Anything but this.

"I feel your pain."

James turned to find himself regarding a man wholly unknown to him. The stranger was handsome enough, though his mouth was a little too wide for good looks, and he was dressed in the finest
The man shook his head. "Ah, of course, only I have heard so much about the great Commodore that I feel as if I know you already. I am Cuthbert Francis Edward Young, the third" He grinned cheerfully. "I know, dreadful, isn't it? Calling one man by that mouthful is cruel enough, but three? Clearly my family is short on imagination but whatever the case, call me Edward, it's the only part of that name worth repeating. I was simply saying that although the sea is a cruel mistress, she does call to those who love her, does she not?"

"Ah." James had to pause for a moment to digest Edward's speech. "You...you are a seaman yourself then?" It was one of the few straws he could grasp at for the moment.

Edward shrugged fluidly. "Once, of sorts. I was part of the English embassy and it involved such a great deal of travel that I grew to love the sea as much as any sailor. However, I had a very rich great aunt who is, sadly, deceased and now I am a man of leisure. I thought to come to
"I..." James was at a loss.

"You are a quiet sort, aren't you? My, the ladies said as much but since you have neither flashing, thunderous eyes- and really, who does?- nor a great and mighty stature, I assumed they were, for the most part, exaggerating wildly."

James had to smile at that. "Yes, I imagine they do." He sipped on his wine. "Though being away at sea so long almost allowed me the pleasure of forgetting what such occasions were like."

Edward smiled knowingly. "Of course. Say, how many days have you been back?"

"We docked this very morning."

"Claim an injury, perhaps a loose pin whipped free and damaged your knee, or a cannon rolled on your foot, something that would prevent you from dancing." Edward plucked a drink from a passing steward's tray. "I intend to tell everyone that I have a wooden leg."

James raised an eyebrow. "They'll never believe you. Or me, I haven't been limping."

Edward shook his head happily. "No, but neither have you moved from this spot. Who's to know?"

And for all that Edward talked too much, too fast and perplexed James to no end, James could very happily have kissed the man for his brilliant idea.

They ended the evening without incident, although Mrs. Tuner was skeptical about the wound and James had to smile around clenched teeth at mothers and daughters come to wish him a speedy recovery. It was with a sense of regret that James bid Edward goodnight that evening and went back to his own, quiet, house. His bedroom seemed suddenly very empty in comparison to the hustle and bustle of either a ball or a ship where a few moments alone was a precious thing. Here, alone half through circumstances and half through choice, the silence seemed oppressive and thick in the air. With a feeling of acute loneliness James began the laborious process of getting ready for bed.

Coat draped over the chair, shoes kicked off with a sigh of relief beside the bed, wig set reverently on its stand. He shook the powder out of his hair, coughing a little as the white dust filled the air and pulled out any pins still stuck in his ponytail. His waistcoat and sword belt joined the coat on the chair. It was only then that James stretched, working out the kinks in his shoulders and neck.

"Hello Commodore."

James nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face the intruder. There was a pistol in his hand that he didn't remember pulling out and his finger curled dangerously tight around the trigger.

Perched on the windowsill, framed by the whitewashed wood, with the moon behind him casting shadows over his face, sat none other than Jack Sparrow. His smile glinted gold and ivory in the half-light and there seemed to be some sort of internal light making his eyes glow with an unholy shine. From what James could see, the pirate was armed to the teeth, sword belts and pistols bristling like spines from under his coat. In one grimy hand, a pistol pointed with a sort of cheerful delight at James' head.

With a graceful ease, Jack swung down into the room, his boots a soft thud on bare floorboards, the gun never wavering from its target. "Seein' as I was in the neighborhood I thought I'd drop in for a nice little chinwag. So what say you, we both put away the firearms an' parley like the civilized persons we are."

James didn't lower the pistol although holding it like that for much longer, with such a stiffness in his spine and arm, wasn't going to be a feasible option. "Once again you have proven me wrong," he said dryly. "I thought you had a modicum of intelligence but coming into my house, armed or not, is more foolish than I had supposed you to be."

"Oh don't be an ass," Jack countered and his voice was as steady as his hand. "I'm extendin' a nice friendly greeting an' you have to be rude about it. I'm here to see my godchild, if you must know, this little swing-by is merely a detour in my return to the
James frowned, puzzled. "That doesn't mean I won't shoot you."

Jack raised one eyebrow and spread his hands in a defenseless gesture. "By all means Commodore, though I don't think you will. That wouldn't be very gentlemanly, shooting an unarmed man, an' it would spoil our game." He smiled, part smirk, part leer, all cunning. "Either kill me or not but better make up your mind before that thing goes off by default."

He wouldn't have done it if his hand wasn't already beginning to shake, just a little. But Sparrow was right, hold that position and he might pull the trigger by accident and, aggravatingly, the pirate was also right about him not wanting to kill an unarmed man.

James lowered his gun with an aggrieved sigh. "What do you want Sparrow? And make it quick."

"Now that's more like it."

Jack leaned casually against the wall, folding his arms over his chest and managing to look more threatening than James had ever seen him. It had to be the candles flickering gold and charcoal across sharp cheekbones and seemingly depthless eyes that gave Jack the appearance of a vision from a nightmare. Not that James was intimidated, not at all. He'd seen the pirate with a noose around his foolish neck, seen him in irons, behind bars, and so James wasn't at all bothered by the fact that they were facing off and all he wore was britches and shirt. Or so he told himself.

"First off, I'd just like to mention how nice y' look wivout all that poncy brocade, an' powder, an' terrible bouffant of a wig...Who'd have guessed you'd have such lovely hair." Jack raked an appreciative look, head to toe, over James' body and James had the same uncomfortable sensation that he got from the stares of the young women of Port Royal. Half predatory, half as if they were mentally undressing him. "An' who'd have thought there'd be a man under all that coat."

It wasn't what he said, so much as the way he said it that made James uncomfortable; With all the emphasis on the word 'man' and such a leer in Jack's voice.

"Second, I've heard- pure scuttlebutt mind you- that one of my excellent brethren has taken it into his head t' get into the fine art of kidnapping. An' where better t' carry off such a stunt than right under the great Commodore's nose." Jack turned to stare out the window, putting his back to James in a way that suggested he felt completely at ease to do so. "The Governor's daughter would be quite the prize. Or even his son-in-law, or grandchild." He swung up onto the windowsill, with the same ease that he had hopped down. "I jus' thought you'd like t' know." Black eyes winked in the dark. "I'd reckon it t' be in the next month."

And with that Jack was gone. Vanished over the edge into the night and when James got to the window to peer into the garden, all he could see was shadows, no way to know which one was Jack, if any. James considered raising the alarm but he thought of the Turners and baby Jack (god help the poor thing) and wondered if he wasn't mad to allow Sparrow yet another day's head start.


* * *

Unfortunately Jack was not as savvy as he liked to think.

Yes, there was a raid on Port Royal with the intent of a kidnap, that much he had got right. That little bit of information saved many lives, though it rankled at James to admit it. However, he had got one crucial bit of information hopelessly wrong.

On the night of the raid, the Governor and the Turners were heavily guarded, as they had been since Jack's warning. However, this meant that some positions were left dangerously bereft of manpower. It was these gaps that allowed the pirates to break in and commit their crime.

The two victims, both now chained and shackled sat in the stinking brig of the ship, both looking a little worse for wear.

Edward leaned back against the bars, though they must have been digging most painfully into his spine. "Well," he said cheerfully, "it could be worse." There was a rather large bruise spreading, all purples and greens, across his jaw and up to his cheek. His immaculate attire had been taken by the brigands, leaving him with no more than britches and a shirt. They had left him his shoes and socks, oddly enough.

James raised one eyebrow, a bitter twist to his mouth. "Really?" He had been stripped down to his britches and shirt as well and his clothing was bloodied, coated in gunpowder and torn. Unlike Edward, they had taken his shoes and his socks but, mockingly, left him his wig. James had used it to cushion his head against the hull. While his jaw remained intact, there was a nasty cut on his right arm that was crudely bandaged and hurt like hell every time he moved it. How there was an upside to such a dire situation he honestly couldn't see. Not forgetting the fact that he, a commodore of the Royal Navy, had managed to get himself held hostage. It was humiliating.

"Oh yes." Edward held up his manacled hands. "See, these aren't tight enough to hurt. My jaw is simply bruised and not broken. They've left us a little food and water and neither of us are dead. I see that as a promising start to this unpleasant affair."

"I see." When James got out of this disaster he was going to have a word with a doctor and find out if Edward was really all right upstairs. No man should be that cheerful.

"Cheer up, James. You've nothing to gain from being despondent."

James sighed heavily. "I suppose not." He squared his shoulders, then regretted the movement as it pained his arm. "We need to escape." There was a sort of finality in his tone, the commodore taking over from the man. Edward was right, now was the time for decision and action, not mourning the mistakes of the past. "First order is to get out of these chains."

Edward didn't appear to be listening. "The thing that I find most amusing is that if they think to ransom me then they are going to have quite a job of it."

James ignored this comment in favor of examining their cell to see if there was any sort of device with which to free themselves.

"You see, there is no one for them to write to. I have no living relatives who could forward the money. They have to ransom me to myself and I can't really get them the money whilst I'm sat here." Edward smiled, winced and put a hand up to his jaw. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a lock pick."

Edward nodded sagely. "Ah, you learn this sort of thing with the Navy then?"

James grimaced and pulled his wig out from behind him to look for pins. Foolish really since he didn't use them, too dangerous in battle. "No." His voice was tight. "But I'll just have to figure it out quickly." Other than himself and Edward there was precious little in the cell save for a bench cum bed sort of hybrid and the rather forlorn looking wig. "You wouldn't have some sort of pin would you?"

The other man patted himself down, chains clanking as a dismal reminder to the urgency of their task. Suddenly he brightened. "Ah, how foolish of me." And he stuck his hand in his pocket, after a little squirming to get himself into a position where he could get both hands to one side of his body, and produced a pair of spectacles. "They left me my specs, decent sort of chaps these pirates, and perhaps we could bend these to make some sort of a wire...pick...thing." He tossed them awkwardly across the cell trying not to smile as it obviously hurt his face too much.

"Are you sure?" James asked dubiously. "I won't deprive you of your sight."

"Nonsense. I only use them for reading and I don't see much chance of that happening whilst we're stuck in this dreadful hold."

James smiled sardonically, bending the ear pieces of the lenses to form some sort of straight line. "I thought you said it wasn't so bad here." He shoved the end into the lock on his shackles and twiddled it around to no effect.

Edward watched intently. "Nonsense. I said that it could be worse. My head could be on fire, that would make it worse, but it doesn't make this better. Two sides of the same coin you could say." A frown of concentration drew his eyebrows together and twisted his generous mouth down into a half pout. "Don't you need two picks? One for the tumblers or some such thing."

If it wouldn't have been rude and counterproductive to throw something at Edward, James would have done so at that moment. "I really wouldn't know." He snapped one of the arms off and stuck that one into the keyhole as well. "I'm not a locksmith."

For several long moments all that could be heard was the soft metallic sounds of James fiddling with their chains. One or twice there was some sort of mechanical noise that almost seemed as if he was doing the right thing, but the locks stayed firmly shut. It was a good hour before James gave up with a hiss of frustration. He tangled his hands into his hair, elbows resting on his knees and get out a low groan.

Edward picked up the makeshift lock-pick where James had dropped it. He frowned at it, bent it a little and stuck it in the keyhole. With one deft twist of his wrist the lock clanked open.

James looked up with his eyes agog with incredulity. "I'm sorry, did you just open those?"

Edward freed his wrists and rubbed them thoughtfully. "Apparently so." He leaned over and did the same for his feet. "It seems as if I have an innate talent for breaking and exiting." The next clicks released James from his chains. "Though I fear that it won't be helpful for the lock on the cell, it's an entirely different sort."

"Now that I can get us out of." James stood, and held out a hand to help Edward to his feet. There was a slight grin on his face, not the full blown smirk that he could feel welling up inside, just a slight upturn of the lips. "I'd like to thank one very unusual blacksmith for teaching this trick to the navy. He hefted the bench under the bars of the cell and very gingerly shoved down with his good arm. With Edward's help they slowly pried the door off its hinges.

They looked around for a moment, James holding his arm with his free hand. It was Edward who finally broached the question. "Now what?"

James took a deep breath, let his spine straighten out and waited for the commodore to kick in. "We have to get one of the jolly boats and row like hell."

"That's the plan?" Edward's voice rose an octave. "They'll catch us for sure."

"They'll catch us if we stand here much longer." James shut his eyes. Think. How did Jack Sparrow do it? How did he always manage to escape? "There's too many of them to overpower and we have no weapons with which to do that in any case. Our best hope is that we can get far enough away before they notice and pray they chose a different route to chase us by."

Edward pushed unruly blond hair out of his eyes and made a face. "I can't say I've ever put much stock in all that god business. Nor am I a qualified rower."

James started towards freedom and a crew of pirates determined to keep him from that freedom. "I'll pray then, and you hope your luck holds out."

They made a slow and careful path up to the gundeck. Thankfully most of the crew was topside and the two prisoners were able to hide from the stray pirate that wandered by, hiding behind guns and barrels and once even diving into two hammocks. Edward was limping slightly and James' arm was starting to burn even when he wasn't moving it but they climbed out one of the gun ports and up the side of the ship to crawl under the tarpaulin of one of the jolly boats.

It was a little too late when James wondered if leaving this escape plan to nightfall would have been a better idea. No, he decided, harder to launch the boat but no crew below decks. So really, it was six of one and half a dozen of the other.

Working from under tarpaulin was not the easiest of tasks and they had only managed to lower the boat about two inches when they were discovered. An ugly, scarred face with rancid breath and worse teeth leered down at them and the gig was up.

James wasn't all that surprised.

He was not used to being the captive. His skills in life had not prepared him to flee from brigands, nor to be in such a position. It was only his pride that felt a little more bruised for the attempt. It was with a bitter heart that he and Edward were escorted back to their cell and James had no doubt that things would be made a lot less comfortable for them now.

Well honestly, what did they expect? An officer of the navy to just sit there and do nothing?

This time the cuffs were tighter, to the point of pain. The chains were shorter and their feet were tied to their wrists, behind their backs. James vaguely remembered the position being called hog-tied. He contemplated if he ever wanted to eat pork again after being forced into such an uncomfortable position. A fetid scrap of cloth was tied about their mouths so they could no longer talk and the bench was removed from the cell, leaving them bound on the floor.

Edward had said it could be worse, well now it was.

They had been in that position for almost three hours when the sound of cannon fire split the air and then the explosion rocked the ship, sending James and Edward sliding across the floor, gathering splinters as they went.

This was not a good place to be in a battle, James thought wildly, almost giddily, as further shots rang out and the sounds of shouting could be heard from above decks. He tried to calm himself by thinking of all the possible outcomes of such a battle: The ship could be blown out of the water, ergo they would die. That really wasn't comforting at all. They could be joined by more men, cramped but not life threatening, which was better, something he could survive. They could be rescued by the English, embarrassing but better than spending his life down in this hold waiting for a ransom. They could be taken by the Spanish, or the French. Again, embarrassing, but probably better for his health than staying down here.

A huge hole was blow in the hull of the ship, sending wood splinters and shot raining down on James and Edward. James started to pray as water began to spray into the hold.

Our Father, who art in heaven. Please, let me get through this day. I've tried to be a good man, I've tried to uphold the law, though sometimes the two don't always coincide. If you help me get out of this I'll find some way to be better. Just help me, Lord. And Edward, because Lord knows he talks too much but he's a decent sort and doesn't deserve to die this way...

James ran out of ideas as another shot demolished bits of their cell. Not that they could move enough to free themselves.  Christ, trying to bargain with God, not one of his more sensible moments, but he was hog-tied and helpless, in James' opinion, only the good Lord could help him now.

The shouting above-decks increased to a fierce roar and he could hear the sounds of hand to hand combat. Pistols and cutlasses, curses and death.

The silence afterwards wasn't as terrible as people liked to say. At least now no one else had to die.

Contrary to popular pirate rumors, James did not enjoy killing people, pirates or not. He did not enjoy being the one to sign death warrants, or when it was his gun, or his sword, or his orders that caused someone's death. He just wanted everyone to follow the rules so there would be peace. But there always had to be some sort of punishment for breaking the peace and someone had to enforce it. Just because he was the one doing the enforcing did not mean he wouldn't rather be the one benefiting from whatever peace there was. Then again, he was never a man to stand idly by and under it all, he was a sailor, through and through and leaving the sea would be like cutting off an arm.

The sound of the battle ending brought him more comfort than many people would have ever imagined.

As the footsteps came down the steps he tried to crane his neck so he could see who their maybe-rescuers were and only caught a vague glimpse before his neck protested, snapping back to its natural position in an act of automatic self-preservation. A glimpse was all he needed.

James shut his eyes and wondered if Christians had it all wrong and there was such a thing as karma and his was particularly bad. Or maybe it was just the good Lord testing his patience and judgment once again. Perhaps it was a lesson in humility.

"Hello Commodore."

Jack's wicked grin seemed a lot less sinister in daylight, downright cheerful in fact and, despite himself and his wounded ego, James felt the irresistible urge to grin back at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Instead, once Jack had pried the gag out of his mouth, he found himself saying, "I'm sure you find this all hilarious, Sparrow, but both Edward and myself are wounded and I fail to see the humor in that."

There was a mildly reproachful _expression on Jack's face as he searched through a bundle of keys to find the ones to the manacles. "I know that, Commodore, I jus' thought you might see the irony, what wiv you being the one behind bars an' me the one wiv all the keys."

"You're still the pirate though, are you not?" James spat, pain and anger and pride getting in the way of his humor. "So how about- oh Christ." Jack had released him and James had turned to find Edward laying too still, a huge shard of shot stuck into his leg and his back peppered by splinters.

Jack put a calming hand on James' arm. "Easy, Commodore, he's alive an' in no worse shape than you are. There's a nasty bit o' ship sticking out of your shoulder blade." And that explained the pain that felt so connected to his arm, which had reached the point where he wasn't sure if he could even feel anything but a sort of paradoxal cold-warm. "Come on back to the Pearl an' we'll sort out that arm of yours, alright Commodore?"

"James Norrington." For some reason the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "It seems absurd to use my title in such circumstances." He would never admit that the pirate's arm on his waist, helping him up the stairs with a gentle pressure was a great help. Instead he pressed his lips into a thin line and concentrated on not making any pain sounds.

Jack on the other hand looked extremely pleased with something. "James," he said thoughtfully. "I must admit I were expecting something..."

James' mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "Something less plain?" He wished shrugging wasn't quite so painful. "Surely you can see how that would fit the stuffy, stick up the arse commodore."

"You're not half as daft as you act." Jack shook his head. "I was goin' t' say more fearsome, but no, James suits you fine. Y' don't need a fancy name to put the fear of the British into us pirates. An' if you know about your own reputation then why don't you change it?"

The gang plank was too narrow for both of them and James was starting to feel a bit light-headed from all the trauma. He wondered if falling into the water would be more embarrassing than fatal but made it over to the Pearl without incident despite his fears. Jack's arm wound back around his waist, guiding him towards the Captain's cabin. It was once they set foot on the Pearl that James noticed Jack was no longer swaying about like a drunkard. It seemed as if Jack did not have sea legs, simply he could only manage to walk straight on his own ship. An oddity, yes, but somehow endearing.

Merciful god, he must be more tired than he had thought if he was beginning to think of Jack as endearing.

"James?" Jack settled him into a comfortably stuffed chair.

"Pardon? Oh...Maybe I enjoy my reputation," James countered, a little perturbed by Sparrow using his first name rather than the usual 'commodore'. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate.

"Oh aye?" Jack raised an eyebrow but didn't comment any further. "I'll be back in two shakes of a nanny goat's tail, jus' got to make sure me crew know what they're about." Jack slipped out of the room leaving James free reign to wander and poke about all over the cabin.

James decided to stay in his chair. As curious he was about Jack Sparrow it would do no good at the moment to get into the man's ill graces. He doubted very much that the pirate would appreciate the navy rooting through his things. Not that such qualms would have stopped Sparrow if their positions had been reversed, James was sure of it. He shut his eyes and tried to sort out some sort of strategy. Clearly he needed to get both himself and Edward back to Port Royal. He also needed to find out exactly what Sparrow would want in return and how to argue the man down to more reasonable terms.

Jack returned looking a little tired and, for the first time, James noticed that there were smatterings of blood on Jack's coat and a little on one cheek. With a grateful sigh, Jack shucked off his coat and boots and even his hat was set onto a little stand at the side of the room. Not one of his weapons came off though. He opened his mouth to speak when there was a knock on the door. Jack sighed and opened it again.

The surgeon, a small, mousy looking man grinned up at him. "Got the young man stable an' happy as Larry. Y' want me t' see t' the commodore now?"

Jack nodded, stepping aside before wordlessly slumping down into the nearest available chair. He stared, dark eyes unreadable, as the surgeon stripped the remains of the shirt from James and pulled the wood out of his back. He stared as James' wounds were sewn up, noting every clench of the fist, every tightening of the jaw. He stared as James was bandaged and pronounced sound and well.

It was only when the surgeon had left that he gave any indication that he intended to converse at all.

"How's the arm?"

James moved it a little, as far as the bandages would allow. "Better." Something between them seemed strained, like some sort of awkward introductory conversation, which was odd, considering there was little to no relationship between them to strain to begin with. "He is a new member to your crew I believe?"

Jack nodded, thoughtfully, chewing on his bottom lip. "About a four month now. Very handy bloke."

He waved an expressive hand at James' naked chest. "You're inked. Never would've guessed that."

James glanced down at the rather nicely inked tattoo of a compass rose on his right breast. "I was young." And stupid, and drunk, but Jack didn't need to know that.

The silence was thick for several long moments. "Jamie, d' you know what this means?"

"It means you shouldn't call me Jamie, Mister Sparrow."

"Captain." Jack didn't even sound irritated by the omission of his title. It was more like reflex reaction by now. "It means you're entirely my prisoner now." A slow smile was spreading across his face and despite everything it meant, Jack's smile was like the sun coming out.

James snorted rudely. "Don't be an ass. The entire navy will be out looking for me."

"That sounds familiar," Jack muttered before tipping his chair back on two legs, balancing with his feet on the table. "At the very least y' owe me a favor."

James would have crossed his arms if he could so instead he settled for a decidedly unfriendly _expression on his face. "A favor?"

"Indeed." Jack's grin didn't even pretend to be anything other than mocking. "Seems to me, Jamie m'lad, that I've saved you from a rather precarious position and now you're in my debt."

The sound of James grinding his teeth wasn't quite audible but the tension in his jaw was clearly visible. "Whatever misguided ideas you might have about the situation, I can assure you Mister Sparrow, that they are wholly incorrect."

"An' you're telling me that you could've got out of that nasty little mess all on your onesies? I doubt it, Jamie, I sincerely do." Jack shook his head. "No, seems to me that we've got to come t' terms an' sort us out some form of agreement on me demands."

James could have strangled the man. "If it weren't for your misguided advice none of this would have happened in the first place. All the soldiers would have been in their rightful positions."

"Oh you can't blame me for all that." Jack waved away the accusation with an expressive hand. "Port Royal has always been a lush prize for any buccaneer and who was I to suspect they'd actually take you? More likely it'd be the young'uns. An' isn't it so much nicer this way? We get to have us a sit down after two years of games."

"It's not a game, Sparrow. When I catch you, I will hang you for your crimes."

Jack's smile was extremely condescending. "Oh?" He swung his legs down, leaning across the table so he could pat James on the arm. "If y' say so."

James met him, arrogance with arrogance, and brushed Jack's hand off his bare arm. "What is it about you that makes you think you are immortal? You are neither exempt from the law, nor are you uncatchable. I am a patient man Mister Sparrow. Sooner or later, your luck will run out."

"Now Jamie, that's no way t' talk, an' if we're going t' be on friendly-like terms then I reckon it's best you call me Jack."

"Jack then." Though it seemed odd in his mouth to use the pirate's first, if not given, name.

Jack nodded, pleased. "Savin' the good Commodore from pirates, now I think if you had a word wiv the Governor, that would be plenty of heroics t' get me a pardon, me an' me crew. Not one for future deeds, I'm not a greedy man, nor am I a fool. Jus' a pardon for all me and me crew's past deeds."

James drummed his fingers on the table. "Deserters, escaped slaves, pirates, murderers," despite himself he cracked a slight smile. "Impersonators of priests."

"Gibbs didn't desert," Jack said quietly. "Your lot kicked 'im out."

"Who said I was talking about Gibbs?" James made a face. "It simply isn't possible, Sp- Jack. It's too much for too many. If you insist on this course I might be able to get a pardon for yourself, but not the entire crew."

Jack shook his head. "No deal."

"Look, Jack," James could feel himself getting exasperated. "I am extremely tired and if you would kindly allow me a few hours respite I will be, if not happy, then at least able, to conduct these agreements with you."

It would have been too easy for Jack to say no, James realized later. Negotiating with a tired, irritable man would be a thousand times easier than with someone well rested. However, Jack not only allowed him rest and offered him refreshment, but he gave up his own bed. As James stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling of the bunk, he decided he could make neither heads nor tails of the situation.

Jack's bed was soft, and warm and though the pirate seemed to have an over-fondness of throw pillows, it made him feel cushioned on all sides. The sheets weren't clean, that was to be expected, but though they smelt strongly of Jack, they were not as dirty as James might have imagined. It was all too easy to just sprawl out and though James had intended on going over the situation and possible strategies a little before sleeping, he passed out only a few moments after deciding that he would never and could never, understand Jack Sparrow.


* * *

It was late at night when James was awoken by the sounds of someone moving about in the cabin. For a moment he was a little disorientated but the dull ache in his arm reminded him of where he was and why he was there. Apparently he had been more tired than he had thought, managing to sleep the day away.

The figure shuffling about in the dark, shedding weapons like water droplets off a duck's back, bits of metal and glass glinting in the little light that came from one guttering candle, was clearly Jack.

Jack.

Now that was something to ponder over. James was, for all his protestations, under the pirate's enforced hospitality until further notice. Strange then, that Jack would wish to seem so informal with the man who had chased him around the Caribbean for almost two years. Perhaps Jack was right. After all that time, their chase had become a diversion, a game, something to get him away from Port Royal and the paperwork and out to sea.

In those years they had only ever faced one another a handful of times. Mostly James only ever saw Jack through the lens of his spyglass.

He had ample time to watch him now.

The care with which he arranged his weapons, the soft pat of his bare feet on the floorboards, the catlike grace with which he moved. Jack was at home on this ship, James could see that clear as day. Gone was the wet, bedraggled and shipless pirate from two years ago. This man was someone wholly different and yet utterly the same.

"You're awake then?" Jack grinned through the darkness and held up a bottle. "Somethin' to drink."

It wasn't really a question so much as a statement and so James sat up in the bed and accepted the glass that Jack handed him. Jack slid onto the bed across from James, his back to the footboard, bottle in hand. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, James sipping from his glass of what tasted like very strong rum and Jack drinking straight from the bottle. Another oddity to ponder over. The way in which they could argue together like the enemies they were, all wit and stratagem and then simply sit on this bed and drink.

"Thank you."

James had thought the words would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, or be used as an excuse for mocking. Instead, Jack nodded, raised the bottle in a sort of toast and said nothing more than, "You're welcome."

"What do you intend to do with Edward?" James wondered if the rum was really a very good idea. It was warming his belly and slowly filling his head, softening everything around the edges.

"He'll be put ashore as soon as he's alright t' go." Jack grinned to himself. "Lucky bugger would've lost his leg wiv that bit of shot in it. Good thing he had a wooden one already, hey?" James had only a moment to reflect on that with a slight smile at the irony of it all and then Jack set his bottle aside and he stared intently at James. "D' you know, Jamie, that for all your laws, an' navy regulations, an' hopeless social skills, you're a decent bloke." The grin grew, glinting in the dark. "An' you're not half bad lookin' at that."

James raised an eyebrow. "I do believe you said something along those lines back when you climbed through my window."

Jack nodded. "So I did. It's true though."

He moved across the bed so he was sitting next to James rather than across from him. Their bodies touched in one long line from shoulder to hip and down their legs. Jack tipped his head back, eyes shut, throat exposed, as if he was considering something vital to the fate of the free world. James didn't comment, figuring that if Jack had something to say then he would manage just fine without any prompting. He didn't have to wait long.

Jack spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. "By rights I should kill you. My very own mortal enemy, unarmed, on me ship...You've got a duty and obligation t' kill me, an' so I have me own duty t' make sure that doesn't happen." He opened his eyes, staring into the darkness of the room rather than look at James. "I don't think young Mister Turner nor his missus would take kindly to that notion."

"I don't think Elizabeth would take very kindly to being called 'the missus'," James interjected dryly.

That made Jack smile a little. "Prob'ly true, that." He sighed. "I'm not goin' t' kill you. An' it's not because of the Turners, it's certainly not because I'm bothered by the notion of killin' a commodore. No. I like you, Jamie, an' I enjoy our little game. I jus' worry that I'm makin' a fool's mistake that'll have me dancin' the Tyburn jig."

James didn't reply right away. He decided that something as weighty as what Jack was discussing deserved some deliberation.

Did he want to kill Jack? It didn't come as a surprise when the answer was a resounding 'no'. Was he obligated to kill Jack? Yes. When he finally caught the Black Pearl he would have to hang every last one of the crew members (unless Anamaria pleaded her belly, and he couldn't see her pride allowing her that) and their captain. Technically, he could allow them to escape but it would do nothing for his career and, to be honest, that was all he had.

"We aren't at war with anyone at the present." James' forehead creased with concentration. "So a Letter of Marque would do you no good, though God knows how long relations with Spain will stay peaceful."

"I wouldn't take one," Jack said with a mirthless smile. "I owe my allegiance to no King."

James focused on his train of though. "You will not give up piracy and I will not ignore my duty. You will not leave the Caribbean and I am posted here for as long as the Admiralty wish it."

Jack waved his hand, as if brushing away those thoughts. "Jamie, I'm not lookin' for an escape from the Navy. I jus' want to know, if I am caught, if I am hung, it won't be by you." He turned, putting one hand on James' knee. "I consider you a friend, in an odd sort of way, y' know? We understand each other."

"As much as one can ever understand Captain Jack Sparrow."

James turned to face Jack and found himself nearly nose to nose with the pirate. Warm, rum tainted breath washed over his face and the hand still resting on his knee slid up his thigh, curving around to the inside. Even through the fabric of his britches, James could feel the heat from Jack's hand and it made the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Jack closed the scant distance between them, brushing his lips lightly over James'. Jack's lips were a little rough, a little chapped from the sea and the wind and when James' hand came up to tangle in Jack's hair he found it stiff with salt, the cause of the elflocks. The pirate tasted of the rum he had been drinking and of salt and the brush of his moustache was strange and unfamiliar.

It was Jack who drew away first, face unreadable. "Jamie, it only goes this way if you want it to." But his hand slid higher still, brushing lightly against the first stirrings of arousal that James was feeling. Then the hand was cupping him, not moving, just touching and Jack's eye lashes were far too thick for such a dangerous man, the curve of his mouth far too soft.

James swallowed hard, past the sudden dryness in his mouth and the feeling that his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest up his throat. Well what did one say to that?

Jack didn't wait for him to answer, shifting around once again, this time to straddle James' thighs, half sitting in his lap. "Only if you want," he said again, mouth against James' ear and then his tongue was tracing the curve and he nipped gently at the lobe and James wondered how the hell he was supposed to think with Jack doing that.

So he leaned into the touch, using his grip on Jack's hair to turn his head and press their mouths together in a hard kiss. The slick slide of tongues and the press of lips together seemed to be the answer that Jack was looking for because he took the opportunity to shove James back against the headboard, hard enough to hurt and to make the kiss into something deeper, something more urgent and violent.

James gasped as his back hit the wood of the wall, jarring his wound. He found the sound swallowed by Jack, pressing in, unstoppable as the tide, demanding kisses with those devil's bow lips. Jack's hands suddenly tugging in vain at James' britches, breath huffing in irritation as he failed to undo the garment. James bit down on Jack's bottom lip, worrying the flesh between sharp teeth, even as his hands fisted in Jack's hair, tugging, a little too hard for comfort. The pirate responded, arching up into the touch, a soft sound of pleasure escaping his lips.

Desperate fumbling in an awkward position ensued. James' hands on Jack's vest and Jack's hands on the fastenings to James' britches, neither managing to undress the other.

Jack was the one to withdraw again, a light in his eyes that could have been everything to do with the alcohol or perhaps it was the arousal straining though his salt stiffened clothes against James' abdomen. He growled, low, under his breath, and raked his hands up James' chest, rough fingertips against peaked nipples. Then Jack twisted off his lap and knelt between his legs, fingers finally managing the buttons on his clothing, baring James' arousal to the cold air of night.

James hissed through his teeth and reached out for Jack but Jack was leaning down, and then his mouth was wrapped around James' erection and it was all James could do not to cry out.

Warm slick heat, slow and sure around the head and then along the length, up and back and James realized he was trembling and his head was pressed back against the wood of the bed, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bruise, and his hands were gripping the bed sheets as if it was his last grip on the world.

"Jack..." A soft, desperate gasp and Jack was looking up, nothing but lust in those dark eyes.

Jack crawled up James' body, shrugging his vest off to fall inconsequentially onto the floor and James managed to get his hands into the hem of Jack's shirt, tugging it over his head to fall alongside the vest. Jack was a myriad of scars and ink and hot, golden flesh as if the sun had bored into the very marrow of his bones and was shining out from the inside. James lowered his head and tasted salt and sunshine and Jack. Jack was damn near purring, hands a brand on James' arms.

"Enough," Jack demanded, mouth once again against James' neck, sharp teeth biting down to stake his claim on skin rarely seen by the sun.

He wrenched James' britches down over long legs, and pulled his own off, mouth a twist of frustration for the delay. Then they were skin on skin and Jack was pressing, hard and hot against him, sweat slick in the heat, arousals brushing together with sweet friction and James could barely remember to breathe, let alone analyze and ponder over what was occurring.

James slid downward until his head was on the pillow and Jack was atop him, grinding down, teeth bared and eyes heavy lidded with pleasure and all James could feel was the shockwaves of arousal running liquid through his veins. He rolled over, pinning Jack beneath him.

"We do this now," he breathed into golden, sweaty skin, running his tongue over Jack's collarbone for good measure.

Jack squirmed delightfully. "I've not done this for some time, Jamieluv." His breath was over warm against skin already sticky. "You'll need somethin'..."

James leaned over the edge of the bed, snagging the bottle of rum by his fingertips and drizzled a measure onto Jack's chest and stomach. He leaned down to lap it up, tongue running trails of wet heat. "Will this do?"

His reply was a silent nod, Jack's eyes shut tight, breathing a little labored. James tipped some into his hand and took himself in hand, wetting his erection, liquid too cold but not enough to dampen his ardor. Jack hooked a leg over James' shoulder, and it was his turn to fist his hands in the sheets. James positioned himself at Jack's entrance and, without preamble, thrust in.

Jack keened loudly and arched up, spine folding him almost in half. "OhgodchristJamespleaseoh...oh...oh god..." His lips formed a near perfect 'O' as James snapped his hips back and forward again, biting his lip against the slick heat of it.

They were moving together then, Jack's heels digging into the arch of James' spine and James' arms shuddering under the weight of holding himself up over Jack. In, out, slow and so slow that Jack whimpered, actually whined with the loss of friction but James spared a hand to hold him still and their lips met in a furious kiss, bruising lips on teeth. Then hard, too hard, too much too fast and James wondered if he was going to dissolve inside Jack, if with the heat and the pressure that they could fuse into one entity. Jack's hands clutching at James' shoulders, at the headboard, nails digging half moons into pliable surfaces, cursed and prayers and yes, begging for more. Words meaning nothing and everything spilling past kiss swollen lips doing nothing more than fueling James' arousal.

Jack shuddered and let out a strangled cry and he was clenching around James and coming between them, hands fisted in James' hair, lips touching, not kissing, just touching. It was enough to make James collapse atop of Jack, his own seed spilling deep inside Jack. Panting, trying just to breathe and even that seemed a little too much.


* * *

Euphoria didn't last long.

"I'm going to Hell." James rolled onto his back eyes squeezed shut. "Everything I've done, everything I've worked for and believed in...for nothing."

Jack snorted derisively though his breathing was still ragged. "Oh aye? So sleepin' wiv a man makes you a terrible commodore? I see how those two are connected." He wiped lazily at the fluid coating his stomach and there was a satisfied set to his mouth.

"It makes me a hypocrite," James snapped, feeling sick despite the drowsiness of orgasm threatening to overpower him. "I've seen good men hung for less than what we've done tonight." He turned onto his side, facing away from Jack. Jack simply spooned up behind him, warm breath on the back of James' shoulder. "Don't." James was ashamed to hear hints of tears in his voice.

Jack didn't let go. "Don't be daft," he retorted. "An' don't you dare tell me that you didn't enjoy it either, or that it wasn't what you wanted."

James flinched. "It's what I wanted," his voice was quiet and a little sad. "And because of that, I'm going to Hell." Warm liquid trailed down his cheek to drop, silent and secretive into the fabric of the pillow. He shut his eyes against the final indignity, breathing heavily through his nose to keep some semblance of control over his emotions.

"Oh Jamieluv..."

James jerked away, the space between them cold as the seventh circle of hell. "Don't, Jack, please just let well enough alone."

"An' this is 'well enough' is it?" Jack demanded fiercely. "Because it's not makin' me very happy an' I don't see you dancin' for joy at the prospect neither." He leaned over James and picked up the bottle of rum, tipping a large measure down his throat. "Damn you an' your bloody 'well enough'. What's the sense in makin' everyone miserable for no good reason at all?"

James didn't look at him. "I'm a man of the law, I cannot simply go around breaking the rules whenever I please?"

"You've already broken them." Jack drank a little more. "You're afraid of bein' caught? Is that it?"

"Stop twisting my words," James snapped, a little more harshly than he had intended. "It's against the laws of man and of God and I was a fool to ever...You've won Jack, you've made me incapable of performing my duty as a navy officer. I'm where you want me." He couldn't help the bitter warmth trickling down his face. "You've won already, leave me be."

Jack slammed the bottle down, sending brandy sloshing out of the mouth and over his hand. He didn't seem to notice. "Damn you, you arrogant son of a bitch," Jack snarled. "You think that's what this is about? It's never been a game, y' great bloody idiot."

He seized James' face in his hands, one rough and calloused, one slippery with alcohol and pressed a kiss to James' unresponsive mouth. It was a kiss born of desperation and a deep and terrible hunger. James shuddered under the touch and opened his lips, pressing back, reaching up to twine his hands in Jack's hair.

James let Jack have him then, with the tears still drying on his face and his semen still warm on Jack's thighs, and something inside him gave.

He had killed, he had coveted, he had been jealous and now he allowed Jack to bring him pleasure.

Perhaps it wasn't good, but it was well enough.


* * *

It wasn't the first time that he had been in such a mortifying situation, and though he swore it would be the last, it probably wouldn't be. There were preparations that one could take to guard oneself against such occurrences but none of them were fool proof and everyone knows what they say about the best made plans. He should have known better than to place himself in such a perilous position, traps too easily laid here, too easily stumbled into. They didn't even have to guard the exits of this prison, there was no call for that. Simply leaving this place would be a retreat too undignified to even contemplate.

Commodore James Norrington was not an undignified man. He had worked hard to cultivate himself into what he was, and if that meant he would pay dearly for that now, then so be it. He would not yield to tortures such as this. They could not...would not break him.

Christ, if one more young woman threw herself at him, he was going to throw himself off the nearest balcony, Ball be damned.

"Long night, eh luv?" Gold teeth glinted in a gentleman's disguise too genteel to have such a mouthful of treasure.

"For god's sake Jack," James hissed, snatching up a glass of wine as it passed. "Try not to smile quite so widely. I know you're invited, but really..."

Jack stole the wine from him and finished it off. "It's not so bad as all that. No one's the wiser of me little adventure. An' jus' think of the fun we'll have when the music is done and the ladies have taken their hooks out of you an' trundled off home." This time the grin was positively lewd. "For all that your sheets have been pressed t' death, they're clean an' I fully intend t' change that."

James rolled his eyes and found himself another glass. "I'm in Hell," he muttered.

"Only until this is all over," Jack promised. "An' then I'll make it all better."

Sometimes James wondered if he wasn't mad and Jack wasn't really the devil. Then he remembered all the things wrong with good, and all the things good about bad, and all the grey in between, and it was like giving Jack one day's head start. Maybe not perfect, but good enough.

And that was enough for him.