Fic: "The Crux of the Matter" (Norrington/Sparrow, PG-13)
It's time for some late-night Sparrington!
Title: The Crux of the Matter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Summary: Sequel to "Atonement". Jack decides the Commodore needs things put plainly for him.
Spoilers/Warnings: This takes place post-"Dead Man's Chest" and while it doesn't include explicit spoilers, it probably makes a lot more sense with that knowledge in hand. There is also speculation about events of PotC 3, although all these are my own ideas and do not formally constitute spoilers.
Hearty thanks go to falasama, who is a wonderously kind beta.
James Norrington was reclining in a heavy chair, half asleep, his jacket unbuttoned, his hat and wig nowhere to be seen. The light from the one candle left burning flickered delicately over his face. Even in the near-dark, the bruise Jack Sparrow had given him upon his escape from the clutches of the East India Trading Company was still visible, a striking, sickly-grey blotch on his temple.
He made a lovely picture, but not so lovely that Jack couldn’t bear the thought of interrupting the scene. Pushing the window open, Jack swung himself into the room and landed with a thud and a flourish. Norrington startled awake, raising his pistol and pointing it into the shadows that clung to the walls.
“Show yourself,” he said in a low, dangerous voice that would’ve, Jack thought, struck fear in the heart of a lesser man.
“You can put that down, Commodore,” Jack said, stepping into the light, his hands held up in a gesture of compliance. “I mean you no harm.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Norrington scoffed.
“You oughtn’t.” Jack, rather hurt, shook a finger at the man. “We’re even now, you and I. In fact, my primary objective in infiltrating your lovely domicile was to give you my thanks.”
“Your thanks?”
“Precisely. And if you stop training that gun of yours on me, I might even get around to saying them.”
Norrington frowned. After a moment’s deliberation, he lowered his arm, and Jack felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest. “Explain yourself.”
“I shouldn’t think it needs much explaining. That was a bloody decent thing you did, Jim, m’lad.”
Norrington, it seemed, was an old veteran at wiping all emotion from his face. Though his face was blank, his voice was tellingly rough as he said, “It was never Beckett’s right to hang you. It will be me or no one.”
“I’m thinking . . . no one,” Jack said with a smile, delighted to notice that Norrington’s jaw tensed in response. “Since you seem to be increasingly inclined to save my skin these days.”
“I told you not to flatter yourself, Sparrow,” Norrington replied icily, but Jack wasn’t fooled in the least.
“I’m afraid that’s advice I simply cannot take, mate. You rescued me from certain death. That can’t mean nothing.”
“Don’t,” Norrington said shortly.
“So-if I were to . . . not-what would my other options be? Would you have me believe that you rescued me from the aforementioned terrible fate so that you might have the chance to win this prize yourself?” Jack asked, favoring Norrington with a predatory grin.
“I told you-”
“Aye, ‘the promise of redemption,’ I know,” Jack said, enjoying this more than he suspected he had a right to.
“Get to the point.”
“Well, Commodore,” Jack said, advancing towards the man slowly, ever mindful of the pistol Norrington held loose at his side, “the crux of the matter is, I don’t think you much want to hang me any more.”
“So you’ve said,” Norrington grated out.
“You’ve never killed a man you knew, have you, mate? Not the same as killing a stranger. You watch the light go out of a stranger’s eyes, and it’s justice. With a friend, well, there’s some that’d call that murder.” Jack smiled at Norrington, who, for his part, looked vaguely ill.
“Every man I sent to the gallows deserved what he got,” he replied, though there was a searching look in his eyes that betrayed the certainty of his voice.
“You still think so, even having thrown in your lot with us?”
“I never threw in my lot with you,” Norrington said quickly.
“You joined a pirate crew, stole precious artifacts and double-crossed your captain in order to use those artifacts to your own ends, and what’s more, you did it with a ready heart and a damnable aptitude for deception. If that’s not enough to qualify you as a pirate, pray, enlighten me as to what is.”
Norrington shook his head and looked past Jack’s shoulder, into the shadows from whence he had come. “I did what had to be done.”
“Admit it, mate,” Jack said, leaning in close and catching Norrington’s attention again. “You liked it.”
“I will admit no such thing.” The man’s words were harsh, but again, his voice wavered and his expression conveyed a tender desperation that gave Jack a mind to push his advantage.
“Ah,” Jack said easily, “but I can see it plain as if it was branded on your forehead.” Here he lifted his hand to Norrington’s face, tracing his fingers over the furrow in his brow. “It weren’t no lofty set of ideals you were trying to protect when you freed me the other day. The ‘promise of redemption’ is all well and good, but it was that taste of liberation you were grasping for . . . that sweet . . . anchorlessness.”
Jack felt tension ripple through Norrington’s body. “No . . .”
“I’m telling you, Jim,” Jack persisted, his hand settling on Norrington’s arm, “there’s no denying it. You know it as well as I.” He let his lips twitch into a smile that made the air leave Norrington’s lungs, the warmth of his breath drifting over Jack’s skin. “You want it.”
“Please,” Norrington murmured, and Jack could almost feel his mouth moving they were so near each other. “Please . . . Don’t do this.”
“Dunno if you’ve noticed, mate, but I’m a pirate. I’m generally inclined to take what I want.” He touched his lips against Norrington’s, and was pleased to note his needy gasp as their mouths rasped against each other. Warm heat was prickling along Jack’s spine as he said, “Eventually you’ll own up to the fact that it’s an inclination we happen to share.”
“No,” Norrington said again. This time his voice was stronger, and was accompanied by rough hands on Jack’s chest, shoving him away. The pistol, which had been hanging quiescent at Norrington’s side, rose to force a gap between the two of them.
The rebuff stung, especially since he’d been so damnably close, but Jack knew better than to be dissuaded by adversity. He kept his distance, but graced Norrington with a promising smile. “Can’t go on forever pretending that things never happened when you know for sure they did. You’ll have to square with this some day, mate. And when you do, trust me, I’ll be there. In the mean time,” he said, stepping back towards the window, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
Before Norrington could say another word, or, worse yet, fire a shot, Jack had wormed his way out the window and was climbing down the way he’d come. He dropped onto the street and reacquainted himself with the dark of Port Royal. And if Norrington came to the window to look out after him, well, Jack didn’t turn back to see.
Title: The Crux of the Matter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Summary: Sequel to "Atonement". Jack decides the Commodore needs things put plainly for him.
Spoilers/Warnings: This takes place post-"Dead Man's Chest" and while it doesn't include explicit spoilers, it probably makes a lot more sense with that knowledge in hand. There is also speculation about events of PotC 3, although all these are my own ideas and do not formally constitute spoilers.
Hearty thanks go to falasama, who is a wonderously kind beta.
James Norrington was reclining in a heavy chair, half asleep, his jacket unbuttoned, his hat and wig nowhere to be seen. The light from the one candle left burning flickered delicately over his face. Even in the near-dark, the bruise Jack Sparrow had given him upon his escape from the clutches of the East India Trading Company was still visible, a striking, sickly-grey blotch on his temple.
He made a lovely picture, but not so lovely that Jack couldn’t bear the thought of interrupting the scene. Pushing the window open, Jack swung himself into the room and landed with a thud and a flourish. Norrington startled awake, raising his pistol and pointing it into the shadows that clung to the walls.
“Show yourself,” he said in a low, dangerous voice that would’ve, Jack thought, struck fear in the heart of a lesser man.
“You can put that down, Commodore,” Jack said, stepping into the light, his hands held up in a gesture of compliance. “I mean you no harm.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Norrington scoffed.
“You oughtn’t.” Jack, rather hurt, shook a finger at the man. “We’re even now, you and I. In fact, my primary objective in infiltrating your lovely domicile was to give you my thanks.”
“Your thanks?”
“Precisely. And if you stop training that gun of yours on me, I might even get around to saying them.”
Norrington frowned. After a moment’s deliberation, he lowered his arm, and Jack felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest. “Explain yourself.”
“I shouldn’t think it needs much explaining. That was a bloody decent thing you did, Jim, m’lad.”
Norrington, it seemed, was an old veteran at wiping all emotion from his face. Though his face was blank, his voice was tellingly rough as he said, “It was never Beckett’s right to hang you. It will be me or no one.”
“I’m thinking . . . no one,” Jack said with a smile, delighted to notice that Norrington’s jaw tensed in response. “Since you seem to be increasingly inclined to save my skin these days.”
“I told you not to flatter yourself, Sparrow,” Norrington replied icily, but Jack wasn’t fooled in the least.
“I’m afraid that’s advice I simply cannot take, mate. You rescued me from certain death. That can’t mean nothing.”
“Don’t,” Norrington said shortly.
“So-if I were to . . . not-what would my other options be? Would you have me believe that you rescued me from the aforementioned terrible fate so that you might have the chance to win this prize yourself?” Jack asked, favoring Norrington with a predatory grin.
“I told you-”
“Aye, ‘the promise of redemption,’ I know,” Jack said, enjoying this more than he suspected he had a right to.
“Get to the point.”
“Well, Commodore,” Jack said, advancing towards the man slowly, ever mindful of the pistol Norrington held loose at his side, “the crux of the matter is, I don’t think you much want to hang me any more.”
“So you’ve said,” Norrington grated out.
“You’ve never killed a man you knew, have you, mate? Not the same as killing a stranger. You watch the light go out of a stranger’s eyes, and it’s justice. With a friend, well, there’s some that’d call that murder.” Jack smiled at Norrington, who, for his part, looked vaguely ill.
“Every man I sent to the gallows deserved what he got,” he replied, though there was a searching look in his eyes that betrayed the certainty of his voice.
“You still think so, even having thrown in your lot with us?”
“I never threw in my lot with you,” Norrington said quickly.
“You joined a pirate crew, stole precious artifacts and double-crossed your captain in order to use those artifacts to your own ends, and what’s more, you did it with a ready heart and a damnable aptitude for deception. If that’s not enough to qualify you as a pirate, pray, enlighten me as to what is.”
Norrington shook his head and looked past Jack’s shoulder, into the shadows from whence he had come. “I did what had to be done.”
“Admit it, mate,” Jack said, leaning in close and catching Norrington’s attention again. “You liked it.”
“I will admit no such thing.” The man’s words were harsh, but again, his voice wavered and his expression conveyed a tender desperation that gave Jack a mind to push his advantage.
“Ah,” Jack said easily, “but I can see it plain as if it was branded on your forehead.” Here he lifted his hand to Norrington’s face, tracing his fingers over the furrow in his brow. “It weren’t no lofty set of ideals you were trying to protect when you freed me the other day. The ‘promise of redemption’ is all well and good, but it was that taste of liberation you were grasping for . . . that sweet . . . anchorlessness.”
Jack felt tension ripple through Norrington’s body. “No . . .”
“I’m telling you, Jim,” Jack persisted, his hand settling on Norrington’s arm, “there’s no denying it. You know it as well as I.” He let his lips twitch into a smile that made the air leave Norrington’s lungs, the warmth of his breath drifting over Jack’s skin. “You want it.”
“Please,” Norrington murmured, and Jack could almost feel his mouth moving they were so near each other. “Please . . . Don’t do this.”
“Dunno if you’ve noticed, mate, but I’m a pirate. I’m generally inclined to take what I want.” He touched his lips against Norrington’s, and was pleased to note his needy gasp as their mouths rasped against each other. Warm heat was prickling along Jack’s spine as he said, “Eventually you’ll own up to the fact that it’s an inclination we happen to share.”
“No,” Norrington said again. This time his voice was stronger, and was accompanied by rough hands on Jack’s chest, shoving him away. The pistol, which had been hanging quiescent at Norrington’s side, rose to force a gap between the two of them.
The rebuff stung, especially since he’d been so damnably close, but Jack knew better than to be dissuaded by adversity. He kept his distance, but graced Norrington with a promising smile. “Can’t go on forever pretending that things never happened when you know for sure they did. You’ll have to square with this some day, mate. And when you do, trust me, I’ll be there. In the mean time,” he said, stepping back towards the window, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
Before Norrington could say another word, or, worse yet, fire a shot, Jack had wormed his way out the window and was climbing down the way he’d come. He dropped onto the street and reacquainted himself with the dark of Port Royal. And if Norrington came to the window to look out after him, well, Jack didn’t turn back to see.