Silent Night (G)
Title: Silent Night
Author: blackpoetcat
Rating: G
Pairing: Jack Sparrow, James Norrington
Disclaimer: All PotC characters belong to Disney and the actors. I own just my fantasy and the wish to unite both my favourites from time to time.
Note: This story was born two years ago on the occasion of a contest on the German Johnny Depp board. Don’t know why I never translated it until now, but certainly would never have started if I didn’t talk to porridgebird, who did the beta work. Thanks a lot for your help, dear!
Summary: Jack, in the mood for Christmas? Perhaps that’s not so far off as it seems, since he's certainly had enough time to deal with it. Sparrington AU, a long time after AWE
"Bloody winter..." I murmured into my scarf while I made my way through the snow. "If only I'd stayed home!"
Home. That was my beloved yacht in my even more beloved Caribbean, where it was warm and sunny. Well, mostly. These annoying hurricanes became more and more aggressive every year. It got much more difficult to avoid them. The last time, one actually managed to crack the jib boom, although I steered the Pearl into a sheltered bay early enough. Fixing it wasn’t exactly cheap.
Not that I had to worry about that. I've had no lack of funds for a long time. More precisely, since I started to invest unneeded assets in gold bonds 200 years ago...
Correct - I was living much longer than the average human. Never been anything like the average human, anyway. Why should I? It was too boring to be like anyone else! And nowadays, luckily, not half as dangerous as it was when I navigated my first Pearl through the Caribbean Sea. Then, at the golden age of piracy. When I was one of the most successful of them. One of the most famous - and most lunatic, if you believe only half of the countless stories about me. Because I was Captain Jack Sparrow.
Was, of course. Reluctant as I was to let go of cherished trademarks like hairstyle, clothes and jewels, I had no choice. The discovery of the 'Aqua de Vida', the realisation that I suddenly was immortal required alterations, decisions... And so I changed my appearance and that of my beloved ship again and again, ploughed through the seven seas under various names and professions, and enjoyed my new eternal life without remorse, bad conscience or wasting more than a passing thought about friends and fiends of the past.
Except one...
***
Just as it became more and more difficult to avoid those bloody storms, it became more complicated to find him. Okay, perhaps the reason was just that I only tried every few decades and therefore never knew exactly where he sojourned. After all, he had the same problem as me...
It was never easy to constantly build up new lives, create new identities, get the necessary papers. But even more wearing was to let go of relationships, to separate from loved ones to protect them from the truth: that they would grow old and weak, while their partner stood young and healthy. Even I, who rarely fell in wholehearted love or engaged in long-lasting affairs, felt sad whenever it was time to go. How much worse must it be for him?
Bloody sentimentality!
Why in hell did I always pick Christmas, of all times, to look for him?
The snow crawled between scarf and collar, melted upon my skin and dribbled down my neck. My heavy boots left unshaped marks that slowly but continuously filled up with snow again. Blasted English winter! Did he have to hide here of all places, at the end of the world?
Well, almost the end of the world...
What the bad weather failed to achieve, the memory of the most horrible place I've ever been managed to succeed. I started to shiver, hoisted my collar and pulled my scarf more firmly around my neck.
Davy Jones’ Locker, the end of the world, lingered far too deep in my memory. Nearly as deep as my memory of him, and the certainty that he had been there, too; knew the despair that trapped every heart, and suffered in almost the same manner. At least that was what Will mentioned when he told me about him, about how hard he tried to convince him to leave this worst hell of all and be taken to the other side. But he refused; even begged for eternal punishment for his mistakes and sins.
And Calypso, this revenge-seeking shrew, fulfilled his desire and gave him eternal life, so he would never be free of guilt...
***
Finally, I reached the building he was supposed to live in. Until now, my information was worth its price, but this time I seriously doubted it. According to the investigator's notes, the gentleman who purchased this old mansion years ago led a secluded life - alone. But he was never alone. He'd always had a wife, and even children, throughout the centuries. Something I never understood. Especially that he, who was so broken by his losses - to the point of complete reversal of the personality trait I admired the most - plunged into a new relationship with every new identity. As if he desperately needed to keep the terrible ache alive, even as it ate him up...
Carefully, I approached the only illuminated window. The very idea that a man dwelt in this giant old manor all by his onesies turned my stomach upside down. I needed too much life around me to understand this volitional solitude.
My eyes searched the room. It was a library, containing three walls filled with books to the ceiling, one armchair in front of the fireplace, a humble coffee table, a couch and a desk. Only the mistletoe at the fireplace, a few pine branches and some flickering candles atop the table pointed to today’s holiday. And an obviously filled stocking at the mantelpiece...
Astonished, I contemplated it. It looked bloody familiar. But not until he suddenly entered the room, and touched it with gentleness, did I remember. It was the same old red-brown stocking I saw every time! Every Christmas that I had found and observed him, this exact stocking hung at the mantelpiece. Always filled, always looked upon, or even touched, with fondness. Just as now.
In my mind I reviewed my past visits, counted his particular families, the number of children - and stiffened. No mistake about it! Although I never knew a bigger pedant, there was always this one stocking too many!
As if in a trance, my gaze clung to the stocking, to the slender fingers still caressing it. Wandered to his face, to those sad green eyes that back then had glowed like St. Elmo’s fire. Burned into mine, challenged me, almost teased me and simultaneously radiated an arrogance unequalled to this day.
Never had I intended to show myself; to remind him of what he would never forget anyway. But today...
Somehow, it was different. Most important: nobody was here except us! No one to disturb us or ask inconvenient questions. And something deep inside me needed to hear his voice, to look him in the eye. So I hesitated for only the glimpse of a moment before I turned away from the window, walked to the entrance and pressed the old-fashioned doorbell with an uncharacteristically shaking hand.
***
"Yes? Can I do something for..."
The words seemed to stick in his throat when he recognized me. His eyes widened, his lip started to tremble, and he stared at me. Disbelieving, disconcerted - but not repelled. Not full of spite or distaste as I always feared. Only...
What? Relieved?
No idea how long we stood this way, just looking at each other. The snow continued to fall, swirling around us. His breath transformed into little clouds as the chill drifted into the house through the open door, until he finally broke the spell and invited me in.
Few moments later I stood in the library, a glass of hot tea punch in my hand, and gazed at the stocking.
"Just look inside, Jack. It’s for you anyway..."
His soft voice startled me even more than his words. I stared from him to the stocking and back, completely stunned. Why for me? He couldn’t know that I’d ever come! That I was still alive at all. After all, I met Will again after the whelp fished him off the locker. Years after...
"Calypso told me," he explained quietly. "She mentioned something about two sides of the same coin before she breathed eternal life into me."
His expression revealed that he'd spent countless hours pondering over that description of us. That made me feel uncomfortable, but at the same time re-awakened something I'd thought dead for several decades. A flame; no, a tiny little spark. Choked long ago for lack of nourishment.
Wordlessly, I put my glass onto the mantelpiece and fetched the stocking off its hook. My fingers trembled when I reached inside. The next moment, I gasped. What the hell...
Slowly, I pulled out a small carved wooden box. It was worn out; the centuries-old design in the lid almost faded away. My mouth open, I forgot to breathe, and I caressed it as if in trance. Only after what seemed an eternity I opened it, tentatively. She was actually still there...
Tears ran down my face when I met his gaze. No, I didn’t imagine - his eyes glistened suspiciously, too. His body quivered, but his jaw was set.
Of course, he didn’t cry. Never. Not then, not today - least at all in front of anyone. Again I looked into the box. To the black pearl inside whose plain surface shimmered softly in the light of the flickering fire.
My beloved Black Pearl. Her pendant, her soul I thought lost forever. Lost since... Since we had to capsize the real Pearl to escape the Locker and get back to our world...
Again, I could only look at him; my trembling lips formed a silent question.
"I found her on the beach, back then in the Locker..." He swallowed and swiped at his eyes impatiently before he continued.
"That was my perdition... Every day the waves brought something to me: debris from the Interceptor, the Endeavour and my beloved Dauntless... Objects from the Pearl, even from the Flying Dutchman, after Davy Jones’ death..."
I felt my eyes widen. The swelling lump in my throat nearly robbed me of breath. Could there be a harsher punishment for this man than being confronted every day with all he had lost? All the devastation he'd had a hand in?
"Jack, I..."
He stopped short, cleared his throat several times and finally went on in a hoarse voice:
"I want... To ask your forgiveness."
***
Ask forgiveness? Me? HIM?
The proudest man I'd ever known, the aristocratic and so bloody British Commodore James Norrington, asked me, Pirate-Captain Jack Sparrow, to forgive him?
My knees turned to jelly; a giant fist squeezed my heart. I left the box atop the mantelpiece and sat down beside him, laid my arm around his shoulder and gently pulled him close. He didn’t fight; instead, he leaned against me and closed his eyes. Lost in thoughts, I stroked his hair.
Yes, he'd betrayed me - all of us - back then on Isla Cruces. But later, he sacrificed his own life to save Elizabeth, and therefore helped turn the tides for good. For that, I'd forgiven him many years ago. More precisely, even before I started to pursue the 'Aqua de Vida'...
"It's all right, James," I whispered. "There's nothing to forgive. You and I both have always done what we deemed best for the moment..."
"Nevertheless, it was wrong, Jack! And that’s why -" He hesitated again, gathering himself. "That’s why I can’t find peace. Not until you have forgiven me!"
"I already have, my friend. A long time ago," I reassured him, and drew him even closer. Felt him shuddering from the bones, heard him sobbing. Silent, ragged at first; then, finally, the far too long retained dam burst.
***
Hours later, after we prepared and consumed dinner together, we were seated again in the library, savouring a bottle of red wine. We shared our stories: how and where we had lived, who we had loved and what professions we'd had during our countless existences. Formalities were sent to hell, and I had the funny feeling of being at home. Here of all places, in bitter cold and unpleasant England.
Speaking of places...
"James... What drove you into this old walling out here in the middle of nowhere? I mean, Worcestershire may be nice in the summer, but..."
"I was born and raised here, Jack," he interrupted me quietly. "This was the manor of my family until the end of the nineteenth century, when one Lord Jacob Norrington got addicted to gambling and was eventually forced to sell it."
I touched his arm, gently. Hesitated a moment before I asked the question that suggested itself.
"Were... Were you..."
"No. I..." He looked to the floor. "I was the father who left him far too early..."
We stood silently, drinking our wine, and pondering our own thoughts. And then it began to dawn on me what he'd said.
"Jacob?"
He nodded, and smiled at me.
"All my first-born sons were named Jack, or Jacob," he confessed, "depending on the social class I belonged to at the time..."
We looked into each other’s eyes a long while, without moving or speaking. Finally James said: "So many Christmases I've hung up this stocking and thought of you, Jack. Hoped someday to see you again, and speak to you..."
Infinitely wary, he put his hand on top of mine and stroked it tentatively.
"I thank you for this most precious gift of all, Jack."
Without pulling my hand back I returned his smile, and put my glass away.
"I have never received anything more beautiful than today from you, James. Merry Christmas, mate!"
And with that I pointed to the mistletoe, wrapped my arms around James and kissed him.
~~~ The end ~~~
Author: blackpoetcat
Rating: G
Pairing: Jack Sparrow, James Norrington
Disclaimer: All PotC characters belong to Disney and the actors. I own just my fantasy and the wish to unite both my favourites from time to time.
Note: This story was born two years ago on the occasion of a contest on the German Johnny Depp board. Don’t know why I never translated it until now, but certainly would never have started if I didn’t talk to porridgebird, who did the beta work. Thanks a lot for your help, dear!
Summary: Jack, in the mood for Christmas? Perhaps that’s not so far off as it seems, since he's certainly had enough time to deal with it. Sparrington AU, a long time after AWE
"Bloody winter..." I murmured into my scarf while I made my way through the snow. "If only I'd stayed home!"
Home. That was my beloved yacht in my even more beloved Caribbean, where it was warm and sunny. Well, mostly. These annoying hurricanes became more and more aggressive every year. It got much more difficult to avoid them. The last time, one actually managed to crack the jib boom, although I steered the Pearl into a sheltered bay early enough. Fixing it wasn’t exactly cheap.
Not that I had to worry about that. I've had no lack of funds for a long time. More precisely, since I started to invest unneeded assets in gold bonds 200 years ago...
Correct - I was living much longer than the average human. Never been anything like the average human, anyway. Why should I? It was too boring to be like anyone else! And nowadays, luckily, not half as dangerous as it was when I navigated my first Pearl through the Caribbean Sea. Then, at the golden age of piracy. When I was one of the most successful of them. One of the most famous - and most lunatic, if you believe only half of the countless stories about me. Because I was Captain Jack Sparrow.
Was, of course. Reluctant as I was to let go of cherished trademarks like hairstyle, clothes and jewels, I had no choice. The discovery of the 'Aqua de Vida', the realisation that I suddenly was immortal required alterations, decisions... And so I changed my appearance and that of my beloved ship again and again, ploughed through the seven seas under various names and professions, and enjoyed my new eternal life without remorse, bad conscience or wasting more than a passing thought about friends and fiends of the past.
Except one...
***
Just as it became more and more difficult to avoid those bloody storms, it became more complicated to find him. Okay, perhaps the reason was just that I only tried every few decades and therefore never knew exactly where he sojourned. After all, he had the same problem as me...
It was never easy to constantly build up new lives, create new identities, get the necessary papers. But even more wearing was to let go of relationships, to separate from loved ones to protect them from the truth: that they would grow old and weak, while their partner stood young and healthy. Even I, who rarely fell in wholehearted love or engaged in long-lasting affairs, felt sad whenever it was time to go. How much worse must it be for him?
Bloody sentimentality!
Why in hell did I always pick Christmas, of all times, to look for him?
The snow crawled between scarf and collar, melted upon my skin and dribbled down my neck. My heavy boots left unshaped marks that slowly but continuously filled up with snow again. Blasted English winter! Did he have to hide here of all places, at the end of the world?
Well, almost the end of the world...
What the bad weather failed to achieve, the memory of the most horrible place I've ever been managed to succeed. I started to shiver, hoisted my collar and pulled my scarf more firmly around my neck.
Davy Jones’ Locker, the end of the world, lingered far too deep in my memory. Nearly as deep as my memory of him, and the certainty that he had been there, too; knew the despair that trapped every heart, and suffered in almost the same manner. At least that was what Will mentioned when he told me about him, about how hard he tried to convince him to leave this worst hell of all and be taken to the other side. But he refused; even begged for eternal punishment for his mistakes and sins.
And Calypso, this revenge-seeking shrew, fulfilled his desire and gave him eternal life, so he would never be free of guilt...
***
Finally, I reached the building he was supposed to live in. Until now, my information was worth its price, but this time I seriously doubted it. According to the investigator's notes, the gentleman who purchased this old mansion years ago led a secluded life - alone. But he was never alone. He'd always had a wife, and even children, throughout the centuries. Something I never understood. Especially that he, who was so broken by his losses - to the point of complete reversal of the personality trait I admired the most - plunged into a new relationship with every new identity. As if he desperately needed to keep the terrible ache alive, even as it ate him up...
Carefully, I approached the only illuminated window. The very idea that a man dwelt in this giant old manor all by his onesies turned my stomach upside down. I needed too much life around me to understand this volitional solitude.
My eyes searched the room. It was a library, containing three walls filled with books to the ceiling, one armchair in front of the fireplace, a humble coffee table, a couch and a desk. Only the mistletoe at the fireplace, a few pine branches and some flickering candles atop the table pointed to today’s holiday. And an obviously filled stocking at the mantelpiece...
Astonished, I contemplated it. It looked bloody familiar. But not until he suddenly entered the room, and touched it with gentleness, did I remember. It was the same old red-brown stocking I saw every time! Every Christmas that I had found and observed him, this exact stocking hung at the mantelpiece. Always filled, always looked upon, or even touched, with fondness. Just as now.
In my mind I reviewed my past visits, counted his particular families, the number of children - and stiffened. No mistake about it! Although I never knew a bigger pedant, there was always this one stocking too many!
As if in a trance, my gaze clung to the stocking, to the slender fingers still caressing it. Wandered to his face, to those sad green eyes that back then had glowed like St. Elmo’s fire. Burned into mine, challenged me, almost teased me and simultaneously radiated an arrogance unequalled to this day.
Never had I intended to show myself; to remind him of what he would never forget anyway. But today...
Somehow, it was different. Most important: nobody was here except us! No one to disturb us or ask inconvenient questions. And something deep inside me needed to hear his voice, to look him in the eye. So I hesitated for only the glimpse of a moment before I turned away from the window, walked to the entrance and pressed the old-fashioned doorbell with an uncharacteristically shaking hand.
***
"Yes? Can I do something for..."
The words seemed to stick in his throat when he recognized me. His eyes widened, his lip started to tremble, and he stared at me. Disbelieving, disconcerted - but not repelled. Not full of spite or distaste as I always feared. Only...
What? Relieved?
No idea how long we stood this way, just looking at each other. The snow continued to fall, swirling around us. His breath transformed into little clouds as the chill drifted into the house through the open door, until he finally broke the spell and invited me in.
Few moments later I stood in the library, a glass of hot tea punch in my hand, and gazed at the stocking.
"Just look inside, Jack. It’s for you anyway..."
His soft voice startled me even more than his words. I stared from him to the stocking and back, completely stunned. Why for me? He couldn’t know that I’d ever come! That I was still alive at all. After all, I met Will again after the whelp fished him off the locker. Years after...
"Calypso told me," he explained quietly. "She mentioned something about two sides of the same coin before she breathed eternal life into me."
His expression revealed that he'd spent countless hours pondering over that description of us. That made me feel uncomfortable, but at the same time re-awakened something I'd thought dead for several decades. A flame; no, a tiny little spark. Choked long ago for lack of nourishment.
Wordlessly, I put my glass onto the mantelpiece and fetched the stocking off its hook. My fingers trembled when I reached inside. The next moment, I gasped. What the hell...
Slowly, I pulled out a small carved wooden box. It was worn out; the centuries-old design in the lid almost faded away. My mouth open, I forgot to breathe, and I caressed it as if in trance. Only after what seemed an eternity I opened it, tentatively. She was actually still there...
Tears ran down my face when I met his gaze. No, I didn’t imagine - his eyes glistened suspiciously, too. His body quivered, but his jaw was set.
Of course, he didn’t cry. Never. Not then, not today - least at all in front of anyone. Again I looked into the box. To the black pearl inside whose plain surface shimmered softly in the light of the flickering fire.
My beloved Black Pearl. Her pendant, her soul I thought lost forever. Lost since... Since we had to capsize the real Pearl to escape the Locker and get back to our world...
Again, I could only look at him; my trembling lips formed a silent question.
"I found her on the beach, back then in the Locker..." He swallowed and swiped at his eyes impatiently before he continued.
"That was my perdition... Every day the waves brought something to me: debris from the Interceptor, the Endeavour and my beloved Dauntless... Objects from the Pearl, even from the Flying Dutchman, after Davy Jones’ death..."
I felt my eyes widen. The swelling lump in my throat nearly robbed me of breath. Could there be a harsher punishment for this man than being confronted every day with all he had lost? All the devastation he'd had a hand in?
"Jack, I..."
He stopped short, cleared his throat several times and finally went on in a hoarse voice:
"I want... To ask your forgiveness."
***
Ask forgiveness? Me? HIM?
The proudest man I'd ever known, the aristocratic and so bloody British Commodore James Norrington, asked me, Pirate-Captain Jack Sparrow, to forgive him?
My knees turned to jelly; a giant fist squeezed my heart. I left the box atop the mantelpiece and sat down beside him, laid my arm around his shoulder and gently pulled him close. He didn’t fight; instead, he leaned against me and closed his eyes. Lost in thoughts, I stroked his hair.
Yes, he'd betrayed me - all of us - back then on Isla Cruces. But later, he sacrificed his own life to save Elizabeth, and therefore helped turn the tides for good. For that, I'd forgiven him many years ago. More precisely, even before I started to pursue the 'Aqua de Vida'...
"It's all right, James," I whispered. "There's nothing to forgive. You and I both have always done what we deemed best for the moment..."
"Nevertheless, it was wrong, Jack! And that’s why -" He hesitated again, gathering himself. "That’s why I can’t find peace. Not until you have forgiven me!"
"I already have, my friend. A long time ago," I reassured him, and drew him even closer. Felt him shuddering from the bones, heard him sobbing. Silent, ragged at first; then, finally, the far too long retained dam burst.
***
Hours later, after we prepared and consumed dinner together, we were seated again in the library, savouring a bottle of red wine. We shared our stories: how and where we had lived, who we had loved and what professions we'd had during our countless existences. Formalities were sent to hell, and I had the funny feeling of being at home. Here of all places, in bitter cold and unpleasant England.
Speaking of places...
"James... What drove you into this old walling out here in the middle of nowhere? I mean, Worcestershire may be nice in the summer, but..."
"I was born and raised here, Jack," he interrupted me quietly. "This was the manor of my family until the end of the nineteenth century, when one Lord Jacob Norrington got addicted to gambling and was eventually forced to sell it."
I touched his arm, gently. Hesitated a moment before I asked the question that suggested itself.
"Were... Were you..."
"No. I..." He looked to the floor. "I was the father who left him far too early..."
We stood silently, drinking our wine, and pondering our own thoughts. And then it began to dawn on me what he'd said.
"Jacob?"
He nodded, and smiled at me.
"All my first-born sons were named Jack, or Jacob," he confessed, "depending on the social class I belonged to at the time..."
We looked into each other’s eyes a long while, without moving or speaking. Finally James said: "So many Christmases I've hung up this stocking and thought of you, Jack. Hoped someday to see you again, and speak to you..."
Infinitely wary, he put his hand on top of mine and stroked it tentatively.
"I thank you for this most precious gift of all, Jack."
Without pulling my hand back I returned his smile, and put my glass away.
"I have never received anything more beautiful than today from you, James. Merry Christmas, mate!"
And with that I pointed to the mistletoe, wrapped my arms around James and kissed him.
~~~ The end ~~~