cullen sounded so very sure that he would be released, that James was a bit chilled. The man didn't even seem to consider that he'd done something wrong.

"Perhaps we can talk a bit first, Mister Cullen. Why don't you tell me what happened?" James tried to keep his voice level and calm.

"Of course, Commodore. I was just following orders. I figured that you would consider it a favor anyway, since they took your lady too."

James furrowed his brow. "Mister Cullen, whose orders were you following? I'm fairly certain that no orders came from this office."

"Not your orders, Commodore. Hers. Amelie's orders." Cullen began to fidget uneasily. "The pirates deserve to be punished."

"Undoubtedly they do. What do you mean, they took my lady?" James exchanged a glance with the lieutenant who had yet to say a word.

"Miss Swann. They took her, didn't they? When they took Amelie." Cullen was clearly becoming agitated at this point.

"It's alright, Mister Cullen. I'm going to have these two gentlemen take you home. There isn't anyone in the prison at the moment. You should go home." James pulled one of the soldiers aside and gave him instructions, which consisted of not letting the man leave his house until James gave them leave.

James waited until his men had ushered Cullen from his office, then turned to Groves. "You said he was a widower. Amelie was his wife, I assume? I don't remember anything about this man at all."

"Yes, sir. His wife was injured in Barbossa's raid on the town. I believe she passed away from her injuries a few months after. I don't have to tell you how many people were lost that night," Groves said, his face somber.

James ran his left hand over his face; his arm was healing very well, but still splinted. "Very well, Lieutenant. Please inform Governor Swann of what's happened. I'm going to check up on the prisoner, and then I'll be here for the evening, should anything else need my attention."

Groves saluted. "Yes, sir." He left, heading towards the Governor's house.

James waited until the lieutenant was well on his way and then still had to keep himself from bolting out the door in the direction of the infirmary. When he reached it, he took several deep breaths before opening the door and going inside. Once inside, he found the surgeon still working on bandaging the last of the cuts on Jack's chest. Crossing the room, he stood beside the table near Jack's head.

"Has he awakened?" James asked quietly. He didn't want to look at the bruises on that face, so looked at the other man instead.

"No. I'm concerned about the head injuries, but he's probably better off sleeping at this point. Giving him any rum for the pain would only make things worse." The physician finished up with the last bandage, and turned his attention to James. "You want me to take a look at that arm while you're here? I am surprised I haven't seen you before this."

"Perhaps later. What are the chances for his recovery?" Only by keeping a professional demeanor, could James keep from putting his hands on the pirate, checking each and every bruise and cut for himself.

"I can't give you anything definite. The head injuries alone could provide complications. If the ribs don't cause breathing problems... if the cuts don't fester... I don't have a good answer, Commodore. Ask me again tomorrow." The physician lowered the flame in one lamp, and blew out two others before grabbing the last and motioning towards the small room off the main office.

"I'll be there in a moment." James nodded.

The surgeon nodded in acknowledgement, and stepped into his office, closing the door. James looked down at the unconscious pirate; he tentatively reached out and ran his fingers through a lock of hair, his fingers again finding the shell he'd noticed earlier. It still tugged at his memory; he tried to place the story that Jack must have told him about it. He turned the shell in his fingers once more. And then he remembered.

This is the shell I was playing with on the beach. That first day. I KNOW this is that shell. He took it? James fingers shook a little as he set the shell back down. Out of all the stories Jack had told him, all had been stories of Jack's feelings. James couldn't remember any of Jack's stories having to do with anything else. Jack's feelings... James felt the beginnings of a horrid suspicion growing. He ran his thumb gently over the cut on that lower lip, and then went to talk with the physician.

It was dark when James finally reached his house. He removed his hat and wig and tossed them on the credenza near the door. His topcoat was still in the prison; he'd have to remember to retrieve it in the morning. He crossed to the sideboard, where a brandy decanter and glasses sat. He poured himself a generous dose, and taking the decanter with him, he then retired to his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. There was no fire; the heat of the day hadn't cooled so much that it was necessary. I miss that about London. There's something about a fire in the evening that's comforting.

James ran his hand through his curling, sweaty hair. I think I made a horrible mistake. That shell...I know I made a mistake. That look in his eyes, I think it's gone... I think it's dead. How could I have misjudged him so very badly? It seems my pride is about to be my downfall again. James took a long swallow from his glass, but his stomach still churned; he'd been so angry at the conversation between Jack and Elizabeth he'd overheard. And when Jack had tried to tell him that he'd like to stay close by, his pride had forced him to try and salvage something from the disaster he'd assumed had been his lot since losing the Myrmidon. I'm doomed. Assuming that he lives, I can't just let him go. For God's sake, I can't hang him. The sailor's eternal dread... stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. I may as well have died on that island, because this decision will be the end of me. James downed the rest of the brandy in his glass, and after refilling it and downing that as well, his stomach had finally began to settle. James brooded deep into the night, unable to find a solution that wouldn't have him lose his life, humanity and heart.

James spent every minute he could risk at the infirmary for the next two days. Jack awoke; but he had developed a fever that the surgeon struggled to keep down. The surgeon had placed Jack in a room by himself, and whether it was on purpose or by accident, Jack was never awake when James came by to check on his condition. James was starting to get frantic that he'd not get to talk to Jack, but he could hardly call the physician a liar when he claimed that his patient was sleeping, and that the fever had yet to break.

It was the middle of the afternoon on the third day, and James was again in the infirmary. He was receiving the news that Jack's fever had gone down somewhat but was still a concern, when Groves entered the infirmary office, his face concerned.

"Commodore, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we've got a situation."

James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. "Lieutenant Groves, I'm starting to dread the sight of you, especially when you show up with news of 'trouble' or 'a situation'." He looked at Groves. "What is it?"

"You're going to want to come outside and see this." Groves gave his commanding officer a sympathetic look, and held the door for James.

When they were both outside, Groves pointed first towards the figure of a man standing near the commodore's office. James squinted, and then his eyes widened. Will Turner was waiting patiently with a large hat in his hands, apparently for a meeting with James. Then Groves cleared his throat, and pointed at the harbor. James had no doubt that Mister Turner wanted to talk to him then. Farther out in the harbor sat three ships and all three were unmistakable to James. The Sparrow's Song and the Black Pearl floated proudly in the fore; further out to sea was a ship he'd given up seeing in Port Royal. The Myrmidon floated there, proudly displaying Jack Sparrow's colors.

James swallowed hard. He was afraid that things were about to get worse for him, a state he'd have sworn was impossible a mere few minutes earlier. He nodded at Groves, and began to walk toward his office. When he reached the young man standing there, he offered a hand. He could see by the look on Turner's face that he absolutely longed to ignore the gesture; but between the innate courtesy the man possessed and the undoubted refinement that Elizabeth had instilled in him, he was unable to be so rude.

"Commodore Norrington. Good of you to spare me a few minutes." Will's voice was cool, but not unfriendly.

James was certain that he'd be able to change that. "Mister Turner. I assume that you are here on behalf of Jack Sparrow. Shall we go inside and discuss this?"

Will gave him a small bow, and waited for the door to be opened. Once they were inside, James moved to stand behind his desk, and offered Will a seat before taking his chair. James considered offering Will some brandy, but he had a feeling this meeting wasn't likely to be that cordial.

"Where's Jack?" Will asked bluntly, placing his hat upon James's desk.

James shifted in his chair. "He's in the infirmary."

Will's gaze grew chilly. "Why?"

"There was... an incident. He's currently getting the best care available in Port Royal. Now, may I ask your intentions regarding the small fleet anchored out in my harbor?" James tensed slightly. He knew that only the Dauntless and another smaller ship, the Cygnet, were in port. If they decided to attack, Port Royal would be in dire straits. He didn't believe that either Elizabeth or Will Turner would attack their home, but he also knew that they had, at very best, tenuous influence over the Pearl's crew, or over whatever crew was currently aboard the Myrmidon.

"We've come with an offer. You have something we want. Someone we want. If you'll return Jack Sparrow to us, we'll return the Myrmidon to you." Will stared levelly at James.

James's temper rose; his first instinct was to declare that the Myrmidon was property of His Majesty's Navy, and therefore not theirs to bargain with. And then he stopped, realizing that his pride was about to bring him down beyond redemption. Will Turner isn't a lad anymore; he's not even truly a blacksmith any longer. He's become a good man, in truth, though one who is willing to be ruthless when the need arises. They do own that ship at this point. Currently there is no way we could take it from them, even if we fought. James took a deep breath, but still he was silent. If I agree to this, it gets Jack to safety, without putting myself or anyone else in danger. The Navy gets the Myrmidon back. Everyone wins. Except you, without Jack, the little voice inside him piped in. And this time he knew the voice was right, though he couldn't afford to listen to it.

"Very well. You'll have Jack Sparrow. But I won't agree to the trade until the physician declares that he's well enough to travel." James prayed that there came a time that Jack would be well enough.

"That's not good enough. You haven't really told me what's wrong with him." Will's voice was still cool, but a hint of steel had slipped into his tone.

"He's been injured. Gravely injured." James proceeded to tell Will the story; his heart sank as the look in Will's eyes became bleak.

"I remember Thom Cullen." Will said no more for a few minutes. Then he said, "You realize that I'm not going to be able to keep this quiet. It's been nearly impossible to keep Elizabeth and AnaMaria from charging up here and demanding your ... er... head... on a silver platter. Elizabeth in particular is convinced that her father will let her have you as fish bait." James couldn't decide if Will looked more uncomfortable or embarrassed with that statement.

"I understand. Please try to make them realize that this was not my intention." James gave Will a direct look.

Will returned the look blandly. "Whatever your intentions were when you captured Jack, I would say that it hasn't turned out as either of you expected. I wouldn't count on 'intentions' being able to make up for this. If you want a bit of advice, Commodore, if you 'intend' for there to be a future for you, and perhaps someone who could be considered involved in this debacle, you should find a way to say 'I'm sorry' rather than denying your culpability."

With that, Will stood and retrieved his hat, and departed. James walked to the door, and watched as Will walked back down toward the docks.

* * *

Chapter 7

James couldn't concentrate. The Myrmidon had been back in the possession of the Navy, and James, for a week. Thom Cullen had been out from under house arrest for nearly that long. People had stopped 'dropping by' Commodore Norrington's office a day or two earlier. The only time-span that James cared about was the eight days that Jack Sparrow had been gone.

Will Turner had kept to his word in the week before Jack's departure. He'd actually gone beyond his word; he'd managed to keep Elizabeth and AnaMaria from showing up at the infirmary to collect Jack before he was able to travel, and from appearing at James's office demanding blood. This was actually an exaggeration; James had it from Will himself that while Elizabeth was upset, she'd also felt guilty. James had never quite been able to get straight on why, however. Will had also told James that AnaMaria was angrier than Elizabeth, but had agreed to stay on board the Pearl.

James had panicked that first morning after his meeting with Will Turner, when he'd awakened to find all three ships gone from his harbor. He'd been afraid that he'd lost the chance to get Jack safely away from Port Royal. He needn't have worried, however; Will had appeared that afternoon to meet with James again, and find out whether Jack's condition had improved at all. When James had asked about the ships, Will had given him a look that James had interpreted as indulgent amusement, and explained that all things considered, they'd felt safer where they weren't floating targets. James was reminded that the Turners had been living a less civilized life for several months now. It seemed that they'd learned more than one lesson in that time, as well as how to maneuver in a pirate sanctuary such as Tortuga.

James had received a visit from Governor Swann in that first week. He'd received the impression that though he hadn't seen Elizabeth, she had been to see her father. Furthermore, he also got the feeling that Governor Swann was aware that his daughter and son-in-law were in the process of ransoming a Navy ship for a pirate captain. Swann hadn't said so in so many words, but James had gotten a vague sense of amused approval from the older man when James had explained that due to a stroke of good fortune (oh, how that had been bitter irony), they would be regaining possession of the Myrmidon.

Although James had still paid daily visits to the infirmary, he had been unable to get a chance to talk to Jack. After it became obvious that he was being purposely put off, he'd quit trying. He could have pulled rank and insisted, but he knew that it wouldn't do anybody any good; Jack would only be 'asleep' if he did so. But still, every day had seen James in the surgeon's office, for a progress report on Jack's health. James had been relieved when Jack's fever had broken the day after the Turners had arrived. The physician had insisted that Jack would still need several days to recuperate before it would be safe for him to travel. James had been surprised when he'd heard that Jack had agreed without any fuss.

A week after the Turners and their entourage had appeared in Port Royal, the surgeon had announced that he was satisfied that Captain Sparrow was strong enough to travel. James had been outwardly relieved and inwardly devastated. Will had been making daily trips to see James; when James gave him the news, James had been uncomfortably certain that Will had expected something else, as well. But Will hadn't offered any explanation; he'd merely told James that he would be waiting for Jack at the dock at sunrise.

That morning, James had resolved to try and talk to Jack one more time. It seemed as if the fates were against him, however, when both of his most trusted lieutenants, Gillette and Groves, had arrived at the infirmary shortly after James himself. There was nothing he could do about it, though; he knew that any insistence on his part to escort the pirate by himself would be looked at suspiciously. Jack, for his part, had remained uncharacteristically quiet, without so much as a single outrageous proclamation or dramatic gesture; although he had solemnly met James's gaze with his own still-bloodshot stare. James didn't think he'd ever wanted anything so much as he'd wanted to see any sort of feeling in those eyes. He'd also silently cursed the fact that he couldn't just pull the other man into his arms, and try to explain everything.

When they reached the dock, James was surprised to see only the Sparrow's Song anchored a short distance away, and Will at the dock with a longboat. James had asked where the Myrmidon was, and Will had replied that they would bring the Myrmidon into port the following morning. James had protested, questioning why he should trust that they'd stick to their part of the bargain. Will had given him another one of those curiously significant looks, and said that he'd just have to trust, and have faith that the ship would be there. James hadn't argued; he'd understood the unspoken rebuke. And then he'd had to watch as Jack had disappeared aboard the Song, without ever having been able to say any of the things James had needed to say.

That had been eight long days, and seven often sleepless nights ago. The Myrmidon had indeed been at the dock the next morning, and that had been the last time James had seen anything of Will, Jack, or either of their ships. James had received many visits from townspeople, wanting to congratulate him on the return of the Myrmidon, and to assure him that they had been confidant of his abilities to protect Port Royal in the face of two pirate vessels. James had felt foolish each time he heard this; he knew, even if they didn't, that there had likely been very little actual risk to Port Royal.

Aboard the Myrmidon, James thought that having this ship back would be able to distract him from the thoughts that kept coming back to haunt him. Occasionally, some of those thoughts were even about something other than a pirate captain somewhere on an uncharted, unchartable island. He wondered what had happened to Cooper, and the rest of the mutineers who had marooned him a little over a month and a half ago. Had it only been a month? It seemed impossible. But he hadn't asked about the Myrmidon's crew, and details hadn't been offered.

But the nights, like tonight alone in his bedroom, there was no distraction from his memories. James remembered the twinkle in Jack's eyes when they'd argued; the one that told James that Jack cared more about the word play than the topic of conversation. He remembered those same eyes, filled with passion when they'd chased down the ship that had ultimately earned its freedom, though by a narrow margin. And he remembered those dark, bottomless eyes filled with another kind of passion, the desire and pleasure and trust in such contrast to the hot, provoking words that would tumble from Jack's lips when James was inside of him.

James grew hard at the memory of those words, of Jack begging sweetly to be fucked. The words Jack used to taunt him, urging him to take what he wanted, and consequences be damned. He imagined that Jack was here, his hands on James's hips, his lips on James's cock. Those stolen moments, every one treasured, played through his mind. James groaned; the images compelled him, and his hand strayed to his needy organ.

James closed his eyes, holding his breath. He recalled the sensation of slowly penetrating Jack, the catch in Jack's breath before he gave that curious purr. He stroked his cock as he imagined thrusting with abandon in that tight, hot arse; picturing Jack whimpering as his balls drew up and he came. Compared to the clenching, pulling heat that was sex with Jack, James brought himself to hollow completion; his seed pulsing over his hand to land upon his thigh, quickly cooling. It just wasn't enough.

It had to end, one way or another. There's no room for Jack Sparrow in Port Royal, even if he were content to be here. There's no room in society for Jack Sparrow and James Norrington as anything but enemies, a pirate and a commodore. James was standing in the dark later that night, staring out of his bedroom window towards the bay below. But... what about on La Isla de los Sue�os? Is there room there for a commodore? And how about a pirate captain and a commodore who aren't enemies? Jack's crew had never even once made reference to the fact that their captain was keeping company with James. Elizabeth and Will had to have at least suspected, but hadn't seemed bothered by it, either. All moot points. He's gone, and I don't know how to get there, and wouldn't dare go there, if I did. Taking a Navy ship there would be idiocy in the extreme. And I am most certainly not welcome there, at any rate.

But what if he didn't try to go there? He knew the general direction; it was only two days distant by Jack's estimation. Even if he couldn't find the island without the secret Jack hadn't imparted, he did have a ship; he could hope that the threat of a Navy ship in adjoining waters might provoke some sort of response from either the Black Pearl or the Sparrow's Song. He needn't even lie to accomplish this, for with the two pirate ships in the vicinity, no one would question his desire to patrol the nearby waters.

Standing at the wheel of the Myrmidon a mere four days later, James wasn't as sure that this was the right course. After all, he'd inadvertently caused Jack injury, because of his damnable pride. Would Jack even want to see him again? And for all he knew, Jack hadn't been interested in anything other than meeting for sex now and then. But the shell? Alright, maybe it's more. That didn't mean that Jack felt the same way now. He'd betrayed Jack. James wasn't certain that had the circumstances been reversed, he'd be able to forgive.

The Myrmidon spent the next few days sailing to the southeast. James was discouraged that they'd seen no sign of either the Sparrow's Song, or the Black Pearl. They hadn't even seen any sign of other ships, period. Finally James had to admit that this wasn't going to work, and after ordering a return to Port Royal, he handed the wheel over to Lieutenant Gillette. He spent the rest of the day in his quarters.

They were less than a day out of Port Royal, when they encountered another ship, seemingly just out of Port Royal itself. James was in his quarters, where he'd been since they'd changed heading, when the shout came that there was a ship ahead. James was confident that there would be no trouble, but in a few more minutes, another shout went up; the flag that was being raised was that of Jack Sparrow, but the ship was not the Black Pearl. James was on his feet and on deck in an instant; sure enough, there ahead was the Sparrow's Song.

"Steady! Let her approach." James heard a mutter behind him, and he turned. "That's Governor Swann's daughter and son-in-law, regardless of the flag they're flying. Anyone who wants to discuss my decision may do so with the Governor when we reach port, after a stay in the brig for the remainder." James's eyes were wary and brooked no argument; he wasn't about to lose his ship a second time to some soldier with an overdeveloped sense of outrage. Both Lieutenants Groves and Gillette were at his side, and the mutterer didn't care to repeat his comments.

As the Song drew close, James could make out both of the Turners on deck, as was their usual habit. James was relieved to notice that Elizabeth Turner was smiling; that is until he caught the look on Will Turner's face. Mr. Turner was decidedly green around the gills. Suddenly James got a sinking feeling that he didn't want to talk to Mrs. Turner, after all. But he reminded himself that this was exactly what he'd hoped for when he'd left Port Royal, and drew himself up, clasping his hands behind his back.

There were already whispers behind him commenting on the style of dress Mrs. Turner was wearing; the sooner they were out of the view of his men, the better. Knowing he was only going to irritate Elizabeth more, but unable to break with custom in front of his men, he addressed Will Turner. "Mister Turner, your predilection for flying a pirate's flag is going to get you in trouble one of these days. Requesting permission to come aboard the Sparrow's Song."

Will turned another shade of green. "Permission granted, Commodore Norrington. And on the contrary, this flag has actually saved us more trouble than caused us."

James turned to his lieutenants. "Listen, both of you. Should anything unexpected occur, it is paramount that you return to Port Royal. Remember, this is the Governor's daughter, and there is no reason to think that any harm will come to any of us, regardless of circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"

Lieutenant Gillette gave the commodore a doubtful look, but agreed. Lieutenant Groves, on the other hand, had a curious expression on his face; James could very nearly see the speculations running through his head. Groves offered James the barest hint of a smile, and added his agreement to Gillette's. James was certain that at some point in the future, he was going to be having a talk with young Lieutenant Groves. James would worry about that later; he was going to need all his wits about him for the next confrontation, he was very certain.

Soon they were below in the Turner's spacious cabin. Nowhere near as grand as the captain's quarters on the Black Pearl, this cabin still had an open feeling to it, and there were enough chairs around a table near the center of the room for all three of them to be seated. No one availed themselves, however. In fact, the silence was becoming quite awkward, before James cleared his throat.

"Elizabeth, may I get a chair for you?" James asked politely.

"That's Mrs. Turner." Elizabeth's chin turned up and her brown eyes glittered.

Will winced. "Elizabeth, you promised."

James sighed. "It's quite all right. Mrs. Turner, then. A chair?" He moved to offer her a seat.

Elizabeth gave him her now familiar snort. "Don't think that that is going to work, Commodore."

"It's James." He took in her furious demeanor, and decided to try a different tack. He sat down in the chair himself.

Elizabeth's eyes widened then narrowed. "Very well, Commodore, shall we get started then?"

Will had watched the exchange carefully. Apparently deciding that a murder wasn't in the offing, he excused himself and crossed to the windows of the cabin. Almost immediately, he found something extremely fascinating out in the empty cerulean waves of the Caribbean.

"What can I do for you, then, Mrs. Turner?" James wished he had the panache to toss a booted foot upon the table as he'd seen Jack do on occasion. He thought that such an action just might push Elizabeth over the edge, however, and leave certain portions of his anatomy that Will had implied she'd like to damage far too vulnerable. He settled for leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms over his chest.

Elizabeth's lips began to twitch. "Don't do that, James. I'm extremely put out with you. And it's not making it easier when you're using his mannerisms."

James arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, bloody hell. Does he teach all you men how to do that?" She sighed.

"Mrs. Turner. That's certainly not language befitting a lady." Some of the tension left James; he was mostly certain at this point that he'd make it out of this alive and in one piece.

"Bollocks. And it's Elizabeth." She scowled at him. "But I'm still angry with you. Do you want to explain yourself? Or shall I just have them dump you in the water, and hope your men care enough to fish you out of the drink?"

"First tell me how he is." James noticed that Elizabeth's eyes flickered when he made his request. Clearly she hadn't been expecting it.

"He's healing. Sort of. He's himself, but not." Her eyes were accusatory. "He works with his crew, he joins them when they play, he smiles, he talks, and he laughs. But he doesn't sing, James. He doesn't drink rum. And his eyes don't smile. You broke him, James. That's why I'm here. I want to know why, and what you plan to do about it."

James flinched. "I never meant for him to get hurt, I can assure y..."

Elizabeth interrupted. "I know about Thom Cullen. So does Jack. I don't hold you responsible for Thom's actions, and I'm positive that Jack doesn't either... well, at least not entirely. I'm not sure he believes it completely, though he won't say why. I'm talking about why you betrayed him. Why you took him captive in the first place."

Now James was uncomfortable. He knew this was at the root of it all; none of it would have happened had he not taken Jack captive. And he had no good answer. He straightened up in the chair, as Elizabeth pulled one of the other chairs near and sat down. James sat silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts and his courage. It was funny how he never felt off balance until he was in the presence of Elizabeth or Jack. He wondered what that said about him, and them.

"I overheard you and Jack talking. They say that when you eavesdrop, you will never hear anything good said about yourself. It seems they are right." James glanced over at Will, who was still quietly looking out the window.

Elizabeth looked surprised. "What did you hear? I can't imagine anything that might have been said that would precipitate that kind of reaction."

"It seems that you were discussing the future of..." James shifted uncomfortably. "Well, the future of any relationship between Jack and myself. I believe the words were 'Take what you can, give nothing back.'"

Elizabeth stared at James. "Let me get this straight. You risked Jack's safety, and nearly caused him to lose his life, because of pride? He's ... because your feelings were hurt?"

James could feel himself getting red. He didn't say anything, and when the silence stretched into a distinctly angry pause, he wondered what he could say that didn't make him sound like more of a fool. He needn't have worried, however, because Elizabeth brushed a hand across her eyes, and suddenly Will was at her side.

"That's enough for now, Elizabeth," Will said quietly. "James, let me escort you back to your ship..."

"No!" Two voices simultaneously chimed in low and fervently. Elizabeth and James looked at each other.

"We'll wait until dark, and raise anchor. Will they follow or attack?" Elizabeth glanced at James.

"Neither, if they follow orders." James shrugged.

Will sighed. "Very well, then I'll inform Pete that you'll be staying in his quarters. Elizabeth, please go rest." He gave her a pleading look.

James watched as Elizabeth stood and lay a hand against Will's cheek, then gave James the first smile he'd seen since he'd come aboard, before she crossed to the bed. James stood and at Will's gesture, led the way from the cabin. James was preoccupied with what Elizabeth had told him about Jack, and he absently walked to the first mate's quarters, where he stayed until it grew dark.

The plan went off smoothly, and by the next morning, they were by James's reckoning and memory of the previous voyage from Los Sue�os, only a day's travel from the island. He wondered when Jack had taught the Turners to find the island; he'd been under the impression that they were unaware of the island's location last time, therefore the need to rendezvous with them before. He joined the Turners for the morning meal, but had apparently arrived after Elizabeth had eaten, as she didn't eat anything. James and Will talked of trivial things while they ate; but afterward, James was not surprised when Elizabeth indicated she wanted to continue their conversation from the day before. Will again distanced himself, this time grabbing a small book and sitting near the open window.

"You betrayed him, James, that's what it comes down to." Elizabeth apparently was going to pull no punches.

"I know. I realize that I have done a great deal of damage..." James began.

"You have no idea," Elizabeth interrupted. "Think about it. He left the Pearl to sail aboard the Sparrow's Song, for you. As far as I know, in the year and a half since he recovered the Black Pearl, that's the only time he has sailed aboard another boat. He took you to his island. He only took Will and me there after we picked him up in Port Royal." She paused.

James didn't say anything, merely watched Elizabeth. He was surprised to realize that he hadn't noticed how she'd matured. It seemed that he hadn't really looked at her for a long time. In much the same way he'd noticed that Will was no longer just a lad, he suddenly recognized that Elizabeth wasn't a flighty girl any longer, either. She'd become a courageous and confident woman, and for a moment James felt a pang of regret; that quickly passed and he was instead simply happy that she'd become a friend. James grasped the idea that she'd also proven everyone wrong; she hadn't outgrown her love of the freedom life on the seas provided, and never would.

"James, he was going to retrieve the Myrmidon for you. How do think we managed to find her so easily? We got the information in Tortuga, and the plans to capture her were already in place. And James... you missed part of that conversation. He told me that he was willing to compromise; he was planning on staying at Los Sue�os, so he could hopefully see you. Now do you see?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes sad.

James ran a hand through his hair; he'd chosen not to dress formally today, and had left his wig and topcoat behind in the cabin where he'd slept. He assimilated all that Elizabeth had just told him, and suddenly all he could see in his mind was the shell in Jack's hair. The shell that James had picked up, and idly played with, and discarded; the shell that Jack had picked up and added to his collection of memories.

"So, how do I fix this, Elizabeth? I'm in deep water, and suddenly I feel like I can't swim." James honestly hoped she had some advice, because he was at a complete loss.

James endured Elizabeth's assessing gaze; it seemed like an eternity before she got up and crossed to a small chest near the bed. She opened the box, and pulled out two items. James watched curiously as she brought them back and sat back down. She looked at him appraisingly, and James had the feeling that this was her real moment of decision.

James was relieved when she slid an envelope and a small box across the table in his direction. Apparently he'd come down on the side of being trustworthy, something that humbled him more than he'd expected. He raised the flap on the envelope, and pulled out the parchment, and read the contents. Then he started in surprise.

"A Letter of Marque? With your father's signature. When did you get this?" James was certain it was recent; the Governor would have let him know if he'd pardoned Jack.

"We were returning from seeing my father when we came upon the Myrmidon." Elizabeth didn't elaborate.

James had another thought. "You have one of these as well, don't you." It wasn't a question.

Elizabeth looked away for a moment then met his gaze steadily. "You know we don't go out of our way to cross the law. But my father felt, and Will agreed, that too many things can happen out here. It's better to be safe than sorry."

James was again impressed with the fact that Elizabeth and Will were determined to live such a vagabond life, with no regrets and no apologies. Like Jack. James reached for the box, and carefully opened it. Nestled inside, shimmering on a bed of silk, lay a black pearl. It was a fairly large pearl, larger than most white pearls James had seen, and its iridescence left James speechless.

"Will picked that up in Tortuga. Some scallywag liberated it along with various other items from a Spanish galleon, or so he said. It seemed a fitting gift for the captain of the Black Pearl." Elizabeth smiled. "It's yours to give to him if you like. Just remember, I'm not even sure he'll accept the Letter of Marque, and Jack isn't so shallow that one bauble is going to win back his heart. But it's a place to start."

James ran a finger across the pearl. "Tell me something. Will told me you felt guilty for what happened to Jack. Why?"

Elizabeth's gaze dropped. "Because I encouraged him to believe in you."

James sighed. "So you were betrayed as well. I'm sorry for that."

Elizabeth met James's eyes. "There's no need. Just fix it."

James nodded silently. Finally, lost in thought, he made his excuses; taking the letter and the pearl with him, he went up on deck to work through everything Elizabeth had told him.

*****

The Sparrow's Song was anchored a short distance from the Black Pearl. They had arrived only a few hours before, but Elizabeth had already sent Will out on a mission. She'd requested that James stay out of sight; it would do nobody any good if he were seen and someone got the bright idea to put the commodore out of the misery of all pirates everywhere. Elizabeth herself was quietly pacing the deck of her beloved ship; she wasn't at all sure how things were going to play out.

After what seemed like hours more, she finally saw a longboat approach from the Black Pearl. She had asked Will to go invite Jack to join them for the evening meal; she knew that Jack would be least likely to decline if Will was doing the asking. Elizabeth was well aware that Jack no longer fancied Will as he had before; those feelings had been replaced with an unshakable friendship. Or so Elizabeth hoped, because that was about to be tested; Elizabeth wasn't completely sure Jack carried those feelings for anyone, anymore.

When the longboat reached the Song and Jack and Will came aboard, Elizabeth crossed to Jack and gave him a quick hug. Jack gave her a quick squeeze, and then gazed around the ship. Elizabeth linked her arm in Jack's, and making small talk, she let Will lead them to their cabin. Once there, she continued to prattle on mindlessly, until she could tell that Jack was starting to get suspicious.

With an innocent air, she turned to Will. "Will, love, can you go see how long until the food will be ready? I'm starting to get quite hungry."

Will nodded, and Elizabeth waited until her husband had departed before she turned back to Jack. She motioned to a chair before sitting herself. "I wanted to talk to you, Jack."

"I sort o' suspected that, luv. Ye've been itchin' for the lad to leave us alone since we came aboard. 'Ave ye finally decided to throw 'im over for meself, then?" Jack gave her a smile that was almost a Jack Sparrow smile of old.

Elizabeth laughed. "Not quite yet." She grew serious. "We brought you a gift of sorts. Just the sort of thing friends do for one another, wouldn't you say?"

Jack's eyes grew wary. "That 'o' sorts' 'as an ominous ring to it, that it does. What sort o' gift?"

"Well, we sort of ran across a ship on our way back here. And you know, we decided that we just couldn't come back without something to show for the encounter..." Elizabeth began to fidget just ever so slightly.

"Yer being very dissembling, luv, and that's not like ye. Spit it out, then." Jack cringed comically; he wasn't actually concerned.

"We brought you James Norrington." Elizabeth smiled winsomely.

Now Jack's face closed down, became a mask. "Did ye, then. Ye've definitely got the makings of a good pirate, that ye do. An' what would ye do that for?"

"Because you love him?" Elizabeth ventured hopefully.

"I don' know a thing about love, and that's a fact." Jack stated quietly.

"That's codswallop, Jack. What about before? You didn't feel that way then." Elizabeth badgered persistently.

A flicker of hurt shown through the mask that was Jack's expression, and Jack said softly, "'E was the center of me everything just then." The bland expression covered his face again, and he leaned back in his seat, adopting nearly the same posture that James had assumed in that very chair a few days before. "And 'e made it quite clear that 'e didn't care to be."

Elizabeth's heart wanted to break, but she merely leaned forward and touched Jack's hand. "Well, he wants to talk to you."

Jack shrugged. "'E could have talked to me when I spent me time in 'is infirmary. Apparently 'e didn't have anything to say then."

"You insisted you didn't want to talk to him! You told the surgeon not to let him in."

"'E didn't try very hard then, did 'e? I even stayed the whole week like the surgeon insisted." Jack's emotionless facade slipped again, just for a moment, this time displaying a tinge of disappointment mixed in with the hurt.

Elizabeth sighed. "Just talk to him, Jack, please?" At Jack's arched eyebrow, Elizabeth turned an ever so becoming shade of pink, and hurried on. "Yes, I know. I still feel horrid about that. But I wasn't wrong that time, even though it seems like it. And I'm not wrong now. Please, Jack? It will be good for you, if nothing else, and it would mean so much to Will and I." Elizabeth held her breath after playing her trump card.

Jack grumbled. "Fine, and then ye can take the commodore back to where ye found 'im. Savvy?"

Elizabeth grinned. "Savvy." After all, she could afford to be generous, now that she'd won.

*****

Returning from the galley, Will nearly tripped over James, who was leaning against the door frame outside the closed door to the captain's cabin. Will caught his balance, and then noticed the haunted look on James's face. He gave James a sympathetic nod, and then as James straightened and walked away, Will entered his cabin.

* * *

Chapter 8

It was late. James was restless; he wasn't able to sleep once more. Knowing that it was still probably risky, but trusting that the darkness would keep him safe, he decided to go up on deck and enjoy the night breeze. James stepped onto the deck, his eyes drawn to the island off to starboard. The moon was shining brightly, and the waves rolling up on the beach were backlit, making them glow an enchanting green and blue. He could just make out the outline of the waterfall in the distance.

James was halfway across the deck, when he could see by the moonlight that there was someone else standing at the railing. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized the silhouette. Wondering why Jack had stayed aboard when his own ship was mere yards away, James slowed. His thoughts turned back to the conversation he'd so blatantly eavesdropped on earlier in the evening; Jack had hoped that James would disregard the physician's orders and insist on talking to Jack. Is that what he wants now? James was uncertain, but he wasn't about to pass up this opportunity.

Continuing towards the pirate, James cleared his throat as he reached the railing; he wasn't surprised when Jack didn't acknowledge his arrival. James rightly assumed that Jack had been aware of his presence since he'd come up on deck. James stood there quietly for a while; he wasn't certain where to start.

"'Ello, Commodore."

James was disappointed at Jack's use of his title, but not surprised. "Hello, Jack."

Neither said anything else for a while.

"I'm sorry." James was startled; he hadn't planned on saying it out loud. In fact, he still didn't have any idea what to say beyond that.

"Alright." Jack didn't turn to look at him.

Now James turned his head to look at Jack. "Alright? Just like that?"

Jack still didn't so much as glance his way. "Aye, alright. That be it, then?"

James ran his hand through his hair. "Not really, no." He turned towards Jack, and leaned against the rail.

James's breath stuttered when Jack finally turned to look at him. James noticed that Jack had lost some weight. Jack's high cheekbones were more prominent, and his eyes, which James had never seen completely free of the black lining before, seemed overly large in a face that now appeared to belong to some darkly fey creature. The bruises had healed, and but for a small scar below Jack's lower lip, there were no lingering signs of the injuries inflicted upon that face. James let his eyes slide down Jack's body, and he could see the evidence there as well; Jack's perpetually lithe body was now even slimmer. James resisted the urge to immediately go looking for the galley; if he left the deck, he knew Jack wouldn't be there when he returned.

Instead, James went on the offensive. "You squandered all that treasure already? You obviously can't feed yourself or your crew."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "There's plenty o' swag left."

"Ahh. Just too lazy to go get it, then?" James nodded in mock sympathy.

"Very amusing, Commodore. It would appear that to prove ye wrong, I'll 'ave to invite ye for a meal. Tomorrow evening, aboard the Pearl." Jack turned and walked away without another word.

James watched him go; he wasn't really certain what to make of this encounter, and had to content himself with the thought of seeing Jack again tomorrow. And then he remembered AnaMaria and the rest of the Pearl's crew. Hopefully he'd live long enough to enjoy the meal. He sighed, and retired to One-Eyed Pete's cabin.

The next day dragged on forever for James. He spent a good portion of the day up on deck; Elizabeth had told him that Jack had gone back to the Pearl at sunrise, and had ordered that no one was to harm James. James was fairly sure they'd obey him, and if they didn't, he'd rather see it coming during the day than be caught unaware at night.

James noticed that there seemed to be a fair amount of activity back in the trees off of the beach off starboard. This was the same beach that he'd spent time on with the crew of the Pearl while waiting for the Turners to conclude their business, but he knew that there were a few paths into the trees that hadn't been there before. He searched out Elizabeth, to see if she could explain.

"They're building houses." Elizabeth revealed.

"Houses? Who is building houses? For whom?" James hadn't anticipated that answer.

Elizabeth smiled a sunny smile. "Well, Jack, for one. Will and I, for another. I think a few others of the crew are ready to put down roots, as well, but I don't remember off hand how many. The Sparrow's Song is freedom, of course. But there's something to be said for security, as well."

"You're settling down?" James was surprised.

Elizabeth laughed. "Perish the thought, love. I said security, not insanity." She mocked him gently. "It's just nice to have a home port."

"There's Port Royal," James said stiffly.

"Of course, there's Port Royal, where I'm expected to wear clothing that nearly kills a woman, and serve tea to gossipy old hens who look down their noses at my husband. Why didn't I ever think of that?" Her smile took some of the sting out of her sarcastic words.

"And Jack's building a house here?" James tried to sound casual.

Elizabeth wasn't fooled, but she took pity on James and didn't mention it. "He is. I think I had mentioned before that he wanted to be near Port Royal. Of course, that was before. I'm not sure of his reasons now. I suppose that's something you'll have to ask him tonight."

James nodded thoughtfully. From there, the conversation turned to more general things, random news from Port Royal, and the political climate back in England. James was relieved to make small talk; he was still wavering between anticipation and dread of the evening ahead.

Finally, it was time to go. James accepted Will's offer to take him over to the Pearl, and a short time later, stepped onto the deck of Jack's ship. There were very few people aboard; James assumed that most of the crew was ashore. Jack appeared from his cabin and casually leaned against the doorframe; James stood stalwart under Jack's appraising look.

Jack was dressed in a pair of tan breeches tucked into his brown calf-high boots. A white tunic, unlaced at the neck, was tucked into the sash Jack always wore at his narrow waist. He'd added a fresh application of kohl around his eyes, and his tangled hair framed the angles of his face. James took in every detail of Jack's slim body, and when the urge to remove those clothes and lick every inch of Jack's body, starting with the hipbone of the hip that was jutted out at an angle, caused a rush of lust to surge through his body, James had to shift his stance to relieve the pressure from his suddenly too-tight breeches.

"Ye made it, then? Amazing, really. Ye Navy men are always gettin' lost in your own harbors. Come along, then, let's partake." Jack bowed with a flourish, and let James lead the way into the cabin.

James wasn't really sure what to make of this side of Jack. It was much closer to the old Jack, and on one hand James was glad. But it also was worrying, because the old Jack always had something up his sleeve, and this was classic: distract and dissimulate.

When James entered the cabin and saw the table, he was amazed. There seemed to be enough food to feed the entire crew of the Pearl, and then some. He was pleased to note that he'd pricked Jack's pride the previous evening, and now Jack was going to show him the true wealth available to Captain Jack Sparrow. James also recognized that all of this had to have been on hand, and he was suddenly curious as to exactly what this island had available in the way of supplies.

"Very nice, Jack." James offered him a smile. "You do know how to entertain a guest. Perhaps I was mistaken when I questioned your ability to provide."

Jack smirked. "'Ave a seat, Commodore."

"One moment. I brought you something." James immediately felt a little ridiculous, but felt better when Jack didn't instantly laugh in his face. James pulled the envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Jack.

Jack tilted his head, causing the baubles in his hair to shift. James's eyes caught the movement of one in particular, and he felt a thrill of wonder when he recognized his shell. He kept it. That's got to be a good sign? But then James understood the fallacy of that thought. Jack had many tokens of memories, not all of them were good. It just meant that Jack had strong feelings about James.

Jack reached for the envelope, and then waited for James to sit, before sitting himself. James held his breath while Jack opened the envelope and read the letter. James waited for Jack to do something, say anything.

"It's quite pretty, ain't it? But I don' want or need it." Jack put the letter back in the envelope and put it on the table.

James's stomach sank. Well, there was always the pearl... but that would have to wait. He hadn't brought it with him; he hadn't wanted it to seem like he was trying to buy Jack's affection.

They talked rather haltingly through the meal; it wasn't until after they'd finished and Jack had offered James a glass of brandy that any subject that could be considered touchy was broached. James declined the brandy, and asked instead whether Jack had any rum handy.

Jack's eyes darkened, and James thought for a moment that Jack would withdraw. Instead, Jack returned the brandy to the chest he'd pulled it from, and retrieved a bottle of rum, instead. He offered it to James, and James accepted.

"Are you going to join me?" James asked. When Jack didn't reply, James's memory flashed to the empty rum bottle in the cell in Port Royal, and he faltered in bringing the bottle to his lips. "Jack? What happened with the rum?"

Jack tilted his head again. "The rum ye sent me? I thought it would be obvious, Commodore. I drank it."

James swallowed hard and set the bottle down untasted. "I swear to you, Jack, I didn't send that bottle."

Jack shrugged. "It all ends the same, Commodore. It don' matter that ye didn't give the orders, either."

"I didn't give the orders." James knew this was important, but it wasn't where the true battle lay. But they had to get beyond this, to get to the other.

"Says you. Don' matter, says I." Jack's dark eyes held James's and wouldn't let go.

"It does matter. I know I made a mistake. A big mistake. But that wasn't one of them." James knew he was on the edge of begging Jack to believe him, and he was ready to swallow his pride to do so.

Jack's eyes suddenly glittered. "Why don' ye tell me about your mistake then, Commodore?"

James took a deep breath. "I heard you talking to Elizabeth. Misheard, more accurately. I mistakenly believed that you were merely using me to your advantage, for your amusement. I acted like a fool, because I was too proud to just ask for an explanation."

Something in Jack's eyes flickered for a moment before he turned away, and reached for the bottle of rum. "Ye gonna drink this, or not?" Jack took a swig, and handed it to James.

When James departed a few hours later, he never retrieved the Letter of Marque, and when Jack saw it on the table upon his return to his cabin, he picked up the envelope and tapped it thoughtfully against his fingers. He crossed to the bookcase, and pulling out his book of Marlowe poetry, he carefully slid the envelope between the pages, and returned the book to the shelf.

*****

A pattern developed over the next few days; Elizabeth would insist that Jack come to supper aboard the Song, James would inevitably provoke Jack by making some comment about the Pearl or Jack's abilities as a provider, and Jack would in turn go out of his way to prove James wrong.

Elizabeth was happy to see that Jack was slowly healing emotionally now, as well as physically. She was very aware, though, that things still weren't right between the two men; James seemed to be at a complete loss as to what Jack expected of him, and Elizabeth knew that in this, she absolutely couldn't interfere. She just wished that they'd hurry up and figure this out; she wanted things settled, and she was not in a frame of mind to be reasonable lately.

James was aboard the Pearl again, as he nearly always was every other evening for supper; but he always ended up back on the Sparrow's Song before the mid-watch was called. As always, James hoped that this would be the evening that he wasn't lying awake alone, listening to the watch change. Even though they were theoretically completely safe in this cove, there was still always a watch posted, although one watch sufficed for both ships. James could have written an entire dissertation on the watch change, and the people posted for the last week.

James and Jack had just finished their supper, and Jack was inevitably retrieving a bottle of rum, when James got up to follow him. When he was next to Jack, he pulled from his pocket the small box he'd brought with him every visit. Jack had turned at James's approach, and was now eyeing the box curiously. James offered him the box, and then stood quietly when Jack accepted it.

But Jack's reaction when he opened it was so completely not what James expected, that he was caught completely off guard. Jack snapped the box shut and charged James, pinning him against the wall, one arm across James's throat. James gasped for breath, his eyes staring into Jack's angry brown ones.

"Stop it," Jack growled. "Ye won't be wooin' me like some strumpet. I don' need your Letter of Marque, your trinkets, your pity or your charity. There be only three things I want from you, Commodore, and that be your personal honor, your personal loyalty and most of all, your trust. I won't be settlin' for anything less. So when ye 'ave those to give, we'll 'ave something to talk about. Savvy?"

In that moment, James realized that for the first time he was truly seeing the Pirate Captain. He was ruthless, merciless and proud, and James was wildly aroused by this vision of Jack. He drank in the sight of Jack's dark eyes, glittering deeply behind the shadowed lids; his own eyes flicked to Jack's lips curled into a sneer. James did the only thing he could do at that point: he nodded.

When Jack released him, though, James was ready, and his hand snaked behind Jack's head and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Jack didn't hesitate, his lips savaged James's, and when James heard a low groan rumble through the silence, he couldn't honestly say whether it came from himself or from Jack. James parted his lips, and Jack's tongue instantly invaded, plundering and caressing, and this time James was certain that the moan that was heard was his own.

Once Jack slipped a hand behind James's head, James slipped his own hand in his pocket; Jack's other hand slid to James's hip, and James let himself be pulled sharply against Jack, gasping as Jack thrust his already-hard cock against James's groin. James shuddered at the answering rush of desire that darted straight to his own organ; but he was helpless in the face of the wildness that was Jack.

Jack's mouth traveled down James's neck, stopping to nip sharply when James twitched; the sting being laved away with the wetness of Jack's tongue just a mere instant later. Jack's hands were already at the buttons on James's shirt, and James was unsurprised when after a moment or two of fumbling, there was a sharp jerk, and buttons popped in different directions. Jack didn't falter, and already his heated mouth was upon James's shoulder, dipping down to suck at the inside of James's elbow, then back up to nip at a collarbone.

James slid his hand up Jack's body, and then reached for his hand; when Jack's fingers loosened on James's shirt, James slid his hand into Jack's, and when he removed his hand, he left behind the silver flask he'd given up hope of having a need for. Jack glanced down at his hand, and then raised his eyes to meet James's green gaze. James caught his breath when he saw what was there; he saw a spark of the love that he had thought was gone, the love he thought he'd killed.

Jack grabbed James by the front of his open shirt, and nearly dragged him towards the bed; James wondered if he should point out that he was hardly going to up and leave, but when Jack pushed him onto the bed, and continued his aggressive, sensual attack, there was nothing in the world that could have made James point out that fact, or any other.

Jack wasn't taking any chances, however, it seemed. Jack quickly attacked the laces on James's breeches, and with a few deft tugs, had James out of boots, breeches and buttonless shirt. James watched as Jack quickly divested himself of his own clothing, and as Jack's heated gaze traveled up James's body, he let out a growl. Jack crawled up his commodore's body until he reached James's lips, capturing them again for another devouring kiss.

When Jack broke from the kiss, James nearly cursed with regret, but Jack's mouth was already trailing down James's body; Jack brought James's hand to his lips, and after placing a kiss in his palm, drew one and then two of James's fingers into his mouth, sucking and laving. James felt a jealous pull in his cock, and it leapt against Jack's thigh. Jack slid lower, and as James caught his lower lip between his teeth, Jack released James's fingers, only to hungrily lap at the weeping head of James's member. James groaned in heartfelt disappointment when Jack continued on, leaning to suck on the inside of James's thigh hard enough to raise a red welt. Jack growled in satisfaction at his mark, soothing it just a bit with another lick of his tongue.

James couldn't help himself; he wrapped his own hand around his cock, but Jack was having none of it. He let out a silent snarl and slapped away the hand invading the territory he'd claimed as his. James grabbed at the bed, his hands fisting in the linen as Jack went down on him; how could he have forgotten the paradise that was Jack's mouth?

Jack was offering no quarter; he swallowed James with exquisite skill, and James arched as that sinfully beautiful mouth worked upon him. With each sucking pull, and each swirling tongue stroke, James spiraled closer to bliss. And then Jack's hands were on James's thighs, urging his legs apart; James felt Jack's questing fingers stroke his balls, and with another descent of Jack's heated mouth, James came. Jack brought his hand to James's organ, eager to coax every last drop as Jack swallowed greedily. James released the sheet to tangle his fingers in Jack's hair; finally, with a last lick at James's spent cock, Jack continued his journey of licking and sucking and biting over James's body.

Jack was nowhere near finished, and while James was still quivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, Jack insistently rolled James over, propping a pillow beneath his hips. James rested himself on his arms, although carefully. Jack crawled up James's body once more, and this time he very definitely had a path in mind. He nipped the nape of James's neck, and when James moaned in response, Jack finally smiled, a wicked smile that would have given James pause had he seen it.

But James hadn't seen, and when Jack's tongue soothed the love bite at his nape, and then began to trail down his spine, James moaned again. And still that tongue continued lower; James's half-erect cock instantly regaining interest when Jack's tongue slipped between the firm mounds of his arse, to swipe across the rosebud opening there. James very nearly began to babble incoherently at this point. Jack turned and nipped at one of those firm cheeks, and then opened the flask. He coated two fingers, and then slid the slippery digits across that puckered hole.

"Yer sure, then?" Jack spoke for the first time.

"Jack!" James groaned.

"Jus' checkin, luv," Jack gave a throaty, sinful chuckle.

With delicious slowness, Jack slid a finger barely inside that warm, waiting passage. He paused when he heard James gasp, only proceeding when he felt the bracing tightness relax a bit. With another gentle push, he continued his tender assault, twisting his finger as he carefully thrust.

James lowered his forehead to his arms, every part of his body focused on the sensation Jack was producing. He whimpered as Jack stopped again, and then it occurred to him that Jack was only going as fast as he thought James would be able to handle. All James wanted was to have Jack inside him.

"More, Jack," James insisted breathlessly.

Again Jack smiled, thrusting deftly with that finger before carefully adding another. Jack twisted those fingers inside James, probing, seeking. He knew when he found what he was looking for, for James suddenly began a low keening moan. Carefully Jack scissored those fingers inside of James, and brushed against that magical spot with each thrust. James was nearly panting when Jack removed his fingers and used the flask to prepare his own eager cock. Jack clenched his jaw, but when he pressed the flared crown of his organ to James's stretched entrance, he used all the control he possessed not to penetrate as deeply as he could in the first thrust.

As he began to slip inside, Jack reached beneath James and took his renewed erection in his slick hand, and slowly fisted the length of it. Twin gasps were uttered when James pushed back, causing Jack to slip deeper.

"Jack, please." James begged.

The sound of James beneath him, begging, caused something to break inside Jack, at the same time that it healed. With a smooth thrust, he sheathed himself completely inside of his commodore. Jack paused, savoring the hot, velvet heaven that was James. But it wasn't nearly enough; in a moment, Jack withdrew, only to sink home once more. James gasped, and the sound only spurred Jack on, until he was stabbing with a steady rhythm.

"Yes, yes, yes," James was uttering a heartfelt chant, as he was both impaled and stroked, Jack's slick hand still pumping his cock.

Jack heard these low cries, and he leaned forward, his hand speeding up as he growled in James's ear, "Mine, James; you're mine, mine."

And then James was coming again, Jack's possessiveness and skillful fingers propelling him to heaven. Jack groaned at the rhythmic contractions around his cock, and began to thrust with abandon. He felt the world contract to a pinpoint, and then the ecstasy expanded, and he was pouring his essence into James.

Jack collapsed forward to catch himself on one arm, and he whispered one more time to James, "You're mine, only mine."

*****

Elizabeth smiled as she watched the pirate and the commodore walk up the beach toward her. She knew they'd been saying good-bye; Will and the Sparrow's Song were leaving on the evening tide to take James back to Port Royal. James had been here for nearly three weeks now; she knew that people would be getting concerned for him, and she also knew that there was nothing that could keep him from coming back again. Jack was here, and James wouldn't be content to stay away... anymore than Jack was going to be content to let James go, and not follow him to Port Royal, she supposed. She sighed. She only hoped that Jack's luck held up now that it was back; otherwise she was most likely going to have to use all of her wiles to persuade her father to write a letter of clemency. Thankfully, she had another little ace up her sleeve, should that come to pass.

*****

Jack stood at the window in his cabin, watching the Sparrow's Song sail away. He wondered how long he'd be able to wait for James to come back. After all, there was always a horizon that seemed to lead to Port Royal, and the added entertainment of getting those Navy lads all atwitter with the hope of catching Captain Jack Sparrow. He ran a loving hand along the sill; his Pearl was still the loveliest ship afloat, and like his commodore, he had no reason to question her loyalty.

Jack turned towards the door of his cabin, but his eyes lit on a piece of parchment and a small box on the table instead. Curious, he crossed to the table, and picked up the box. Just as he started to open it, he recognized it, and so the sight of the black pearl nestled there was no surprise. He gently nudged the pearl with one finger, then set the box down and unfolded the parchment. It was in James's hand:

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;'
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.'

***
Not all treasure is silver and gold.

J.

Jack smiled. Oh yes, his commodore would be seeing him sooner than he expected.

~Fin~

* * *