* * *

In the beginning ⁽⁰⁾ there was light. It blazed, burned and beat down upon a certain weary Commodore, who was having an excruciatingly bad day. Under the circumstances, he failed to appreciate it.

Somehow or other, James had ended up on a desert island - a deserted one at that - dying of an assortment of ailments. Hunger was in there somewhere, as was sunburn (though that wasn't usually fatal), and the bullet wound in his arm wouldn't stop bleeding, but mostly it was thirst. Or rather, Thirst. If he was going to die of it, he figured it at least merited a capital letter.

He did have - despite its lamentable tendency to go blurry and start spinning - a spectacular view of the ocean. It was blue and sparkly and stretched out as far as the eye could see. There were no ships on it. ⁽¹⁾

'Typical,' James thought, layering on the sarcasm because there really wasn't much else to do with his time except sit around dying of Thirst. The island was hideously dull, and contained three stereotypical coconut trees, but pretty much nothing else. No actual coconuts, for example, which was rather a sore point. The Commodore would have quite liked a coconut.

Or some water. The sea was full of water, actually, but he was trying not to think too hard about that.

Even Jack Sparrow would have looked good enough to eat at the moment, though he stubbornly reserved judgement on the man's nutritional value. It was probably wasn't much dissimilar to sea water.

Sparrow wasn't there anyway, thus saving James from cannibalism, but the empty space where he wasn't swayed and staggered and contrived to be just as irritating as the pirate himself.

Jack Sparrow merited capital letters too, James decided, for sheer annoyance factor if nothing else. The Commodore was quite disgruntled to find that the pirate already had them, thus foiling his attempt to apply new ones. Perhaps if he capitalised the whole name. JACK SPARROW. Or just bits of it. JAck SParroW? That worked. It suited him disturbingly well, and gave the name the same drunken impropriety as the pirate was wont to display in person.

James' headache - already snapping and snarling viciously - intensified at the discovery. He cringed, carefully reminded himself which arm had the bullet-hole in, and buried his head in the other one. At least he still had his wig.

After that he concentrated hard on not thinking about SParroW, at all, whatsoever, until the effort involved became too great and he passed out.

Mercifully, as it were.

Not thinking about SParroW. ⁽²⁾

* * *

They were approaching an island, which was odd, because Captain Jack Sparrow knew for a fact that a few weeks ago, there hadn't been an island anywhere near their current location, not even such a pathetically miniature one as this seemed to be. He should know - he'd checked.

One phrase sprang instantly to mind, and with a bead-clattering tilt of his head and the curl of his clever brown hands over the helm, he said it. "That's interesting." He tilted his head back the other way, and added - just in case the message wasn't quite clear enough the first time - "that's very interesting."

Cotton looked on uninterestedly while, rather than condescending to wait for the boats, Jack dove over the side and headed towards the island.

Anamaria cursed.

* * *

Jack paced a dripping circle around the island until his footprints met up with where they had begun, then he dragged his first mate with him, to show her what he'd found. "Can I keep him?" he asked plaintively.

Anamaria looked at Jack with what little remained of her disbelief after having been on his crew for almost a year. "Captain, it's Norrington. Commodore Death. Scourge of pirates in the Caribbean." When this failed to detach Jack's attention from Norrington, she added bluntly "he's an enemy. Kill him."

Jack looked up from his inspection of the Commodore. "He's already dead." As if to prove this fact beyond all dispute, Jack poked him. Norrington twitched feebly. "See?"

"I don't know why you bothered asking if you weren't going to listen," Anamaria snapped.

"Bloody pirate." She summoned Cotton to help Jack carry the Commodore aboard the Pearl.

* * *

The Pearl's first mate scowled as she tersely ordered a scabrous dog to swab the deck.

Jack Sparrow was being an idiot. You could see it in the way his hands would fall still on the wheel and his head tilt distractedly towards his cabin. And, by right of finders keepers, his Commodore.

Sometimes Anamaria thought her Captain hadn't the brains of overcooked cabbage. She only stuck around because he owed her a ship.

Really.

That must be the reason, right?

He couldn't give her one if he got himself hung over a pretty boy with a fever.

Well, maybe Norrington wasn't a boy, but he certainly was pretty. Very very pretty. If she hadn't already had a crush on the Turners she'd have been in trouble... more trouble, that was, than the usual irritations of boat-snatching Captains and scabrous male chauvinist pig-dogs.

The wig made him look like an ice-cream anyway. ⁽³⁾

So there.

* * *

'He's already dead' was turning out to be scarily close to accurate. The Commodore's green eyes were too bright, and met his gaze with no trace of recognition in their unseeing depths.

His face was flushed, and his pulse, when Jack managed to find it, was thready and irregular.

The Captain's world narrowed down to keeping this one person - who should have been his enemy, was his enemy still - alive.

Norrington hiccuped and mumbled something about stewed prunes.

"Look, Commodore," Jack hissed desperately, "you can't die now, savvy? It would ruin the plot."

The Commodore shifted restlessly, and snuggled deeper into the now tangled bedclothes.

Jack scowled.

* * *

And so it was that Commodore James Lysander Norrington did not die, but instead got better with extreme promptitude and celerity.

Jack was able to pass off his obsession with the Commodore's well being as 'just part of his hero complex,' and comfortably forget about it.

Anamaria contemplated slapping him for this, but set the parrot at his hair instead. She didn't want him to build up an immunity, after all.

The plot continued on its way unscathed, or at least no more scathed than was usual, and the parrot even escaped the Captain's wrath with only most of its feathers torn off. ⁽⁴⁾

* * *

The cheerful sound of humming - deliberately off-key - that permeated the room, was strangely unirritating, and he lay listening to it for quite some time before the thought penetrated his mind that he must therefore be awake.

Norrington opened his eyes reluctantly, half dreading what he would see. "SParroW," he acknowledged wearily, then shut them again. His headache snarled.

The pirate dropped the feather he had been braiding into his hair. "No," Sparrow objected, although it was unclear whether it was to James going back to sleep or to what the Commodore had done to his name. "No, no, no, no. Wait, wake up again Commodore," he shook him slightly, mindful of his wounds. "Your pronunciation's off, mate."

Irate slits of emerald opened in an expression that, to those who knew him at all well, conveyed the phrase 'Coffee or die,' with admirable promptitude. Jack, unsurprisingly, did not know him well, and so was ignorant of the danger he faced.

"And you forgot the Captain," the pirate added as an afterthought.

* * *

Above deck, Anamaria listened to the assorted thumps and crashes with a rare smile, as the door to Jack's cabin failed to muffle the screaming. It seemed that Norrington had decided not to die after all.

The news didn't displease her as much as she had predicted it would, and upon contemplation, Anamaria wasn't surprised.

Jack Sparrow could stand being taken down a peg or two, if only to instil in him an instinct for self-preservation.

The chances of that happening had just increased dramatically.

* * *

...and if you don't bring me Coffee right now I will slit you from your gaggle to your zatch." He gestured, illustrating the threat, and Jack winced.

"I'm sorry mate, really I am, but we're all out." The pirate seemed genuinely regretful, as if his recent bouts of rum-deprivation rendered him sympathetic to Norrington's plight. "There's a Starbucks in Tortuga," he offered helpfully.

James didn't answer this for the sole reason that he couldn't think of a swearword bad enough to do the situation justice.

Of course, it was only after Jack had scrambled to a safe distance - or as safe as was possible while still being on the same ship - that he realised he still didn't know what the Commodore had done to his name.

That's what we call ironic.

* * *

Despite logic and common sense to the contrary, life aboard the Pearl fell into a peaceful routine.

James was incomparably charming to Anamaria, who still scowled, but nevertheless stopped trying to convince Jack he was better off dead.

He was also charming to Jack, who appeared bemused by the treatment. The pirate took to spending much of his time studying the Commodore, ostensibly on guard against a repeat of the Coffee incident.

Time passed.

* * *

It was a beautiful day on the Caribbean. Norrington stood at the railing, a vibrant mix of sun-on-gold-braid and creamy-pale skin.

A gruff but cheerful voice drew Jack's attention away from his Commodore-gazing. "Just shag him already. It's bad luck, letting someone as pretty as that get away."

"But I like women," Jack protested, incomprehension written all over his face.

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder, his manner at once patronising and fatherly. "Aye. You keep telling yourself that, Captain." The old pirate left him to his thoughts.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Jack shrugged and swung himself into the rigging with careless ease, promptly relegating the conversation to a dusty and seldom examined part of his memory. Denial was so much easier to deal with, sometimes.

* * *

Unaccustomed as he was to doing nothing, the enforced idleness of partially healed wounds could have easily bored James to death, or at least to acute restlessness. Instead, he welcomed it.

Tucked neatly out the crew's way, he stood statue still in the sunshine, his attention focused inward as he unflinchingly questioned his assumptions.

Some of them, he changed.

* * *

"Thank you for rescuing me."

"Huh?"

"I owe you my gratitude at the very least, Captain Sparrow." Serenely courteous, James appeared perfectly at ease as he acknowledged his debt to the pirate.

"Huh?" Jack's brain had apparently shut down, but whether it was due to the shock of the Commodore saying thank you, or the use of his proper title, it was unclear. ⁽⁵⁾

James thought the befuddled expression on the pirate's face was one of the most adorable things he had ever seen. This thought was closely followed by 'I didn't just think that, did I?'

He sighed inwardly. Wryly, he added, "so much for denial."

* * *

Every now and then, Jack had to battle the conviction that Norrington ought, at the very least, to be a trifle disgruntled at the prospect of sailing on a pirate ship.

Perhaps the Commodore hadn't realised this, and that was why he seemed so content.

He glanced over to where Norrington was resting on a pile of old sails, inadvertently catching Anamaria's eye instead.

"Just because you rescued him, doesn't mean you had to go and fall in love with him," she snapped, following his line of sight before he could pretend to be looking elsewhere.

Though why he would want to do that, he didn't know. "I'm not falling in love with him," he said, unfeigned cluelessness colouring his voice.

"Hah."

* * *

As time passed ⁽⁶⁾, James found himself falling slowly and inexorably deeper in love with Captain Jack Sparrow.

It wasn't something he could help, and he didn't let it trouble him, preferring to treasure the time they had together without throwing in more complications.

He felt the occasional burst of melancholia at the thought that Jack would probably never return his affection, and it hurt, but... so this is where your heart truly lies, then? ...rejection was no stranger to him.

It wasn't important.

* * *

"What was it that you did to my name, anyway?" Jack asked with forced nonchalance. "You never did tell me."

"Nothing of consequence."

That was informative. Not. Jack put on his best pleading expression. "I must know."

"Get used to disappointment." The neutral sounding reply was accompanied by the hint of an amused smile, the enjoyment of having something to hold above the great Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Ah," Jack said knowingly. The pleading look vanished. "I'm guessing you don't want to know where the Black Pearl is heading then, do ye?"

He did, very much, for all that it hadn't occurred to him before Jack had mentioned it. The realisation was quickly followed by irritation and exasperation.

"SParroW," he hissed through clenched teeth, "if you don't tell me where we are going right this instant I'll...."

"We're going to Tortuga," the pirate interrupted hastily. "No zatch-slitting, allright?" A slight tensing on Jack's part marked his belated realisation that the Commodore might not be too pleased to be sailing into a notorious den of piracy without the intention of blowing it off the map.

"Tortuga?" James blinked, processing the information. "Coffee?"

"Lots of Coffee," Jack agreed.

James grinned.

* * *

One of those beautiful, serene moments of silence stretched between them, Captain and Commodore more at ease with each other than should have been possible.

They shared the same unspoken trust as Jack with his Pearl, and James with no-one at all. Sometimes, if they were careful, they could talk without breaking it, and their words didn't get tangled up in a complicated mess of pirate versus navy.

"So," Jack said idly, "are you going to tell me how you ended up on that island?"

James opened his mouth to answer and froze, his expression sliding from confusion to panic before rebounding to settle on disturbingly neutral. "I don't recall."

"Guess that'd be a no then," Jack accepted easily.

"Mm," James said noncommittally.

"Not a no?"

"This is going to sound crazy."

"Oh good." Jack grinned delightedly, twisting his lithe body about until he could meet the other's eyes. "I like crazy."

"I have a suspicion it was some kind of plot device."

"Hmm?"

"A singularly unpleasant one, I believe." James touched his still healing shoulder gingerly.

"Ah."

"But still a plot device."

* * *

As time meandered on its merry way, and the Captain and the Commodore failed to declare their undying love for one another, conversations among the crew tended more and more towards certain subjects. "Why the #*$$@ won't they hurry up and admit it," was a favourite, though "if Jack doesn't want him I'll have him," also cropped up increasingly frequently. It seemed that once James allowed himself to relax he turned into someone who was easy to adore.

That, and the Unresolved Sexual Tension was getting to them.

* * *

"Captain, stop staring at Norrington."

"I was not staring at Norrington," Jack snapped, taking his eyes off the beautiful Commodore to glare at Martin.

This did not do wonders for his credibility.

The dwarf pulled himself up by the railing to spit his disgust over the side of the ship. Rightfully irritated by the Captain's behaviour as he was, he didn't much care to serve as ship's figurehead (with the appropriate gender modifications) for the next month, which had been the fate of the last man to spit on the Pearl.

He scowled sullenly at Jack.

* * *

Anamaria was supremely comfortable with the role of first mate, which mostly involved (or did once she was through with it) terrorising those who were theoretically her superiors. Namely, Captain Jack Sparrow. She was wearing a bright red dress and headband, and a glare that made her Captain shuffle his feet nervously, just like her little brother would when he was in trouble.

"You," she pointed, "And Norrington?" One eyebrow raised in unspoken insinuation - a demand, not a request, for information...

...Met with wary stubbornness on the part of the Captain. "I'm not in love with him," Jack replied sulkily. "I don't like guys." And he was tired of doubts cast on his masculinity, though not tired enough to kiss Anamaria to prove himself.

His first mate sneered. "I'd better kill him then...." An idle threat, but...

...Next moment she was slammed roughly against the railing, Jack's dagger at her throat. "You touch him, you die," he snarled. "Savvy?"

That wasn't part of the plan. Anamaria relaxed into his grip, carefully refraining from anything that might fuel his anger. "Jack," she asked, in tones of infinite patience, "how do you feel about the Commodore?" A heartbeat passed before she added "besides overprotective, that is."

Jack twitched. "I'm not in love with him," he said quickly.

"Why not?"

"I'm not a lass."

"So if you were...?"

Jack looked positively panicked. "What? No. Do not even think about it, luv. Been there done that, trust me, it's a bad idea." ⁽⁷⁾

Anamaria was briefly distracted by the mental image that brought on. Making a note to interrogate Jack on the subject at a later date, she jabbed a finger into his chest. "You are avoiding the question. How do you feel about Norrington?"

He matters.

"I trust him," he said eventually. "As if I'd never have to doubt his loyalty. As if he would stand by me in victory, defeat or mutiny. Which we know is not the case, because he's a Commodore; he's supposed to hang me not... whatever this is."

Anamaria's expression softened for a heartbeat. "Jack?"

"Yes luv?"

"You can put me down now."

Jack blinked at the dagger in his hand, astonishment exaggerated as if he had forgotten it was there. Anamaria bared her teeth at him as if to reply he had done no such thing.

They were friends, good ones. You could tell by the absence of blood, and the fact they were both still alive. Jack put her down.

* * *

Captain Sparrow was preoccupied by a futile attempt to keep his mind - and eyes - away from Norrington.

It was something he had more or less given up after the Commodore's first few days aboard, due to the impossibility of the task.

Every time he had successfully started thinking about nothing but rum - or silver and gold, or wenches, or his pretty Turner friends - James somehow cropped up next to them in his mind; playing swords with Will and Lizzie, sunlight on the blades flashing silver and gold; on the deck of the Pearl, drinking rum with the best of them, a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow asking if Jack had honestly expected a sailor to do otherwise.

And the wenches all seemed to have the most glorious sea-green eyes, and wore white wigs that he just knew were hiding something interesting.

Which was why Jack had found it so much more advisable not to try and ignore James in the first place. An inarguably excellent reason, if he did say so himself, which, because he was Captain Jack Sparrow, he most certainly did.

Still, if even Anamaria thought Jack was ........ with the ....., well, Jack's attention would just have to go somewhere else. And stay somewhere else.

Cotton for example, who was standing there waiting for him to stop being distracted. Jack turned towards him, his head cocked in an invitation to speak. ⁽⁸⁾

Cotton shuffled uncertainly.

"Awk," squawked the parrot. "Don't want him I'll have him."

Some distraction. Hah. Captain Sparrow appeared undecided whether to strangle Cotton or the parrot. He glared murderously at the pair instead.

"Geep" whuppled the parrot.

Struck suddenly by the great importance of keeping watch, Cotton vanished into the rigging.

Anamaira stalked over to her Captain, and murmured placatingly in his ear, gaining a snarl in return - something about not being jealous, and not liking guys anyway. She sighed and buried her head in her hands.

James finished what he was doing and padded over to them. "Might I enquire as to what is troubling you?" he asked softly, his voice all smooth precision. He seemed more bemused by their respective tempers than actively concerned.

Jack's snarl faded abruptly. He opened his mouth to spin a tale, but nothing came out, distracted beyond coherency by the Commodore's faint smile - the sweet, genuine one he had taken to wearing more and more often.

"Nothing much," his first mate answered for him, her tone deceptively mild. "I'm just a little annoyed that Captain Sparrow here refuses to admit he loves you."

James froze. He doesn't - couldn't possibly.

Jack's panicked gaze swept from one to the other and back again. "But I don't..."

Anamaria snapped, her patience suddenly non-existent. "That's it. I have had it up to here with you two."

She grabbed Jack by his braided bead collection and the Commodore by the long hair creeping tantalisingly out from under his wig, and knocked their heads together, hard. And no, that wasn't Jack thinking of James' hair as tantalising - he's busy being in denial, remember? And having his head smashed briskly against aforementioned Commodore's by his first mate.

"Listen," Anamaria snarled "James is in love with you. You are in love with James. And you *crack* will stop *smash* being so irritatingly *thud* oblivious about it."

She cracked their heads together again, for her own gratification, before barricading them in the Captain's cabin.

The Commodore's wig, flagitiously abused, lay where it had fallen on the deck. Eventually, it was rescued by Cotton's parrot.

* * *

Jack wobbled dizzily, obviously the worse for Anamaria's treatment. The motion was surprisingly easy to detect against the background of the pirate's usual swaying.

"Let me get this straight. You," he gesticulated vaguely in James' direction, "are in love with me?"

"Yes." The Commodore kept his expression neutral. "I am." After a moment's consideration he added "indeed" for good measure.

"And that's why Anamaria keeps hitting me?"

"Yes."

"But we're both guys," he said plaintively, the look of confusion sliding back over his face.

James ran a hand through his tantalising dark hair and sighed. He had a headache, and when he gingerly examined his forehead he wasn't surprised to find blood staining his fingers. He curled into a ball of misery on the bed, which happened to be Jack's, it being his cabin they were barricaded into. "Where's my wig?"

"Don't know, mate." Jack nodded his head absently doorwards. "Somewhere beyond the barricade, I'm guessing." Abruptly deciding that standing was too much of a bother, the pirate sprawled himself across the cabin floor, blending languidly into the luxurious copper and gold rug.

* * *

Jack wobbled dizzily, obviously the worse for Anamaria's treatment. The motion was surprisingly easy to detect against the background of the pirate's usual swaying.

"Let me get this straight. You," he gesticulated vaguely in James' direction, "are in love with me?"

"Yes." The Commodore kept his expression neutral. "I am." After a moment's consideration he added "indeed" for good measure.

"And that's why Anamaria keeps hitting me?"

"Yes."

"But we're both guys," he said plaintively, the look of confusion sliding back over his face.

James ran a hand through his tantalising dark hair and sighed. He had a headache, and when he gingerly examined his forehead he wasn't surprised to find blood staining his fingers. He curled into a ball of misery on the bed, which happened to be Jack's, it being his cabin they were barricaded into. "Where's my wig?"

"Don't know, mate." Jack nodded his head absently doorwards. "Somewhere beyond the barricade, I'm guessing." Abruptly deciding that standing was too much of a bother, the pirate sprawled himself across the cabin floor, blending languidly into the luxurious copper and gold rug.

"You love me."

"Yes." The Commodore seemed resigned to the fact. "It was... inescapable."

The pirate was still clearly distracted. "You love me," he repeated flatly, disbelief clearly evident.

James chose not to dignify this with an answer.

"I know, Jack declared trumphantly, "you don't really love me, you're just imagining things."

"I do love you, you feather-pated inebriate. I am not imagining things." In his exasperation, James sat up too quickly; his headache awoke with a snarl, biting a sizeable chunk out of his skull. The Commodore cringed.

"Jack. I need you to take a look at my eyes, and tell me if the pupils are both the same size."

"On account of concussion? Just a second, mate." The pirate pried himself off the floor and wavered over to the bed.

"So are they?" James asked eventually.

"Hmm?"

"Are they the same size?"

"Yes." Jack sounded abstracted. "Now hush."

"What... why are you...?"

"They're pretty."

Time passed. ⁽⁹⁾

"You love me."

Yes."

"Why?"

That was a new one. "Because I'm me. And you're you. Who I am loves who you are. I couldn't stop loving you and still be me."

"Why'd ye have to start in the first place?" That was childish petulance if ever James heard it. Still, Jack sounded

"You distracted me."

"From what."

"There was I, contentedly concentrating on not falling in love with the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow, and you distract me from this noble goal." The Commodore fell silent, remembering the many distractions of Captain Jack Sparrow.

"You don't love me."

Apparently, loving someone did nothing to prevent wanting to throttle them. "SParrOW!"

"If you loved me, you'd get me some rum."

"You'll believe I love you if I get you some rum?" James sounded faintly appalled. He had, after all, spent the last hour trying to convince him of just that. "You do realise that me fetching or not fetching you alcohol has nothing to do with the fact that I love you?"

"Yes," Jack said simply, remarkably patient in the face of such pedanticism. "But I want some rum."

A couple of hours, and many, many bottles of rum ⁽¹⁰⁾ later...

All things considered, the Commodore was being remarkably patient...

"Jamie luv," Jack slurred, "you put your cock in where the poo usually comes out. It strikes me as kind of icky."

James blushed. "It is not significantly ickier than with a woman, I assure you." Even with the rum, that came out faintly embarrassed. Jack didn't seem to notice though.

"Is so," he insisted.

"Try it."

"You're a guy."

"I had noticed that, yes."

"I'm not a woman."

As if James had any doubts on the matter. "I should hope not."

"You should?" Jack sounded more surprised than he should have, even with the rum.

James hastened to reassure him. "Naturally I should."

"Oh." The pirate managed to sound astonished. "'s all right then, luv."

Jack cuddled down into James' arms and fell asleep.

"That's interesting," James whispered.

"That's very interesting."