Mercy
by Webcrowmancer

3: Alliance

* * * *

As Jack awoke, there was a brief flash of disorientation as he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar interior of the cabin, and then the events of the night before filled in. He could tell from the pronounced swaying that the ship was well on its way. It was obvious that they'd left with the tide. A glance where the Commodore had been revealed the hammock was already taken down and the Commodore nowhere to be seen.

Jack frowned and made to sit up. Swearing under his breath at the pain that lanced through his arm, he managed to rise, wondering if it was worth it. He probably wouldn't be allowed to wander freely above deck anyway.

He was stiff and sore, and although it was the first night since he'd been captured that he'd really had any proper sleep, he still felt as though he'd been through a squall, beaten and battered by wind and rain for too long.

Fortunately, Norrington appeared to be on the upswing, his conscience forcing him to pluck Jack out of prison and place him -

Jack had to laugh quietly to himself at this. An equal footing now, in the captain's cabin of the Dauntless. Interesting.

Equally interesting was breakfast, left out for him almost as if he was supposed to take it as an afterthought, and yet far too obviously left with care.

He wondered if Commodore Norrington had any idea what his actions said about him, let alone what they said about what he thought of his captive guest.

Tea, bread, honey, fruit...and he saw the bottle of rum had been taken up off the floor and placed there as well. A glance revealed his sword, and his pistol, where he'd put them the night before, untouched.

A glance through the window nearest him proved it was nearly mid-morning. He supposed he'd better make the most of this while it lasted; no doubt Norrington would begin regretting this little change of heart once he'd thought it over a few times.

Sitting at the table, he helped himself to the food on the tray.

The cabin doors opened, and as Jack looked up, he saw Norrington standing there with a strange expression on his face.

"Thanks for breakfast," Jack said, noting the Commodore's thoughtful look.

Norrington came in and shut the doors. "You're welcome. We're making good time. Barring any poor weather, we should arrive back at the Isle de Muerte by dawn tomorrow." He took off his hat and coat, hung them up, and went to sit at his desk, pulling out a small book, presumably his log.

Pouring himself tea, Jack asked, "You do realize that we may have to wait a good while for my Pearl to show herself there again? The crew's going to be very wary after her last encounter with your Dauntless, here. Then there's any damage 'at might need repairing, after that exchange with your cannons and all."

Norrington looked up at him, startled, but quickly shuttering it away behind the usual cool demeanor Jack saw upon the Commodore. To Jack's sharp eye, he appeared to wear it like a shield, after having seen the man's open confusion and distress the previous evening. "Then wait we shall." He returned to his book, and picked up a quill.

So that's how it was to be. "Does your hospitality extend to the rest of the ship, or just this cabin, 'ey?"

Norrington gave him a sidelong glance but continued writing in his log. "You're a free man; do as you please."

Jack's brows lifted. He sipped the tea. Lukewarm, but better than nothing. Like the hospitality.

He actually didn't expect the Pearl to return to the Isle de Muerte until they'd stashed the treasure elsewhere and spent their own divisions in Tortuga for a week, which meant they probably wouldn't be back there for a good five or six days more. Which meant four days aboard this ship with the foul tempered Commodore and all the King's men, at the very least.

What fun.

Well, he'd have to see what he could do in the meantime to relieve the tedium. He wasn't sure which was worse: being locked in the brig or confined in Norrington's cabin with him.

Spreading honey on a slice of bread, Jack considered the best tack to take. He couldn't poke at him too much, or he'd end up back in the brig. What was it with people always tossing him in cells? He really wasn't as dangerous as all that, reputation notwithstanding. He leaned over and fished an apple out of the bowl of fruit on the table.

The scratch of Norrington's quill in his book filled the silence of the cabin.

Without looking up, Norrington commented, "You slept the whole night through."

So the Commodore had not, Jack surmised. "Ships tend to have that effect. Although it's a far cry from the dungeon, I'll admit."

He bit into the honeyed bread, waited to see what response, if any, that one garnered.

Sure enough, a fleeting little expression of guilt was quickly suppressed. Norrington glanced up at him, his quill poised over the ink. "You may consider this my attempt to make it up to you."

Jack smiled to himself, and settled back in the chair more comfortably. "You're proving yourself the soul of generosity." Biting into the bread, he saw that Norrington appeared to ignore this.

But the Commodore seemed preoccupied, in any case, with whatever it was he was scribbling in that book of his. Must have been an active morning, to warrant such a voluminous amount of words.

Jack was beginning to get the feeling that Norrington was avoiding him. No doubt all the officers aboard were going to be disappointed if they expected to be invited in here for luncheon, or supper, or even tactical discussions. Couldn't have officers of the Crown sharing the same air as a pirate, after all. Who knew what bad manners they might pick up?

He chuckled quietly to himself, earning a puzzled glance from Norrington.

Contenting himself with watching Norrington as he continued to write, Jack ate in silence, wondering if it should come down to it which of them would break first. It was revealing in and of itself that Norrington appeared to be treating him as if he were a part of the cabin: unremarkable and completely beneath his notice.

That rather sullen and desperate revelation the previous night regarding 'friendship' and 'trust' must be driving the Commodore quite mad, to be retreating to such a display of poise and nerve this morning. Jack smiled, knowing the next time it happened would probably be even more revealing than the last.

As he bit into the apple, it occurred to him that he hadn't as yet managed to determine exactly what it was that Norrington wanted from him. It certainly wasn't friendship; he couldn't see the Commodore actually desiring such a relationship with a man he'd obviously felt was so far beneath him - for being a pirate as well as for not being a fellow commodore. Or captain. Jack grinned. It really rankled Norrington to have to accept that despite being a 'civilian' and a pirate, Jack himself was still a captain, and of the finest, fiercest, prettiest, fastest ship in the Caribbean.

That Norrington was lonely and now mourning the loss of Miss Elizabeth was in part the reason for this nigh desperate attempt to reach out a hand of friendship, but he doubted Norrington himself even knew what he really wanted. From a pirate.

It couldn't just be freedom; or could it be that simple? Ships were safe in the harbor, but it wasn't what they were built for.

Perhaps the Commodore was a little too confined himself, in that safe little English port town. Perhaps the fact that he, Jack Sparrow, infamous pirate captain, could actually be a good man was a terribly distressing reminder that anyone could be free and a pirate, an outlaw, rather than just wicked types as Norrington had been restricting himself to believing.

He narrowed his eyes, watching the Commodore continue to dip his quill again and again, scratching out far too many lines for a simple morning sail with the tide.

Jack briefly wondered if the steersman that Norrington had given the bearings to had any idea whatsoever, just how dearly they'd been bought and paid for.

Interesting, too, that Norrington looked down on him for seeking treasure or the simpler joys life had to offer, as if what he valued was less than the rigid duty and obligation that a military career required. And yet here he was, his presence in Norrington's cabin proof of the man's curiosity with his identity as a pirate. For that's really in essence what this was all about, Jack knew.

He supposed he ought to be used to it by now. People generally appeared to have a mixed and volatile view of pirates, seeing them as both living examples of romantic, unspeakably dashing scoundrels and completely untrustworthy vile sinners. Miss Swann was an excellent example, as was her paramour, young Will. He had thought Norrington here was of the mind that he was scum, and yet the good, upstanding Commodore now appeared no less susceptible to these opinions.

Far be it from Jack Sparrow to enlighten him, especially so far as it kept him from the brig.

Norrington finally put up his quill and opened the desk drawer to put away his book. Standing up, he pushed the chair back beneath the desk and went to sit down at the table, across from Jack.

Who took another bite of his apple, regarding Norrington.

The Commodore looked away, to the windows behind him, over Jack's shoulder. "I'll have the doctor have a look at your wound."

"Thanks," Jack replied, cheerfully. "Just being back at sea seems to be doing it a world of good. Funny, that. How's your neck?"

Norrington glanced at him and considered the bowl of fruit. "Improving."

Jack leaned back further and frowned. "Are you always this happy, or have you eaten something that disagreed with you? Or maybe you're disagreeing with something that's eating you?" he added meaningfully.

Norrington gave him a sardonic look, his eyes sliding away again, this time to the tray, as if bored. "Not at all," he replied, a little too casually. "Usually on ocean voyages, I read. This time, I'm looking forward to hearing you elaborate on some of the more interesting stories of your exploits."

Amused, Jack said, "I'm sure you've already heard them all. Sometimes they print the tales beneath, on the wanted poster. With the longer stories, they have to use very tiny letters, and it can even take two posters or more to do them justice."

Norrington's eyes met his, with a small smile. "I believe they're called 'books'."

"Those too," Jack agreed, not bothering to rise to the sarcasm. He was quite used to it, expecting it from Norrington now, and would have thought something terribly wrong indeed if Norrington hadn't retreated to it by this time. Mocking him seemed to be Norrington's favorite pastime, as if doing anything else somehow left him open for possible corruption by his very pirate nature.

"I suppose hearing the actual truth behind the tales is too much to hope for," Norrington commented.

"Depends on the tale," Jack explained. "Sometimes, the truth is far less likely to be believed, and has to be toned down for anyone to swallow it."

"So why do they all sound so far-fetched?"

"Because other people embellish it as it moves from each teller," Jack said. "I've heard the most amazing stories about myself, and been quite surprised to find them completely new. There's nothing more disconcerting than hearing you've done things you have absolutely no memory of doing. Of course, going to bed with a bottle of rum often has that effect too," Jack mused, leaning forward and placing his apple core on the tray, and selecting a banana from the fruit bowl. "Although it can be very strange to hear you've been in three different places all at the same time. Makes me wonder how I manage it."

Norrington's smile at this was at least a little wider than before. "Then you can hardly be surprised if I find most of the stories about you highly suspect in their accuracy; particularly if you refuse to verify them."

Jack peeled the banana, saying, "Considering I have a reputation to uphold, I'm surprised you'd think I'd tell you the truth." He gave him a half-smile and bit off the top of the banana.

Norrington seemed to regard the banana with some displeasure, looking quickly away with a slight frown to fix on the cabin doors.

Jack frowned, chewing, and examined his banana. There didn't seem to be anything remarkable about it. Well, maybe Norrington didn't care for the fruit. Or maybe it was too green for him.

"Do you play chess?" Norrington asked.

"On the rare occasion," Jack replied. He wondered if Norrington would consider a game of chess between them on the same level as a duel, matching wits instead of swords. "If the Pearl is late in showing, I daresay we'll 'ave time enough for a tournament." He took another bite.

Norrington swallowed and carefully regarded the doors, shifting slightly in his seat.

Curious, Jack asked, "Are you alright, mate?"

Norrington let out a breath. "I'm fine. But four days of this...I'm beginning to wonder if it won't start to take its toll on our mental faculties."

"I rather reckon your temper will be the first to go," Jack said, dryly, taking another bite of the banana, wondering at the way that Norrington steadfastly did not look at him.

This was most interesting, indeed. What, did Norrington believe that pirates ate their food raw and still moving about? Or was the novelty of having a pirate in his cabin simply too much for the Commodore?

But Norrington didn't look angry. He looked worried, if anything. Jack frowned at his banana again, wondering why it was too much simply to watch him eat. Odd.

"If I do lose my temper, no doubt I will be justified in doing so," Norrington said, without the usual cold note his voice usually held.

Jack finished the last bite and placed the banana peel on the tray beside the apple core, noting with some mirth that Norrington watched him now with a relieved expression.

"I take it you don't care for bananas," Jack drawled.

Norrington sat up straighter. "I do not."

"Well," Jack said brightly, "that's alright, because I do. You won't have to worry about them going to waste."

Norrington didn't look very pleased about this. "The chart you gave me, before; the one showing the route through the shoals and that passage...It was very neatly done."

Jack's brows rose. A compliment? "Thanks. I take it they were the reason you were able to sneak up on me ship so cleverly."

Norrington's little smile held a bit more of his usual cool, disdainful humor. "Indeed."

Jack stood and stretched, gingerly. "So I'm free to go about your ship, without any of your sailors pitching me into the brine?"

"You're a guest, within reason. There are limits, Jack."

"Fine," Jack agreed. "Just so long as they know that, 'ey?"

Norrington frowned up at him. "Where are you going?"

Jack gave him a look askance. "A man's got to relieve himself sometime, you know. First thing in the morning, aye?"

Norrington looked worried but he didn't say anything.

Jack laughed quietly to himself, going to the doors and opening them to blink in the bright sunlight. No doubt the thought of a pirate pissing off the side of his Dauntless was a little too much, particularly given the early hour of the day.

He earned a few stares from the soldiers aboard, especially the ones hanging about in the rigging, as he made his way to the side. After all, he was hardly going to use the Commodore's chamber pot at the breakfast table. Such things just weren't done. There was etiquette to consider. He hummed as his bladder rejoiced at finally being allowed relief. It wasn't until he was shaking himself dry that he grasped what had offended the Commodore so, about the banana.

And he grinned, widely. If the simple act of eating a banana in front of the man should offend the good Commodore's sensibilities that much, he wondered what other innocuous little activities might achieve the same effect.

He'd have to set about discovering so immediately, to oblige Norrington. Wouldn't want him growing bored, after all, on the journey back to the Isle de Muerte and during the subsequent stakeout for his Pearl.

He caught sight of the bucket of rainwater nearby. Going over to it, he saw it was more likely fresh water that had been brought on board that morning, for the trip. Excellent. He went and picked it up, and carried it back to the cabin.

Opening the doors and stepping inside with it, he saw Norrington was sitting back at his desk, scribbling in that book of his again. He took the bucket over to the other side of the room, then turned, wondering where Norrington kept his clothing. Going to the cupboard, Jack began searching through it.

"What are you looking for?" Norrington demanded.

"A spare shirt," Jack answered, absently.

Norrington was quiet, briefly, then said, "Try the second drawer underneath."

Jack did, and encountered one of Norrington's long white shirts. "Ah, thanks very much." Pulling it out, he went over to where the hammock was still strung, and took it down, stowing it off in the corner. Then he began to remove his clothes, starting with his sash and his boots.

A glance at Norrington revealed the man was lost in his book. Intently so. With a fine shade of crimson creeping into his cheeks.

Jack grinned to himself. Bananas, pissing off the side, and now: undressing. Norrington really needed to spend more time at sea.

After removing his headscarf, shirt, and breeches, Jack checked the wound on his shoulder. The bandage really needed to be changed. He removed it too.

Norrington said with a long-suffering tone, "Must you do that in here?"

Jack regarded him with some suspicion. "You'd rather I was outside?"

Without looking at him, Norrington sighed.

Jack gave a little shrug. And went to the cabinet to retrieve a cloth, then went to the fresh water. Cleaning himself up to a moderate degree of satisfaction, he wondered how Norrington could retain the modesty of a virgin bride after living a soldier's life for the last several years, often at sea himself for all his time spent in Port Royal. Then he turned his attention to his shoulder.

The wound's stitches were neat and small, but the flesh around them was still red and angry. And it hurt like a bastard. He was going to need a salve on it later on, to stop it from itching. And he wasn't looking forward to the stitches being pulled, which they would have to be at some point soon. It would be worth saving the rum for that alone.

He'd have to befriend the cook, and promised himself to visit the galley again as soon as possible.

He regarded the water, looking down into it. It was still relatively clean, and he was willing to bet doubloons that no one, least of all Norrington, was going to take it from him now. No doubt on the principle that he was a pirate, and if one washed one's clothing or self after a pirate, something piratey might get transferred onto them and infect them with villainous urges to plunder ships and maidens. He looked over at Norrington again. Sure enough, he was being ignored. Jack grinned, helplessly. There was something far too tempting about Norrington's sensibilities. The Commodore simply made far too large a target to ignore.

Pulling on the long white shirt, Jack regarded the way the long sleeves extended down too far for the shirt to be useful. Rolling them up, he picked up his clothing and then the bucket, and began to make his way back to the door. Norrington continued to ignore him.

Despite the pain in his shoulder, Jack heaved the bucket outside and set it down on the deck, by the starboard rail, and proceeded to wash his clothes. The bandage he picked up and hurled over the side; it was sticky with more than blood, and he really didn't think that any amount of washing was going to render it re-usable. When he'd washed the clothes to his satisfaction, he spread them carefully over the rail, keeping most of the material hanging down towards the deck in case the wind should try to snatch anything over the side.

Stepping back to survey the sight, he had to laugh quietly at it. No doubt Norrington was sequestering himself in the cabin at all costs, at this point, in every effort to avoid having to see pirate laundry spread all over his fine Navy ship.

Jack studied the horizon, seeing the high wispy clouds above. They had a very good chance of fair sailing all the way. With the breeze and the sun shining down, his clothes would be dry in no time.

One of Norrington's men approached him. "'Ere, you! Does the Commodore know you're out 'ere, doing that?"

"Aye," Jack replied, noting the fellow's familiar countenance. "Have we met before?"

The man blinked, and then gave a bit of a smile. "We 'ave, indeed. Mr. Murtogg," he introduced himself, with a proffered hand. "And you're Jack Sparrow."

Jack shook it with a smile. "Aye. And I do recall. The corset."

"Aye," Murtogg said, hesitantly. "That's the one."

The cabin doors were flung open and Norrington stood there, looking out. He caught sight of the laundry and sighed, looking up at the blue sky.

With a frown, Jack turned to look, and realized Norrington was searching the heavens for patience, and no doubt a goodly portion of endurance.

"Mr. Murtogg," Norrington said.

"Aye, Sir," Murtogg went forward, leaving Jack.

"On your way," said Norrington.

"Sir," Murtogg agreed, and obeyed, with a final look towards Jack who smiled slightly.

"Mr. Sparrow," Norrington continued. "Perhaps you might find a spare pair of breeches as well."

Jack tilted his head back a little and regarded Norrington down his nose, saying, "Mine will suffice very nicely, in not much more time at all, Commodore. And besides your men, yourself, an' a few gulls, there aren't any witnesses around to start spreading any of those interesting tales. So there's really no cause for alarm." He gave him a cheerful grin. "And I highly I doubt me legs are frightening enough to start any rumors about my parentage."

Norrington seemed less than pleased. But he let it go, interestingly, and turned away, moving back into the cabin and shutting the doors behind him.

Jack went to sit by the side to watch the waves below. Norrington appeared almost obsessively disturbed by the least little things he did. Let's see, how was the tally coming along? He marked them off in his head, along with a mental note of the strength of Norrington's accompanying reactions, as well.

Bananas: very, very disturbing.

Pissing over the side: mildly irritating.

Undressing: very much so. Shocking, in fact.

Jack chuckled.

And laundry: a necessary evil, tolerated even over wearing the Commodore's spare shirt.

Mustn't forget that one: wearing a shirt without breeches. Almost as distressing as taking his clothes off. So, it was the same whether he was undressed or half-dressed.

Also, speaking to the men: to be halted as quickly as possible.

So if Jack were to remain out of sight and out of mind for the duration of their trip, and try to keep any hint of his presence...or his clothing...from Norrington's vicinity, they'd get along nicely.

It all seemed to contradict Norrington's compulsion regarding capturing him and keeping him imprisoned, to a ridiculous degree. Enough, in fact, to set Jack to wondering if Norrington really wanted a friend, or a pet.

Hm. Very interesting, that one. A pet, Jack mused.

To be sure, Norrington would be happiest if Jack didn't speak to anyone but him. And kept himself in the cabin as much as possible, avoiding the rest of the ship and other men aboard. Including Norrington himself.

Jack rather suspected that Norrington didn't know what to do with him now that he had him. It was quite funny, really. Like a hound who'd been a bit too obsessed with chasing a cat...and didn't know what to do with it once he'd caught it, much less when it turned on him and showed him that cats have, in fact, very sharp claws - especially when cornered.

Norrington's over-developed sense of modesty, too, was quite suspect. Probably had something to do with his being a pirate again, though. If he were a blacksmith or the daughter of a governor, no doubt Norrington would be less than piqued at his wearing Norrington's shirt and eating fruit in his cabin at the breakfast table.

Jack sighed, looking at the sea as it rolled and heaved below. He'd have to make an effort to find the right note to take with Norrington, even as a pirate. He wondered if he made too much of an effort to behave as a gentleman, if Norrington would become suspicious, or weary of him, expecting a certain measure of outrageous behavior.

Norrington appeared to make a habit of being professionally tolerant. Always on the edge, letting his humor out only when his sense of irony or sarcasm was invoked. Jack had always avoided men like him, usually because such men tended to want to see him hanged. Or shot, he recalled. Or marooned.

Then again, regarding the banana and the over-developed modesty, Norrington had very improper thoughts. And he was the sort of man who believed that to lie with any woman other than his wife was a very sinful thing to do, indeed. And one should wait until the wedding night. It was a miracle the man had managed to allow himself to succumb to curiosity and temptation even at the age of eighteen. It was also a certainty that with the loss of Miss Swann, the Commodore was unlikely to find any sort of relief any time soon. Which accounted for all the dirty thought associations Norrington was suffering from.

The few times Jack had tried to flirt with him had revealed Norrington regarded such with as much annoyance as he did pirates in general, so it was very unlikely the Commodore would allow himself to be friends with him as a drinking partner. Therefore he'd have to find a way to get him drunk gradually, slyly. Surreptitiously. A plan began to form in Jack's mind, regarding stitches and neck wounds...and the removal of the former.

When one could only flirt with someone when they were drunk, it usually bespoke of a very strait-laced surface, beneath which seethed a volcano of suppressed longings that were never acted upon. Jack wondered if the duel had been a result of that alone.

Aha...swords, ships, cannons, bananas and breeches. All those stiff uniforms and uptight men. Norrington was undoubtedly a man who was completely unable to accept taking the belly-up position...or the hands-and-knees-do-me-sir position. Probably liked to be firmly on top and use all that command in his voice to ensure he wouldn't lose control until he was sure he was safe to do so, and only ever on his terms. Combine that with the worshipful devotion of the man's idealistically romantic heart and one would have quite a time of it.

Jack's eyes narrowed, and he wondered if Miss Swann had any idea what she was missing. The quiet, hard ones with the soft centers were usually the most interesting and inventive between the sheets. If Norrington weren't so dangerously predisposed towards hating him and either seeing him hung or driven out of the Caribbean altogether, he might have considered having a go himself.

In fact...his eyes slid to the closed doors of the cabin. But no, it was highly inadvisable. There was absolutely no way that the Commodore would be able to tolerate intimacy with a pirate, without attempting to immediately redeem him - cure him of his piracy as if it were a disease of some kind, and reform him into exactly the kind of pet horror that Jack fancied Norrington had thought he'd caught, before.

And despite what Norrington believed about pirates, Jack wasn't cruel. He had no wish to break Norrington's heart. There wasn't even any sport in it; it would be too easy, especially considering the fine job Miss Elizabeth had only just managed not long ago.

As it was, Norrington didn't seem to really want his friendship or his company. And the more welcoming galley awaited, as did the surgeon.

He reached over to feel his shirt and found it was drying nicely. Not long now.

Without the wig, and with those brilliant green eyes, Norrington was a rather handsome specimen, Jack considered. It was a shame, actually, that they occupied such opposite sides. And there was the whole animosity issue. Sometimes, Norrington's attitude was unbearable. There was only so far he could try to charm, befriend or appeal to the man's sense of propriety or humanity. Four days of this. Four days more of Norrington's wild pendulum swinging from angry disdain to helpless fascination.

Jack wondered if they'd survive each other.

Why, Norrington couldn't even look him in the eye.

Come to think of it, Norrington had been like this with him even before he'd lost Miss Swann, this irrational love/hate attitude. Except of course it had all been undeniably 'hate' before...

Jack blinked. He studied the waves a bit longer.

It was all coming clearer now. It would have been clearer before, except he hadn't had access to the rum, being incarcerated for the most part without it. And what with the whole bit about possibly being hung or jailed for life. And losing his Pearl again. He'd been understandably distracted, what with the fear and the pain of his shoulder and everything.

He sighed at the unwanted responsibility of it all.

Then cursed himself for being a blind, self-absorbed fool not to have seen it before.

* * *

Commodore James Norrington sat at his desk, his head in his hands. He'd thought it would be difficult to have but the duration of one day and a night in Jack's company. Somehow, the trip hadn't improved upon knowing he'd have up to three extra days and nights on top of that.

Jack had been gone somewhere below deck for hours, now. He'd be damned though if he was going to leave the cabin and go searching him out. He could wait.

So far, he'd made a right bollocks of the situation. His composure was shredded, and he hadn't even managed to make it through thirty minutes in the pirate's presence without making a complete ass of himself. Dourly, he considered confining the pirate to anywhere but his cabin.

James was also starting to believe that Jack had absolutely no idea what he was doing to him. The ordeal with the banana had been embarrassing; the episode with Jack stripping most decidedly not self-consciously, doubly so. Jack undoubtedly considered him to be an idiot, at this point, as well as a prude.

And if Jack hadn't already guessed at the reason for his complete inability to handle relating with him, he would soon enough.

He glumly resigned himself to the inadvisability of drinking with Jack; God alone knew what he might end up saying to make matters worse, once the drink was in him.

This was far more painful to endure than Elizabeth's rejection, because he was rejected even before it had begun. And he had three more days' worth of this hell than he'd thought he would have to suffer, yesterday.

The problem was, now that he knew how he felt about Jack, he had absolutely no idea what to say to him, or how to talk to him. How to act around him. How to behave.

He was completely unprepared for anything to do with him, most particularly because Jack was a man. With Elizabeth, he'd been nervous and incredibly uncomfortable. With Jack, he'd already tried to see him to the gallows, and then had him captured and imprisoned - there was no way to make up for that. Let alone present his heart on a platter and expect Jack to do anything but carve it up.

He sat back in the chair and steepled his fingers, tapping his chin. There was always the painful and obvious route: telling the truth and just letting Jack have it between the eyes.

He couldn't see any of it being very welcome, but at least he'd have the advantage of honesty and having it all out in the open. Then Jack would have the security of knowing he could either rip him apart, with glee, or take pity on him and merely...be slightly kind about it all before attempting to have as little to do with him as possible. It had to be at least more welcome than trying to kill him.

Of course, the opportunity for blackmail or outright destruction of his reputation and his name was the obvious retaliation, and regardless of what shaky agreement or 'trust' they had built so far, Jack was hardly in a position to give a damn.

The least he could expect was mercy, and the most he could hope for was pity.

James let out a frustrated breath. He couldn't afford to admit his feelings for him, not now. He could not allow himself to forget that Jack was, simply, a pirate.

He wondered if Jack was staying away from the cabin deliberately. Avoiding more unpleasant and tense moments with him. Or was he projecting, and Jack was only wandering about the ship examining weak points, resources to exploit, soldiers to charm and rum to help himself to?

The meager breakfast he'd managed to swallow earlier was a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. The thought of having to eat anything in front of Jack was far from appetizing. Not to mention the distinctly unsettling roiling sensation he'd felt earlier, in seeing the man actually awake and moving about, behaving like himself and - and with his eyes open; too dark and too hot and seeing too much. Seeing right through him.

Damn it all, anyway. He'd said he wanted friendship and now to know he wanted too much more, without any hope of having any of it, he was left without any options or alternatives. He'd already burned his bridge behind him, even before he'd known what it meant to him.

Trust. The word felt empty and had a mocking ring to it.

Did he truly deserve his current situation? He had no right to indulge in self-pity, not when he'd behaved so foolishly, hiding from the truth of his actions and his own heart.

All he could do was try to preserve what was left of his dignity, which was precious little, and act as though he was merely unused to the company of pirates. Which was no lie.

And attempt to cover the pain and mortifying humiliation of not knowing how to comport himself in the presence of someone who had unknowingly already become the most prominent star in his fantasy life.

The doors opened and he flinched, sitting up straighter and feigning absorption in his book.

Jack entered in his own clothes, with two more bottles of rum, the white shirt draped on his arm, some bandages, and an orange. He glanced at James and said, "We may be having our stitches removed tonight."

"Oh, joy," James muttered.

"Aye," Jack sighed. He placed the rum on the table, as well as the orange, and then went to the cabinet to place the bandages and the shirt beside the basin. Returning to the table, he slid back the chair on the far end and slouched in it. Reaching out for the bottle he'd already opened the previous night, he took a sip from it. "Your journal?"

James started, looking over at him. He took a breath and closed it, not caring if the ink was wet. "Yes."

Then wondered at the wisdom of acknowledging as much, with the possibility it would arouse Jack's curiosity. He put the book away in the drawer and stood, stretching.

He rubbed at the bandage at his neck, wincing as he realized that he would indeed end up wanting a drink or two for that procedure.

Jack took another swig of rum and said, quietly, "You weren't counting on having to put up with me here, were you?"

James pulled a slight face. "To be honest, no. I hadn't thought about it." He went to the other end of the table, across from Jack, and sat down, toying with the idea that perhaps he'd been panicking and there really wasn't as much to fear here as he'd imagined. "Three more days..."

"At the least," Jack put in. "The very least. Probably more."

James grimaced.

Jack's answering smile was less than reassuring. "I've not had to look far to see where young Will developed such a dim view on pirates, but you've got us completely skewed, mate."

James looked over at him, suspiciously. "Somehow I doubt that."

"You live by the Law; we live by the Code. Where you feel free to interpret the Law and how rigidly it applies to the specifics, we do the same. What's the difference?" Jack seemed to be genuinely asking it of him; James didn't get the impression it was a rhetorical question at all.

James made an effort to meet his eye, and was surprised at how easy it was. Besides, Jack seemed actually to be making an effort to be civil, so the least he could do was return the favor. "The difference is that you live outside the Law, by your Code, which makes you an outlaw, and subject to receiving the consequences of it, regardless of your Code."

Jack sat up, animated by this. "Your rules, then, can be broken by yourself and those that make them, but not the men who are subject to the power you hold?"

Stiffly, James answered, "Laws are not open to interpretation. They are agreed upon by men who understand the nature of both themselves and the Laws that the Lord has set down. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal. I'm sure you're familiar with the rest."

Jack snorted. "So if the King of England steals Spanish gold, it's his God-given right, but if the King of Spain or meself were to steal his silver, it's a crime punishable by death."

James chuckled quietly and nodded. "Remind me never to debate theology with you, Jack." He threw him a look. "Or politics."

Jack grinned back at him. "So what will you debate with me?"

James made a very great effort not to drop his eyes to Jack's mouth, and congratulated himself on accomplishing it, remaining fixed on those eyes. Dark eyes. Lively eyes. "The wisdom of trusting a pirate ship to return to Port Royal and willingly give up sixty percent of the treasure she's carrying."

Slyly, Jack said, "You still don't trust me, yet."

"Whether I trust you or not on this point is immaterial, Jack, and you know it. I don't trust your crew. And frankly, neither should you."

"But I should trust you?"

Jack's question had the virtue of sounding sincere, but James was all too aware of the bite in it.

James pressed his lips together, looking away. "Probably not," he admitted.

Jack drummed his fingers on the table, the wood echoing with it. "Suppose I sailed the Pearl alongside your Dauntless, and you offered us a proper escort? Would you trust me then?"

James regarded him at this, wondering what the flaw in this suggestion could be. "Both our crews are likely to be far too edgy, considering. Yours would probably mutiny on you."

Jack looked rueful. "They probably would, at that." He brightened. "Although, if we made it forty-five percent instead, and I could tell 'em that you agreed to it to prove you valued our services in transporting it all."

James smiled and looked down, snickering quietly and shaking his head. "You are, without a doubt, incorrigible beyond all hope."

"Forty-two percent and a half?" Jack amended.

James gave him a look askance. "Pray tell how anyone, least of all you and I, would be able to determine exactly two and a half percent less of sixty, to be left aboard your ship each time we arrive back at port."

Jack squinted at him. "You'd be surprised how motivation encourages accurate mathematics, especially motivation of the doubloon variety. Down to the ha'penny and the single coin."

Slowly, James said, "I believe you. But that doesn't solve the dilemma of why I should believe you'll keep to this vastly expensive undertaking and not simply flee the Caribbean upon being returned to your ship."

"Aye," Jack agreed, more subdued. "I'd be a fool thrice-over if I didn't, 'ey?"

James suppressed the twinge of pain in his chest rather admirably, he thought, as his heart clenched at the reminder that Jack really had no reason to remain at all, and had every reason to want to leave as quickly as he could manage. Particularly from this ship, and...from this commodore. He looked away, letting his gaze drop to the table between them.

"You would," he decided, with a note of finality.

Jack leaned back in his seat and stroked his chin. "Rather think we've come full circle, really."

Letting out a breath, James answered, "The truth, then. We're returning you to your ship. And that's all."

"And I'm not leaving the Caribbean, nor all that gold," Jack said, in an amused tone.

James shot him a sharp look. "This isn't a game, Jack. If you keep playing it as one, you will end up on the gallows."

"Will I?" Jack asked, enigmatically. "This is the fourth time you've had me in your custody, and you're about to let me go. Again. Seems like a game where you're concerned."

A flush of heat took James by surprise. Before he could retort, Jack continued.

"You're certainly playing it like one, mate. Could it be you've actually been enjoying the chase?" It didn't sound so much an accusation, as a suggestion.

James looked down at the floor. "Possibly," he admitted.

"If I die, the game ends," Jack stated.

James most carefully did not look at him, afraid of what his eyes might reveal at that dire remark. "If you don't leave the Main, then you continue to play it, yourself; and the next time, there may not be an opportunity for you to continue to gamble with your life."

Jack smiled, "Well, I'll just have to make sure I'm playing the game with you, and not someone else who doesn't savvy the rules, 'ey?"

"I'm playing according to the Law. You're playing by your Code. I doubt that this 'game' as you call it is anything other than life and death."

"Then why can't you see me to the gallows?" Jack asked. "What's changed?"

James swallowed at this, with a little frown. "You did. Well, rather, my view of you."

"Try seeing it from where I'm sitting," Jack urged. "What would you do, if you were me?"

"I wouldn't be you, because you're a pirate," James pointed out.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Humor me."

James drew a breath at this, wondering if he indeed wanted to, at this point. It was already reaching the point of absurdity. Game, indeed. "If I were you, I wouldn't have returned to that damned island. I'd have left well enough alone and cut my losses."

"Suppose you hadn't, though. What would you do now?" Jack asked, impatiently.

James met his eye at this and gave a terse smile. "Get back to my ship and depart the Caribbean."

Jack smiled back at him. "An' what would I do, if I were you?" He settled back, appearing to think on this.

That was an interesting notion. James wondered at it, himself.

When Jack didn't elaborate, James looked back at him, and saw that Jack was watching him.

Slowly, significantly, Jack said, "It's hard to know what freedom is by staring out at the world from inside a cell."

James digested this. Jack wasn't going to play it safely, because he enjoyed freedom too much to not take the risks life had to offer. Removing himself from their 'game' altogether was to play it safe, the way James himself played it. But James could hardly appreciate why Jack would be willing to take that risk, when he himself had never allowed himself to, even once.

He nodded. "Very well. You take your chances outside the cage, whereas I live in the relative security of knowing that my days may number longer than yours."

Jack smirked. "That's just like you, Commodore James. Always taking the gloomy view of things."

"How would you put it, then?"

"I take the risk of enjoying life, whereas you are afraid to." Jack's eyes glittered at him with this pronouncement. "In fact, you're even afraid to admit that you're bending those high and mighty laws carved in stone that you say you adhere to, while preaching at me that I should be living by them, and giving up my freedom for them."

Slowly, James replied, "One conversation with you, and I'm very near to settling into a bottle of rum, myself."

"It's a very good thing I brought up the other bottles then, isn't it?" Jack nodded at the two extra bottles of rum on the table.

James gave a wry smile. "Not to mention for the removal of our stitches, later, which will require yet more."

Jack's expression was one of shared camaraderie at this reminder, but he could see that Jack was not looking forward to it either. James considered the fact that he was going to have to sit and watch the ship's doctor pull stitches out of Jack's shoulder - from a wound that, although was apparently healing well, had been given to him by James himself. And now he would have to endure Jack's pain. Perhaps he deserved that, more than the cut on his neck he'd sustained.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter," James called.

The door opened and Officer Gillette stood there, his eyes going from James to the pirate, and back again, successively. "Sir, I wondered if I might have a word."

James lifted a brow. "Come in, Gillette. There's no need to stand about in the door."

Gillette came in and shut the cabin door he'd opened, his eyes going to the bottles of the rum on the table and an expression of worried distaste moved over him. Ignoring Jack Sparrow for the moment, and obviously ill at ease to be speaking to his superior in front of the pirate, Gillette cleared his throat. "We're making good time, Sir. But the men and I, well, we're wondering what we're going to do when we arrive at the island."

James replied, dryly, "My orders were perfectly clear. We will be removing yet more of the illegal pirate cache from the cavern and transporting it back to Port Royal, again, for redistribution as before."

"Well, yes, Sir, to be sure. But-" Gillette's eyes flickered at Jack and then back to James. "What about Sparrow, Sir?" he finally asked, outright.

Jack was looking at the floor, and adopted a wondering look himself, his brows raised slightly. As if moderately curious. But he said nothing, interestingly remaining quiet.

James turned a wry smile on Gillette. "Oh, I think we can manage to keep one pirate contained aboard a shipful of officers and fine soldiers, until such time as he can prove himself useful."

Gillette stared back at him, bemused. "Useful, Sir?"

"The Black Pearl, Gillette," James reminded him. "It will undoubtedly be returning when the crew decide to help themselves. Mr. Sparrow will be a decided advantage in helping them to understand that they cannot, in fact, simply make off with whatever suits them whenever they feel like it. We may not have proven ourselves to be much of a deterrent last time, but even, as you claimed, when they fired upon us they still turned tail and ran. It's unlikely they will want to engage us a second time."

Proudly, Gillette lifted his chin. "To be sure, Sir. So he's our hostage?"

James considered Jack who was yet staring at the floor while they discussed him. "Guest, however unwilling," James explained.

Gillette thought this over. "Aye, Sir. I suppose supper is out of the question, then."

James regarded him. "Seeing as Mr. Sparrow is going to be aboard until his ship shows, I'm afraid we'll be deprived of that luxury, yes." For it was the routine for the officers of the ship to dine in the captain's cabin - however unwilling such a task might be for some. It was bad form indeed for anyone to turn down such an invitation. Sparrow's presence aboard would provide a deterrent.

"Very good, Sir," Gillette responded, a look of relief coming over him.

James smiled dryly. "You many inform everyone that Mr. Sparrow is free to go where he pleases, but the weapons, the powder, the helm and the quarters belonging to the Mate and the Quartermaster are off-limits."

"Ah. Very good, Sir," Gillette agreed, giving Jack a sterner glance.

James wondered why Gillette had such a proprietary attitude concerning their prisoner, which Jack really was, even now. And he realized that it was much as he himself probably had appeared, if not more so. It was curious to note that he'd changed, and could now see the difference; relative to Gillette, Commodore James Norrington had already dealt with his immediate reaction to the pirate as a simple captive and was now well on his way to seeing the man as more than a random element or a catalyst in their dealings with the treasure of the Isle de Muerte.

For it was pirate treasure, after all. Although stolen, to be sure, the Black Pearl, whatever crew aboard her now manned her, still had the most rights to it from their perspective.

With a note of finality, James said, "Was there anything else, Lieutenant?"

"I think that about covers it, Sir," Gillette agreed, seemingly accepting James's reasoning, as well as his orders.

Although James knew it still confused his lieutenant, why he should first declare acceptance of a duel with the pirate and then take him prisoner without seeing him hung, only to have him aboard the Dauntless in his own cabin - only to let him go again.

James sighed under his breath.

But Gillette contented himself with another stern glance at Jack, almost a warning, and then nodded, leaving the cabin.

When Gillette had gone, Jack observed, "That one's starting to wonder about you, Commodore James."

"He is," James agreed. "And he can continue to wonder. I continue to wonder, myself. At this rate, he may figure it out before I do."

Jack threw him a sharp look. "You'd better hope not. Seems to me your crew is starting to trust you about as much as mine trusts me. That doesn't bode well on a Navy ship, now does it?"

James gave a tight smile. "I'm not sure which I find more alarming: the thought of them figuring it out before me, or you." Certainly James did wonder more than ever, how much Jack had already ascertained about him, even before he could attempt to explain it to any degree to himself. What Jack was really doing aboard.

"Of course, that's assuming you'd want to know if I'd figured it out," Jack grinned, slightly dangerously.

James raised a brow at him. "Have you?"

"As if I'd tell you," Jack returned, instantly.

Feeling at this point as though he really didn't have much to lose, James said, "Seeing as I haven't, I'd appreciate the gesture."

"Would you believe me though?" Jack seemed amused.

Once more, the word 'trust' rang a little hollow. But it was irrelevant now. Or was it? He wondered. "It comes down to that matter of trust, does it not?"

"Trust?" Jack nodded, the almost inaudible jingles from that silver ornament distracting James momentarily. It looked Turkish. Or Moroccan. "I suppose. You can't trust me because you can't trust yourself. If you can't trust yourself, how can you expect me to trust you - or anyone else to trust you, for that matter?"

"I can't trust you because you're a pirate," James replied, grimly. "I can't trust myself because I find that I want to trust you, despite your unfortunate calling in life."

Jack's eyes dropped to the bottles of rum between them, and then lifted to meet his again. "That's...where you're wrong, you see? That's what you haven't figured out yet, mate."

James frowned. "What is?"

"You don't know what trust is, 'ey?" Jack stated, simply. "And it's not about trust, actually. That's also what you haven't figured out."

"I see. And you have. Yet you won't tell me." James cast a sardonic glance at the cabin doors, wondering if Gillette had any idea. Or the others. Probably not. He'd spent too long cultivating such a hands-off and superior relationship with them that he was firmly above their ranks...and out of reach on any social or personal level. Hence the problem of Sparrow, and their confusion regarding his wavering on Sparrow's behalf.

Jack let out a breath. "Happiness, Commodore." At James's surprised look, Jack added, "You're not happy. I was very happy, until you decided that making me unhappy was going to make you happy. Now that you've decided it doesn't, you're trying to make yourself happy by making me happy...by returning me to my ship." And he grinned. "Of course, that will make me very happy indeed. But then you're left with the problem of still being unhappy, aren't you?"

James followed this path of thought, right to the end. Making Jack happy by returning him to his ship wasn't going to make him very happy at all, because at this point, he had admittedly figured out that not having Jack anywhere nearby was making him unhappy in the first place. He let out a breath of exasperated impatience with himself. The whole situation was vexing, and didn't appear to have the slightest ounce of satisfaction. Happiness.

"The real question here is," Jack asked, slowly, in a careful tone of voice that James found abruptly disturbing, "why did you think that keeping me from my ship would make you happy?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" James slung at him, darkly.

"It's better than chess," Jack agreed, cheerfully.

After a moment's pause, James admitted, "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought doing the right thing would...bring a measure of happiness."

"Ah, but you're now doing the right thing in returning me to my ship - but that doesn't make you any happier, either," Jack pointed out, with a tone of self-possessed logic that James didn't like much.

"You're saying that's not the point at all?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Jack smiled at him.

"So what is the point, Jack?" James demanded.

Jack tilted his head and gave him a narrowed look of those dark eyes. "And there we are, mate. I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

James regarded the table again, wondering at the folly of insisting that Jack out the truth between them. He wondered if Jack must already know about the conflicting feelings he was suffering from where the pirate was concerned. In fact, he had to know, to be dancing around it this way, so pointedly. If Jack said it aloud, calling him out, and he denied it, Jack would merely claim that he'd been right to say James didn't believe him after all.

James sighed through his nose. It was making his head hurt; it quite possibly hurt worse than his heart already did. He was already resigned to not having Jack; to have to play this game of denial now simply compounded the pain. He blinked, wondering if maybe that was another self-deception. Was he assuming that having Jack would...make him happy? He frowned.

He wasn't even sure what that would entail; 'having' Jack. In what way? To simply have him near? Enjoy his company? He couldn't say that he'd been enjoying Jack's company in the slightest. At this point, he could hardly wait to return the man to his ship and hope that Jack would actually flee the Caribbean after all.

"Miss Elizabeth made you unhappy," Jack commented. "So you thought that if you made me unhappy, you'd feel better. But to try to make yourself happy at someone else's expense...It doesn't work that way. Unless you're very cruel and enjoy watching people suffer. Which you aren't, are you?"

"Certainly not," James agreed, stiffly. Although the entire thread of this conversation was growing distinctly unsettling, veering far too closely to the matter of his heart...and the helplessness he felt regarding Jack.

"You're assuming that, in lieu of a wife, having a friend will make you happy," Jack stated, meaningfully, staring at him.

James looked away from him again, not sure what to make of the serious expression Jack wore now. "I suppose you're right," he said, in a low voice. "I was assuming that. But not anymore."

He closed his eyes. God, he was saying too much. This was worse than he'd feared. It was too strange and unreal, too threatening, to have Jack so effortlessly voicing the relentless truth of his own conscience. Even the parts he hadn't wanted to see. But maybe that was what he really wanted from Jack. From the very beginning.

So why? Why this? James considered the freedom Jack had. He'd been jealous of Jack's freedom and lack of confinement to the very laws James kept trying to force upon him. That was the key. Freedom; from the same prison cell he'd put Jack in, repeatedly.

"I'm supposed to believe," James stated, slowly, "that happiness is synonymous with freedom?"

Jack gave him a quizzical look. "What do you believe, 'ey?"

James considered this.

"You gave Elizabeth the freedom to choose Will," Jack pointed out, gently. "And then you gave me my freedom. The question is, why won't you give yourself the freedom you long for? Or is it freedom that you want?"

James stated, "You desire freedom. I desire happiness."

Interestingly, Jack's eyes slid away at this.

James continued, "You enjoy your freedom, so obviously. You enjoy your life. I suppose, in a way, I envied you that happiness. Which is why it was wrong for me to try to take it from you. It only made me unhappier in the long run. So I'll return you to your ship, and you can do as you please. You can take your chances, even it brings you to the gallows," he added, bitterly.

"That's not the point here though," Jack argued. "All that really matters is whether or not you're happy, and what would make you so. What would make you enjoy your life more?"

James looked down. "I'm not sure."

Dryly, Jack said, "Not more hangings, then."

James smiled at this. Of that he was very sure. "I've never enjoyed the necessity of killing a man. Even those of your former crew," he reminded Jack. "Or maybe especially those of your crew. I had the opportunity. I discovered that hanging men brings me no pleasure."

Jack grimaced at this though. "To be sure. They weren't the best sort."

James stared back at him now. "As I've said to you, I have no wish to see you dead. Seeing you upon the gallows brought me no happiness then, and it never will."

"Neither will seeing me free," Jack pointed out.

James looked down at the rum bottles, watching as the liquid sloshed in them with the roll and gentle heave of the ship. "Nor seeing you in a cell."

"Or seeing me at all," Jack said, perceptively.

Too close, far too close to home. James drew in a shuddering breath. "Indeed." He flicked a glance at Jack. "Pirates," he commented, darkly.

But the damage was done and he could feel the heat in his face once more. However much he tried to step away from it, he knew now. Jack was already very aware of the cause of his distress.

He felt trapped, as trapped as he'd tried to ensure that the pirate was, days before. He waited for Jack to say it, to say anything that might end it, here and now; something that would hint at the fact that however broken his heart might have been in the wake of Elizabeth's rejection, he now lay vulnerable and broken before Jack, even before the man had to say a word.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, and wondered if the word 'mercy' meant anything at all in the present moment. It did to him. Would Jack share that particular understanding? Or would he offer pity, instead?

Jack's voice filtered in through the pained heat he felt inside.

"It seems to me," Jack said, lazily, "that you're looking to me to tell you the answer. Perhaps I'm leaping to conclusions, but it's simply a process of elimination. The Law doesn't make you very happy, nor enforcing it. Nor did Miss Swann. Nor bein' a most feared Pirate Hunter in these parts. Probably because you're not very happy being a commodore, Commodore."

James felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment. Pity it was to be, then. Or Jack really didn't know, yet, how far down the path of madness his broken heart had sailed.

"I don't have anything else," he stated, stoically.

Jack laughed quietly. "At the moment," he pointed out in a reasonable tone, "you still have me. But I'm thinking that my being a pirate complicates things somewhat, 'ey?"

James's heart skipped a beat, and a tinge of panic went through him at this. "I would have thought that your being a pirate in fact cancels out any possibility of 'having you' here. Particularly as I am, in fact, that feared Pirate Hunter and by all accounts should have seen you to the gallows from the start."

"Ah, to be sure. But if I weren't a pirate, I wouldn't be here in the first place, would I?" Jack smirked at him. "Come to think of it, the dear Miss Swann had a bit of a pirate in her blood too, 'ey? Which might explain your attraction for the lass."

James blinked at this. Dear God, the insufferable man was right. Elizabeth's high-spirited quality...her passion and humor. Aching, he said, "Then what I've been refusing to see all along was merely the fact that pirates are not simply the violent and repulsive villains I believed them to be."

"Some," Jack qualified. "Some are, some aren't. Take young Mr. Turner, for example. He's still struggling with the fact that his father was a good man, as well as a pirate." He grinned at James. "Much like yourself, Commodore. You struggle with that one even now."

James looked back at him, wishing in that very instant that he didn't have to find Jack so overwhelmingly alluring. "Not at all. I've already accepted that you are a good man, Jack."

Jack's brows rose. "Have you now? So you do trust me, then?"

The implication was that he trusted himself, and knew himself - which was almost as bad as admitting aloud - or having Jack state aloud - that he, James Norrington, feared Pirate Hunting Commodore of the Royal Navy, was in love with a pirate. He didn't answer, wondering if the shiver than ran through him was perceptible, or caused by heat, or chill.

And he hated the fact that they were now both of them dancing around it. "We've been over this," he muttered.

"I'm not here because I'm a pirate, then?" Jack asked, shrewdly. "Nor because I'm a good man?"

James clenched his teeth, and wondered if Jack was deliberately pushing him. Undoubtedly; he must be. A pirate, after all. He gave Jack a look askance. "At this point, I don't much care."

Jack adopted a wounded expression. "You don't?"

In an irritable voice, James repeated, "No. I don't."

He feared it sounded petulant, and at the moment he didn't care about that either. All he wanted was for his life to seem simpler again, not filled with this distressing...distressing longing.

It was unbecoming of him.

Jack reached for his bottle, the opened one. Taking a drink from it, he said, "That's the first outright lie you've told me to my face, Commodore James."

James had to laugh at this, humorlessly, under his breath. "Are all pirates as pedantic as you?"

"Some," Jack said. "That's what the Code's for, you know." He gave James an uncertain look. "But you probably don't."

James saw the way Jack was favoring his shoulder and something slid into place in his mind. "Considering how raw my neck is, I doubt you're ready to have those stitches removed yet. Did you bribe the doctor? Or have you plans after the night is over, that requires having them pulled tonight?"

Jack gave a smirk and actually looked...caught. "Didn't manage to see him but for a moment. I did wonder what you would do."

James let out an exasperated breath. "What did he really say? What is the verdict on your injury?"

"At least another week," Jack said, with another drink of the rum, referring to the stitches.

So it was all for effect then, again, and Jack was consistently gauging his reactions. James felt slightly ill. There was no way Jack didn't know what he was going through, here. He began to feel angry, as well as humiliated. Although why he should feel any shame whatsoever for feeling concern at the thought of Jack in pain, he had no idea.

He stood up, and stretched. "I need some air," he muttered, going to put on his hat and coat. At the doors, he stopped and turned to regard Jack, who was watching him with an inexplicable look on his face. "I doubt even you could finish three bottles off on your own, but you might want to consider keeping some for the stitches."

He left the cabin, wondering why he felt as though he was running from Jack. Glumly, he realized that was exactly what he was doing. Anything to spend some time away from the pirate. He had to give himself some time, some space, away from the man, to deliberate what options he might have. So far, pursuing the friendly course wasn't working; Jack already knew he was compromised, at least where his heart was concerned. And he couldn't trust anything Jack might say or do now, as Jack was still in essence a captive prisoner and therefore unable to say or do what he might truly want - where James himself was concerned.

A part of him longed to see the pirate back down below in the brig so he would at least have his cabin to himself again. That way he could ensure that the night would be his also, and not have to spend it restlessly and keenly aware of Jack sleeping near him.

Which only served to remind him of the painfully embarrassing fact that last night they had ended up in a strange reversal of their positions, with Jack in the captain's cabin and himself...in the brig.

He supposed that was an adequate and more accurate assessment of their situation, really.

James stalked coldly forward, wishing he'd left well enough alone and let the damned pirate captain simply sail off with his treasure. It seemed the ship and the gold were truly the only things Jack valued. Let him keep them.

He was looking forward to simply ridding himself of the irritation and heartbreak the entire matter had come to mean to him.